Chapter 11

Since young, I have never done well in crowded places. I used to be a petite girl, so when I got into a crowd, I usually got elbowed in the face when I tried to push my way through. Neither did I have a father who could sit me on his shoulder, so since young I had learnt to hate crowds. Mom eventually found out that my dislike of shopping -as opposed to her relentless chasing of high-classed dresses and haute couture -was thus borne from such a phobia of breaking a nose while fighting for the cheapest and prettiest piece of clothing.

So, when she eventually landed herself an amazing well-paying job after I reassured her that I was fine at school and home alone until she finished work, she started to bring me shopping in the higher classed areas. Of course, there I shopped without fear of being elbowed ever again, but this was a luxury I eventually gave up when Mom died and I had to fend for myself. Shopping wasn't the most cost-saving way to survive, so I dropped the habit of visiting the old shops and got pairs of reliable jeans and plain shirts to survive.

And now, I was back in the shopping mall again, back in a crowd fighting and scratching to clinch a good deal. Off the corner of the shop, a pair of teenage girls -most probably spoilt considering the number of designs clad upon their bodies -screamed at each other in futile attempts of scaring each other off the prize.

How funny, they are acting like territorial cats over the same area marked by their piss.

Inner Bitch Kaylen was once again beginning to show as I observed them with the keen eye of a judge. Insults and digs were flying all around, each turn they took being louder and louder as if volume could help them win the piece of dress that was soon to be torn into 2.

Someone jostled roughly into me from the side, so I allowed myself to stand at the corner of the large entrance of the retail shop, out of harm's way as I kept tabs on the most explosive argument in the store. There had been some attempts to mitigate the problem between the two spoilt brats, but it didn't seem particularly effective as they continued tugging and screaming.

I sighed. After so long an absence from shopping malls due to the constraints of my wallet, it had largely been unchanged. Sales were still girls' best friend, and cheap dresses were still reasons enough to cast aside dignity to obtain.

I didn't even know where to start. Standing there, I mapped out the distinct sections of the retail shop, trying to locate where they kept formal/ballroom/prom-like dresses. It was the section that girls like me rarely visited due to lack of need but right now it was teeming with women looking to get a great deal.

I sighed, feeling like the frontline warrior in a war that I didn't support. Watching the battlefield pan out before me, a feeling of dread filled me as I tried my best not to say a prayer to my mother.

You are a woman, Kaylen Hurst. You are Kathryn Hurst's diva daughter! Go in and show them how the real bitch acts!

The encouragement here wasn't needed the least bit at all. While my mum had been a real diva, she wasn't the best influence for a shy, socially awkward girl without courage. Inner Kaylen was a real bitch, but there was a reason she was Inner Kaylen. If I had channeled Inner Kaylen after my mother's death, I probably wouldn't have survived thus far.

Why the hell was I here at all? I leaned against the side of the entrance and closed my eyes for a second.

Right, my job. A week after Ms. Ellen's visit and surprisingly silent retreat, Mr. Elxa had come to my room one day -surprising me -and asked if I was willing to attend an annual function along with him. It was business related, and he felt it was better to show up with a Plus-One. When asked how he attended such parties before, he had simply ignored the question and demanded my answer.

It was reason enough for me to say yes, for I had nothing on for the said day, and helping people out was something I found pleasure in doing.

And then, immediately upon getting my answer as if he had expected it way beforehand, he had informed that I needed formal wear. Formal-Casual was preferred, and his eyes had tagged on me with the accusation clear in his eyes: Strictly no T-shirt and jeans. I had no intention of embarrassing Mr. Elxa either, but when I threw my closet doors open, I had been reminded of my conservative, cost-minding lifestyle. My designer clothes had all been sold for money when my mother died, and I'd left absolutely none of it.

And that brought me here. I sighed at my internal monologue and set my eyes straight. I would make a beeline there, choose a simple conservative dress my size, and move quickly. Price wasn't a care now given Mr. Elxa's very generous pay, so I could afford to buy without glancing at the price tag.

I hadn't taken a second step into the shop before a cold hand closed over my wrist, pulling me back in place. Rather, I'd tried to move with the momentum of my body, but the hand pulled me back, jerking me to a stop like a demented, failed attempt at tango lessons.

"Don't go in there!" I expected my captor to say, "You'll perish on the battlefield and never come back!"

What I got was a little different from expectations.

"What the hell are you doing here? I've never seen a woman so daft. Didn't he lace your pockets with gold?" Jon demanded, eyes filled with shock and suspicion bearing straight through me.

"I'm equally unhappy as you with this shopping trip, Jonny boy." I replied as I put a stop to our strange dance, walking back close to him. He didn't let my hand go though. "It would be nice for you to send some flowers to my grave after I die in there."

