I have to get out of here. And my chance is now.
I watch the camera crew thread through the crowds, carrying packed up equipment.
It’s not home time for them just yet.
I rush back into the crowds, accidently knocking the woman.
“Oh my god.” I palm my chest as soon as she turns around. “I’m so sorry.”
She offers me a smile. “It’s fine, hun. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“Nice jacket. That’s vintage Salamander, right?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“Because of the material. May I?”
“Go ahead.”
I feel the leather suede.
“You take such good care of it. These jackets are from the sixties. They’re made in the North of England. Originally, they were designed as workwear for people who lived in and around the mines.”
The woman raises her brow. “Wow. How do you know all of this?”
“I’m a fashion journalist.”
“Wait.” The woman studies me. “Are you the chick who wrote a column about this once in theCatherine Harpsmagazine?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re what inspired me to get the jacket.”
Finally. We’re getting somewhere.
“You’re kidding?”
“Wehaveto get a picture of you. My sister loves your style analysis articles. You did one last month. She said you’re the only writer who knows what she’s talking about.” The lady drags her eyes up and down my body. “Now I see why. That’s a gorgeous dress. It really compliments your skin tone.”
“Thanks,” I say.
I’m still hung up on the compliment she just gave.
The only writer who knows what they’re talking about?
That’s only the best complimentever.
The woman snaps a photo of me. I pose with a hand on my hip. It’s a good angle. She’s getting everything in. The lobby. All the decorations. It should be enough for Mom and Lila to put two and two together and work out where I’m really staying.
“Feel free to post the picture. More people need to see this dress.”
“And more people need to see you,” says the woman, slinging the camera back over her shoulder. “It sounds like you have some awesome ideas. Who knows. Maybe you’ll design your own line one day.”
I laugh the thought off and wave the lady goodbye.
Success.
Until I turn back the other way and see who’s staring at me from the top of the staircase.