Chapter Text
Beatrice would swear upon her death bed that meeting Ava that day was not in any way shape or form a monumental deviation in her life plans.
September
Had this moment in time been a carefully calculated move? No.
This had been simple dumb luck and it horrified her.
One moment they were being ignored at dingy small gigs and suddenly they were performing at Lollapalooza. Beatrice couldn’t begin to understand what 110,000 people looked like. Much less hearing them sing back their music, the songs that she had carefully written and slaved over for years.
And here they were, expected to just pretend like it was normal. Like it is all just a regular, normal, day.
She was sure she needed therapy.
And a new manager. Definitely a new manager.
Lilith needs a haircut. Did they all need haircuts?
Her mind is spiraling.
All in good time.
The green room is stuffy and the air feels heavy with anxiety and pre-show jitters that shouldn’t still be happening or at least this intensely. Beatrice’s thoughts go back to the magnitude of that festival crowd and fear begins to bubble again. She casts her eyes around to her fellow bandmates now, each going through their routines. Her lips curve with a small smile that she hopes will help calm their nerves.
They are set to appear as one of two musical guests, not something she recalls happening often, but unavoidable given a last minute scheduling conflict and countless apologies from The Graham Norton Show production team.
They are The Cruciforms, England’s biggest pop-rock band since The Beatles, or she would tell her grandmother that if she ever asked. Silly little hobby and all. Their EP had sold inexplicably well. Well enough that eyes were on them, many interested eyes. And they had been ill prepared. The amount of attention in itself was difficult to explain, it was as if overnight everything had fallen into place, but not.
The music industry is messy, confusing and borderline psychotic.
“Do you think she’ll be nice?” Camila’s voice cuts through her thoughts.
“Who?” Beatrice asks, genuinely stumped as to who Camila is referring to, mind too caught up in a delirious ramble.
A unanimous groan stretches throughout the cramped room.
Right. Ava. The other musical guest.
“Do you think we’ll ever get a chance to print our vinyls at the rate she’s going?” Lilith speaks up, hair in her face. She definitely needs thera— wait, no, Lilith needs a haircut, but also…therapy.
Mary rubs at her forehead knowing full well where the topic is heading. “Don’t start, you’ll just get Beatrice going.”
Lilith sighs heavily, standing from the couch. She walks to the lit mirror in an attempt to tame her unruly hair. “I don’t know if I can sit through another of Beatrice’s musical statistics and artistic integrity rants.”
Beatrice scoffs. “I mean, honestly, out of everyone that could have possibly come today and overshadow us, it had to be her. Does she even have to do this anymore?”
“Careful, your inner brat is showing,” Mary mocks.
Camila springs up, triggered. “When you’re in the party bum-bum-bumping’ that beat!”
“Oh God no!” Both Mary and Lilith groan out in unison.
Beatrice moves as fast as she can manage.
“That sewer sluts a vibe! Internationally recognised! I set the tone, it’s my design and it’s stuck in your—” One squeal later and Camila is restrained. The couch underneath them protests with the sudden increase in weight. Camila stares up, breathing through her flared up nostrils as Beatrice’s hand clamps her mouth shut.
“It has been a great year for pop music,” Yasmine says casually, not at all bothered by the abrupt change in energy, “I've gone back several months and can safely say we’re finally out of the dark ages.” She had been rather pre-occupied with her phone earlier. Nose deep tracking charts or plotting to take them down. One or the other. Or both. “It’s not all Ava’s fault. Though, her tactics are a bit questionable and borderline exploitative.”
“See! Yasmine agrees. She has over-capitalised music and for what. Is it any good? Probably not. It’s just some over-produced crap that will sound outdated—aaaaahhh!” Camila bit her. Actually bit her. “You bit me!”
Camila has managed to slither and squeeze her way out of Beatrice’s grasp. “How dare you speak about our lord and saviour like this.”
“She’s clearly only popular because of all her features,” Beatrice continues her tirade, rubbing her hand with soothing patterns, “That and the radio won’t stop playing her.”
Mary is staring at Beatrice with a strained expression, patience clearly gone. “Okay, you’re starting to sound like a Reddit basement dweller. I have heard her albums, they’re great, she’s talented,” her eyes bore into Beatrice’s like an older sibling would to a misbehaving little sister, “Is it my cup of tea? No. I don’t drink tea, but I can at least admit that she works hard.”
“You said you wouldn’t.” Beatrice wasn’t petulant, they had all agreed not to listen to the top 100, which meant Ava was off limits. Or at least she thought they had all agreed. Clearly, Camila was a filthy liar and now Mary too.
Lilith shrugs indifferently. “I’m quite partial to ‘Malamente’.”
“No, Lilith, not you too.”
“What about ‘Bagdad’?” Yasmine perks up, very interested in the conversation, Beatrice slants her eyes in her direction. “The interpolation of the choir with Justin Timberlake’s ‘Cry Me A River’ is brilliant.”
Beatrice sits on the couch utterly defeated.
The betrayal.
They shared meals together.
As she continues to sit there, head in her hands, thoughts consume her. She will make them suffer during practice. She will plan their listening schedule from now on: Bob Dylan, Bowie, good ol’ Simon & Garfunkel…and she was boring herself. Bananarama…what. Too much. They were only listening to the greats from now on or so help her God. They can’t squander this. This opportunity only came once in a lifetime and they were going to focus.
Knock- knock, knock- knock.
Lilith turned from the mirror, having constructed her hair into a braid. Who thought she had it in her? “That’s probably Vincent.”
“Useless,” Beatrice mutters, standing to put some distance between herself and the door. She knows whatever news he’s bringing is going to age her in seconds. They truly need a new manager.
Camila is the one who answers.
“Hi.”
Camila slams the door shut.
The Earth spins just a little faster.
They all stare as Camila stands ram rod and perfectly still, back against the door, in a state of complete panic. “It’s…it’s…”, she stutters out in full blown realisation.
“Who is it?”
“Vincent?”
“No.”
“Graham?”
“No.”
“Ava?”
Camila raises a hand to her mouth and nose, nodding slowly, “…yes.”
Mary stands from her chair and basically pries Camila off the door. “Woman, for crying out loud let your fellow countryperson in.”
The door opens and there she is. Hands behind her back, with a smile that could probably make someone trip on a busy city street. And they were all gawking.
Thud. Yasmine’s phone hits the floor and all eyes follow her movement as she scrambles to pick it up. All except for Beatrice who has for a brief second forgotten herself.
