When Stars Align

Sometimes we find love in the strangest of places and the strangest of hearts.                           Amanda stood behind a tree and stared at the Grand Palais entrance filled with paparazzi and celebrities taking pictures at the red carpet. It was the last day of Paris Fashion Week and Luca Rossi was showcasing his springtime collection. She knew just the name Rossi would garner a lot of audience but she hadn’t expected it to be packed with so many people. Now her impulsive decision to come here seemed like a harebrained idea. She had underdressed, in just a plain white tee and blue skinny jeans; she’d stick out like a sore thumb if she attempted to go through the main entrance. But she’s already here, it seems foolish to go back now without completing her purpose for coming here in the first place. Amanda tapped her foot impatiently and looked around the street for possible ways to get in without being spotted. That seems like mission impossible considering she didn’t even have a ticket to get in, in the first place. Why! Oh why did I decide to come here. This is insane. I know why, I wasn’t thinking; she said to herself. Her gaze caught the sight of a man standing far from the main entrance dressed in a suit and she smiled in wry amusement. He was gesticulating wildly with his hands and seemed to be on the brink of pulling his hair out, from the looks of it. The poor man on the receiving end of his onslaught looked about ready to piss his pants. Her mirth wasn’t from the gestures he was making but because he looked red in the face and was about to explode. If he was a cartoon character there’d be steam coming out of his ears right now. Forgetting about her current predicament, she focused her attention on the scene. She wished she could hear what he was saying but even if she did, she would undoubtedly not understand a word of it. No one seems to speak a word of English here. Ever since her arrival in Paris two days ago, every question she asked was answered with a litany of words in French that sounded like a bunch of garbled nonsense to her ears. So she’d refrained from talking to the locals and stuck to her hotel room until she had the genius idea to come to the fashion show. The man pointed to his watch and pointed to a white van with the name Betsy’s kitchen painted on it. Amanda looked away, bored already with the scene and turned her gaze back to the entrance. She wasn’t getting in that way that’s for sure, if only there was a service entrance she could use or a backdoor. Just as the thought occurred to her, she snapped her head back to the van. The man from earlier was no longer there but a bunch of people dressed in white aprons were carrying covered trays from the van. An idea struck her and she strode gingerly towards the van. She peeked through the open door and luckily for her there was no one in the van, just some equipments, aprons and a pack of hairnets lying on a tray in the van. She picked an apron and tied it around her waist, then pushed her curly afro which she had packed into two buns on her head in a hairnet. She sneaked a glance at the entrance and saw two men guarding it– they looked huge and had passive masks on their faces– she needed something extra to convince them she was one of the staffs that just went in. Amanda scanned the van but the equipments she saw were either too minuscule or too heavy to carry. She picked a soup spoon and hoped it was sufficient. She made her way towards the guards and they scanned her from head to toe, one lifted his brows questioningly at her. She stared at him in utter bafflement and he looked down at her feet, she followed his gaze and to her mortification; her white flipflops stared back at her. That’s definitely not part of a cook’s attire. Damn it! Of all things to foil her plan, it had to be freaking flipflops. She gave him a smile she hoped passed for apologetic and crossed her fingers behind her. Just when she resigned herself to failure, he stepped aside and opened the door for her to go in. She quickly rushed in and waved goodbye to the guard who just ignored her and closed the door. Finally in, she ditched the cook’s attire with the soup spoon in a nearby trashcan– the poor catering staffs will probably need the spoon to serve soup though– and made her way to the grand hall where the fashion show was to commence, the Nave. Apparently, she hadn’t gone in through a service entrance, she realised as she walked through the quiet hall but through another entrance into the massive glass building. Palais De’couverte, a science museum, the signs read. Being the first time entering the building, she wished she could explore but she hadn’t come to tour the building. She followed the signs written in both French and English. The show had already started by the time she found it, she stuck to the makeshift walls at the back and stared at the stage as the models walked on the runway. The stage was decorated to look like a garden with a fountain in the middle, four square shaped grass patches with spring flowers formed a maze-like structure with wide spaces for the models to walk through. A row of white curtains covered the entryway for the models. They glided across the stage like forest sprites, complete with the colour code, dressed in long colourful dresses that flowed smoothly like water as they walked. The designs were a true masterpiece and she wondered how soft they’d feel on the skin if she were to wear one of them. The showstopper made her entrance and everyone applauded as she paraded the stage in her sky blue chiffon dress with straps that wrapped around her body and arms like vines on a tree. Amanda waited with bated breath, she knew the show had ended and the models would soon come out in troops followed by the designer. Luca Rossi came out arm in arm with his showstopper and waved at the adoring crowd. Her breath caught, her pulse quickening, she stared at him with teary eyes and a saddened heart. The magazine clippings she had stashed away in her wardrobe at home did him no justice, in the flesh he was a sight for sore eyes and she drank him in. His midnight black hair gleamed under the flashing lights of the cameras, his icy green eyes that had a way of boring into her soul when he stared at her, the quirk of his soft plump lips as he smiled, she etched every single feature in her memory. She stared until she couldn’t anymore and found her way out of the building. What was I thinking coming here tonight. She knew what she thought. Seeing him wouldn’t affect her, she would get closure. Oh what a fool she’d been! She was still as enamoured with him as she was six years ago. Oh Luca! What do I have to do to forget you. She should hate him, abhor him even. She stood on the walkway overlooking the Seine and wrapped her arms around herself, the air was a bit chilly tonight and she was dressed in a threadbare teeshirt that served little to no protection against the chill. Six years she’d pined after him, waited for him and he had only climbed up the ladder to fame, rung after rung with no thought to the girl he left behind. Suddenly she felt angry, she wiped her tears and steeled her resolve; she would start doing what she couldn’t do for the last six years. Forget about him and move on, he certainly seemed to have done so.