Page 24 of Derailed
9
Jess
This hotel isfull of beautiful people. Talent and education drips from every stitch they wear. I don’t belong here. I wish I could go back to the house and spend the evening on the couch with Deb and Tony, but that’s not my job today. Nope. I’m here for Coy. His plus one. Besides, what kind of girlfriend doesn’t want to spend time with her man? A pang of shame hits me for even considering abandoning him. If Coy needs me, that’s all that should matter. Besides, this dress is like magic. It helps me stand a little taller, and as I walk down the expansive, elegant hallway, I lift my head with enough confidence to meet the inquisitivestares.
I don’t want to disappoint Coy. He’s my rock. The one person in the world who’s cared enough. He’s so gifted and I’m not. I’m just me. Heck, what guy earns himself a spot in one of the most popular rock bands and brings his high school dropout of a girlfriend along for the ride? No one. That’s why I want to look extra nice for himtonight.
Shopping with Deb this morning was almost overwhelming. I couldn’t help myself from balking at the price tags. She demanded I stop, and for as nice as she’s been, Deb is not someone to mess with. I almost settled on a solid black gown—something simple and understated—but she encouraged me to continue trying on dresses that some woman from the store brought me one after another. Most I wouldn’t be caught dead in, but then she brought in this one. I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with a piece ofclothing.
Itis.
When I caught a glimpse of the cotton candy pink fabric I was hoping—no, praying—that the rest of the dress would be beautiful. With a deep sweetheart neckline, it’s way more revealing than anything I’ve ever worn, but the tulle under the knee length skirt makes me feel like a princess from some fairy tale. I stepped out of the dressing room and Deb screamed, that’s how excited she was. And then she insisted we look at shoes. I couldn’t bring myself to peek at the total cost. Stupid, I know, to wear something so expensive when I don’t have a job and less than a hundred bucks to my name, but this is a huge night for Coy. For once, I want to fit thepart.
Silly.
The minute we arrived he had interviews so I busied myself getting ready. He texted that he’d meet me downstairs at the gala, and before I left our hotel room I felt the most beautiful and desirable I had in all my life. But now? Now I feel foolish. My flouncy pink skirt appears childish compared to all these successful women in elegant gowns, accompanied by men in tailored tuxedos. I wish I could have come in with the band, but Coy didn’t offer and I refuse to be the naggingtagalong.
“Name?” The woman at the check-in table assesses my dress with a polite, impersonal smile. A slight lift to one of her eyebrows is her only tell that she thinks I don’t belong here. What she doesn’t know is that I alreadyagree.
“Jessica Moore,” I say, and she scans her tablet. My pulse races as the volunteer at her left checks in three couples while my woman puzzles over her screen. I can feel the sideways glances as the line at my back lengthens with every second she doesn’t find my name. I wish I could fade into the wall. Even reevaluate my decision to pick a fabric that stands out in this sea of black and white. Damn it. “I’m a guest of Coy. Coy Wright. He’s playing in the bandtonight.”
She nods with a flash of a smile. “There you are! I’m sorry about that. We have you seated at table Thirty-Four, but please enjoy the appetizers and silent auction for the nexthour.”
“Thank you.” I skirt the table, chin down, and follow the couple ahead of me until we’re inside the vast ballroom. My breath hitches at the grandeur of it all. Add it to the list of experiences I never would have been exposed to without Coy. As much as the crowd of strangers intimidates me, the beauty of it all momentarily steals my fears. I place my clutch at the table and look around for Coy, but when I don’t spot him I decide to walk around. The silent auction fascinates me the most and I walk from art display to golf resort basket and onward. The generosity of the offerings is amazing. I’d never be able to afford these things, let alone place a bid, but it’s uplifting to see so many people coming together to helpchildren.
An oversized framed photograph stops my wandering. It’s a portrait. A nude, but everything important is covered as the woman folds her legs up over herself. It’s not the lack of clothing that captivates my attention, though; it’s the pure desperation in her eyes. Fear, but also strength. An unbridled searching. My heart races. “My Shelter” is the title, Anonymous photographed by J Moreno. I rest my hand over my chest and my pulse thrums through my fingertips at the low cut neckline of mydress.
“Jess. What the fuck?” Coy chastises in his lowgrowl.
I startle at his words and my eyes widen as I meet his angry glare. “Baby—”
He grips my arm just above my elbow and yanks me behind him. His strides are long and I have to take two steps of my own just to keep up. His fingers tighten, digging into my skin enough to bruise. My eyes train on the marble tiles of flooring and how the tips of my shoes play peek-a-boo as the hem of my skirt swishes with eachstep.
What have I donewrong?
He doesn’t like my outfit.My first guess. Or maybe the way I was openly gawking the scandalous photograph. Maybe one of the men nearby was checking me out and I didn’t notice. My mind races withpossibilities.
Coy pushes open a wooden door and yanks me by the arm into the cool night air. We’re on some small secluded patio overlooking manicured gardens and the ocean beyond. I don’t study the view long because my boyfriend’s furious glare fills my belly withdread.
Why can’t I do anythingright?
I always screw things up forhim.
“Coy, I’m sorry.I—”
“Save it.” He drops my arm and glares even harder. His jaw works back and forth and I know he’s trying to hold back the rage that boils just beneath the surface. “Are you trying to make me lose my fuckingmind?”
“What do you need? Tell me. I’m sorry, I onlywanted—”
“This is a big night for me. I don’t need you walking around dressed like a fucking slut! God damn it, Jess, what were you thinking? Your tits are practically fallingout!”
“I wasn’t . . .” I choke on my words, my eyes filling with tears that won’t fall. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll go changenow.”
“Right, and miss my fucking show? We’re on in fifteen.” He spits the words and they hurt more than any physical slap. He knows I have nothing with me to change into. More moisture gathers in my eyes, clouding my vision from seeing his utter distaste, but I know it’s there. “Selfish, Jess. Fucking selfish. Do whatever youwant.”
“Baby, don’t.” I reach for hisarm.
He grabs my hand away, this time so hard I almost fear he’ll break a bone. The hate in his glare is more than I can take. I shrink back when he raises the otherhand.