An indescribable force.
Ava is or looks younger than she expected. Wearing an oversized white t-shirt that is tucked into her jeans, hair in a messy bun and no makeup to speak of.
Beatrice breathes in once and looks away as if struck. She can’t resist the second glance, Ava’s curious brown eyes finding hers.
“Hi guys…what’s up?” Ava says, awkwardly doing a small wave.
“The ceiling usually, I mean, if there is one. Sometimes it could be sky, but I guess…that can also depend on the weather because there’s rain and clouds and pollen and…and solar wind patterns can disrupt the Earth’s magnetosphere in a phenomenon we refer to as an Aurora.” Oh no, Yasmine.
Mary nods along only for a second. “Ava, right? I’m Mary.”
“Hello,” Ava smiles brightly again, outstretching her hand for Mary to shake.
Camila’s mouth moves and Beatrice could only hope that she had misheard. “I once had a weird dream after listening to ‘Reniego.’”
“Oh?” Ava chuckles, her voice turning raspy with mischief, “What was it about?”
“I don’t know. It involved my dead dog Mauricio and buñuelos.”
“¿Buñuelos? Me encantan.” (Buñuelos? I love them.)
“Si, a mi igual.” (Yes, me too.) Camila beams, admiration clear to anyone around to witness it.
“This is Camila, she apologises for slamming the door in your face,” Mary says gently. Mary, who apparently had taken it upon herself to be the only normal person in the room. And without any prompting began to go around introducing everyone. “That’s Yasmine and her now very broken phone.” Yasmine half smiled, half winced. “The one with the sour face over there is Lilith.” A quick salute. “And this is Bea—”
Beatrice doesn’t know what possesses her to walk across the room. She finds herself in front of Ava with a tentative outstretched hand, “Beatrice.” The indescribable force is back, negating her own free will as their eyes meet again. Ava’s eyes are kind. Brown. With cute laugh lines when she smiles.
“Beatrice,” Ava repeats dumbly, “I’m Ava.”
Lilith rolls her eyes, “Oh, we know.”
—
“Ohh! Oh that is lovely!” Graham Norton’s voice is bombastic over the boisterous studio audience as he makes his entrance. He waves his hands excitedly, “Hello everyone, hello! Good evening. You’re all so welcome to the show. It is Friday night and like your overpowering mother-in-law, I’m back! We’ve got a great line up to finish up the week with not just one but two musical guests. If you look over there, singing for us later we have The Cruciforms, Europe’s latest obsession.”
The crowd erupts into delighted cheers as the girls wave back. They are all now wearing matching form fitting black suits and high waisted pants with thin ties adorning their white button ups.
Yasmine is sitting behind her drums impeccably twirling one of her sticks in her left hand, Camila on keys, Mary with her funky bass, while Lilith and her guitar remain perfectly still, barely acknowledging the crowd. Beatrice is smiling from the center, microphone before her, doing her best to keep her nerves in check.
“They’ll be performing their latest single ‘Stuck’, but first who are we meeting on my sofa tonight!?” Graham says enthusiastically, diverting his attention to the entry leading backstage. “Well, this actress has decided to return to familiar shores, and is currently starring in the West End revival of Macbeth. Put your hands together for Academy Award winner Olivia Coleman!”
All big smiles as Olivia emerges and waves at the audience, giving Graham a warm hug.
“Next up, you may know him from this year’s box office hit Dune 2 and upcoming Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown, Mr. Timothée Chalamet!”
Timothée walks through the opening, small moustache and all. He shakes Graham's hand before joining Olivia on the sofa.
“And our final guest needs no introduction. She’s our two time Grammy award winning neighbour, back from her record breaking global tour! Ava Silva!”
The cheers get louder, increasing in intensity as the audience members begin to lose their minds.
Ava materialises from backstage wearing a long sleeved black Schiaparelli ensemble that resembles a matador chaquetilla vest, embroidered with gold embellishments. Her hair is now in long draping curls framing her perfect face. She’s glowing under all the attention, a natural in front of the cameras.
Graham meets her halfway, giving her a big hug and helping her to the sofa.
The show goes through its finely structured style for a while as Graham takes several moments to discuss everyone’s upcoming projects and accomplishments. They joke and speak at length. Timothée and Ava appear to already be familiar with one another, while Olivia sits back completely entranced by the overall energy that has taken over the studio.
“Right! It’s time for music. This band has had a great year. They’ve already been announced as The Brit Rising Star for the upcoming year. Here performing their current single ‘Stuck’ it’s The Cruciforms!”
The audience breaks out into cheers as the house lights dim.
Lilith’s opening notes queue them in. Yasmine is quick to follow closely behind with a few kicks of her bass drum. And suddenly they’re all bouncing along as the lights focus and vamp up the atmosphere around them.
Kicking her black Chucks along, Beatrice keeps to the beat of the song. Reaching out to the standing mic, she begins to sing.
We talk…talk ‘til we’re blue in face
The words…the words don’t resonate
Seasons…
They always seem to stay the same
Holding…on to things we said we would change
As Beatrice sings, she hears as her voice comes flawlessly through the studio speakers, soothing her nerves. With a quick glance at Camila she continues singing into the microphone, joining her bandmate for the chorus. Camila’s keys bouncing up and down under her fingertips as the song progresses.
I’m stuck, babe
Stuck with nowhere to go
It cuts, babe
Cause we’re just taking it slow
It’s overdue oh oh uh oh oh
Make your move oh oh uh oh oh
Stuck, babe
Stuck with nowhere to go
After a few more minutes their song comes to an end and the audience members cheer.
“There we go!” Graham joins along, “The Cruciforms, everybody!”
They wave back with bright smiles.
“Come on over girls! Leave those instruments there and join us on the sofa.” They follow his instructions, Lilith and Mary handing over their instruments to nearby staff members. Eventually, they all walk along the curve of the stage over to the interview area, the other guests standing to greet them. “That was fantastic, thank you so so much.”
Beatrice, the stoic leader is first, shaking hands with Ava, Timothée and Olivia as Graham introduces all the members by name. The girls follow her lead and quickly everyone is acquainted.
“That is such an ear-worm, truly fantastic job ladies,” Graham takes his seat and everyone else follows suit.
“Thank you very much.” Beatrice hopes her voice doesn’t crack and betray just how nervous she is feeling.
