10. Fashion Isn’t Your Friend
10
Fashion Isn’t Your Friend
From Barry Wright’s manifesto:
As an aside, the handbag industry has pressured women’s clothing manufacturers to leave off pockets. I think the government might be in on it too. It takes a lot longer for a woman to grab a handgun out of a purse than out of a pocket.
TESSA
“ W ho the hell needs a pair of red leopard-print four-inch heels?” I plucked the offensive shoes from the pile I’d been sorting at Success in a Dress. It was Carly’s favorite charity, and she’d somehow coerced us all into volunteering here one Saturday a month. And this week, I’d invited my friends Justine and Bridget to join us.
After the week I’d had, I needed extra support. Not only had Oliver been a dick about the endometriosis test, while my belly was on fire from the pain, no less, but I’d had a run-in with a former employee while I was grabbing dinner the other night. I’d gotten complacent and forgotten to use my usual pseudonym, Velma, for my takeout. The second I said my name to the bartender, the woman glared at me and called me a name that shocked even me and got herself kicked out of the restaurant.
I’d paid her tab because I’d deserved it.
I didn’t deserve friends like these, but I was grateful for them.
Justine worked alongside Savannah, sorting through piles of donated professional clothing. Justine was an ace family lawyer, and I hoped they’d hit it off and she’d agree to represent Savannah in her divorce.
“Ooh, let me see those.” Carly waggled her fingers at me. I picked them up by their stiletto heels and held them out to her. “They look like they’ve been worn only a couple of times?—”
“Shocking,” I muttered, already digging in the mound of shoes for a match to the more modest periwinkle suede slingback in my hand.
“—so they’ve got plenty of wear left,” she finished. “You sure you don’t need these?” She dangled the shoes. “Now that you’re working in an office…”
“A lab,” I corrected her. “And there are rules. The first one being that closed-toe shoes are required.”
Carly stuck out her lower lip. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“I guess the fun part is that you don’t drop a rack of test tubes and cut your feet,” I said grudgingly.
“Ooh, do you get to wear a white coat?” Bridget asked. “I find those oddly sexy.”
“Then you’d better stay out of the lab. We all have to wear them.”
Carly wrinkled her nose. “Unless you get one custom-made, they’re shapeless and baggy.”
Was Oliver’s coat tailored? Was that why I couldn’t keep my eyes off the stretch of that ridiculous coat over his broad shoulders? I tightened my grip on the blue shoe in my hand. Blue like his eyes.
I dropped it on the table. I needed an industrial-strength cleanser to get Oliver Bond out of my brain. “What are you going to do with those shoes, Carly?” Nothing about the red leopard-prints reminded me of him. “Burn them?”
“Hell no! Bridget, do you have a red dress or suit over there?”
Bridget scanned the rack in front of her. “A skirt suit in size 14 and a sheath dress in size 2. Does anyone actually wear a 2?”
“The average American woman wears a size 16,” Carly said, “but most models are size 0 or 2. Go figure.” She held out her hand. “Give me that dress. It’s less likely our clientele will want it, so I’ll put it in our holiday display with the shoes. Lucie, do you have a chunky gold necklace?”
Lucie was at a desk sorting through trays of costume jewelry. “I’ve got ugly and butt-ugly.” She held up one with thick gold chain links and another with a beetle pendant at the center. “I can’t believe someone donated these. Scratch that. I can’t believe someone bought them in the first place. Must’ve been shopping under the influence.”
“Don’t you remember?” Carly said. “Things like that were fashionable in the ’90s. The chain one, please. It echoes the shape of the leopard spots, and I think beetles and leopards together might be too many animals.”
“Ooh,” Savannah said. I looked up from the shoes.
She’d been quieter than usual today. Actually, she’d been quiet for two weeks, ever since I’d dragged her out of her home on Thanksgiving. Lucie and Carly agreed that it had been the right thing to do, and we’d all been giving her space while she figured out her shit. The good thing was that she only burst into tears once or twice a day now. She might miss her copper pots, but she seemed to be finding solace in my kitchen.
