The Heiress 15

Chapter 15: A Stark Revelation

As the luxurious car wove through Los Angeles' evening streets, illuminated by a constellation of street lamps, Brian sat entranced in his reflection. The window, acting as an impromptu mirror, framed an image that repulsed him. The Botox and fillers had stretched his features into a flawless mask of femininity. Dark, fluttery lashes framed his eyes, now more doll-like than ever, while perfectly arched brows sat above, eternally etching an expression of surprise onto his face. Below them, his lips, swollen and glossed to an excessive plumpness, struggled to remain closed, a task that seemed Herculean given their exaggerated volume.

Charles Montgomery’s voice pierced the silence of the car’s plush interior, “So what progress are you making in your investigation?” Sitting beside Brian, his presence was as commanding as his tone. Slowly, Brian turned, his movements hampered by the tightness of his outfit. "Nothing concrete yet," he replied, each word a laboured effort, leaving him breathless.

“I see,” Charles replied, his voice carrying a note of contemplation. “Well, perhaps tonight you will make some headway. Speak to Suzy at the afterparty. I’m sure she can introduce you to a few people.” His advice was given with a casual yet authoritative nod, reflecting the ease with which he navigated these social labyrinths.

Brian acknowledged with a nod, pushing back a curled strand of blonde hair. The smile he forced on his bloated lips was a struggle, born of fear rather than mirth. The thought of attending a movie premiere and an afterparty dressed in his current garb filled him with dread.

His outfit for the evening was a concoction of discomfort and extravagance. The dress, with a corseted waist, cinched his midsection to the brink of agony, amplifying his artificially augmented chest into a magnificent cleavage. Crafted from a blend of black satin and leather, the material of the dress jutted out in an exaggerated fashion around his bosom and hips, sculpting an exaggerated silhouette that made even sitting an uncomfortable task. The long, train-like skirt added a dramatic flair, making him feel like a gothic bride, especially when perched atop towering platform pumps.

The evening stretched before him, a daunting sequence of social navigation and physical endurance. Already exhausted from a day spent in Beverly Hills, where he had showcased opulent houses while balancing precariously on similarly towering heels, the thought of enduring another few hours was almost unbearable. Each step throughout the day had been a delicate balance of maintaining poise and managing pain, a skill he had honed but never relished.

As the car pulled up alongside the dazzling red carpet, Brian's heart hammered against the constricting satin of his corseted dress. He gazed out at the sea of photographers with a rising sense of panic, their cameras poised like predators waiting for their prey. The glamorous scene outside was a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside him. He turned to Charles, words of protest forming in his throat, but before he could voice his fears, the chauffeur opened Charles' door, and the larger man clambered out with an air of accustomed dignity.

In that fleeting moment of stillness before the storm, Brian watched in horrified fascination as Charles confidently navigated around the rear of the car. Then, the door on his side suddenly swung open, flooding the interior with the cacophony of excited chatter and intermittent flashes. Charles extended his hand with a reassuring smile, "Shall we, my dear?" His voice, a blend of encouragement and command, left little room for refusal.

With a trembling gloved hand, Brian reached out, grasping Charles' firm grip for support as he was ushered into the blinding flashes of the photographers. His high-heeled feet, buckled inside sky-high platforms, felt like they were made of lead. Each step was an effort, a struggle to maintain balance and composure under the weight of countless scrutinizing eyes.

Brian shuffled along the carpet, his gaze fixed on Charles, seeking guidance in this unfamiliar world of flashing lights and prying lenses. "Just smile and relax," Charles whispered, his smile a portrait of confidence and ease.

"Easy for you to say," Brian muttered, the words barely escaping his pillowy, glossed lips. His face, a carefully crafted visage of femininity, was a mask of discomfort and vulnerability. His lashes, heavy with mascara, fluttered in an attempt to shield his eyes from the relentless camera flashes.

Suddenly, Brian let out a small, involuntary squeal as he nearly toppled to the ground in a comical stumble. This momentary lapse in grace reignited the interest of the cameramen, who had momentarily shifted their focus to more recognizable celebrities arriving on the scene. "Oh, sorry," Charles quickly apologized, having inadvertently stepped on the lengthy train of Brian's elaborate skirt. "If it makes you feel any better, I think you look absolutely fabulous tonight," Charles added, casually shifting his gaze away as if to dismiss the mishap.

Brian responded with a glare, his annoyance magnified by the exaggerated pout of his voluminous, gloss-coated lips. Each flash from the photographers' cameras felt like an intrusion, dissecting every element of his appearance. They captured the strain in his posture, the towering heels that contorted his feet, and the opulent updo that crowned his head, its weight a constant burden with each step he managed to take.

