Scarlet Starlet

2 - Foundation Stains

“We're here now,” the driver said, as the limousine came to a halt.

“Oh... great.”

My palms were sweaty and my heart raced like a rally car. I knew that I had to get out of my seat and face the photographers, but my trembling body was ordering me to ask the driver to take me back home again. I would have given anything to be curled up in my sofa with a bowl of banana ice cream in my lap whilst watching a pretentious soap opera.

“Are you nervous, Ms. Wright?” 

“Not at all,” I lied, and felt my cheeks turning bright red underneath my layers of makeup. 

The windows of the white limousine were tinted black and I knew that the media-people outside couldn't see me but I could certainly see them. I could see their insane-looking faces, fuzzy microphones, notepads and twenty pound cameras. 

Just outside the car laid a long red carpet and as my eyes followed the piece of fabric I could see a tall figure standing by the end of it. The darkness of his suit contrasted the deep red carpet and the white background behind him. Hay-colored, and with that I mean hay of very good quality, hair was styled to perfection on his head.

Ziggy, I thought. 

Even if the young man was far away, there were no doubts about his identity, since his confident rooster-like posture gave him away.

The people from the press were screaming for someone to open the limousine's door, and a man in a plastic-looking suit scurried towards the long car and almost tripped on his feet in his efforts of pleasing the mob. The stressed man's face was glistening from drops of sweat that trickled down his forehead and the bridge of his nose. I could see his hands fumbling by the handle of the door and he managed to, surprisingly enough, open it.

At first I was completely blinded by the camera flashes, and even with my eyes closed, I could see them under my eyelids. People were shouting things at me, but I couldn't bring myself to open my mouth and answer their questions. I held my arm up to shield my face from the evil flashing lights and carelessly flung one leg out of the limousine.

Regret immediately struck me and I stopped in the middle of the movement with my one leg out the door. What if the photographers had seen my panties? Or worse... what if the moment had been captured by their cameras?

Angst and panic flooded my senses, but I knew that I couldn't undo the move and decided to keep on moving. The only thing I could do at the moment was to hope that my dress hadn't betrayed me. If it turned out that my underpants had been caught on camera I would have to consider burning the piece of fabric; with or without the designer's consent.

“Crap,” I muttered under my breath while putting both my feet firmly on the red carpet. I was out of the limousine and couldn't go back into its safety, even if I just wanted to crawl back into it and hiss warningly to anyone who tried to drag me outside again.

“Troya! Troya! Over here! Give the camera a smile!”

“Is that your natural hair color?”

“Who designed your dress?”

“Why did you and Ziggy arrive in separate limousines?”

I merely smiled and didn't bother to respond to the mob's questions. It wasn't what I was here for and I knew that the same questions would pop up again either way. 

I slowly walked the red carpet and fired off toothy and stiff grins to the photographers while posing with my hands firmly placed on my hips. The hand-on-the-hip pose really does wonders for my figure in pictures, and makes my arms look slimmer and my body more feminine.