Girls Who Dreamt of Castles

Chapter Eighteen

"People will stare, make it worth their while."
- Henry Wintow.

Effortlessly, formally dressed tycoons thronged the hall, formally pushing people out of their way, with curt but gentle 'Excuse mes' and faint 'Sorrys'.

It was yet another fashion show and Brenda felt uncomfortable. She didn't know what was heavier; the Amethyst demi-parure or the dark makeup plastered on her face. The model's big eyes roamed the hall as if looking out for something and wishing she wouldn't find it. She filled her lungs with air and exhaled through her full lips.

Camera shutters clicked, beautifully dressed women filled the room with lovely evening dresses, men in black bow ties, and waiters circulating with trays of wine and champagne.

Brenda wanted a drink but she craved a smoke. She couldn't count the number of times she did fidget in her seat when a waiter passed with a tray of chilled champagne or the times when she closed her eyes and tried to fight the urge to stand and borrow a stick of cigarette from a guest.

The show was becoming unbearable even though she did enjoy the attention. She also loved wearing the light satin dress that wrapped tightly around her waist before falling to her feet. It was simple yet elegant, giving room for the most prestigious merchandise: the gems.

Sitting for hours made her tired and tired made her look bored and a bored face was an ugly face in the industry. There was not a living designer who fancied a bored expression on a model with their product on. It was like an autograph on a piece of rag; it was of no use.

The small woman got up abruptly, receiving questionable glances from her fellow models. She ignored them and surveyed the hall. She had an idea.

She would walk around the hall like the waiters with glasses of champagne and wine. Only she would be like the champagne.

Brenda walked into the crowd, eyes dwelling upon her, watching the slow rolling of her hips under the thin material as she wanted, her broad shoulders and long legs moving in harmony.

The men felt sick with want and she didn't mind the staring nor the sleaze that would come after. It was a part of her job. People sometimes confused her selling of beauty for her body, even she too got confused at some point. Suddenly her mind cocked, she remembered what day it was.

It was a Monday. She stood at the centre of the hall and waited for her heart to beat as a normal heart would. She hated Mondays. She hated everything about it.

Before she could think of moving further, someone snaked a hand out and fastened it around her waist.

She froze.

She turned to see a friendly face. Not the one she was hiding from.

She sighed.

It was John, the designer's aide.

"Where are you wandering off to, Miss Brenda?" He cocked his eyebrow.

"Oh God, John! I thought you were someone else," she said hastily.

John nodded. "Where were you wandering to Miss Brenda? You do know this isn't a runway show."

"I know that. And I'm going nowhere," she replied honestly. "I got tired of sitting. I didn't want to look bored, you know that's a problem. So, I just wanted to be seen. Put up a little show. That isn't a problem too, is it?"

John hid a smile. Indubitably Brenda was a troublemaker.

"You could be seen from up there. Anyone with both their eyes wouldn't have a problem with that."