It was the fourth dress she’d tried on, and it fit like a glove. It was perfect, everything she had wanted to find. The royal blue cloth draped over her perfectly tanned shoulder and cascaded effortlessly to the ground. The blue sequined belt pulled the fabric in at her tiny waist, her favorite feature, and crystal like balls cascaded from the one shoulder down to the middle of the dress, each one catching and reflecting the light beautifully. She could already visualize how it would look on the sleek black stage and how the spotlights would make the sequins shine brilliantly. But as she looked at the blue masterpiece of fabric and the girl wrapped in it, she felt unbelievably empty.
She had written about this feeling before, in her latest novel. Coincidentally, she was buying this dress for an award ceremony. She imagined the medal being slid on top of her dazzling dress, and the emptiness was still there. Her electric green eyes popped up from her feet back to the mirror. She stared at her reflection, the version of herself erected in cold glass. The sharp green and blue dancing around her darkened arms, neck and face. She was beautiful. She had never been so successful in her life; books seemed to pour from her un-ringed fingers. But she had never been so lonely. She was far from home, out here in New York. She had traded the sparse laid back life of her hometown in Texas for the glitz and glamour of celebrity life in the upper east side of Manhattan. She missed her family, and her friends, but whenever she’d sit down on her posh white leather sectional and reach for her blue rotary phone, perfectly manicured fingers glistening, she’d feel like a traitor. She could visualize the other end of the line, and it made her feel foolishly aware of the makeup, polish and expensive garments piled on her. So she would sit, lonely and ashamed as she dug down within herself, searching for the courage to find someone, anyone to talk to. Then, maybe half an hour later, she would get up and go apply another product, burying herself under yet another layer of glamor.
There she stood, in the dressing room with her family’s mortgage draped over her, as lonely as ever, visualizing the blue rotary phone and the people it would connect her to.
Just thinking about the warm colors in the living room back home warmed her heart, the heart that had been pumping blue blood, cold and unfeeling for far too long.
It was then, when she felt the long missed tinge of emotion, that her insides started to break free of the silver chains and glistening layers that fame had wrapped her in. She tore the dress zipper down like it was burning her body and in her haste she caught her finger. A single drop of red blood pushed forth onto her spray tanned skin, and she laughed at the pure imperfection, grittiness, and warmth of it.
Pulling on her jeans and sweater she tore out of the store like she was being chased. Through racks of designer clothes and vicious glares she pushed through the door and onto the street, the perfectly cleaned street that seemed to scream Upper East Side. Her shimmering car, and equally suave white-toothed driver sat in the street, waiting for her. The driver called her name, but she wasn’t listening. She was listening to the sound of her heart, and to the car horns blaring a couple blocks away, and to the people talking and laughing. It was all she could do not to explode with joy. She ran down this street, and another, and another until she was out of the posh and immersed in reality. She walked past red flowers, and smiling kids until she reached a pay phone.
With manicured nails she pushed a shiny quarter into the slot, and dialed the number she had locked deep down in her blue heart. It rang once, twice, and then there was the warmest, most beautiful word, a person can hear, “Hello?”

And suddenly she didn’t feel so blue.