Forever Blue (15 page)

    
“So what are your names?” he asked, as if it mattered. He was certain at least one of them would say, “Bambi.”

    
The sexiest blonde twirled a strand of her white-blonde hair and said, “I’m Tina.”

    
“Courtney.”

    
“Amanda,” the petite blonde replied. “We’ve been fans of yours for, like, soooo long. Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re right here!” she squealed. The trio giggled and clutched their chests as if they might pass out. “We’re, like, soooo lucky!”

    
Aiden peered down at Amanda’s cleavage
at the first chance he got. “No, no, trust me—I’m lucky to have such loyal and beautiful fans as you three.”

    
It wasn’t like him to be so subdued. Truthfully, he didn’t know how much longer he could continue the flirting without getting physical. As he tried to keep his mind off inappropriate thoughts, Aiden continued
drinking, but the booze only made it worse. He was beyond shit-faced and horny. These girls were some kind of torture—like somebody bringing liquor to an AA meeting.

    
“Are your tits real, Courtney?” Aiden asked, bluntly. “I would love to find out.”

    
Courtney giggled. “These babies are all natural. Go ahead and feel them if you don’t believe me.” She grabbed his hand and shoved it down her bra.

    
Aiden felt no shame in copping a good feel of someone so willing, so utterly demanding. Courtney let out a soft moan
as he gently fondled her breast.
She then kissed him on the lips, and
Aiden returned the favor by kissing her back. Amanda and Tina proceeded to follow Courtney’s lead. Tina nibbled at Aiden’s ear, while Amanda brushed her hands between his thighs. Her long red nails rubbed against the denim of his jeans and the lump growing underneath it.

     
“You girls are driving me crazy,” Aiden said in ecstasy.

    
Amanda gently pushed him down on the couch. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Storm. Just sit back and let us take good care of you.” She unbuttoned his jeans as if she’d unbuttoned plenty of jeans in her lifetime. “You have no idea what good hands you are in.”

***

     
Despite such an inauspicious start, I worked diligently to get my life back on track
for the next two years. I learned
through trial-and-error
that if I didn’t get my act together, I’d lead myself down a dismal road. Thankfully, Mom was there to guide me along the way. It grew easier to accept Dad’s death as time passed. Mom was all I had left, and it took me a while to realize how lucky I was to have her in my life.

    
I finished continuing education school and got my first part-time job at a women’s clothing store called, Fashion Land.
I have nothing against retail, but my real passion was makeup artistry. Although, Fashion Land made it possible for me to save up money and reevaluate my life.

    
I
had
researched all the makeup artistry schools in Orange County.
The Bellini School of Makeup Artistry was the first to catch my eye
out of the few of them.
Unfortunately, this school was financially impossible on my budget, but
I wasn’t going to let something as ridiculous as tuition stop me.
I’d figure out a way, even if I had to work day and night to get there.
I was determined to get in
to that school
and make something of myself.

    
I managed to save up enough money by working at the store over a period of
several months.
A
flash of satisfaction surged through me
when I finally arrived at the Bellini School of Makeup Artistry.
For the first time in my life, I accomplished something on my own.

    
On the first day of class, Isabella Bellini, the owner and instructor, stood before a massive oak desk with a textbook in her hand. Despite her austere front, she appeared sophisticated and attractive.  She had a petite, rail-thin frame and wore her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Isabella looked more like a ballet dancer than a teacher. Isabella walked up and down the aisles like a drill sergeant
as I sat in a desk that reminded me of high school.

    
“Welcome to my school. During your study here, you will undergo nine months of vigorous training. I’ll be honest. Most students drop out within the first few weeks. It takes a strong-willed, determined individual to make it through my class. If you are afraid of constructive criticism, sarcasm, or hard work, I suggest you head out the front door. Find a job immediately, because you just wasted a lot of money.”

    
A couple of students snickered.

    
“Oh, you may think it’s humorous now, but in a month, you’ll be singing a different tune,” she retorted.