(See image 29)

The next two hours for Brian, sitting in the plush, red velvet seat of the movie theatre, were nothing short of a living hell. The artsy film that flickered on the big screen might as well have been in a foreign language for all the interest he had in it. His discomfort was exacerbated by the torturous gown he wore, its corseted waist squeezing him mercilessly. Every attempt to find a comfortable position was a losing battle against the satin and leather confines of his outfit. His feet, imprisoned in their arched position, throbbed incessantly, a ceaseless echo of pain that seemed to amplify with each passing minute.

As the credits finally rolled, offering a semblance of reprieve, Brian braced himself for the gauntlet that awaited him outside. Ushered from the theatre, he once again ran the harrowing obstacle course of flashing cameras and inquisitive eyes. The photographers, after his earlier near-fall, seemed especially keen on capturing his every move, their lenses trained on him in anticipation of another mishap. Brian, however, navigated through the sea of paparazzi with a cautious gait, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing him falter.

The relief of finally making it to the car, and then to the after-party a short drive away, was palpable. Brian entered the event on the arm of Charles Montgomery, a figure of poise and suffering masked by an impeccable façade. The customary introductions as Charles's fiancé were a whirlwind of polite smiles and air kisses, each one a reminder of the role he was compelled to play.

A half-hour into the event, with the freedom to mingle, Brian immediately sought out Suzy Montgomery. Not only was she a familiar face in the overwhelming crowd, but Charles's earlier words echoed in his mind, urging him to seek her guidance.

Brian spotted Suzy at the heart of the opulent after-party, where she stood out in a daringly cut, flowing pink gown that added a touch of risqué glamour to the evening. Amidst the glittering Hollywood elite, they engaged in casual banter, their conversation lightly skimming over the event's highlights and the distinguished guests in attendance. Yet, as they delved deeper into their exchange, the lightheartedness gradually ebbed away. Suzy's demeanour subtly changed, her words taking on a weightier, more intimate tone that suggested she had more pressing matters on her mind.

“You know, Roxy, I've been meaning to talk to you about something,” Suzy began, her eyes locking onto Brian's heavily made-up ones.

“Oh? What’s that?” Brian replied, his corseted waist tightening further with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

"Tod Stark!" Suzy said, her voice lowering. "I hear you visited his hotel room recently." She added with a theatrical tut.

Brian’s heart skipped a beat at the mention. Memories of his brief encounter in Tod's hotel room came flooding back, drenched in regret and embarrassment. “It’s not what you think,” he stammered, his mind racing. He felt sick as he vividly recalled getting down on his knees like some whore to pleasure the man after telling him it was his time of the month. He could still remember the taste of the man, a sensation that lingered unpleasantly. The most frustrating aspect, however, was the futility of it all. Despite the personal boundaries he had crossed, he had tottered away with no new information, nothing to advance his search.

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by a waiter who materialized before them, bearing a tray laden with H'ourderves. "May I offer you ladies some salmon pâté?" he inquired, his gaze lingering a moment too long on Brian's prominently displayed cleavage. Brian and Suzy simultaneously turned to face the intrusive figure.

(See image 30)

Suzy politely declined. "No, thank you." Brian echoed her response, albeit with a hint of frustration. "No, thank you," he repeated, his voice barely concealing his unease. With a nod, the waiter promptly moved along, leaving them to resume their private discussion.

Turning back to face one another, Suzy leaned in closer. “Relax, Roxy. I'm not judging. This is Hollywood, after all. Doing things we don't want to, to get what we need, is part of the game.”

Brian, still reeling from the mention of the hotel incident, was momentarily lost for words. “I...” he started, but Suzy cut him off.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she reassured him. “What matters is that you’re here to help, right? My brother told me about your real reason for being in L.A.”

“He did!” Brian exclaimed, a mixture of fear and surprise evident in his voice. His eyes, framed by thick lashes and dark liner, blinked rapidly in disbelief.

"Yes, he did. And I think what you're doing is quite brave," Suzy continued, her voice soft yet sincere. "Private detective or not, it takes a special woman to go through with all of this. It’s impressive, really. You’ve pulled off quite the transformation."

"Woman!" Brian repeated, a flicker of confusion crossing his tight face before quickly realizing Suzy still believed him to be a woman.

"Err… what?" Suzy looked at him, puzzled, her red bob swaying as she tilted her head.

"Nothing," Brian quickly covered, forcing a smile. "I’m just a bit tired today. That’s all."

There was a brief, awkward pause before Suzy spoke again. “Anyway, let's arrange to talk more privately soon. But keep an eye on the Starks. They've had it in for my brother since he outmanoeuvred Tod's father in a major deal. There's bad blood there.”

Brian nodded, the information about the Stark family resonating in his mind as a plausible lead. As Suzy excused herself to mingle with other guests, he was left alone to contemplate this new direction in his investigation. Despite the throbbing pain in his feet and the sensation of his ribs being crushed, Brian felt re-energized. Yet, as he stood there, draped in exaggerated femininity, he feared that there would undoubtedly be further lines he would need to cross if he was to uncover the truth about Cameron Montgomery.