Bliss arrived late to the Lexington Armory. The Rolf Morgan show was scheduled to start at nine in the evening, and she was supposed to be there by six for hair and makeup, but it was already half past eight. She hoped the designer wouldn't kill her, although he'd probably already written her off, and she'd arrive to find some other model wearing the black-lace corset dress she was supposed to wear that evening.
She hadn't meant to be late, but her latest vision had left her disoriented. She'd been brushing her teeth, and when she looked up at the mirror, the same handsome man in the white suit from her dreams was looking back at her.
"Jesus!"
"Hardly." The man laughed as if it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. His hair, Bliss realized, was the exact color of molten gold. His eyes were as blue as a clear morning sky. There was a smell in the room of lilies in the spring, but it was a cloying smell that masked something rotten. Like how her stepmother, BobiAnne, smelled when she put on too much perfume after leaving the gym instead of showering.
Bliss decided she would be brave. "Who are you?"
"I am you."
"I'm going crazy, aren't I? Why are you here?" Bliss turned off the faucet and tried to steady her breathing. "What do you want?"
The golden man in the white suit reached into his coat pocket and removed an old-fashioned pocket watch that hung from a gold chain. "Time."
When Bliss looked up at the mirror again, he was gone. She'd spent the next hour staring at the glass, waiting for him to appear again. Only when she'd finally wrenched herself away did she realize she was running so late.
But when she checked her cell phone, there were no angry messages from her model booker, no anxious harangues about how the designer was having a fit because she wasn't there. She was doubly confused to find the entrance to the show completely empty, save for a few miserable-looking fashion victims shrouded in black, being held behind police sawhorses. This was fashion week?
Where was the mad carnival of editors and photographers, celebrities and stylists, the fashionable and the fashionably distressed, crowded around, elbowing each other, pushing and shoving to get into the Rolf Morgan show? Rolf's show was the biggest ticket of the season and the hardest invitation to score. And yet, here it was, thirty minutes before showtime and there was hardly anyone around.
She found a lone minion, a production assistant wearing a black T-shirt with ROLF MORGAN emblazoned on the chest, and asked to be directed backstage.
The Armory housed the 69th Regiment of the National Guard, and several soldiers in dress uniform saluted her as she entered. The building was cavernous, and encased in glass cabinets lining the walls were hundreds of firearms and munitions. She followed the directions through a grand atrium, a space as large as an airplane hangar, which was set for a runway show. There were rows of bleachers leading up to the ceiling, and a stage had been set up at one end, where a band was tuning up.
During rehearsals, Rolf had explained that the models would walk on a giant runway suspended above the stage, and Bliss looked forward to the challenge.
She entered the makeshift backstage and was flummoxed to find that instead of the usual frenzy of preparation, thrumming with the adrenaline of fear and excitement, the mood was completely relaxed. She found Schuyler reading a magazine in a nearby chair, her hair pulled back into an extreme ponytail high on her head, her face already runway-ready, with dark kohl smudges lining her blue eyes, and her lips painted a pale, rosy gold.
She was glad to see her friend; they had yet to talk about what had happened the other night. Both of them had been avoiding the subject, almost as if they were embarrassed. She hadn't seen Dylan since then, although he had left her enough messages on her phone, asking for forgiveness and beseeching her to visit him. She had deleted them all.
As for Schuyler, since that evening she had floated around Duchesne in a cloud. Bliss knew Schuyler was seeing Jack, and she couldn't help but be jealous of her friend's newfound happiness. Sure, it sucked that they couldn't be out in public together, because of Mimi and all. And yeah, it totally blew that Jack was basically betrothed to someone else. But still, Bliss could see Schuyler was in love, and her love was returned. It was more than she could say about Dylan and her.