Samantha Foster sat in the back of the limo smoothing her ice blue cocktail dress and waiting to exit. Her heart ricocheted across her chest when the crowd became visible and the flashbulbs exploded like Roman candles on the fourth of July. One silver shoe at a time, she placed her feet on the curb and stood on wobbling legs. This wasn’t her life. It was the short-term life she’d won with ten dollars and a smile.
The crush of reporters pressed forward forcing her to stumble back on heels that were four inches taller than her norm. She was Keds and Cotton T’s, not Manalos and Marc Jacobs.
Shouts came from the crowd.
“How does it feel to be the girl with the billion dollar smile?” The spindly male reporter stepped in front of her and took a close up of the smile she’d pasted on before she exited the car. Move out of the way. She’d gained forward momentum and wasn’t sure she could stop on a heel the width of her pinky nail.
“Do you feel like Cinderella?” Shouted a woman who by all rights could have been the witch from sleeping beauty. Her hooked nose cast a shadow over her wrinkled lips, making them almost disappear. Almost.
Sleeping…a beautiful thought after getting up at the crack of dawn to be carted around town and “pampered”. Whoever said spas were relaxing never had a full body exfoliation or a Brazilian blowout. Her scalp still tingled from the constant tugging. Her skin glowed from the gentle abrading.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish