Mandy Makes Her Mark by Ruby Laska Page B

allowed herself to be zipped, pinned, and tucked into a shimmering lilac number with a portrait collar, she tried hard to pretend not to be relieved that Sylvie, at least, was immune to Tad’s charms.
    It didn’t matter. No matter how many beautiful women found it in themselves to resist Tad, there would always be dozens more ready to take on the challenge. And how could Mandy ever compete?

CHAPTER EIGHT
    By six o’clock Mandy was utterly exhausted. Back in her bungalow, she scrubbed off every last trace of makeup and stood under the shower until all the product was finally rinsed from her hair. She toweled off, dressed in a shapeless tank top and a pair of yoga pants, and collapsed on the bed.
    She had planned to stay there all night, but by sunset her hunger pangs had stolen any chance she had at sleep. She had subsisted on model fare all day, eating what Sylvie ate: a plate of sliced fruit midmorning, and half a chicken breast slivered and sprinkled over a mound of arugula and drizzled with lemon juice in the afternoon. Sylvie had claimed to be stuffed, but Mandy was accustomed to much sturdier meals.
    She paused in front of the mirror, only to discover that her hair had dried in an asymmetric frizz, lifting up of its own accord on one side. After a couple of attempts to tame it with a comb, Mandy gave up and wet it down, securing it with a barrette. Her cheeks were pink from the vigorous scrubbing, and the net effect was that she looked about twelve.
    Why anyone thought she could pull off the modeling stand-in was a mystery. Even now, Deirdre was probably going through her proofs, cursing herself for going along with the crazy plan. And Lark! What would he say when he saw how his precious gowns looked on her? On the arm of Tad or standing next to Sylvie, she probably looked like a potato wrapped in pastel foil. Jayde might have been the same size as Mandy, but she was also statuesque and graceful and her curves looked alluring and inviting, as though they had been lovingly sculpted by Renoir. Staring at her reflection, Mandy knew that she looked like she was headed to the drug store for toilet paper, rather than off for a romantic rendezvous. And Lark had emphasized romance: he wanted his advertising campaign to convince women that the gowns would elevate a special occasion into an unforgettable one.
    Unforgettable. The word played in Mandy’s mind as she walked the path to Palmetto Manor, the resort’s historic main building that housed the restaurant and bar as well as reception. What had Mandy ever done that was unforgettable? It seemed to her that most of her accomplishments had been anything but. Not just being the third-best oboe player in high school, but all her bit parts in drama club, sitting on the bench on the JV softball team, and her string of unexciting marketing jobs after college. Forgettable, all of it. Mandy was a forgettable woman who dated forgettable men and wore forgettable clothes and watched forgettable television and –
    The restaurant’s side door opened just as Mandy was reaching for the handle and a couple came out, laughing and holding hands, oblivious to her staggering out of the way. The door had scraped her bare toes, and she jumped around in pain as the couple strolled down the moonlit path. She wasn’t just unforgettable, she was unnoticeable. Maybe she would simply fade into the background of the Lark photos, just a jewel toned blur behind the dazzling Sylvie and Tad.
    â€œMay I help you?” the silver-haired bartender murmured from across a cozy room, where he was polishing a crystal goblet. Too late Mandy realized that she’d wandered into the bar instead of the restaurant.
    â€œOh – I’m sorry, my mistake. I was hoping to order some food to take back to my room.”
    â€œYou can do that here, if you like,” the bartender said kindly. “You’re welcome to look over a menu and wait here for your meal to be prepared. Or