“That single is from your EP, and it’s out now and it is a thing of beauty,” he continues the praise leaving all the members shy and bewildered, “How do you all feel after the incredible year you’ve had? ‘Stuck’ was the biggest British single of the year.”
Beatrice takes a few seconds to look around at her band members, getting a few nods before speaking, “I think we’re all just in a state of shock still, to be perfectly honest. We couldn’t have imagined the amount of traction or how much the song resonated with people.”
The guests nod along basking in the pure happiness each of the girls was giving off.
Having now only just realised who she’s sitting next to Beatrice side-eyes Ava, her smile is immense as she listens along then asks, eyes meeting Beatrice’s, “How did it feel listening to the song on the radio for the first time?”
“I know this is going to sound absurd because surely band members are with each other every second of every day,” Beatrice chuckles, “but we all heard it at different times.”
“It was surreal!” Camila adds, everyone nodding in agreement right away.
“You have this idea or this hope for so long—I’m sorry I’m not used to this. I’m nervous.” Beatrice hesitates, taking a deep grounding breath.
The audience giggles.
Ava taps Beatrice’s leg in encouragement, “No one is.”
Beatrice smiles, the unease subsiding.“When we all finally did hear it together we were in a cab on the way to get dumplings. We almost caused our driver to crash.”
Everyone giggles again, delighted.
The show continued with much more of the same atmosphere and fun banter between Graham and the guests. The Cruciforms spoke about their upcoming festival dates and promotional endeavours for the upcoming album.
As the show is ready to wrap, Ava stands from her spot next to Beatrice. Briskly she walks towards the stage where her guitarist and percussionists wait for her. She’s sitting on a chair between them, demeanor shifting to a more sullen tone appropriate one.
The lights dim and the flamenco guitar begins.
Qué bien sé yo la fuente que mana y corre
(How well I know the fountain that flows and runs)
Aunque es de noche
(Even though it is night)
Aquella eterna fuente está escondida
(That eternal fountain is hidden)
Qué bien sé yo donde tiene su manida
(How well I know where it has it’s den)
Aunque es de noche
Music, Beatrice found, always had a way of burying itself down to her bones. She didn’t need to speak the language, she understood the emotion perfectly. And Ava, what could she be nitpicky about? Ava was delivering every line with so much care and love.
En esta noche oscura de esta vida
(In this dark night of my life)
Qué bien sé yo por fe la fuente fría
(How well by faith I know the coldness of that fountain)
Aunque es de noche
Aunque es de noche
Aunque es de noche
In that instance Beatrice couldn’t help but chastise herself. She had devalued Ava, just as much as any other popular artist. And for what? To seem knowledgeable and alternative? To be above it all?
Bien sé que suelo en ella no se halla
(I know well that the ground can’t be found within)
Y que ninguno puede vadearla
(And no one can just wade in)
Aunque es de noche
Su claridad nunca es oscurecida
(It’s clarity will never be obscured)
Y toda luz de ella es venida
(And all its light will reflect back)
Aunque es de noche
The song is shifting.
Desde el día en el que nací traigo la estrella que llevo
(Since the day I was born I carry this star within me)
Sé que a nadie se la doy y solo me protege a mí
(I know that I don’t owe it to anyone and it only protects me)
Solo me protege a mí
Solo me protege a mí
Its tempo increases seamlessly.
Ava stood, the studio lights now reflecting the change in mood, the room mutating rather intensely. Ava’s falsettos merging so perfectly it left Beatrice scrambling to wrap her head around what was transpiring.
Taggea'o tu nombre en la pared, eh
(Tagged your name on the wall)
‘El Mal Querer’ en Times Square, ¿o qué?
(‘El Mal Querer’ in time square, and what?)
Driving speed limit DGT, eh
Quemando rue'a sin carnet, ¿o qué?
(Burning wheels without a permit, and what?)
Vas a lo suave a lo kitty cat, eh
(You go slow like a kitty cat)
Muerdes si tienes que morder, ¿o qué?
(Bite if you’ve got to bite, and what?)
Muerdes si tienes que morder, eh
Muerdes si tienes que morder
Beatrice is looking around to her bandmates, all utterly enthralled with what is happening before them. Camila is practically levitating. Beatrice knew she wouldn’t hear the end of this. Is Olivia Coleman dancing? Mary’s eyes meet hers, see, Beatrice can practically hear her.
A palé
A palé
A palé
A palé
A palé
A palé
A palé
A
A palé
A palé
A palé
A palé
A palé
A palé
A palé
A—A—A
Fuck the greats.
—
“What the fuck was that?”
Ava winces as her shoulder gets pushed back, almost making contact with the wall behind her.
The show staff are far enough not to hear or see the altercation.
Her manager is standing in front of her, taller than Ava even in heels. “I thought we had agreed, they’re not ready to hear that. It’s not the right time.”
Ava felt small, but the rage had been building inside her for months at this point, eating away at her. She needed this.
A change.
A shift in her sound had been a long time coming and no amount of begging and hoping was going to accomplish it anymore.
Keep your eyes up. She reminds herself.
“The audience enjoyed it, didn’t they?” Ava bites back an angrier retort, squaring her shoulders.
A dry laugh, “A decision like this can derail your entire career,” her manager ran her hands through her wavy hair, “Who encouraged you?”
Ava shook her head baffled. “You think I needed encouragement? If you truly believe that you clearly haven't been paying attention.”
“I need to call Alice and get this sorted before it gains any traction.”
“Emilia.”
Emilia turned, phone to her ear. “Hell—”
“We’ll call you back,” Ava's eyes are intense as she rips the phone from Emilia’s hands. “Emilia,” Ava enunciates, she’s sure she was about to cry and she knew Emilia knew as well.
Emilia’s eyes bore into hers, “Let me make something exceedingly clear to you. You are where you are because of all the hours I’ve devoted to making it happen. Not only do you continue to act like a child every chance you get, you also make no effort to hide it,” this time the shove against the wall is physical, “Who do you think contacts the media to hide all your little ‘mistakes’. Not to mention the rampant alcoholism that everyone ignores and puts up with.” Tears are beginning to well in the corner Ava’s eyes. “Do you think it’s cute what you’re doing? Do you think it’s funny?” Emilia oddly enough is speaking calmly and completely stone-faced. “How fucking dare you?”
Ava can’t bear to raise her gaze to meet Emilia’s own.
