I should have had him drop me off down the street, but it was too late. A hotel attendant whisked open the back door of the cab and I fumbled to pay the driver as quickly as possible so that I wouldn’t hold up the line.
“Crap, I don’t have any cash,” I said, flipping through my purse and hating myself for not being more prepared.
“I take cards, lady,” the cabbie said, pointing to the credit card machine in the center of the console. “I take numbas too,” he said with a wink.
The hotel attendant cleared his throat, and I threw him an awkward smile as I swiped my card.
“Just a second,” I said to the attendant, pretending not to hear the last part of the cab driver’s sentence.
“Of course,” the attendant replied with a curt, practiced tone. If I hadn’t been about to make my debut at a ritzy party, I would have turned to the attendant and told him exactly what I was thinking. You’re a hotel attendant, not the King of England. Now be quiet and take my hand so I don’t trip over my rented designer dress getting out of this smoke-filled cab.
The driver handed me my receipt and met my eye.
“Well good luck anyways, Jo,” he said with a quick nod.
I smiled weakly and nodded. I can totally do this. Italian cabbie believes in me, and that counts for something.
I exited the back of the cab with my head held high and let my bright red dress flow down around me. The sweetheart bodice was so fitted that it had been hard to breathe during the ride over, but standing up seemed to help. I adjusted the strapless top and let the rest of the dress fall into place. Red was a bold choice for my first gala. There was no way I could blend in with the masses, but that’s the way I’d planned it. There would be fashion industry bigwigs in attendance and I wanted to make a memorable impression.
I fell in line on the red carpet and pulled out my invitation in case they asked to see it, but when I scanned the line, no one else had their invitation out. Rookie mistake. I quickly rolled it up and tried to discreetly conceal it in my clutch.
Most everyone in line seemed to be arriving in couples or groups, but I was rolling solo. The invitation hadn’t specified whether or not I could bring a date and I didn’t want to assume it would be okay. Also, who am I kidding? I didn’t have anyone I could have invited.
“Name?” the event coordinator asked in a clipped tone as I approached the front of the line.
“Josephine Keller.”
She scanned down her clipboard, using a small penlight to illuminate a giant list of names. I saw a few surnames starting with K but she scanned over them, flipped the page, flipped another one, and then flipped back to the front.
“I don’t see it, next please,” she said, uttering the very words that had been my worst nightmare in the days leading up to the event.
I broke out in a cold sweat immediately.
“There must be a mistake,” I said, holding up my rolled invitation—which now looked like I’d nabbed it from someone’s curbside trashcan. Dammit.
I could hear the annoyed people muttering behind me in line, but I didn’t dare turn around and show my face.
“Just step aside for a moment,” the event coordinator said, turning on a radio attached to her shoulder strap and using it to summon an assistant to the front entrance.
This would be my luck. I was this close to really taking my career to the next level and then life decided to give me an ol’ “not so fast, sister” slap in the face. Life is an evil bitch sometimes.
For ten minutes I stood to the side of the line, beneath the hotel awning, fidgeting from one heel to the other as guests rattled off their names and were ushered inside without a hitch.
Five more minutes and I’ll leave.
Five minutes came and went and I stayed, growing more mortified by the second. Where the hell is her assistant? I made it a point to keep my face mostly hidden so that no one would recognize me inside as “that poor girl from the outer borough”.
Finally, a petite blonde dressed in simple black slacks and a matching button-down ran through the front door clutching a clipboard with wide eyes and a frazzled