Her favorite song is Marry Me. When her last relationship ended a few months ago, she was very depressed. She sent him a love dedication on the well-known radio show, Delia After Dark. The song dedication was Love Don’t Run. Despite, Rae’s efforts, her boyfriend ran and fast, all the way to New York City. I felt awful for her.
Poor Rae, she really wants this show and she wants to be married. Wait, only if he is a mega rich man.
What man would not love Bleu-Rae? I adore her. The little voice in my head is rolling her eyes. Okay, it’s true, Rae-Rae loves to be spoiled and she loves to spend money. But, the kind of men she goes after—they have it to spend on her, so why not? Perhaps, this man will get her a housekeeper. God, help her. The housekeeper that is…
The more I thought about Bleu-Rae, the more inspired I became to help her get this gig. She deserved it. Rae’s has many positive attributes, more than likely these will outshine her few negative ones. If this doesn’t work out, perhaps, they will offer her a star role on the reality series Desperate Housewives of Orange County. Rae, would be the star.
I frowned into the rearview mirror, and bit my lips. If I pull this stunt off, maybe, Rae would share some of the contestant’s signing bonus money and buy me some lip injections. She will certainly be able to afford it, even if she doesn’t get a hubby in the end. For the last few weeks, she was constantly bragging that each contestant receives a whopping 50k upon signing, and another 50k, subsequently, after the wrap party. The contestants also get tons of perks during the show, such as their own hairdresser, a make-up artist and stylist, plus a daily per diem for what-ever’s. If she scores, she gets a ring valued at 75k and a superrich husband in six weeks after the show airs. Not a bad deal, if that’s what you’re looking for. I had to do this, for my two-minute younger sister. All I knew was she owed me a day at the luxurious, Roberto’s of Italy spa for the epic favor I was doing for her. It was the least she could do.
Shit. The traffic came to a shrieking halt. Welcome to Los Angeles. Staying calm. I was not far. My destination was hundred yards ahead of me, the headquarters of Mr. Maximillion’s International Enterprise. Wow, it looked like a huge twelve-story building, all black glass at the bottom and red steel that had a curved roof. It was very subliminal, resembling a huge penis. An erotic fantasy building. I was almost there, and feeling so damn lucky.
I did a fast U-turn into an empty parking space right out front. One last peek in the mirror—mirror, mirror in this car whose the prettiest sister by far? You are of course Grey-Ana, the prettiest sister by far, my reflection answered, correctly. This built my confidence.
As I approached the building I could see Mr. Maximillion’s name was written discreetly in red steel over the glass front doors. I flashed at my watch. It was a quarter till two. I felt an immense sense of relief that I was not late, as I walked into the enormous, frankly intimidating, all glass building. In the ground lobby level steel grout lines encompassed the black marble tiles. Very impressive. My heels echoed, as I crossed the floor.
Behind the solid black marble desk a very attractive blonde haired young woman smiled pleasantly at me. She was wearing the tiniest mini dress I have ever seen. I am talking—it was the equivalent to the size of a dinner napkin, at Red Lobster. Her breasts were bulging over the top of her blouse. They looked like a shelf, or two small café tables covered by her little napkin dress.
“I’m here to see Mr. Maximillion. I am his two o’clock appointment.” So far, so good, I haven’t had to lie.
“Excuse me. One moment, Miss Ridame.” She arched her eyebrow slightly as I stood self-consciously in front of her.
I began to wish I had borrowed one of Bleu-Rae’s miniskirts rather than wearing my Sunday best. Instead, I wanted to look that part of a sweet wife. I had really made an effort and wore my one and only church dress. It was pink, a baby-doll mini dress, loosely worn with sensible four-inch black stilettos. I layered it with a pale green sweater that was tied around my neck; this added a country club preppy touch. For me… this was a smart look. I tucked one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear, pretending she didn’t intimidate me. She certainly did, I thought I saw a hint of her perky nipples gasping for sunlight.
“They are expecting you, Miss Bleu-Rae. Please sign in here, first”—Don’t call me by that name, I cringed inwardly—“You will want to take the end elevator on the left, press the button for the thirteenth floor.” She smiled kindly at me, amused no doubt as I signed in. I signed using my surname, Miss Ridame.
“The thirteenth floor?” I gasped. I had always thought high-rises beyond twelve stories banned the thirteenth floor. I counted twelve stories from the outside of this building. What the hell.
“It’s the best,” she grinned wolfishly. “Hurry along. You don’t want to be late.”
A strange energy ran through me and pooled in the pit of my stomach. My eyes flashed to a sign posted on a painted black door marked: STAIRS. I contemplated taking them for a microsecond.
“You don’t want to go there,” the receptionist shook her head from side to side, reinforcing her suggestion.
It felt like my lucky day had just taken a turn for the worst. This was a major dilemma for me. There was no way I would go to the thirteenth floor of any building, for anything, not even for Bleu-Rae. Panic rose in me. I felt a sudden onset of hot flashes, my hands shook fervently and the room began to spin out of control. The receptionist grabbed my hand. Good think, because two-seconds later, I would have been laid out on the floor.
“Are you okay?” Her eyes widened oddly. Suddenly, they appeared a bit too large for her tiny pillow face.
“Err… ah yeah. I think so, perhaps, I am just hungry,” I managed to smile, my legs wobbled like a ladder made of rubber. “It’s just, well, I am superstitious,” I admitted.
She flashed me a watchful expression. “Oh here, it will pass—that happened to me when I started working here,” she giggled and bit the inside of her cheek. “Take a sip of this.” She opened a small glass container filled with a light colored liquid. It looked like the color of pee. Eww. I waved my hand to decline. “It’s apple juice, the boss insist that we drink one glass a day, or we substitute it with an apple… It helps keep the devil away,” she smarted.
“Doctor,” I hesitantly corrected her, still trying to gain my equilibrium.
“Yeah, whatever,” she retorted back. Apparently, I had offended her, but, jeez did she want to go around embarrassing herself. I mean holy shit. This is an old adage that everyone should know. Everyone. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Dumb ass blond.
“No thanks. I am feeling better,” I smiled, paused and glanced toward the entry door hoping that someone would walk in and ride up with me.
“Well, suit yourself, scoot along now before you catch hell—o, gorgeous,” she whispered under her breath, as her eyes flashed to a handsome man that was approaching us, so did mine. It was obvious to me he was security. He was overwhelming gorgeous. Did everyone around here have to be a ten when it came to being attractive?
She quickly pushed a security pass in my hand—it read “visitor” very firmly stamped on the front. It was apparent she wanted me out of there in a hurry so she could flirt with Mr. Steamy. I paused, staring down at the slip of paper. I thought it was obvious that I was a fucking visitor. I did not fit in here at all…