He took a brief look at the scene inside at my cue, then disbelief colored his face.

"You were about to go in there? What for?" He demanded again, barely remembering to keep his nose from scrunching up in disdain.

"To buy clothes, duh." I replied as if I were speaking to a retarded child. "It seems like quite a sale is going on."

"You're kidding." He tried to confirm, face of hope falling to dismay when I didn't show signs of amusement or entertainment.

"Why would I? I want this over as quickly as you." It was true. I had dragged Jon out here to accompany me so I could take care of him along the way, and he needed to breather from... whatever he was doing in his room. Retail therapy was obviously for neither of us, but a coffee bribe had done wonders in relieving him off his permanent scowl.

"You want to do something, girl," He suddenly said, mimicking the nasal voice of what I guessed was Tim Gunn, "but this isn't working. Even if you want to do good, at least do it in style."

My helpless face as I tried to contain the amusement was enough reply for him as his demanding face drew quickly into an entertained smile.

"Get ready for a makeover, gurl." He said again, this time mimicking the voice of a diva. He didn't leave any time for me -in which I would have spent rolling on the floor laughing till my stomach hurt -to protest as he took off in a dead run out of the retail battleground I had barely attempted to enter.

Questions of any sort didn't seem encouraged either as Jon led us weaving through the crowd like a fluid ninja. Rather, he moved like a fluid ninja while I was dragged forwards along, colliding into people of the crowd like a bowling ball.

Muttering apologies wasn't getting me any less glares but at least Jon was going fast enough for any potential lectures or scolding to be futile. He continued to lead me on, in which felt as if I'd been battered near the end of the journey. Finally we emerged from the crowd, and I realized why the corridor was so sparse of people.

He'd led us straight to the section where only the richest of the richest could afford.

"Oh, no." I exclaimed at the look of satisfaction on Jon's face while he looked up at the row of extremely sparsely populated shops. "I can't afford this, even with Mr. Elxa's pay so far!"

Surprised, he turned back to stare at me with wide eyes as I self-consciously tried to edge us back into the crowd.

"He's not paying for this shopping trip?" Jon asked, as if he thought the idea of it being ridiculous.

"No," I explained. "I just wanted to look decent. You know me; my closet is just shirts and jeans."

"But he never offered to pay for this trip?" He asked, face filled with what I would say as something incredulous.

"He doesn't even know we're going shopping. Far as he knows, we could be outside singing The Script songs out in the wind at the top of our lungs." I justified, not really sure why I was defending Mr. Elxa. Perhaps I was still trying my very best to paint a beautiful picture of his father, still unconsciously trying to patch things up between them even though the tension had only heightened with Mr. Elxa's cold treatment of Ms. Ellen whom Jon had missed for fifteen years.

"We don't do that." Jon corrected with a dirty look -for it was an embarrassing moment I had caught him doing while he was a drunken mess at a The Script-themed party. "And if a man expects a woman to dress herself up to show her respect for his position and reputation, he will give her the funds to buy the things to pamper herself with."

The righteous, convicted tone of voice from Jon's proclamation shocked me. While both he and Mr. Elxa had never been seen -at least by me -to be around girls, their ideals about a perfect boy-girl relationship always took me by surprise. Maybe I'd gotten to know them as close friends, and forgotten the fact that they were both men looking for women to spend the rest of their lives with.

"Well, tough luck for us, but I haven't the opportunity to meet such a man." I answered in reply, giving up the quest to pull us back into the crowd. It really wasn't working and Jon was really surprisingly strong when he wanted to be difficult.

“Think again.” He said, and extended out an expectant hand towards me, asking for something.

“What?”

“Your phone, duh. I don’t have his number.” Jon continued as if I’d asked a basic elementary question, and for the briefest of moment I remembered what Mr. Elxa had revealed about Jon’s level of intelligence before. It was still really hard to believe that the boy standing before me had an IQ much higher than me, and probably was silently way cleverer than me –when I had been treating him like a young child all this while.

“Wait, you want to talk to Mr. Elxa?” I stalled, a little unbelieving of the situation before me. Ever since their blown out argument so long ago, Jon had refused to talk to Mr. Elxa, and even if he wanted Mr. Elxa to know anything, it was always through me. My employer knew enough that Jon was avoiding him, so was fine getting me to play messenger. So, to have Jon asking to talk to Mr. Elxa was something entirely shocking, though comforting to know that I had somehow gotten his barriers down –especially at this period where I’d thought I had failed.

