The event hall was enormous, one of the nicest in the city, and it was regularly booked for events like this, as well as for high-priced weddings and celebrations. She'd catered events here once or twice before for Shania. The stage was near the north end of the round hall, the catwalk running down the center of the room through a sea of tables and chairs.
The room itself was decorated in an exotic baroque fashion, all gold and white and lavender, with silk-draped walls and elaborate chandeliers meant to compliment the high-end red carpet evening gowns that would be walking down the catwalk later. There was a scent of jasmine and orange blossom in the air from the live, flowering potted trees along the walls. Though Heather had been to such events before, she never got used to it. It felt like wandering into a fantasy, into the magical realm of some fairy-tale princess.
The linen-covered tables were near the north wall. Heather could see the stage as she warmed up her pans. The hall provided a small kitchen, the door to which was just behind her, and she was using it to store her ingredients and do the messier prep work, but she preferred to do the actual assembly and service from here. It added to the experience in her opinion and gave her a chance to talk directly with the guests. That had landed her another job more than once. The people who attended these sorts of events were also the kind of people likely to host them.
Her crew arrived shortly and things kicked into high gear. Chloe wandered off to look at the decorations, and Heather began giving orders, getting everything in place for when the first guests walked through the door. She had two of her best with her today. Renee, a short, dark-haired woman was in the kitchen preparing the ingredients to make sure Heather's assembly line never ran short. Desmond, a waifish young man with ambitions of one day being a sommelier, was running between the kitchen and the table, clearing plates and bringing fresh supplies on demand. Heather stayed behind the table completing dishes.
It was about seven when the doors opened and people began to arrive while jazzy electronic lounge music played through the speakers. Heather made sure Chloe was safely seated in a corner behind the buffet, where she was engrossed in a game on Heather’s phone, and staying out of trouble. Then, she put on her best customer-service smile and got to work.
Here, Heather was the unquestioned master of her domain. She called out orders to Desmond and Renee with calm confidence, knowing they would be followed to the letter. Her hands moved with practiced grace and unwavering efficiency through recipes and techniques she had studied until she could perform them in her sleep. She seared off seafood and assembled stunning, artistic bites without even looking down as she cheerfully chatted with her guests.
When she was cooking, Heather became someone else entirely. She knew she could be too timid most of the time, unsure of herself, too easily pushed around, but in the kitchen, no one knew better than her. She knew exactly how good she was, and there was no room to doubt herself when there was so much that needed to be done. When Heather was working, all her anxiety disappeared, if only for a moment.
There was a break in the people flowing past her table, and Heather breathed for what felt like the first time in an hour.
"Mom, look at her!"
She looked down to find Chloe beside her, pointing at a guest in a beautiful designer gown, possibly by the same person whose collection was being shown tonight.
Chloe sighed. "She's so beautiful. Do you think she's a model?"
Heather looked at the woman's perfect skin and dangerously thin waist and hazarded a guess.
"Probably," she said. "She is beautiful. She must work really hard to look like that."
"Really?" Chloe asked. "I mean, aren't models just born that way?"
Heather laughed. "Of course not. Nobody looks like that naturally. There are a lot of different ways to be beautiful, and everybody sees beauty differently. But the fashion industry only wants their models to be one specific kind of beautiful, and nobody is all the things they want a model to be. So if someone wants to be a model, they have to work at it constantly—exercise and diet and makeup, cosmetic surgery and airbrushing and specially tailored clothes. It's a really hard job, and most people can only do it for a short time."
"But you're pretty enough to be a model," Chloe said. Heather laughed.
"Thank you, sweetheart," she said. "I did a few photo shoots when I was in school, but I'd rather be cooking."
She didn't want to discourage Chloe by saying she really wasn't pretty enough. Not in the right way. And she was too old. All the models here today were probably in their early twenties, if that.
"I just want to wear all those pretty dresses," Chloe said, leaning her elbows on the table as she looked out at the guests milling about in their designer evening wear.
"Yeah, I'd like that too," Heather agreed with a small laugh.
"Heather!"
Heather looked up in surprise as Shania hurried toward her, looking distressed.
"What's wrong?" Heather asked, confused.
"I need your help," Shania said, taking her by the arms and looking her up and down quickly. "Yeah, I think you'll fit. Come on. We only have fifteen minutes!"
"Fifteen minutes till what?"
Heather, reluctant to leave her table, stumbled along as Shania pulled her.
"Till the show starts!" Shania said, hurriedly messaging someone on her phone with the hand not gripping Heather's arm. "One of the models flaked! I need someone to take her place, and I don't have time to fit anyone else. You look close to the right size."
Heather blanched and dug in her heels.
"I can't do that!" she said, stunned. "I'm not a model! And I have a job to do—the food!"
"No one's going to be at the buffet during the show anyway," Shania said. "And your crew can manage until then. Right, Desmond?"
Desmond nodded at once.
"We've got this, boss," he promised. "I'd love to see you on a catwalk."
"You're gonna be a model?" Chloe squealed, obviously over the moon.
"No, sweetie. I—" Heather didn’t know how to explain. Her face was turning red. There was no way she could do this. She couldn’t stand in front of all those people as a thirty-year-old mother and pretend to be a model!
"Please, Heather," Shania begged, taking her hands. "I need you. There's no one else who can do this. You've always been there for me all these years. Please don't let me down now!"
Heather wilted, realizing there was no way she could turn her old friend down.
"All right," she said, giving in. Shania and Chloe both cheered at the same time, and Shania began dragging her away again.
"Come on! We don't have much time!"