    
I sucked in a sharp breath and looked around at the people around me. Clearly, many of them were hopefuls like me. Others were probably there only because mommy and daddy
had
paid their tuition so they wouldn’t sit around wasting their lives like so many trust-fund babies do.

     
“This may come as a surprise to all of you. I didn’t list it on the agenda, so listen well. On the last day of class, there will be a career fair. I will invite industry agents from several different unions to visit our classroom in a search of new talent. By that time, you all should have an impressive portfolio. A good percentage of my students do get signed on that day. Take a good look at the people around you, for they are your competition. On the last day of class, I will be hiring one of you to be my paid intern.”

    
It took a minute for her words to penetrate. Then, at the realization of such a grand opportunity, everyone in the room simply gasped.

    
“This entitles sending someone out on jobs that I am too busy to attend. It could be anywhere from a photo-shoot to a fashion runway show.”

    
After I shook myself out of a daydream about brushing elbows with A-list celebrities, I looked up to find Isabella standing in front of me, and
I went stiff.

    
She gently lifted my chin, and
studied my face quizzically.  “Oh, dear. I see some of us need help in our own department, don’t we?”

    
As if on cue, everyone in class laughed, leaving me
to feel horribly humiliated. Who did she think she was criticizing me like that? No one ever made negative comments about the way I did my makeup.

    
Isabella sat down at her desk and opened up her text book like nothing
had
happened. “Let’s begin by opening your books to chapter one, the ‘Introduction’.”

***

    
“How was
your first day?” Mom asked, that
night after class.

    
I explained about the teacher and her strict teaching structure. “She’s a tough one, that’s for sure.”

    
“Don’t stress about it, honey. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

     
“I’m scared, Mom. If I don’t pass this class, what am I going to do? I have nothing to fall back on.”

    
She grabbed my hands
before the question left my lips,
and squeezed them lovingly. “You pushed yourself through continuing education class to get your GED, and now you’re going to challenge yourself and make it over this hurdle as well.”

    
“But it’s different this time, Mom. What if I’m just not good enough?”

    
“Stop talking like that. I have faith in you. I’ve seen what you can do when you put your mind—and your creativity—to it. One day I’m going to see your name during the end credits of a movie. You just watch.”

     
“We’ll see,” I said to myself.

    
I replayed the day over in my mind. The question was: Would I truly be able to survive nine months of Isabella Bellini? I had no choice but to give it a try.

***

    
Fashion Land was one of those typical more-for-less clothing outlets. With the illusion that it was a high-fashion store, the front window always displayed the cheapest, yet trendiest clothing. I never saw more than a handful of men come into the store without a woman hanging on his arm
during my employment.
An attractive man approached me
one afternoon,
in a flustered state. It surprised me to see him browsing the store, solo.

    
“How can I help you, sir?” I asked in my most professional voice.

    
“Well, if you were to pick a blouse, which
one
would you choose?” He expelled a frustrated sigh and held up two of the ugliest blouses we had in the store. Both had been
on the clearance rack for months, as if waiting there to die. He unknowingly made the mistake of picking a yellow and red polka dot V-neck and a floral-patterned spaghetti strap.

    
“Well, neither,” I said, trying to let him down gently.

    
“Oh geez. I’m that bad, huh?” he asked, running his hand through his jet-black hair.

    
“I’ll plead the fifth on that,” I said, playfully. “I could lose my job if I insult a customer.”

    
He let out an endearing laugh and said, “Okay. I’ll let you slide on that one.”

    
I stole a quick look at the man in front of me. My gaze skimmed down the entire length of his body. He was tall and lean with an athletic build. His olive skin told me he was either Spanish or Italian. And he had massive green eyes that sparkled like emeralds.
He worked in an office somewhere
by the looks of his light blue business shirt and gray tie.

    
“Why don’t you let me give you a few suggestions?” I offered, walking him over to a dress rack. “Are you shopping for your girlfriend?” I really couldn’t tell based on the blouses he picked.

