Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
Deacon
It had only been a few months since my last fashion showcase, yet I was more nervous now than I had been before. This was my first event as the Fantaisiste lead designer. It had to be perfect. So far, everything was going smoothly. No dead models turned up in the closets. Yet, my heart still pounded in my chest as the clock counted down.
“Hey,” Oliver said from where he was standing next to me in the prep room. “You okay? Your hands are shaking.”
Looking down, I realized he was right.
Fuck.
My hands were shaking.
There was no room for pockets on my skin-tight pants—which had been Kiki’s choice—so I crossed my arms and clenched my hands into fists.
“Yeah, it’s just nerve-wracking, you know? Everyone’s going to be looking at my work. What if they hate it? Nathan put all this together. What if he hates it?”
The prep room was large to accommodate all the models and staff, but most of the space was taken up by workstations. There were dozens of people clustered into the room, getting models into outfits, applying makeup, and styling hair. I was so used to doing all the work myself. Having an actual crew to handle the brunt of it was a foreign concept. Luckily, Kiki was perfectly happy to take over the job of manager and delegate tasks.
That left me standing uselessly in the corner, though, not sure what to do with myself. Oliver and Ashes joined me in my vigil. I’d asked Nathan about the nature of his work with D’Angelo only once and had been given a vague enough answer to make it clear that D’Angelo was also tied up with the mafia, and I didn’t want to know more than that. Oliver and Ashes were aware of things, and it was surprisingly helpful to have someone to talk to who understood my perspective. Suddenly being dropped into a world of criminal activity wasn’t an easy adjustment. I hadn’t even told Kiki about the true nature of our employment with Fantaisiste, and that secret weighed heavily on me.
I’d have to tell her eventually.
Maybe after the show.
For now, it was just good to have someone to talk to that I didn’t need to hide the truth from.
Something came flying toward me, and I caught it just in time to keep it from smacking me in the face.
“What the hell?”
The thing I’d caught turned out to be a fidget spinner.
From the couch where they were lounging, Ashes grinned at me. “Use it to keep your hands busy. It always helps when I’m nervous.”
Oliver smacked his friend’s feet, forcing them to move so he could sit on the couch as well. “Since when are you ever nervous?”
Ashes stuck their tongue out at Oliver, which also showed off the barbell piercing that usually remained hidden behind their teeth. “Hey. I get nervous. I just don’t show it. That’s how you know the fidget spinner works.”
Although they hadn’t told me much about themselves, it was obvious that Oliver and Ashes were old friends. They reminded me of Kiki and myself in many ways. Neither of them were fashion designers, so I had been unsure how much help they would actually be. However, Oliver’s artistic eye and Ashes’s sense for aesthetic construction really helped get the whole project together. We’d finished the collection with a few days to spare, and I had to admit the designs were some of my best ever.
Ashes had made pieces of custom jewelry that matched perfectly to each outfit, and though they could be worn separately, it all fit so flawlessly together that the jewelry seemed like part of the clothing. The ensembles were stunning, in my opinion. I just hoped everyone else thought so, too.
Oliver had such a deft hand with a pencil and paper, I could describe some vague idea in my mind, and he would immediately sketch it to life. The collection definitely wouldn’t have been the same without both of them.
I was glad when I heard that Nathan had agreed to hire Ashes permanently, and wondered if we could bring Oliver on as well. They were both great artists on their own but worked best as a team. Although, I was pretty sure that D’Angelo and Oliver were an item, so that might not be possible.
Maybe I could hire Oliver as a freelance artist to work remotely.
Eventually, with less than an hour before the show, Kiki announced that everything was ready and all they needed was my final inspection. The models were lined up in the order they would appear in the show. I walked down the line, inspecting each one carefully, and made a few minor adjustments. One model’s belt wasn’t tied the right way, so it sat on her hips at an angle that didn’t align with the seams of the clothing, and another was wearing the wrong pair of earrings.
Overall, however, it was perfect.
Surely, Nathan was going to love it, and it was going to blow all our competition out of the water.
After what that woman, Caprice Vidales, had done to Kiki and tried to do to Nathan, I wanted to hit her where it would hurt.
Her bank account.
I’d learned that, for those raised in the Mafia, life was cheap. People like Caprice and Nathan were so used to death threats and murder, physical pain meant nothing. Even if they were killed, they would just see it as a failed business transaction. I didn’t blame them for that kind of skewed attitude. That was the world they lived in. Being too sensitive to death and danger would just get them killed faster.
Money, however, was a powerful motivator. The more money I could take from Caprice by stealing her business, the better.
