Maggie was wide awake before the alarm even went off. She studied Antonio’s signature. “XO…” Does he write that on all the girls’ t-shirts? At the Night Owl, she had been too engrossed with the girl’s shiny lip gloss to notice how he had signed her sleeve. Obviously, he did not typically sign, “Chad.”
Maggie thought about the cheetah stuffed animal, and how it reminded her of Cheetos. She recalled how sweetly Antonio had responded to his little fan. Her mind danced with pictures of him blowing his gum and later eating his ice cream. She could not remember the last time she had so much fun. But time was passing quickly, and soon she would be back in London.
She really needed to focus on work. She would get there early, and hopefully forget the miserable reality that she could never be with Antonio. It was just an illusion.
I need to quit thinking about him.
Maggie stood, in front of the mirror, looking a bit tired from the late nights, but nonetheless, today was the big, anticipated event—the fashion show. She wore a new, short sleeve dress made of a poly knit, hosting an overstated design in cream and red rectangular stripes running at various complicated diagonals. The dress had a v-neckline that gathered into the waistline covered by a belt—classy, sophisticated and one of Francis’ designs.
www.lovetheillusion.com/98.htm
The convention center sparkled, dashing in extravagance, a beautiful sight to behold, until she saw Francis Louis hunched over his computer, sitting at a round table in the center of the room. Everything looked remarkable and perfectly arranged, except for him.
“Maggie! I didn’t expect you until 9 o’clock.” His eyes followed her as she approached.
“I decided to come early.” Maggie wore her tattered emotions on her sleeve.
“Well, that’s great, there’s plenty to do! Did you eat breakfast, at least coffee?”
“Yeah, I had a bagel and an apple from the deli.” Maggie stood for a moment, trying to clear her thoughts of Antonio.
“You look tired,” Francis commented as if he was in charge of her appearance.
“I, uh, haven’t been sleeping well. You know how it is when you’re traveling.”
He observed her, with his beady eyes, just over the top rim of his glasses. “Perhaps, you need coffee! We have a fresh pot right here.” He fidgeted with the newspaper to move it out of the way, clearing a spot for her to join him.
“Thanks.” She proceeded to pour herself a cup. She wished she could take a nap.
“Sorry, no cream and sugar,” he added.
“It’s fine, Francis. So, is everything ready to go? It all looks wonderful…far better than the last show we did.” She tried to look energetic.
“Well,” he said stiffly, in his usual quick pace, “that’s not saying much, after we had to use those cut-rate cheesy blue tablecloths and cheap ugly vases with the poor excuse of dandelion looking floral displays, not to mention the caterers left us with food that must have been imported from one of China’s street vendors!”
She remembered his detailed recollection.
“I know, it was awful,” she gave way to laughter, “but this time I didn’t give them a chance to screw up. I picked everything out myself.”
He grunted while opening up the newspaper to read. “Well if it isn’t Antonio DeLuca making the news, again. He plans to expand his show to include Sweden now? Well, la tea da!”