“Let me predict with 100% certainty what will unfold the moment we leave this building,” Emilia lowers her mouth close to Ava’s left ear, “You’re going to sneak out of your hotel room like you always do and you’re going to drink until you black out. I’m going to find you in your bathtub tomorrow morning feeling sorry for yourself. And then we’ll leave this God forsaken country and never speak about this again—”
Quick rapid clattering catches both of their attention.
Ava can feel Emilia extracting herself, giving a quick glance down the hall in the direction of the noise. Furious eyes meet hers again when nothing can be discerned. “I’ll let the driver know we’re ready to leave,” Emilia says before making her way into one of the green rooms.
The same noise resonates across the hall again and it scares her enough to wipe angrily at her face. After turning the corner Ava doesn’t realise just how close the sound actually is and without meaning to smashes herself straight into something solid.
Beatrice.
Vest pocket tangled on the handle of the janitor’s closet.
Ava would laugh if the circumstance didn’t point to the fact that she was sure the woman had overheard the exchange. And Ava knows that face, and has seen her assistant make the very same face countless times after heated Ava and Emilia disputes.
“Why are you coming out of the closet?” She says when it seems like Beatrice is pretending very hard to mold herself in her surroundings. Ava is nothing without her humour after all.
A beat.
Beatrice hesitates. Ava can see her eyes frantically searching for a proper response. “Well…you see I was just trying to find the—”
“The?”
Beatrice makes several attempts to form words, but gives up. Then, begins to struggle with the handle again and somehow manages to make it go further into her vest pocket.
Ava chuckles. A full on throaty chuckle. “Here. Let me,” Ava says, placing her hand on Beatrice’s arm and gently twisting the handle enough that it’s able to slip right out.
Honey brown eyes dance awkwardly from wall to wall before meeting Ava’s.
Beatrice breathed in deeply, carefully assessing the situation and Ava began to understand that this was probably something Beatrice did often, especially before speaking. A learned response she too knew well. “Are you alright?” Beatrice asks, arms coming down to her side nervously.
Beatrice waits for Ava’s response.
Strange.
Most people would have already walked away. Careful not to come between her and whatever was happening in her life. Pretending. Always pretending.
“Do you know Claridge’s?” Ava asks. Beatrice won’t push for an honest answer.
“Do I know Claridge’s?” Beatrice cocks an indignant eyebrow, an inflection on the ‘I’.
“Meet me outside at ten.”
“What? Like, tonight?”
“Ten. tonight.”
As Ava turns to leave, Beatrice shouts, “Ten?”
“Tonight!”
—
Beatrice is not in the habit of meeting up with world famous pop stars outside of bougie hotels, but she is in fact a big fan of a mystery and that’s what Ava is. A person like Ava shouldn't exist. The raw emotion and vocal talent she had witnessed could not have and should not have emerged out of a 5’2” person that looked like that.
Like what? Like sunshine?
She physically shook the thought from her head, glancing down at the watch on her wrist.
10:14 pm
Late.
This had to have been a joke. Why did she ever think that something like this could happen to someone like her. The doormen knew it. And she knew it. She didn’t belong and the doormen were definitely going to call the Bobbies on her.
Beatrice hastily swipes through her phone in an attempt to not seem suspicious. Looking at anything and everything. Unanswered text messages, the odd Animal Crossing subreddit, the half read Pitchfork review for Ava’s second album…the train schedule.
She has time. She could still walk away without being charged for trespassing.
“Hi.”
Beatrice is sure she caught some air.
“I’m sorry about the wait. I had to do a bit of Mission Impossible–ling,” Ave smiles toothily, way too happy about her own joke.
“I see.”
“You look slick,” Ava says after a few seconds of watching her closely, long enough to be noticed.
It’s unusual for Beatrice to care too deeply about her own appearance but she finds that under Ava’s gaze she feels the need to look at herself closely as well. Her eyes trek down, suddenly feeling vulnerable. She’s wearing houndstooth trousers, slip-on-sneakers, a white cotton shirt with a black coat. Then, her eyes fall on Ava who is wearing the same outfit from the green room plus an oversized coat and heels, hair still in curls.
“Thanks,” Beatrice voices uncertainly.
Ava began to walk.
Beatrice hesitates for only a moment but follows. “Wait. Where are we going?”
“Looking for some nightlife.” Ava is quick on her feet, comfortable in her heels as they make their way down the cobblestone street. A feat that Beatrice herself has never been able to maneuver that well.
“A nightlife here? In Mayfair?” Beatrice questions but it goes unanswered. The only kind of night life in Mayfair is over expensive single-grape wine from wherever the heck in France.
As they walk they pass high end shop windows and luxury vehicles parked on the street. There are a healthy amount of people wandering nearby restaurants and bars, which calms Beatrice’s nerves.
After passing The King’s Head, Ava makes a right with zero signs of slowing down.
Beatrice increases her pace. “You seem to know where you’re going.”
Ava slows down, taking pity on her. “I come to London a lot, usually to record.”
“That makes sense.”
“Do you like it here?”
“London? I mean, I was raised here, can’t complain.” Beatrice continues, carefully watching Ava beside her, “What about you?”
“Can’t say I stick around long enough to form an opinion.”
“I can show you around if you’d like sometime.”
Ava giggles almost in disbelief and doesn't look at Beatrice. “Maybe next time I’m in town.”
Beatrice wasn’t sure what it was about Ava that had caused her to lose all sense of self tonight. If it were any other Friday she would be in her flat reading or listening to her latest record find. Only leaving if her bandmates had plans together or to have dinners with her mum. Was it because of who she was? No. Beatrice had already met her fair share of celebrities so this wasn’t that. Plus, she was never one to be around people like Ava. People that shined easily.
They stop in front of white steps.
A simple black door with the number 46 greets them.
“Are we visiting someone?” Beatrice hazards, though she has a feeling the night is about to become a lot more complicated.
Ava doesn’t answer, choosing to climb instead.“When we go in, don't accept anything from anyone. Don’t wander far from me and definitely do not speak to the staff more than required. They will know.”
“Sorry?”
Ava knocks and after a few seconds the door was opened by a man in a tailored suit with an earpiece.
“Ms. Silva, good evening.”
“Good evening,” Ava answers, grabbing ahold of Beatrice’s hand, leading them inside.
Past the oddly simple yet classical Georgian entryway awaits a long hallway with a heavy set of double doors.
What was happening?
“Good evening Ms. Silva. Coats?”
Ava removes her coat, easily handing it over to one of the staff members behind the counter, then begins to help Beatrice out of hers without bothering to ask for her okay.
