BEYOND THE RUNWAY I

The first time Gregorio had met Pamela had been at a fashion show in Paris. He had been there to seal a business deal and had gotten a special invitation from Maria Grazia Barra, the most renowned fashion designer in Paris at that point, and his very good friend to come for the show. He had just rounded up his deal the day before and was looking to unwind for a little while, a day or two before he went back to Miami. Fashion shows had never been his thing, but if his presence could have been such an honor to his very good friend, he was willing to be there.

The grand venue had been filled with an air of anticipation as fashion enthusiasts, celebrities, and industry insiders took their seats. The lights were dim, and the runway had come alive with a soft, ethereal glow. The music began, setting the mood for an unforgettable experience.

As the curtains parted, Pamela Camille Renfrew, the epitome of grace and elegance, stepped onto the runway. The crowd seemed bewildered and stunned at her appearance, including Gregorio himself. She was a vision in a flowing, floor-length gown adorned with intricate lace details and delicate beading. The dress hugged her figure in all the right places, accentuating her natural beauty.

With each step, Pamela exuded confidence and poise, captivating the audience with her magnetic presence. Her radiant smile and effortless charm made her the center of attention. The way she moved, effortlessly gliding down the runway, showcased her years of experience and undeniable talent.

The collection she presented was a stunning display of haute couture. Each outfit is meticulously crafted, featuring bold colors, Av avant-garde silhouettes, and unexpected fabric combinations. From sleek tailored suits to voluminous ball gowns, the designs pushed the boundaries of fashion, leaving the audience in awe.

As Pamela strutted down the runway, the audience was captivated by her every move. The cameras flashed, capturing her beauty from every angle. The atmosphere was electric, with whispers of admiration and gasps of awe echoing throughout the venue. With each new look, Pamela effortlessly transformed, embodying the essence of the designer's vision. Her ability to bring life to the garments was unparalleled, making her a true muse for the fashion world.

The moment the show came to an end, Gregorio had slipped backstage to speak with Maria about a personal introduction to the model. And just that he had gotten. She was younger, by five years at most, and seemed far more experienced in fashion than any woman he had ever met or had a thing with.

Pamela had seemed like a lot if not everything, and Gregorio loved the confidence she gave off. And when he'd come at her, wanting to get to know more about her, impress her, tried to convince her to go on a couple of dates with him, she'd shrugged him off at first, showing little to no interest at all.

But Gregorio never gave up.

At that moment, as he skidded across the ballroom of the hotel, instantly met an unending number of guests who sought his immediate attention. He had tried his best to slip through their midst, rushing his words, passing some brief compliment.

“Oh, Gilbert!. . . much younger than I remember.” He instantly bit back a smirk, knowing he had just lied to the overly aging man.

The old man tilted his head with a gleeful smile. Greg couldn't just walk past him, Mr. Gilbert of all people.

So he halted, a little impatience still, looking over his shoulder occasionally to see if he had lost Pammy. Once he couldn't spot her in the crowd, he turned his focus back to the old man and pulled him into a hug.

“You shouldn't have come,” Greg scolded.

“And why wouldn't I come? And miss seeing all my boys, grown men now, in one place?” Mr. Gilbert looked as excited as he spoke. “Even the last of you have become an adult now. I remember you all, young kids, back in the days, playing police and robbers in my backyard while your parents were out of town.”

A genuine smile crossed Gregorio's lips, and he patted his godfather's shoulder feebly. “But still, you know every one of the Cortez boys will not be in attendance today? Gideon?” he squinted his eyes playfully and tsk-tsked. “Remember who that is even?”

Mr. Gilbert's shoulders quaked beneath Greg's palms as he laughed, amusedly. “Of course, I do. I'm not that old.”

“Well, Gideon wouldn't be around and you're 85, you are that old.”

Mr. Gilbert's face was lined with the marks of a life fully lived. Deep wrinkles crisscrossed his forehead, showing the passage of time and the wisdom gained along the way. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, held a hint of melancholy and a spark of resilience. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes told stories of laughter and joy. His hair, once dark and full, had turned a brilliant shade of white. It was neatly combed back, adding a touch of sophistication to his appearance. The strands glistened under the light, a testament to his graceful aging.

As he stood there in his tuxedo, you noticed his hands trembling ever so slightly. The years have taken their toll, but they also reflect a lifetime of hard work and determination. Despite the slight shake, those hands have accomplished great things and have the stories to prove it. He had been the Cortez family friend ever since he was age eleven and had been the very best of friends with the boy’s father.

He was leaning against someone for support, a caregiver. Gregorio had merely given a curt nod when he heard Pamela's voice, a little drowned out by the music in the room. “Have you seen Gregorio?” he could hear her ask. Just as he turned to pinpoint where her voice came from, their eyes locked and hers lit up with a little bit of excitement and slight anger.

Greg tapped Gilbert's shoulders one last time and squeezed tenderly. “If you need me, you know how to find me.”

He took off in the direction leading to the door, not before he heard the old man's voice saying something along the lines of, “Where's Gideon?”

He shook his head while biting back a deep rumble of chuckle. Gideon? His brother? He hadn't seen him in over five years, going on six. After their father's death six years before, he had just been cut off from the rest of the brothers and the world at most. No calls had come from him, neither had there been very much news about him on the Internet. The last time he'd seen something about him was when he'd launched three orphanages somewhere in Africa, Greg couldn't tell where. All he knew was his brother was living a very low-key life, using his wealth for the better cause. Opening orphanages, building homes for the homeless, feeding refugees but neglecting his own family because he liked to be the off one. He had always been the off one.

Greg wasn't sure he would be in attendance.

Holly De Angelo, with her commanding presence, stood tall by the double doors, her voice filled with authority as she scolded a waitress. The poor waitress, visibly flustered, tried her best explaining what had occurred.

There was an elderly woman, her face flushed with anger, clenched her fists tightly as she unleashed a torrent of words upon the waitress. Her gestures became more animated, her arms flailing wildly in the air, emphasizing her frustration. It was as if every movement conveyed her fury and disappointment.

From a distance, Greg observed the unfolding drama, captivated by the spectacle before him. He couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and concern for all parties involved but just as he reached the double doors, he maneuvered past them, even before Holly could get a grab of him and his time.

“Mr. Gregorio! I've been—” her voice dropped in disappointment when he brushed by. “Oh...”

“An all expenses paid trip if you can get that woman off my back, Holly...!” he sounded desperate. “I'm commanding you!”

Holly seemed confused and then she noticed the blonde woman on his trails and her voice lightened in understanding. “Oh!” She hopped in front of Pamela swiftly, her body, a complete contrast to the skinnier girl serving as a barricade between the model and her boss. “When a man runs from you, don't chase! He clearly doesn't want—”

A suppressed groan escaped from Holly as Pamela hit her in the shin and slid past her. Well, that goes her all paid trip. She reached down to rub the spot before she'd resume back to scolding her waitress. The pissed woman had left, now it was she and the perplexed girl on their own. Gritting her teeth in anger, she was going to take it out on the girl for being so careless and clumsy. “That bag was an expensive one! I mean, she's a bitch so she deserved the spilling, but the bag? Come on!”