   
He chuckled and said, “My mom actually. It’s her sixtieth birthday. I want to get her something special. I’m just totally clueless when it comes to shopping for a woman.”

    
“Well, do you know what she likes?”

    
“Hmm. She dresses like a normal mother does, I suppose.”

    
His answer didn’t help much. In my experience, there’s no such thing as a normal mother. I managed to pull out a few dresses and explain each style until he finally decided on a conservative brown sundress.

    
“Thank you so much for your help,” he said as I rang him up on the register.

    
“No sweat. It’s my job.” I folded the dress and placed it in a shopping bag. “I hope she likes it.”

    
“Me too. Thanks again.”

    
I briefly considered asking his name, but instead, I watched him walk out the door.

    
“Wow,” Marcia, one of the sales girls, said. “Who was that hottie?”

    
“I wish I knew,” I answered truthfully.

    
I had yet to
experience a real relationship, and
often wondered what it would be like to have a serious boyfriend.  Unfortunately, with school in full bloom, I had no time for love.

   
That same alleged “hottie,” came back to the store
the next day.
This time I found him looking through a rack of skirts.

    
“Hello again,” I said, less professionally than on our first encounter.

    
“Oh hey,” he said, somewhat nervously. “I wasn’t sure if you would be working today.”

   
“I’m pretty much here every day.”

     
“Well, I wanted to mention that my mother loved the dress you picked out.”

    
“See. I knew she would. You did good.”

     
“Yeah, so now I thought I would come in and get her a Christmas gift.”

   
 
“In the middle of August?” I asked skeptically.

     
“Better now
than
at the last minute,” he said with a shrug.

    
“I won’t argue on that. You are the paying customer.”

    
“I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Scott.”

     
He was so attractive that I found it a bit uncanny. Guys who looked like him were never friendly to girls like me.

    
“I’m Alexa.”

    
“Alexa, do you think you could help me find something else for her?”

    
I seized the opportunity, and
helped him pick out several blouses.
This routine repeated for the next several days
much to my surprise and delight.

    
“This is going to sound really stupid,” Scott said, while we browsed through dark denim jeans.

    
“What?” I asked, holding a mountain of clothing in my arms.

    
“Well, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

     
My heart sank. “You don’t like the clothes?”

    
“Oh no, it’s
nothing like that. It’s just—well, I haven’t been coming in here to buy clothes for my mom,” he said. “Well, the first time I came in here I did.”      

    
“Okay—well, I would think these clothes are a little small for you.” The thought of him trying to squeeze his perfect male physique into the things I picked out was a little unsettling.

    
He laughed so hard I thought he might pee his pants. “You just made my day, Alexa,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes.

    
I couldn’t possibly spend another minute with the cross-dressing freak. My eyes darted across the room in hopes of finding someone to rescue me. “Okay, uh...maybe I should just give you some time alone.”

    
“No wait! I promise you I’m not a drag queen or anything even remotely close to that.”

    
“Well, then what’s the problem?” I asked, growing impatient.

    
“I just hope I don’t scare you off when I say that the only reason I come in here is to see you.”

    
I wandered back to the cash registers with my face growing hot.
Was he freaking serious?
      

    
This man must have noticed the blank look that washed over my face, when he
gently touched my shoulder, and
said, “Please, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

    
I turned back around to face him. “What might you do with all these clothes, then, if I may ask?”

    
“Well, I have been giving them to my sister, but now she expects gifts every time I visit her.”

    
I rang him up on the register, feeling giddy.
A part of me melted away every time he glanced at me with those hypnotizing jade-colored eyes. He was so perfect that he didn’t seem real.

    
“Your total today is $201.57.”

     
“Charge it,” he said with smile.

    
I
paid more attention to detail
the minute he handed me his credit card, and
quickly read,
Scott Logan
. A tremor of awareness shot through me once I realized that one of
the sales girls was standing behind me and watching.