“Thank you. Enjoy your evening ladies.”
Beatrice’s hand is grabbed once again as they pass through the solid double doors.
The building appears to expand as they pass through the immense frames. The chandeliers above are dim and are drowned out by billowing cigar smoke as it ascends towards strategically placed air vents. Several men and women are sitting around chairs she is sure would cost more than the average person’s university education. The brown oak coffee tables before them hold various drinks and if she looks close enough she can see the old water marks left behind from years of use.
As they make their way down the room she can make out rows and rows of people, the music is jazzy and at a level where easy conversation could be had if any of them bothered to speak to one another.
Ava doesn’t pay much attention to their surroundings, continuing to lead them towards stairs. Beatrice’s hand felt clammy with uncertainty. She hoped Ava didn’t notice.
The heavy bass begins to vibrate inside her chest as they near the steps leading up to the second floor. Its intensity resounding down and vibrating the walls around them.
Beatrice knew better than to get herself into a situation like this, so, why had a woman that she had only met a few hours prior been so powerful. She was almost sure this was turning out to be some weird Ready or Not situation, where rich people kill for sport. And the funny thing is? Beatrice knew this is how she went.
All those years of repression and putting music first, all too be undone by a pretty girl with red lips.
Her bandmates were going to kill her for this—well, she’d be dead, but they would definitely come to the wake and roast her.
They take the steps two at a time, emerging into what is obviously a club with lights bouncing along to the beat of a song as the people inside dance along—not acknowledging anything but the vibe and themselves. A bar stretches across the entire length of the left wall with several tables intimately close to the right, both hugging the dance floor.
Without missing a beat Ava walks past several groups of dancers and heads straight to the bar, finally releasing her hand. This too astounds Beatrice because she can’t see much apart from the pulsating lights.
“What will you have?” Ava says once Beatrice joins her, close enough to speak into her ear.
“Huh? Sorry, I was looking at the…architecture.”
Ava gives her a fond look before turning her attention to the bartender. “We’ll start with shots.”
“Oh, I don’t—I’m not—”
“Just try it. It’s a no pressure shot.”
Beatrice looks between the new glass additions to Ava.
This is not a good idea.
By the time Beatrice musters the smallest semblance of courage to even hold the shot glass Ava has already had her fourth and is watching her patiently but expectantly.
The indescribable force is back. Stronger than before.
No thoughts. The liquor goes down hard. She can feel it burning all the way down. “That was vile!”
“I bet!”
Ava turns to look at the crowd, the energy feeding into her. “Dance?”
Beatrice wavers, considering her options. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.” She hopes Ava won't question it. And when she doesn’t Beatrice sends a small prayer to anyone who is listening. She watches on as Ava makes her way through the crowd, needing no time to synchronise along with everyone else.
“Anything else?” The bartender asks impatiently.
“Water, please.”
This is going to be a long night.
A few minutes later she somehow made it through the sweaty bodies to Ava, who is now sporting an endearing shade of red and perspiring, though it is not something that looks bad on her.
Ava smiles the moment she spots Beatrice, rushing to place her hands on her hips.
Oh, your gravity, your gravity
Your gravity, I will follow you
Oh, your gravity, your gravity
Your gravity, I will follow you
The bodies next to them bounce and sway along to the rhythm of the song as it continues.
Head in the stars, I see you everywhere
I could never get away, get away
In a hold, just take me anywhere
And I believe in what you say
—
Beatrice stops to adjust the body on her back again.
Yup, this had been a terrible idea.
She has only made it down two streets and her ankles are definitely not complying. Ava is essentially dead weight at this point and she can feel a cool kind of liquid on the shoulder where the assailant's head is resting.
It is now 3 am and she was having some major life regrets.
Beatrice was afraid to acknowledge just how much alcohol Ava had consumed throughout the night, she had lost track at some point—Ava that is, not Beatrice. Beatrice had counted every single shot glass and sugary drink like she needed to recount it later to paramedics. Just in case. She had begged Ava to have some water, peanuts, anything, but Ava had been hard headed and knew exactly what she was doing and how to go about doing it.
Beatrice bounces her butt up, catching Ava’s thighs again. At least they didn’t look out of place. Plenty of people had stumbled out and they had left a straggler a street behind who kept insisting he was Harry Styles.
Thank God for her sneakers or else this would have looked more like she was pulling a dead body. Crap. Did it look like she was carrying a dead body? Her pace increased out of pure fear. This literally could not be happening right now. She was done for. Ava’s fans would kill her. They wouldn’t even question her. They would tear her apart limb from limb in some sadistic medieval torture session while chanting along to one of their idol’s songs.
She had by some miraculous stroke of luck made it back to Claridge’s.
The two doormen from earlier watch her struggle the last few metres to the door.
“Hello there!” She sounded way too excited.
“Evening,” one of the doormen greeted her unenthusiastically.
“Yes, hi. She–she’s a guest at this hotel and as you can–” she adjusted their bodies. The men looked between them, but showed no signs of letting her through. “As you can see, she is very much asleep.”
“What name is the room booked under?”
“Silva? Ava Silva?”
“There’s no such guest staying with us.”
Of course.
She readjusted Ava again. Hoping for some kind of pity.
Ava’s hand appeared in front of her face holding a room key. “Oh! Well, there we go then. Excuse us.”
The door was held open long enough for Beatrice to slip inside.
“You are…weird—weirdly strong,” Ava said a little slurred.
Beatrice’s sneakers squeaked on the checkered marble flooring. The grand entryway was entirely too opulent for the amount of pain currently coursing through every inch of her body.
She needed a lift.
The night attendants watched them closely.
She heard the distinctive ding and rushed to make it, but the doors closed.
She lowered her face to the console and pressed the up button with her nose. This had to be a new low even for her, which is saying a lot because she NEVER does anything like this. The most she would admit to is staying up all night during record store day and camping outside the vinyl store for hours. It took a few seconds and the other set of doors opened. She slipped inside taking a moment to balance Ava and herself against a wall.
There was a beep and the lift began to rise.
“Did you just?”
Ava nodded against her shoulder.
When they arrived at the correct floor Beatrice mustered all the strength she had left. She readjusted Ava and in one smooth motion used the wall to push them forward.
“Room?!”
“The–the door on the left,” Ava pointed down the hall.
