"Flash me some teeth," I said, aiming my camera at my best friend, Ava Barnett. Usually she was the one playing photographer for me, snapping pictures at events I attended or hosted to help promote my winery, Oak Valley Vineyards. Tonight, however, I'd pulled out my trusty old camera bag, and it was all about her and the amazing jewelry she made at her jewelry boutique, Silver Girl.
She tossed her blonde hair and gave me a bright smile as she held up her wrist, displaying a silver charm bracelet with tiny gemstone accents. Then she pursed her lips, making a duck face and goofing with the camera in a way that had me laughing behind it.
"You're a natural born model," I told her, snapping a couple more pics.
"Shh." She put her finger to her lips. "Don't say that too loudly around here. Someone might wrangle me into a skimpy dress."
The two of us were in the Grand Ballroom of the local golf club, the Sonoma Links, which had been transformed into a makeshift backstage area for a charity fashion show being hosted there that evening. The air was electric with pre-show energy—hairdressers, makeup artists, designers, and models buzzing in all directions to make sure every button, zipper, accessory, frill, curl, and eyelash was positioned perfectly. The event featured fashions from two notable San Francisco designers who were showcasing several pieces from their latest collections, which would then be auctioned off with all proceeds going to help local children's charities. Thanks to Ava's father being a longstanding club member, she'd also gotten a key spot in the show—loaning all of the jewelry that the models would be accessorizing their custom outfits with. It was a huge opportunity for her, one that meant mass exposure to the type of clientele that would put her store on the map—country club members with deep pockets and addictions to shiny things.
"At least you could fit into one of the skimpy dresses," I noted, watching a particularly short red outfit walk by us on a long legged creature who was at least three sizes smaller than I.
"Please," she said, waving me off as she smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her vintage-inspired outfit. Black, salmon, and complimentary green lengths of fabric formed the skirt, while the black halter-type top did its best to contain her ample chest. "You know we're the same size."
Which might technically be true—both of us owning wardrobes in size eight. Though Ava's eight was more of an athletic, lithe shape that spoke to her love of outdoors, while mine was more of a soft, comfortable eight that spoke to my training as a chef…and regular enjoyment of the fruits of my own labor. Plus, her padding was up top, while mine tended to drift lower. Case in point—the little black dress I had on for the occasion, which was fitting just a little more snuggly than I would have liked in the hips. And waist. And bust. Might be time to concede a size ten soon?
"Oh, get a picture of the earrings Jada is wearing, would you?" Ava asked, pointing behind me.
I spun, glancing in the direction she indicated, spotting the tall, slim, dark haired model, Jada Devereux. Her skin was a warm tan, and her stunning blue eyes were pale and wide, giving her an unexpected exotic look that was captivating in person. Her long, shiny hair was sleeked back from her face to showcase the dangling silver earrings accented with small crystals that caught the light with her every movement.
Beside her I noticed Carl Costello, one of the designers being featured that night, using a roller to whisk away stray lint from her skintight navy jumpsuit. Like his model, he was also dressed in navy—in a turtleneck sweater and rhinestone studded blazer paired with white leather pants that clung to his stocky legs. Costello had been a fashion icon for years, his classic designs and chic silhouettes gracing runways from Paris to Milan as well as major department stores around the country. While his style was a bit more formal than my own—and a bit pricier than my meager bank account would allow—he had an uncanny knack for flattering a woman's shape.
Once he seemed satisfied that his subject was lint free, he gave Jada a wink and an affectionate pat on the cheek, having to lift just slightly on his tiptoes to do so.
"Mr. Costello, do you mind if we snap a picture?" I asked as Ava and I approached the pair.