Taking a peek down at the brick-red pumps on my feet, I turn my leg slightly and admire the five-inch heels. Crocodile Christian Louboutin pointed-toe Pigalle pumps with stiletto heel, and did I mention they’re five-inches high? I resist the urge to slip my foot out and admire the designer’s signature above the word “Paris” on the inside leather sole, and instead think back to this afternoon when Evan treated me to a few hours of shopping on Rodeo Drive.
Of course, I protested at first, but then he kissed me and told me he wanted to buy me pretty things, and pointed out that is what guys did for their girls. So yeah… my heart sort of tripped over itself and it totally lent credibility to Evan’s claims of the night before that he viewed me as something more than just sex. So I let him buy me this kick-ass black dress that I wasn’t so sure of but he talked me into, along with the pumps and a matching brick red crocodile handbag.
The dress is by far the sexiest, most revealing thing I’ve ever had on my body, and that’s even including the lingerie that Evan’s given me. The strapless top comes horizontally straight across my chest with absolutely no plunge, which doesn’t seem sexy at first. But when you consider that there’s a two-inch swath of material missing from the dress that runs vertically right down the center of my chest to my belly button, you think differently. The wide gap of missing material is held together with big, gold buttons running down on each edge, with leather ties stretched tightly across and wound around the buttons. This causes my breasts to be pulled in and pushed up, creating rounded swells inside that gap of material that actually is a bit lewd. The dress then hugs every curve of my body going down to just above my knees, but there’s a long slit up the back that sort of freaks me out. I’m terrified people can see my panties it goes up so high.
But Evan fell in love with the dress when I tried it on, and confessed to me in the limo as we went back to the hotel that he had a terrible time resisting the urge to pull me into one of the dressing rooms and fucking me from behind with the dress pulled up around my hips. I shudder now even thinking about it, because while that did not occur, he promised me it would happen when we left this party tonight.
So the party is being held at the president of Phoenix Record’s house in Beverly Hills, a massive stucco and red-tiled monstrosity that is as large as a hotel. When we pulled up, my mouth was hanging open so wide an owl could have flown in if one so desired.
I’ve often wondered how this would all work if Evan and I were to continue seeing each other. While I feel like I adjusted to the concert tour quite nicely, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this type of lifestyle.
Everyone here is so stunningly beautiful and so obviously rich, it makes me feel completely inadequate as a person. I mean, I had no clue what a Christian Louboutin shoe was before today, and I about had a heart attack when I saw the $1200 price tag on them. I look around the large room, which has to be at least three thousand square feet, and what I assume is sort of a ballroom, and I don’t see one single person who isn’t stunningly gorgeous. The men all have tanned skin, rock-hard jaws, and fit bodies. The women are all tall, thin, and have amazing breasts variously revealed in their designer dresses. Eyebrows perfectly plucked, lips full and glossed, and diamonds dripping everywhere.
It’s hard to compete with that and is the reason why this wall is my best friend. I lost sight of Evan about ten minutes ago when the president of Phoenix came over and stole him. I got the old, “You don’t mind if I steal Evan away and introduce him to some people, do you?”
What was I going to say?
I’m sorry, but no… you can’t have him. I’m terrified of everything about this situation and I only feel adequate when he’s by my side?
So I just nodded politely and luckily grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter. I found my friend, the wall here, and we’re having a grand ol’ time watching everyone around us.
“I don’t get it,” I hear from beside me, and I turn to see Tyler standing there. He’s not even looking at me, but out over the crowd with his signature vodka tonic in his hand.
For a brief moment, I think he might be warming up to me and is here to make pleasant conversation. So I inquire, “Get what?”
Tyler takes a gulp of his drink and then tilts his face to look at me with thinly veiled dislike. “What Evan sees in you.”
My body jolts from the insult, and my initial instinct is to shrink backward into the wall and become more invisible. I’ve never had someone have such overt antipathy for me, and I’m not sure how to handle it. I don’t like confrontation, which is why I’m the type of lawyer who prefers reading and researching versus litigating.