Miss Jefferson

Chapter 11

The air grew colder and the nights grew longer. Before I knew it, it was December.

December 15th.

Daveed would be going on vacation in exactly a month.

The Hamilton cast was holding a Christmas party at the Richard Rogers, after our show the next day.

The Christmas party would signify the beginning of the door decoration competition.

We'd all decorate our dressing room doors, and then we'd have people judge them.

But first, we had to get past the party.

"How about this one?" Jasmine asked me, holding up a cream-colored dress.

It went down to a little ways above her knees, and had some sort of variation of a decorative corset on the back.

"Ooo, I like that one." I said, nodding.

She looked down at it approvingly. "I think I'll wear it. Now, what about you?"

She laid the dress out on her bed, and walked over to her closet.

"Oh, no, Jazzy, I couldn't—"

"Absolute nonsense. My mom and I always liked dresses, so the go-to birthday and holiday present for me was a dress. Needless to say, I have way more than I need."

"Seriously, I can find something, I'm sure I—" I protested.

"I've seen your wardrobe." She shook her head. "You don't have a thing for formal."

I laughed. "You got me there."

"Besides," she teased, "if you won't do it for yourself, do it for Oak."

I colored. "Oak doesn't care." I strained to keep my voice nonchalant.

She rolled her eyes. "Then wear it for me."

I shook my head in disappointment. "So bossy." But I relented, and stood next to her, looking through her collection.

"Yellow?" She asked.

"Hmm, no."

"Blue?"

"Eh."

"Red?"

"Nah,"

"White?"

"Maybe..."

"Black!" She exclaimed triumphantly, pulling fabric out of the closet.

It was a black, sleeveless dress, with one or two-inch straps, and over the original dress, was black-stitched lace.

I nodded. "I'm liking this one."

She giggled. "You're going to look absolutely gorgeous! Can I do your hair, too?"

"I'm afraid there isn't much to do with it..." I said, tugging on a few of my curls.

She dismissed my pessimism with a wave of her hand. "I'm sure I can figure something out." She exhaled dramatically and sat down in the chair by her bed.

"So," she began.

"No more questions about Oak!" I begged.

"Oh, come on! Just little things!"

"You've been bugging me for the past four months."

"Fine! I'll tell you about Ant and I, and you tell me about you and Oak. Deal?"

I caved. "There's nothing to tell, but deal." I muttered.

"What was that?" She asked, smiling.