Wardrobe Malfunction(20)

Alex opens the door.

“Hey.” I smile.

“Charly, good to see you again.”

“I have Vaughn’s clothes.” I lift them up as proof.

“Come in.” Alex steps aside. “He’s just in makeup.”

I step inside his trailer, and…wow. It’s really nice. Nicer than my apartment.

It’s done in dark wood. A real masculine feel to it, which is perfect for Vaughn. A circular seating area with a table has an open laptop on it. Next to it is a comfy-looking sofa with a large TV fitted to the opposite wall. There’s a kitchen area, and a little further down, there’s a dressing table with a large mirror lit up with bulbs. And that’s where Vaughn is, sitting down on a chair while a woman is doing his makeup.

I walk over to Vaughn. “Hey.” I smile in the mirror at him. “I have your clothes. Where should I put them?”

He flicks his eyes at me and then immediately looks away. “Anywhere.”

“Okay.” I step back and look around for somewhere to hang them, but I don’t see a hook. “Is there a closet anywhere, so I can hang them?” I ask him.

“Just put them on the fucking table.” He throws a hand in the direction of the table where Alex is sitting with the laptop.

His hard tone takes me back a step.

I swallow back my discomfort and surprise. “I just don’t want them to get creased. I spent a long time pressing them.”

“I’ll put them in the closet in the bedroom for you.” Alex takes them from my arms, a look of pity on his face.

“Thanks,” I say quietly to Alex.

“Knock, knock,” a cheery voice calls. Natasha Warner, Vaughn’s costar in the movie, walks in.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her—in real life, that is.

She’s taller than I expected. I’d say she’s about my height. But she’s just as beautiful in real life as she is on-screen. Thin but athletic, she looks like a swimwear model. Shiny black hair sits perfectly on her shoulders. With huge bright blue eyes, her oval face is heavy with makeup, but I know that’s for the film. Even still, it doesn’t diminish her beauty.

She’s stunning.

I feel like a little kid next to her.

And she’s wearing a Stella McCartney dress that I know for a fact costs a thousand bucks.

How the other half lives. Sigh.

“God, you’re still in makeup?” She laughs, walking over to Vaughn. She stops at the back of his chair, putting her hands on the top of it, while the makeup artist continues to do his makeup. “You men take longer to get ready than us women do.”

“What can I do for you, Natasha?” His tone isn’t much friendlier than it was with me, which makes me feel a little better at the reception I got from him.

“Isn’t he a darling in the morning?” she says to me, playfully rolling her eyes. Then, she sticks her hand out to me. “We haven’t met. I’m Natasha.”

“Charly Michaels.” I take her hand and shake it. “I work in wardrobe. I was just dropping off Mr. West’s clothes. It’s really great to meet you, Ms. Warner.”

“Natasha, please. God, Vaughn, you don’t make this lovely girl call you Mr. West, do you?”

His eyes momentarily flick to me, and the look in them is filled with annoyance.

Jeez, who pissed in his cornflakes this morning?

“No.” He looks back at Natasha. “I’ve told her countless times to call me Vaughn. What do you need, Natasha? Or did you just come for a girlie chat?”

She laughs; it’s light and airy. “I need you to run lines from act four with me again, Mr. Happy. I can’t get them to stick.”

“Sure. Whatever. Give me five minutes.”

Then, he looks at me again. It’s a look that tells me he wants me to leave.

“Okay, so I’ll be going.” I start backing away. “If you need me for anything else, Vaughn, have Alex call my cell.”

He doesn’t even bother to respond.

Alex does from his seat at the table where he’s working on the laptop, “No worries, Charly. I’ll call if we need anything.”

“It was nice to meet you.” Natasha smiles at me, taking a seat at the table. “Oh, and I love your dress.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I run a hand down it. “I made it.”

“You made it? Wow. It’s really good. Are you a designer?”

“No.” I shake my head. I just want to be one.

“Well, you should be. It’s amazing. Do you have any other designs? I’d love to see them.”

“Jesus Christ,” Vaughn growls, getting up from his seat, pulling the tissues that protect his clothes out of the collar. “I feel like I’m in a fucking episode of Project Runway.”

“You watch Project Runway?” I stifle a laugh.

“No, of course I don’t fucking watch Project Runway,” he barks at me. “Now, are we running these lines or not?” he says to Natasha.

And that’s me being dismissed.

The makeup girl catches my eye, giving me a smile—the one people like us who work in the movie industry share, which says that all actors are stuck-up assholes and not to take it personally.

But I am taking it personally.