PREPARING FOR A BALL

PREPARING FOR A BALL
Viviana 

When I thought things could no longer possibly get worse, they do. They truly freaking do. I want to tear my hair out from the very roots. Or should I call in and claim a sickness because there has to be a way? Or sprain my ankle on purpose? Or admit myself in a hospital- is that even possible?
Well I don’t know and I don’t even know anything because the current reason of my disorientation and bafflement is still because of the investor bloody Billionaire Fernando Grant. 
We did not meet with him the next day because unsurprisingly he had something else to do. He should have just said something he considers better than us and our time. And his alternative had to be something provocative, something that has the capacity to spike my blood pressure higher.
An event. A party- a freaking ball. That is to be our next point of meeting which equally means that I cannot wear a random shirt and skirt that I would like to, that constitutes the majority of things I brought with me. 
And instead, I’ll have to go shopping for something suitable yo wear or else I could be mistaken as a waitress. And while there is nothing wrong with being a waitress, I might not even be allowed into the building.
Resigned and with no other option, I enter into the car with the man I have been thinking of avoiding. I mumble a greeting as I settle in the shot gun seat while he drives me to go hunt - alright shop - for a gown. The stress hasn’t arrived but I feel it slowly downloading on my shoulders. The reason I was hoping to avoid Massimo is because I think my confrontation went out of bounds and borders and at a time when I was reminiscing the moment again, it appeared I was just throwing accusations at an innocent man. Well whatever he was the one that entered into a restroom that is clearly not for the masculine gender.
The silence in the vehicle grows and becomes uncomfortable and I can’t believe I’m thinking of this, but a part of me actually wishes Jacob Bianchi is here in the car with us. If he was, I would be seated at the back - away from such proximity - and also away from the present thoughts of my mind.
But regretfully he isn’t because since this event was something that also caught him by surprise he had asked his bodyguard to drive me around to choose something suitable - on the company’s card that is.
We arrive at a huge building with golden letters in French elegantly decorating the doorway. I immediately know that if not because of this event, I might never have gotten to enter into such a place in the entirety of my existence. The sad truth of life… or just my life. One of the employees immediately attends to us and immediately takes me to a section of the place that luckily has English letters spent outside of it. It says Showroom. 
On a very huge screen that spanned an entire wall,  different designs of gown are showcased and around the gowns are placed on glass mannequins. Glass mannequins for Heavens’ sake. If I mistakenly break one of them I could go into debt for a couple years. Massimo lounges on one of the chairs and picks something I hope is a newspaper. The employer than guides me into a smaller room where I begin to try out many dresses. I’m grateful my boss reached out to them before my coming and he also asked my waist size and also some other measurements so they knew the exact sizes of huge colourful and masterfully crafted and sewn gowns to bring. They all are very beautiful but I need to choose one- sadly. 
For someone who was angry at this change, the sight of myself in pretty dressed before a big broad mirror is very therapeutic. And so after some minutes- I looked at the tiny wrist watch I had on and minutes is most definitely wrong.
After three hours I got to select one of the many, an ash like coloured gown with a very high slit and matching high thigh stockings. I doubt there would be anyone who would go for something like this and it also didn’t scream professional but I went for it either ways. I know Rosalia would be happy for my decision. I can’t wait to even show her the pictures I took while I was trying the dresses. Perhaps that was the reason I spent three hours searching for a gown. I felt a pang of pity as I came out with my purchase.
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.” I say to Massimo on our way to the car.