Her legs were shaking. She needed to run into that room. The door clicked open and she rushed in quickly finding the bed and throwing Ava on it, who bounced a couple of times giggling as if Beatrice hadn’t just carried her for what felt like kilometres. There was definitely going to be murder tonight, and she would accept her fate at the hands of her fanbase.
“How could you be laughing!” Beatrice began, eyebrows cast down, anger suddenly blooming after tonight's events. “How could you just let yourself drink to the point of passing out? What if I hadn’t been there? How would you have gotten back here? Do I need to take you to the hospital? Do you need your stomach pumped?!” Beatrice took a breath. Her face was hot and she was sure, no, she knew, she had pulled one of her calf muscles.
Ava was sitting upright watching her closely, her face was red, small strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Suddenly, Ava stood with yet another impressive display of heel sportsmanship, discarding her coat in one go and running to the bathroom.
She managed to make it to the toilet before retching and vomiting into it.
“Oh my God–are you okay?” Beatrice wobbled her way into the bathroom. Ava nodded weakly, giving her a thumbs up.“Here, let me pull your hair back.” Beatrice took the hair tie on her wrist, somewhat picking up Ava’s sticky hair off her face. Yup, that was definitely a chunk of something tangled in her hair. Ava’s shoulder shook with a giggle.“You look a mess and you are laughing?!” Beatrice couldn't help it, her shoulder began to shake as well.
They both laughed wholeheartedly or in this case deliriously. And then Ava began to retch again.
“N—” Beatrice could feel it. The need to join. It was all dry, but enough for her body to gag and compulse a bit in solidarity.
Ava threw up again and Beatrice wobbled out needing to get out of there before dry turned into not so dry. She looked around the room looking for a small fridge with hopefully some water inside. It was a miracle at this point that she hadn’t tripped on the amount of clothing littering the floor. The room she found was as chaotic as its inhabitant.
Score.
She grabbed the sealed bottle and basically hopped on one foot to the bathroom. She kneeled down to where Ava’s head was in the toilet, handing the bottle over. “Please rinse out your mouth. Stomach acid is not good for your teeth.”
Ava did as she was told. She sat back against the bathtub, everything finally catching up to her.
Beatrice had wandered back into the room, she removed her coat and let herself rest against the bed. Her bandmates were never going to believe her if she ever brought this up. This could not happen again. She wasn’t built for this. She was built for late night doom scrolling and hot cups of tea. This had filled her social quota for the century and in a moment of weakness imagined her life right now in a different reality. She could be a nun, transcribing old texts and doing a bit of bookkeeping. Yup, that she was made for.
The toilet flushed and Ava slowly emerged from the bathroom. She leaned against the door frame, removing a heel at a time.“That was close.” She fiddled with the button of her jeans until she gave up and pulled them down without any warning.
Ava was a terrorist.
Beatrice made no attempt to look away. What would the point have been? Ava had managed to top whatever she did with something else. Silky black underwear. Pfft. “Right. So, I’m going to go now.” She pushed off the bed and shoved her hands in her pant pockets, “I would like to say that it has been great, but it has not.”
Ava pulled the covers and slipped inside without paying her any attention.
Beatrice waited for any kind of reply, but when none came concern took over once again. Ava was lying so still that she could have sworn she had a cardiac episode without any kind of preamble. She stepped closer, lowering her face enough to hear some kind of breath. Soft, hardly there. She could see Ava’s chest slowly rising and falling in rhythm. The person before her now felt so small and fragile, without the carefully crafted mask she had wielded the whole day.
She unconsciously ran a gentle hand down Ava’s cheek, the force pulling her to do it was so strong she didn’t have the strength to fight against it anymore. Ava was okay. She was asleep.
Beatrice grabbed the bottle from where Ava had left it on the bathroom counter and brought it to the night table closest to Ava. With one final look to satisfy her worry she turned to leave, carefully putting her weight on her foot, surprised to find that it felt much better already. She closed the room door lightly behind her and as she reached the lift doors. A noise from down the hall alerted her. The same woman from before, Emilia, emerged from the room opposite of Ava’s. She scanned a keycard against Ava’s door, but before stepping inside, her face turned, making eye contact with Beatrice.
Her face was unreadable and for just a moment Beatrice feared for her life. She looked away, smashing the lift button a couple of more times. She heard the door close down the hall and breathed a sigh of relief as the lift doors closed behind her.
—
Beatrice had hoped that a Sunday morning run followed by a cup of coffee would bring her some kind of peace. The chilly Autumn wind hit her cheeks, turning them pink. She sat outside her favourite coffee shop, which was just a few minutes walk from her flat. The run had filled her body with endorphins and she was currently riding the ‘nothing is absolutely wrong’ train.
The last few days had been a roller coaster and dare she say a shit fest. Vincent was not answering her calls or any of their calls and had apparently disappeared from the face of the Earth. Her emails were out of control with managers, producers, sponsors and basically everyone in the industry that wanted a piece of them.
So this, a simple coffee, she could do for the moment. She wasn’t going to think about what had happened with Ava last night. And she was not going to think about murdering Vincent.
Several undisclosed and heavy shopping bags were deposited on the table in front of her. The sudden action caused her to blink rapidly several times.
A woman stood there observing her closely. She wore brown high waisted pants with a cream turtleneck and an olive coat, “Beatrice Young?”
“…Yes?” She was hesitant to confirm.
“Suzanne De Fanti,” She took a seat across from her.
Why did that name sound so familiar?
She waited for Beatrice to speak, but when no reply came she continued, “I hear that you are in need of a manager.”
“Oh well, that’s— does everyone know that?”
“Yes.” It was direct and Beatrice liked that in a person. “I have taken it upon myself to reach out to several brands that meet the bands general aesthetic or as you young kids call it now ‘vibes’.”
“I can see that.”
“It seems you are a difficult commodity to get a hold of and I am here to facilitate that.”
Realisation suddenly hit her. “You’re THE Suzanne De Fanti? You’re a legend. I thought you retired from management a couple of years ago.”
The woman shrugged. “If I’m being perfectly honest, the industry was a bit stagnant.”
“And you’re back?”
“I believe so.” She answered, fingers picking at something on her nail. I have plenty of connections and old friends. I assume everything is still exploitative and disruptive.”
Beatrice watched her for a moment. This was probably too good to be true. How does something like this even happen? Also, how did Suzanne even find her?
“Where are your bandmates? I’d like to meet them so we’re all acquainted.” Suzanne had a way about herself and Beatrice knew to keep a bit of skepticism.
“That simple then?”