“What is it?” Carly hurried over.
“This is my size. And it’s so elegant.” Savannah held up a black suit jacket.
“You have excellent taste,” Carly said. “It’s a classic Ann Taylor stretch wool that would pair perfectly with a pencil skirt or slacks. Try it on.”
Savannah shrugged out of her zippered pink hoodie and slipped on the jacket.
Carly assessed her. “It’s a little snug in the bust.” She flipped open the side and scanned the inside. “But if we let out the seam allowance, it’ll fit perfectly.”
Savannah smoothed a hand down the front of the jacket. “I’m not one of your clients.”
Fury and pity warred on Carly’s face. I’d been teetering over the same line ever since she’d moved in with me, a mix of compassion for what her ex had put her through and a desire to prod her to get over the bastard and move on with her life.
“I think we could let you have it for a donation. Say, twenty dollars?” Carly flashed her a bright smile.
“That jacket will look great on you in court,” Justine said. “Understated, professional. Perfect for sticking it to your ex.”
Tiny sparkles erupted in my belly. I loved that my plan had come together. “I’ll make the donation.”
Savannah’s expression dimmed for a second before it brightened. “It’ll work for job interviews too.”
“Job interviews?” I repeated. “What type of job interviews?” I hated to point it out, but my friend had no office skills to speak of. She’d somehow managed to brick her own phone last week while trying to download an update to her favorite game. I’d recovered it for her, only for her ex to turn off her line a couple days later. Now, she was on my plan. I hadn’t shared a phone plan since, ugh—Harry.
“I could start out as a temp,” she said, “and work my way up to an administrative assistant.”
“Is that what you want?” I asked quietly. It was fine if she did, but Savannah was fifty-one. If she had career goals, she needed to start on them as soon as she could.
“I don’t know what I want,” she mumbled, shrugging out of the blazer.
Lucie stood, stretched, and meandered to the table in the center of the room, where Savannah had spread a feast of baked goods, hummus, and pita chips she’d magicked up in my kitchen. I’d been nervous about sharing my home after things went so off the rails with Harry, but living with Savannah was different, almost fun. Plus, I was eating better than I had since…since my mom died.
“God,” Lucie said, “I can’t stop eating these cranberry scones. They’re amazing.”
“Try some of the hummus,” Savannah said. “It’s good for lactation.”
Lucie spoke through a mouthful of scone. “You did not make hummus for my milk production.”
“I think about nutrition when I’m preparing food,” Savannah said, her shoulders rising to her ears.
“Of course you do, honey.” Carly rushed to hug her.
“I thought you were stress-baking,” I said, “but you were designing a special menu for us. Hummus for Lucie and low-sugar fruit tarts for Carly.”
Bridget brought me a cup of roasted nuts and seeds. “And Omega-3s for you.”
I picked up a walnut, and as I crunched it between my teeth, the idea clicked into place. “Maybe Savannah should go back to school to become a nutritionist.”
“School? At my age?” she scoffed. She walked to the table and brushed cookie crumbs into her palm, then tossed them in the trash. “No, thanks. I’d never be able to pay back the loans.”
“We’ll get your ex to pay for school,” Justine said.
“Justine, I love how you think,” Lucie said. “Savannah, you should totally do something with food. Remember that garbage seminar where we met? Maybe it wasn’t garbage after all. Carly became a stylist to the stars. I finally finished my book. You even left that cheating asshole. We all launched into new, better phases of our lives.” She shoved the last bite of scone into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
“What about Tessa?” Savannah said.
“What about me?” I spotted the mate to the blue suede pump and triumphantly set them together on the table. “Aha!”
“What about your second-act career?” Savannah asked.
“She’s working at Discovery Diagnostics with Andrew’s friend Oliver,” Carly said.
“That’s not a career change,” Bridget said. “It’s what you’ve been doing since you sold your business.” I must have made a face at the reminder of the Red Rover fiasco, because she rushed to say, “You’ve been helping companies find direction.”
