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Beyonce Knowles January 13
It was now 9 p.m., and I was getting the final touches on my makeup and hair. I stood up, letting my designer adjust and alter my dress. I was confused when my glam team mentioned they'd gone over to Nicki's place, but she'd declined their services.
"Can you get my phone and try to call Nicki again for me?" I asked my assistant, and she nodded, picking it up.
"You like it this way?" my stylist asked, gesturing to the dress.
"Let me walk and see," I said, stepping down from my platform. I had a built-in fitting room in my home. I walked a bit, feeling the fit of the dress and my heels, settling into the comfort of it.
"Yes, this is perfect."
"Ms. Knowles, she didn't pick up. Did you want me to send a text or leave a voicemail?" my assistant asked.
"No, that's okay. I don't want to keep bothering her," I replied.
This was a huge opportunity for her, and I really wanted her to be my plus one, but it seemed she'd changed her mind. It did feel a bit inconsiderate not to answer the phone, but who am I to be upset with her? I barely know her.
"Okay, let's get a few pictures of you before we leave," my photographer said, and I nodded, posing as he snapped some shots.
"Beautiful," he said, holding the camera out so I could see.
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"So gorgeous," my team said, and I smiled at them.
"Love that you went darker on the hair color-it goes so well with the dress, darling," my hairstylist said, and I smiled at him.
"Thank you, Neal."
"Okay, we have to start going," my assistant said, and I nodded.
My stylist stepped behind me, carefully holding my dress as I grabbed my clutch, and we headed out to the truck. Julius opened the door for me, and I climbed inside.