“It can be. I assume you don’t speak for them.”
“No, I do not.” A breath. “What’s in it for you? A return to your former glory?”
“Don’t misunderstand my offer.” She began, “In my years of doing this I have rarely seen such a reaction towards a musician much less a band. You’ve done well, but that can only take you so far in this industry. You need proper connections and someone with the experience to help you navigate it all.” Suzanne searched her face. “You want to hear the most useful advice I can give you? Quit. Quit now before it hurts. Because it’s going to get a lot more difficult from here on out. Yes, getting attention in itself is a feat, but keeping it? That takes work, and not everyone is built for it. Trust me. I have seen it.”
Beatrice shifted her eyes. The words cut a little too close. “Is that all you think it is for us?”
“No, but the way I see it is, eventually, you forget to think about why you started in the first place. And then the hurt sets in.”
Beatrice doesn’t have a response. She lets the conversation sit between them and thinks. Always thinking. Her bandmates were beginning to show frustrations with Vincent’s lack of initiative, they had been busy and tired, so tired. Suzanne could be the person they needed.
“We have practice in thirty minutes. I can give you the address to the studio we’re renting, you can come see us then.”
“Nearby?”
“Just a few streets from here. I was about to change and head over before…” Beatrice waved her hand around not needing to communicate what had just happened.
“Alright, we go now.” Suzanne stood pointing at the bags, “How fashion savvy are you?”
“I have been trying very hard not to be giddy over the Alexander McQueen logo.”
She smiled in approval. “Well, what are we waiting for?” She grabbed a few bags and left the rest for Beatrice to help with.
Beatrice thought she was a speedy walker on most days. Growing up in London had ingrained a mad scramble mentality to grab The Tube on busy work days, but this was on another level. Suzanne walked with so much haste that it was like she was running circles around Beatrice and still pulling in ahead and her legs could only take her so far.
“Bea! Beeeeaaaaaaa! BEATRICE!” Camila screamed across the street from them, somehow spotting them on her way to practice.
Suzanne stopped before she did and it took all her self control not to topple over her.
Camila crossed the avenue, catching up to them. “I can spot those little pigeon ankles from anywhere.” She looked from Beatrice to the stranger, before her eyes caught sight of the bags.
“Camila Delcán”
“Oh…wow that’s scary.” She paused, “Do we know this…very well dressed woman?”
“Hi Camila,” Beatrice greeted her, a fond look on her face. “This is Suzanne De Fanti.”
“The Real Housewives of Napoli?”
“...I don’t…what?”
Suzanne laughed and it was genuine. “Potential new manager,” She extended her hand to Camila who shook it with both hers.
“I have been manifesting this.” She said, way too happy with the possibility.
Suzanne handed the remaining bags to Camila, “Grab these will you, I need to make a phone call.” She pulled a phone from her purse and pressed the screen exactly once. “Lead the way ladies.”
And they were off again. Beatrice didn’t know what had possessed her, but somehow she was walking faster, eager to meet the rest of her bandmates. Camila kept pace next to her, she was hopping. They turned a corner and headed towards a three story building. Once inside they called for the lift and turned to look at Suzanne who had hung up and was taking in her sights.
“This won't do.”
“It was all we could afford and we’re still under contract.”
The lift arrived, doors grinded struggling to open.
“Stairs?”
“To our left but the lights have been out since August and the neighborhood teens hang out in there.” Camila offered, already stepping onto the lift alongside Beatrice. “I once found a boobless Barbie doll, it was so strange.”
“Hmm.”
They were all crammed in the small space as the sorry excuse for lift ascended. The metal rattled and further protested as the bass from the levels above amplified aggressive sounding drums and guitars. Beatrice and Camila looked at each other with concern as the lift’s door slowly opened to reveal the saddest looking loft imaginable.
The three occupants inside continued their session. Lilith fiercely sing-screaming into the microphone while strumming her guitar. Mary casually just jamming with her bass and Yasmine too distracted on the drums to notice that anyone had arrived.
Wake up, wake up, wake up
We are appalling and we need to stop just watching shit in bed
And I know it sounds boring and we like things that are funny
But we need to get this in our fucking heads
The economy's a goner, republic's a banana, ignore it if you wanna
Suzanne looked around, slightly concerned with the safety of the loft as the walls shook and dust particles fell off the ceiling. The studio equipment was prehistoric and to be perfectly honest half of it didn’t even work anymore. There was a small couch by the wall behind the control booth and copious amounts of carpets.
I don't like going outside, so bring me everything here
HEY!
WOO!
YEA!
Mary was the first to notice their new guests, she gave Beatrice and Camila a small wave before walking towards the amps and shutting off their power. It took a few seconds for Lilith and Yasmine to realise what had occurred.
“Guys! We have a new manager!” Camila shouted excitedly on her way to her bandmates.
“No…wait Camila,” Beatrice called out after her.
“New manager? I don’t remember us having a democratic vote about this? Beatrice?” Mary was always on top of everything.
“Suzanne De Fanti,” The older woman reached out for a handshake.
“Oh shit? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Mary,” Mary shook her hand without hesitation.
“I know.”
Lilith and Yasmine now joined the rest.
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Beatrice raised her eyebrow towards Lilith.
“I vote yes.”
“We should think about this together.”
“No, I’m done waiting around,” Lilith answered back unfazed. “I’m well aware of who she is and what she is capable of.”
“And I’m well aware of who you are and what you’re capable of.” Suzanne smiled. “Your mother and I ran around the same circles years ago, I’m glad to see that she wasn’t wrong about you.”
The girls all stood in silence.
“Yes”
“YES!”
“Yea”
“I like her very much,” Yasmine spoke last.
“That settles it then.” Suzanne crossed her arms, looking at them a little too close for comfort. “Haircuts, clothes, studio, and Levy.”
“Levy?” Beatrice asked, confused.
“Yasmine, I require information of all that has happened this year and leading up to it.” Their new manager continued, not bothering to answer, “I’ve been following along but I need to know what the media doesn’t know.”
“I’m on it. I’ve kept a spreadsheet of all our exploits thus far.”
Camila’s eyes bulged. “What! What exploits?”
The lift doors opened just as weakly as before.
“Uh, so I was just verbally assaulted by a very off-brand Billie Eilish outside.” The man walked towards them. He was impeccably dressed, coat outlining his shoulders perfectly.
Suzanne smirked. “Girls, this is Levy.”
Camila bounced in place. “Can we keep him?”