“But…” The word was out of my mouth before I realized it. I never talked about my work. Emotions wrapped around my work like spiderwebs, too sticky to touch. My friends stared at me, and Savannah waited with her mouth open, so I kept going. “But this feels…different.”
“Different how?” Lucie asked.
“The mission of the company is important. We’re—they’re helping the medical community diagnose and treat conditions. Conditions like…like mine.” The words felt like broken glass as they made their way out of my chest.
“Endometriosis?” Lucie asked.
I’d never said the word to them. I was so used to keeping my secrets to myself. But my friends would never use them against me. Not like Harry had. “Yes. What Discovery is doing is amazing. They just need to do it faster.”
“And you’re helping them do that,” Carly said. “Oliver says you’re brilliant.”
“Does he?” I arched an eyebrow. “He tells me I’m pushy and over prone to risk-taking.”
“Hmm,” Lucie said. “What else does Oliver say about Tessa, Carly?”
Grasping my hand, Carly dragged me closer to the food table. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Andrew thinks Oliver has a crush on you. He has a thing for redheads.” She shimmied her shoulders.
I shuddered. “No. No!” Oliver was, perhaps, the smartest man I’d ever met. And working in Silicon Valley, I’d met plenty of smart people. And, yes, he was hot in a Bruce Banner kind of way, especially when he slipped on his safety glasses and that dorky lab coat that should have hidden his toned physique. I shoved the image from my brain.
“Okay.” Carly held up her palms. “So, it’s not mutual.”
“He’s way too young for me,” I said.
“You want to talk to me about an insurmountable age difference?” Carly smirked.
“Or me?” Lucie said. “There are definite advantages to being with a younger man. I have two words for you: refractory period.”
Justine leaned forward on her elbows. “Tell me more. The gray-haired lawyers I date are too exhausted to get it up.”
Carly fanned herself. “Oh. My. God.”
“Stop,” I said. “No one wants to hear about your amazing sex lives. Oliver and I work together.” I was never going to fuck anyone I worked with again. Not ever. I’d learned from Harry how catastrophic that could be. “And, yes, I’m enjoying my work at Discovery Diagnostics. But I believe we were talking about Savannah’s second-act career.”
“Right,” Lucie said.
We all looked at our friend. She clutched the black blazer to her chest, and it was all wrong. She belonged in her pastel tracksuits in my kitchen, where I’d heard her humming country songs every morning since she’d moved in with me.
“What about cooking videos?” Carly said. She waved at the table of treats. “I haven’t seen anyone make anything as beautiful as this spread.”
“You don’t cook,” Lucie said. “Why would you watch cooking videos?”
Carly blushed. “I, um, I tried to make breakfast for Andrew once.”
“The things we do for love,” Lucie said. “I hope it didn’t require the fire department.”
“Regardless,” Carly said, “Savannah, you should consider it.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Her face was as pink as her track pants. “I’d look terrible on camera.”
“Andrew could give you some tips,” Carly said. “He’s a pro with his nerdy YouTube channel. I could do your makeup and clothes. You should try it.”
“You should,” I said. “We can film it in my kitchen.”
“Wait,” Lucie said. “You’re offering up the Fortress of Solitude?”
“Savannah lives with me now, so it’s not so solitary anymore,” I said.
“It’s quite lovely,” Savannah said. “Even if the cats do run the place.”
“Then it’s settled,” Lucie said. “Next weekend, we’re all going to Tessa’s, and you’ll have your on-camera debut. I promise if it sucks, we won’t make you do any more.”
“If it’s okay with Tessa?” Savannah asked.
It was about time I let my friends see my place. They’d all invited me to theirs. Besides, I trusted them. They’d never expose me the way Harry had.
“Is it all right if Andrew comes too?” Carly asked.
“Yes.” I forced out the word from my too-tight lungs. “But please don’t mention it to Oliver. I need to keep my work and personal lives separate.”
“Of course.” She pursed her lips.
“I do,” I insisted. Because bringing those two parts of my life together was like exposing phosphorous to oxygen. Explosive.