Elly couldn’t see. She. Could. Not. See. She was blind, stumbling down a red carpet—had that been there before?—trying to see the limo, trying to see anything. At one point, she veered toward the crowd, only to be pushed back by people screaming Lola’s name and reaching out for her autograph. After that, it all happened so quickly. The dazzling flashbulbs paused for a mere second, but it was enough to reduce her vision to sudden darkness. Her heel turned, and before she could right herself, she was plunging down toward the velvet rope that held back the hungry wolves. It wrapped itself under her waist, and flung her forward, sending her face first into the carpet. Wedding papers flew everywhere, flurrying like snow on a winter morning, and Elly was vaguely aware that her skirt might have ripped up the leg. A skirt that was so expensive. An awkward hush fell over the paparazzi as Elly pushed herself up. Her face was on fire. She quickly scurried to her knees, prepared to have a million pictures of her black granny panties posted on the first page of every newspaper from St. Louis to New York. But there wasn’t anyone taking a picture of her. All the cameras were following Lola as she climbed into the limo, one hand raised above her eyes to shield them from the blasts of the flashes, the other one wrapped around her bodyguard’s arm.
A man with a camera around his neck reached down and helped Elly to her feet. “Hey, you okay?” He had barely spoken to her before his camera was back up and taking rapid photos of Lola. Her ears ringing, Elly stumbled up to her feet and promptly reached down and took off her heels. Putting her bare feet on the red carpet, she felt more steady, and allowed herself a deep breath as the cameras clicked and whirred all around her. She gathered up the papers, trying to remember to bend at the knees and not moon every member of the St. Louis press.
Lola waved to her out the limo window. “Elly, come on! We aren’t leaving without you!”
Once Lola spoke her name, it was almost as if an invisible hand turned all the camera lenses toward Elly. She understood once Lola had spoken her name, it had brought her into existence with the paparazzi, whereas before, she had just been a part of the background. Ducking her head, a golden curl gracing her face, Elly quickly made her way to the limo. She felt flashbulbs taking her picture and prayed that everything was in its rightful place inside its clothing. She ducked her head and climbed into the limo carefully, very mindful not to give the cameras a second view of her underwear. She could see the headlines now: “Mystery Friend of Lola Plumb Reveals Ugliest and Oldest Panties Known to Man.”
One of the redheaded twins reached over Elly to slam the limo door shut. “That took forever. Nice recovery, though. Let’s get this show on the road!”
“Wait!” cried Elly. “My shoes!”
The twin winked before the limo squealed away from the curb, leaving hundreds of paparazzi cameras lonely and unsatisfied, all the photographers already running for their rental cars. St. Louis had never seen such a frenzy.
Chapter Nineteen
The entourage, all lanky and curled around each other, reminded Elly of a bunch of newborn kittens. Robbey, the redhead, blinked his very pretty eyes at Elly before passing a bottle of scotch to her, which she passed back to him without a second glance. “No, thanks. I’m more of a wine girl.”
The wispy model leaned over Lola as the limo sped up Highway 40. “I just texted the bouncer at the Supper Club. He’s already set up bottle service in the VIP lounge.”
Lola nodded her head. “Excellent. I love that place. It’s the only real club in this town.” She stood up, stumbled across the limo and snuggled up beside Elly. “You’ll love the Supper Club.”
“Oh? Do they have like specials, or….” Elly was pretty sure that she could not afford a meal at any place that Lola Plumb ate, or didn’t eat. The entire limo burst out laughing at this poor, pathetic regular human.
“Oh, Elly.” Lola looked at her with a playful smile.
Robbey leaned forward. “Elly. The Supper Club isn’t a place with food. It’s the only secret nightclub in St. Louis. They have the best parties in town. It’s not Graystone Manor, but it will have to do for now.”
“Oh.” Sorry I assumed that a supper club would actually have, you know, dinner. The bottle of scotch came back around, and again Elly passed it on, purposefully handing it over Lola.
“What’s the matter? Don’t want our little bride to be to drink?” The wispy blond sneered at Elly from the corner, where the robust Scotsman kissed her neck. “We are partying tonight, right Lola? What are you here for again?”
“Funny you should ask.” Elly whipped out the manila envelope again and the entire limo gave a collective groan.
“Shush,” murmured Lola. “It’s fine.”
“Lola, if I could just have, like, ten minutes to talk to you about your wedding flowers, that’s all I need.”
Lola leaned her head back against the seat. “A distraction would be nice,” she whispered to Elly, her voice breaking over the words. She was trying, Elly could see, trying to be good.