Page 57 of The Client
The woman turns to me, and I notice the measuring tape around her neck and the huge diamond earrings hanging from her ears—the only accessories to her impeccably tailored gray suit, which has a 1940’s look to it and which is fabulous.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,mademoiselle. I’m Nicolette. Welcome.”
Rhys says, “This is Izabela. We’re on our way to seeEurydiceat the Lyric, and I don’t want her to look like the rest. So anything she needs, just put it on my tab. Sky’s the limit.”
“I see.” Nicolette smiles. “I have some ideas already.”
“Good. Work your magic. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
Rhys doesn’t look back as he strides away. Nicolette taps her chin twice and then asks me to walk in front of her. So I do.
“Ah, you’re a model,” she says, nodding. “Come with me.”
I trail behind her as she darts here and there, pulling dresses off racks one by one, lifting a few up to see if the fabric complements my coloring and then putting them back or draping them over her arm. I wonder how she knew my sizes just from looking at me. It’s true that I look like Celine. Rhys probably brought her here for fittings, too, which explains why the stylist knows him so well.
Once we have about half a dozen options, she leads me to a fitting room, smiling at me as she hangs the dresses on a wardrobe rack.
“I’ll find you a purse and shoes after we decide on a dress. Now strip, please.”
I do, quickly. Once I’m standing in my underwear, Nicolette turns me to the mirror and stands behind me, then holds one garment after another in front of my body, assessing what she sees in the mirror each time before moving on to the next dress.
“Am I…going to try any of those on?” I ask, confused.
“No need,” she says crisply. “The right one will sing.”
She vetoes several dresses before finally lifting one off the rack with a happy little sigh. It’s a blue-gray silk chiffon, sleeveless, with a high neckline that’s twisted and gathered in a way that will draw attention to my shoulders. Nicolette removes the dress from the hanger, then slips it over my head and smooths it down over my body.
A gasp slips out of me. The design is simple, yet stunningly elegant; the tiers of fabric are layered like ocean waves lapping at a shore. I look like a statue of a goddess, almost. And the open back plunges so low, it shows off the dimples over my rear end. I love it.
“It’s incredible,” I murmur.
“If you’re going to take a trip to the underworld, you might as well look like a million on your way down.”
My brow knits at the reference. Nicolette catches my expression in the mirror. “The opera is about a woman who is killed on her wedding night and descends to the underworld… do you not know the story of Eurydice?”
“No.”
Taking my arm, she leads me to a make up counter and helps me sit, and covers me with a drape. She tells me about the opera as she lightly styles my hair into a half-up bun. Then she does my makeup with the deftness of a well skilled artist. My skin is pale and shimmery, my eyes big and lips bold when she’s done. Not only do I look incredible, but I also now fully understand about the show I’m to watch. I feel… less uncultured than I did before coming here.
We go back out to the sales floor and she grabs a pair of heels and a clutch as we make our way to the cash register. Somehow, she managed to choose my exact shoe size. I slip into the silver heels as she tallies up the purchases on a tablet. When I glance over and see the price of the dress—$12,000—I feel my stomach drop.
“Um. Are we sure this is really the right dress?” I ask, even though I’m sure everything else in this store is just as expensive.
“Absolument. Besides, we are out of time. Here is a bag for your personal items,” she says, handing it to me for my discarded clothes. Then she steps back to judge her work.
“Good?” I ask nervously. Rhys is going to be back any second now.
“Mm. One more thing.”
She hurries off and returns with a cream-colored wrap, which she arranges around my upper arms. She’s still fussing with it when I hear footsteps and look up to see Rhys striding into the boutique. He gives me an approving nod, but doesn’t say anything about my makeover as he thanks Nicolette. Then we dash to the waiting car. I feel a little bit like Cinderella.
When we arrive at the Lyric, we’re instantly surrounded by posh couples, the women in colorful designer gowns, many of them outlandish statement pieces. Some women side-eye me, while the men stare more openly.
“Rhys, darling!” a woman calls out, swishing over in a voluminous black-and-white gown with a geometric pattern that hurts my eyes.
She’s beautiful, with glossy black hair, deep red lips, and tight, glassy-smooth skin. The kind of woman who actually looks like she’s in Rhys’s league. Unlike me.
After kissing him lingeringly on the cheek, she tries to talk him into getting a drink with her at the upstairs bar, fawning over him all the while. It’s obvious she’s attracted to him, the way she can’t stop touching him. As they ignore me, I shrink further and further into myself. I don’t fit in.
