Sirenz - By Charlotte Bennardo Page 0,36
than ever, I wanted this over with. I didn’t want any more close or semi-close encounters with Jeremy again if I could help it. And there was only one way to ensure that—get rid of Arkady.
“Where’s Mr. Romanov?” I whispered to Reynaldo, who was winking and flirting with the hair stylist. “He did come, didn’t he?” I poked him to get his attention. “Reynaldo?”
“What?!” he snapped, annoyed at the interruption.
“Mr. Romanov. He’s here, right?”
“He’s watching the show by live feed from an office.”
“Won’t he bow and wave at the end?”
Reynaldo looked horrified. “Never! Go into that room with all those people? Who knows what germs could be out there?” He turned back to smile at Andre. I doubt that was his real name—so Euro. I’ll bet his real name was Myron. Or Charlie.
When Reynaldo walked away, Meg whispered to me, “The offices! This couldn’t be more perfect! He’s already back there!”
“Sure, but how are we going to get back there?” I snapped, a little unfairly. Jeremy’s diss wasn’t her fault. “We’re supposed to stay here until we’re needed.”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something.” Meg didn’t look too sure, but maybe inspiration would hit one of us.
Music suddenly blared, making everyone jump and signaling the start of the show. We were on call, to sit there until summoned. In the meantime, I enjoyed the chance to just sit. Surprisingly, my bird feet were holding up well. But I’d trade them for two human feet loaded with blisters and boils and broken toes.
The Temple was the backdrop for the show, the theme being Egyptian Goddess. All the models were dressed in form-fitting bronze, deep lapis, and coral silk sheaths. The last dress, with Meg’s feathers all over it, would be the climax. I couldn’t help being excited. This was where I wanted to be—just under different circumstances. More specifically, not fresh off a rejection, or trying to eye up a mummy, or keeping temptation at arm’s length. Suddenly, I thought, I can’t wait to start classes at FIT. It would be a different life, a new start. If I survived this whole mess, maybe Jeremy would give me a reference—even if he wouldn’t give me anything else.
I found myself tapping my feet to the heavy beat of the techno music that blared out of the backstage speakers. It was making the floor vibrate. Was this what Meg and Jeremy subjected themselves to at those club shows? No thanks.
I recognized the song. It was something Meg played in our dorm room. Glancing at her, I saw that her eyes were closed and her head swayed in perfect rhythm with the music. Her lips mouthed the words. I stopped staring at her and scanned the room. Jeremy was standing by the stage door, doing the exact same thing. The exact words, the exact same sway. It was almost eerie.
After a few moments, he opened his eyes and searched the room, stopping when his gaze found Meg still in her music-induced trance. Slender models with taut limbs and perfect faces passed in front of him, but he didn’t notice them. He only saw Meg, and his eyes drank her in. I’d seen the look before. He really liked her. They’ve only exchanged a handful of words since we reconnected … I bit my lip and looked away.
The evening wore on, and the show seemed to be a success. Near midnight, Jeremy spoke to the audience and wrapped things up with a champagne toast, finger foods, and gift bags, and then Reynaldo came running over, out of breath. His makeup was starting to smudge.
“Jeremy sent me to tell you that Mr. Arkady needs ice, glasses, and two diet sodas brought to him. NOW. The Director’s office, just down the hall. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. I can’t believe he hates the hair!” He moaned and sniffed as he screamed at Andre. Meg shot me an excited smile.
We hopped off the trunk, rounded up everything, and made our way through the backstage maze. We ran, as fast as a girl can run in stiletto-heeled boots carrying a bag of ice, to the office. Meg knocked on the door.
Jeremy answered. “Hey you two.” He refused to look at me.
Wimp! I was the embarrassed one, the one who got rejected!
He stepped back to allow us in. Arkady was sitting at a massive oak desk, surrounded by TV monitors, his back to us. There was no sound except his raspy breathing.
“Put it all on the table, please,” said Jeremy,