“Well, I’ve got a mouth and vocal chords, don’t I? I can make sounds to reflect my thoughts.” Jon purposefully ignored the part about talking to his estranged father, but the pleasure was all on me as I scrambled to unload my communication device over. With a look that told me to shut up about anymore comments I might have on the situation, Jon thumbed through my contacts and found the number quickly.

I almost couldn’t believe my eyes as Jon tapped the call button and raised the phone to his ear.

This was my boy!

The pride of a mother hen broke through the cloud of confusion on my face, and Jon must have caught some of it, for an annoyed expression flickered past his face and he turned away –presumably to hide his conversation from. I only inched closer, the nosy bit of me coming in the way. The wait for the call to pick up was unusually suspenseful, but leaning close to Jon I could hear Mr. Elxa’s evened voice was the connection was made.

“What is it, Ms. Hurst?”

“We’re at the shopping center, and she just told me that you aren’t offering to pay for her outfit that she’s going to wear for your business party.” Jon replied quickly, informatively. It sounded almost as if the same voice was speaking to each other –and it was a trippy moment where I had to blink to make sure that it was Jon I was with and not Mr. Elxa.

If Mr. Elxa was surprised, he didn’t sound like it. In fact, the hesitation only last a second, and I internally applauded his coolness at Jon’s sudden act.

“She never told me she planned to look for clothes today.” Mr. Elxa explained evenly.

“She doesn’t have to tell you everything about her schedule. Her work boundary only includes my life. Are you paying or not?” Jon demanded, starting to sound a little angry now. Was it Mr. Elxa’s even tone of voice that Jon was always irritated with? That was something I couldn’t ease the boy into accepting.

“Yes, it is my negligence.” This was the second time I’d heard Mr. Elxa admit his mistake –the first being his ruined relationship with Jon. “I had planned to take her out some day to pick an outfit, but she must have had the same thoughts beforehand.”

“So you’re paying?” Jon sounded surprised now, as if he hadn’t expected that from his father. If Jon had such gentleman ideals, then where did he think he’d inherited it from? For some reason, I felt a little comforted that Mr. Elxa was at least trying to make things better. The warmth in my chest was a little soothing –mostly due to the fact that I could now breathe a sigh of relief knowing that my dress would be fully sponsored by my very-rich employer.

“Yes, I am. Since you are already there, please do me a favor and choose something wise to compliment Ms. Hurst well.” Mr. Elxa continued informatively, and I blushed slightly despite myself. How did he know that I wasn’t the type to know my body so perfectly well to choose a perfect outfit?

“Of course, I’m sick and tired of seeing jeans and shirts every day.” Jon replied animatedly, and for a moment, it seemed as if Jon was simply just talking to a friend –and not the father that he’d hated for fifteen years.

“Choose anything that you think might suit her. I trust your judgment of her clothes. Accessories will be good, but the only thing that is a compulsory for this a clutch purse. Get her a good, useful one and leave the bill on my table.” I heard as Mr. Elxa instructed again.

"I'll arrange an entirely makeover for her on the afternoon of the function. Make sure she will have nothing to do that day." Jon said seriously, and the striking moment of how both the father-and-son duo sounded exactly alike in discussing 'business' came.

“W-wait!” I finally found my voice enough to step in finally, exclaiming my protest. “I didn’t sign up for this! What makeover are you talking about? I’m not a reality television show!” I protested, but Jon only inched away from me, eyes of determination flashing as he moved the conversation out of earshot. Mr. Elxa must have replied with something that suited Jon, for he didn’t get any angrier and the connection was shut quickly after a few more words.

“What did Mr. Elxa say?” I asked worriedly as I received my phone again, tucking it quickly in the back pocket of my jeans. Jon still had that suspiciously happy smile on his face, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to let my guards down at that expression yet.

“He said to have you have some brown curls with some blue highlights instead of that ugly blond right now. Then you’ll have a thick layer of foundation on your cheeks, and great eyeliner. With that you’ll have whacky green eye shadow and blood red lips…” Jon replied with such seriousness that I took a long moment to imagine how I would look. The fact that it was a joke sank in a moment too late, and Jon had already moved on, pulling my hand and chuckling to himself.

“H-Hey!” I protested, but Jon wasn’t in the mood for listening. In fact, Jon was strangely in the mood of mimicking Tim Gunn, for he was, as I quote, ‘making things work’.

It was the strangest shopping trip that I ever had, but it was also the best experience. Of course, I would never forget the days where I spent watching my mother try out dress after dress, offering my child-opinion in her style of dressing. But Jon’s shopping trip was an entirely fresh experience, for beneath a rebellious, angst teenager, I began to find a mature man.

A mature man who seemed to know exactly what he wanted.

A future. A future of fashion designing.

A future of amiable relationship with the person who had employed me.