Just Play Along

Twenty-Three & Twenty-Four

“Aston, you’re up!” our stylist called.

“Ask her if she knows what you should wear,” JB laughed.

“Oh good call.”

I wandered over to the stylist, who started pulling things off a rack of clothes and holding them up against me. I figured I might as well pose my question to her, about the horse race, and was promptly promised that she would sort something for me by the time we came in for round two of shooting the next morning.

“Thanks,” I said to her.

“Just, if anyone asks, tell them I styled you?” she said.

“Course,” I replied.

“No worries. That crowd is very particular about who styles them,” she said, “And I would not mind getting a bit of business from them. If you know what I mean…” she trailed off, hinting that it was definitely good money.

“Ahhh… That makes sense. I’ll definitely name drop when I can!” 

--

Sunday came fast and I stood in my wardrobe, in front of the full-length mirror, feeling like a total idiot. I hoped to god I didn’t get papped, especially with the ridiculous top hat I had on. I also had on a fitted suit and matching waistcoat, with a crisp white shirt underneath. I could drop the waistcoat and hat and wear the suit to the premier that night, which was certainly helpful and well planned by our stylist.

My doorbell dinged, prompting me to throw my keys in my pocket and rush out. Jess was picking me up, insisting that it would be better if I rode with her for once. I pulled the stupid hat off my head and held it in my hand as I wrenched the door open.

“Aston Merrygold?” a gentleman in a suit and driver’s cap asked.

“That’s me,” I said, my brow furrowed. Who was this guy?

“I’m here to pick you up.”

“Oh great,” I replied, turning to lock up my house behind me. I followed the driver down to the car that was idling in my drive, the same Rolls Royce I’d seen Jess in when I’d gone to the football with her. The driver pulled the door open for me and I slid in, to find Jess sat there waiting.

“Let’s see what you’re waering then,” she said. No hello or anything.

“Hi back.”

“Sorry. Hello. How are you? What are you wearing?” she said wryly.

I opened my arms so she could see my outfit, the top hat sitting on my knee. “This work?”

“It’s fine,” she replied. I turned to give her an incredulous look, shocked when I saw what she was wearing. It was a very simple cream colored dress that stopped above her knee in a flowing skirt and accentuated her toned arms with a boat-necked cut at the top. Her hair was down, the first time I’d ever seen it that way, and she had a simple headpiece on instead of some big ridiculous hat. It was very fashionable. She looked kinda hot, in a weird royal way.

“You look nice,” I said quietly.

“What?”

“I said…”

“No, I heard you,” she replied, looking me up and down.

“Just being nice,” I said.

“Well thanks. You scrubbed up well too,” she smiled faintly.

I could see her knee jiggling up and down as we drove through West London. “You ok?” I questioned, tapping her knee with the top hat.

“Just nervous.”