BlackHeart

Chapter 46

         My task today was to run from point A to point B to drop off a specific purse to a shoot that they forgot. Then from point B I was meant to go to point C to help clean up the pile of clothes left behind from a 'pull'. A 'pull' means when someone gets a whole shit load of clothes and accessories to pull some looks. They keep what they like and leave the rest as a mess for someone like me to gather up. I needa do that in a timely manner, because Helen told me she'd let me come see this French designer with her if I was done on time. 

I really wanted to make it on time, so I was hauling ass. 

        The roundabout at the Arc De Triomphe was always crazy with cars. You can't cross it or you'll most likely get struck by a car. Tourists don't know that there's an underground passage to get to the monument that's popular with tourists, so some people do try to run across the crazy road. Europeans drive crazy in my opinion. 

I ended up just jumping out of the car with the bag slung under my arm. I did what I like to call the heel-jog that isn't a sprint, but is faster than walking. I'm in heels so it's a 'clicking rapidly' kind of jog to the finish line. I practically threw the bag at the woman who was already waiting for its arrival. Then it was off to point C, so I could collect everything left there.

      When I got to the rich ladies impressive home I saw I had my work cut out for me. Three racks worth of clothes all strone about. Heels, belts, sunglasses, and all the goods just piled on chairs of some rich woman's house. The maid let me in. She'd been expecting me, though the client wasn't there. I was cursing the woman in my head for being so messy. One by one I had to pick up the articles of clothing and put them back on hangers, so I could bag up the rack to properly move the clothes from here back to the office. When I went to re-box the shoes, all were accounted for except for one. One shoe remained in the box and the other? Gone. 

There's a list we're meant to check to be sure all our products come back to us if they aren't purchased by the client. I need that damn shoe. It's a $600 pair of shoes that would be coming out of my paycheck if I wasn't able to return it to Helen. Shit. I started looking around the room and under the bed. I opened the woman's personal closet to be sure nothing got mixed in. Nothing. Oh my god.

        I walked outside of the bedroom and darted my eyes around like somehow the shoe would just be sitting there. I'm not supposed to wander around a client's house, but I cannot leave without that shoe. I started walking down the long hall and peeking quietly into the rooms whose doors were open. With the closed doors I would knock, but I received no answers from any of them. I had no choice but to open them a crack to peek inside. The first room was some bedroom that looked pretty unused so I doubted it would be in there. 

I decided to ask the maid if she could look around downstairs or around whichever entry the car used to deliver everything. She spoke very little English, but I waved the one shoe at her and we communicated by common sense. 

        Time was running out and I really really wanted to make it to that designer, so I just started walking into rooms in that hall until I opened a door and it was a child's bedroom I walked into. I cringed when I realized a small child was sleeping in the bed. I was about to tip toe back out until my eyes caught something discarded on the floor. The shoe! I sighed in relief and grabbed it.

Walking back out of the room I suddenly came eye to eye with a woman who looked surprised to see a stranger leaving her child's bedroom. Fair enough. She started yelling at me in French, and I quickly showed her the shoe trying to tell her who I was, which I don't even know if she understood. She did start saying some things in English, and I finally got her to hear me out, showing her my credentials of working for Helen Barton.