—
One Month Later
“I thought I already told you to stop biting your cuticles, you look like a sneaky little rodent,” Levy leaned over and whispered-yelled rather roughly into her ear.
Beatrice was so close so so very close to ending his life.
A model squeezed between them scrabbling towards her fitting assistant.
Beatrice’s nails came back to her mouth.
How Suzanne figured out she used to do ballet was a mystery to her. She had never referenced it in any interview, heck, her bandmates didn’t know. Well, except for Camila, but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t, right? Why, Yes, Suzanne I love fashion. Please put me on a runway show, it’ll be great for the group's image and reachability. And sure, Suzanne had been skeptical about her abilities, but a few contacts later and a runway coach from hell had prepared her to do just one outfit. She could do this. It was just walking. She walked all the time in straight lines, and not so straight lines. Plus, she had great stamina.
Levy swatted her hand away.
She glanced around the massive room around her. Everyone was running around like a bunch of headless chickens. Photographers, hair stylists, makeup artists, assistants of assistants, models in various stages of undress and Levy. The lights were so bright that she was sure it would leave an impression in her corneas. Everyone was yelling and somehow it was the weirdest dance she had ever experienced. Everything was somehow going according to plan.
She found a bit of wall to lean on and it lasted exactly one second before Levy pulled her off it. “You’re going to crease it! And I am not about to be impaled by Sarah Burton.”
“You try standing on these!”
“I would willingly sell my left nipple to do so.”
Admittedly, the dress and heels she was wearing were beautiful, but she would not give him the satisfaction of enjoying this one bit. The embroidered black lace hugged her torso perfectly, which flowed until it hit silk that further became undone with fine brushed textures. She was about to politely scream like a banshee and truly personify the dress she was wearing.
Levy walked off to answer his phone. Beatrice was certain it was Suzanne asking how she was doing. And by the look on his face, he was not being very kind. She would give him an earful once he came back.
Everyone around them burst into cheers suddenly, even the models engrossed in conversation stopped to look over. A few photographers rushed forward snapping pictures as the person walked to the enormous wall that was the entrance to the catwalk. The person must be the musical number that was meant to close the show. There was a break in the crowd and Beatrice could only stare a little slack jawed.
Ava.
It was Ava.
Her hair had been cut straight across her shoulders in a clean bob. She had fierce eye makeup just like Beatrice’s and wore a dress that resembled one of the earlier looks. With cascading translucent white silk chiffon that stopped just a bit past her bottom with beautiful sunray pleats. She nodded a few times to the assistants nearby as they handed her a microphone and put in her in-ears. The music shifted and Ava stepped onto the runway.
“Beatrice!” Levy was urgently trying to get her attention.
She saw the closing looks coming together in order. The stage assistant ran frantically towards her. “Remember. Do it just like earlier during practice. Follow 41. Remember the cameras are mainly positioned at the front.” She wasn’t much younger than Beatrice. “Once you’re back, be ready to head back out to close the show with the rest of the models.”
Ava’s voice echoed inside.
She nodded, purely by instinct as she was pulled towards 41.
Me da miedo cuando sales sonriendo pa' la calle
(It frightens me when you leave smiling down the street)
Porque todos pueden ver los hoyuelitos que te salen
(Because everyone can see your dimples when they appear)
She and 41 were about to become so intimate.
41 stepped through onto the runway and a hand was held in front of her. Once that hand was down it was go time. There was no more deliberation. She focused on Ava’s voice. The arm came down and she was off.
She had practiced with the lights on before. She knew how intense they would be, but nothing could have prepared her for the amount of eyes that were currently on her. On either side of the runway were rows upon rows of the fashion elite. All taking notes in order to be the front page article the moment the show was over. The flash of photographers set her on edge momentarily as she navigated the now very foggy catwalk. She spotted Suzanne sitting to her left, who gave a quick nod, but nothing more.
Cuando sales por la puerta
(When you leave through the door)
Pienso que no vuelves nunca
(I believe you'll never return)
Y si no te agarro fuerte
(And if I don't hold on to you tightly)
Siento que será mi culpa
(I'll feel like it's my fault)
Ava must have noticed her somehow because she made eye contact and stumbled with her words for a second. She walked past, head forward. She was almost there, almost finished. The photographer's flashes intensified as she made it to the end of the runway giving them a quick pose.
Pienso en tu mirá, tu mirá clavá es una bala en el pecho
(I think of your gaze, your gaze, a bullet straight through my chest)
Pienso en tu mirá, tu mirá clavá es una bala en el pecho
Pienso en tu mirá, tu mirá clavá es una bala en el pecho
Ava sang into her microphone, her powerful voice coming through perfectly. They made eye contact again. Beatrice’s stomach jumped. Huh. That was definitely new territory.
The walk backstage was even faster.
She made it, careful to stand out of the way for the final looks to come through. Levy waved frantically, his smile genuine. The models around her began to line up for the closing parade and she followed suit.
Once they were all ready the stage assistant lowered her arm and they all walked out to the runway. The feeling was indescribable, she was riding on the world's weirdest high right now. She was equal parts delirious and beyond elated. 41 had saved her life and she was eternally grateful.
As she made her way back from the photographers she gave Suzanne a huge smile and then it was over. Sarah Burton walked past her eager to take her bows as the audience clapped enthusiastically.
Levy crushed her in a big hug. “I was rooting for you the whole time, didn’t doubt you for a second!”
“I feel really really lightheaded right now.” She leaned back against a table, dress be damned. She needed something to ground her. All of that stress for maybe 5 minutes of having to do it.
Everyone around her was celebrating how great the show had turned out. Some models weren’t even fazed, already taking their makeup off and pulling at their hairs, the assistants around them helping them out of their outfits.
Without meaning to her eyes sought Ava in the crowd. Something that she should have been more careful about because as soon as she found her she saw more than she bargained for. And sure this was a fashion show and she had spent the majority of the day seeing the human anatomy in ways she hadn’t before. One of Ava’s assistants helped her out of her dress while the other one held another outfit. It was quick. She could have missed it if she looked away, but her heart began to palpitate.
Ava’s eyes met hers and held her gaze. It was seconds, but it felt like an eternity and she had the audacity to wink in her direction.
The second assistant slid the dress on causing their gaze to shatter.
Oh God, can you make my heart stop?
Hit me with your kill shot, baby
I mean it so serious
God, can you make my heart stop?
Honey, with your kill shot, baby
I mean it so serious