Religion [J.P.M.]

five.

I sat at the bar, Liz behind it cleaning out glasses.  The fashion show had begun and there were many people sitting at tables and talking amongst themselves.  Will Drake was across the room, near the staircase, chatting with some big names in the fashion industry.  He was well-dressed, clean cut, and elegant.  He threw his head back in laughter at what a woman had said and I could see no more due to someone sitting in the seat next to mine.

"Hey." The man said.  He was your average punk-rocker.  Wild hair, eyeshadow, and a facial expression that was a mix between neutral and angry.

"Chanel." I stick my hand out, examining his leather jacket and the rest of his ensemble.  "Neil Barrett?"

He shook his head, as he did my hand.  "Tristan Duffy."

"Never heard of him." I take a sip of the glass Liz puts down in front of him.

"Do you want to?" Tristan asks.

I put the glass down.  "Are you a model?"

"I just so happen to be, yes."

"Good." I stand up and press my body between his legs.  "Can you do me a favor, Tristan?"

He smirks.  "Depends.  What do I get out of it?"

"Whatever you want." I put my hand on his thigh.  "You just have to introduce me to Mr. Drake."

He mulls it over for a few seconds and then clears his throat.  "You're using me?"

"We're using each other, don't you think?  I'm getting something I want and you're getting the same." My hand trails up to his belt.  "What do you say?"

I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was sold.  He slammed the rest of the Cristal in his glass down his throat and got off of the bar stool.  "If you want to be introduced so you can get in his pants, you should know he's gay."  Tristan explains, our bodies nearly touching.

Either way, I could still find a way to get him alone but make it look like an accident.  "I know." I say, pulling up the front of my dress to hide my cleavage.  "It's more of a business inquiry."

"Are you a model too?  He has some openings in the show, so if you were interested now is the time to ask." He glances over at him.  "He's talking to the editor of Vogue magazine."

"Well, lets go interrupt."

Tristan looks at me.  "Whatever."

We cross the room, I smile at every passing waiter until we're a couple feet away from Will Drake.  Tristan began to say something when he looked at me and ceased his conversation with the Vogue magazine editor.  "Hello hello, I don't believe we've met." Will says, sticking his hand out.  "Will Drake."

"Chanel Ramirez." I shake his hand.  "I understand there are openings in your show."

He looks me up and down, then nods.  "Yes.  Of course.  You," He points at Tristan.  "Show her the dressing room and get ready.  Show starts in 10."