It was almost time for the show. The models were ready. There was nothing left for me to do.
The prep room led to a makeshift backstage area. It almost looked like a traditional backstage, but when I looked up, I could see the open blue sky.
Rather than arrange the event at a traditional venue, Nathan had decided to do something a little different.
Well, not so little.
More like, a lot different.
Nathan claimed he wanted my work to be seen by as many people as possible. When I snuck a look through the curtain out toward the runway that waited for us, my eyes widened.
Nathan was certainly going to get his wish.
The fidget spinner twirled like a propeller between my clammy fingers in an effort to keep me calm. I could practically feel the wind coming off the little toy, it was moving so fast.
I had no idea how, but Nathan had managed to rent out the fountain in front of the Bellagio hotel. It was an iconic Las Vegas landmark, visited by thousands of tourists every day.
A glass bridge had been erected over the pool practically overnight, which would act as the runway for the models. It was far enough away from the water jets to keep the outfits from getting wet, which had been my biggest concern when Nathan proposed the idea.
Already, hundreds of people were gathered around the area, curious about what was going on. A special seating area had been arranged for high-profile guests, but the overall size of the audience could have rivaled one of Thierry Mugler’s shows.
When the time to start the show finally arrived, an announcer stepped out onto the bridge with a microphone in hand. The clear material of the bridge made it look like he was walking on water, and I could already imagine what the models would look like when they stepped out onto the ethereal stage.
“Welcome,” the announcer said, his voice projecting from hidden speakers so everyone could hear him. “To this unique show held right here on the streets of Vegas. Fantaisiste is excited to announce its new look with a brand-new fashion line, inspired by the very city of Las Vegas itself.”
I wasn’t sure if it was Nathan or Kiki who had hired the announcer, but they’d made a good choice. The announcer hyped up the show with so much authentic energy and enthusiasm, it seemed like we were about to witness a pivotal moment in history.
When the announcer finished, the first model stepped out among a roar of clapping hands from the audience and splashing water from the fountain.
Unlike most fashion runways, where the models would walk to the end, do a few turns, and then walk back, the bridge had no turnaround spot. Instead, the models had been instructed to pause at the center of the bridge in order to show off the outfit. I’d specifically chosen models with backgrounds in dance. Rather than just standing straight, I wanted them to really show off each outfit’s movements.
The first model wore a long, flowing skirt with several layers inspired by the colors of a desert sunset and the feeling of wind in my hair as I stood at the top of a tall cliff. The model twirled and dipped in a series of ballet inspired moves that brought the skirt to life, and her jewelry sparkled in the afternoon sun.
The audience’s applause grew louder when she finished, barely even listening to the announcer explaining the inspiration for the outfit. After giving a quick bow, the model walked off the other side of the bridge, making way for the next one in the lineup.
This model was male, and his outfit had a more urban feel meant to represent the structure of the city. However, instead of using graphic prints with many colors, I’d chosen a monochrome palette of black and gold. Night was when the city of Las Vegas really shone, and no one could deny the splendor of its glittering lights.
Like the previous model, this one also stopped at the center of the bridge for their moment in the spotlight. Instead of ballet, the model performed a few gravity defying hip-hop maneuvers that really tested the outfit’s range of movement. When the model dropped into a backspin, I was delighted to discover an effect I hadn’t predicted. The model’s quick spinning caused the black and gold colors of his outfit to blur together, giving a momentary impression of tiger stripes.
It wasn’t planned, but I loved it, and I joined in with the audience’s applause from my place backstage.
The show continued in this way, one model after the other, each getting their moment to show off. One of my favorite outfits came in the very middle, made entirely from neon fabric and accessories. Getting it to light up while still being wearable had been a nightmare, but worth it. The model moved without any hindrance, and her glowing clothes left streaks of afterimage color, like she was painting the air with each wave of an arm or leg.
The audience’s applause died down in the lull between models, but it never really stopped. They were obviously enjoying the show as much as I was. What most people didn’t realize, however, was that every piece I’d designed was a direct comparison to an outfit from Minestra, Caprice Vidales’s fashion line. The comparison wasn’t too apparent since I’d put my own artistic spin on everything. I didn’t want to be accused of plagiarism, after all.
Or even worse, labeled as “unoriginal”.
The comparison was subtle, obvious only if one knew to look for it. I’d worked hard to make sure that anything Minestra was known for, Fantaisiste would now be known for instead.
Only better.
The last piece of the show, the grand finale, wouldn’t make sense to anyone who didn’t know Las Vegas’s history, but it looked stunning, nonetheless. The model was draped in an oversized coat made entirely out of pastels and light green fabric. She looked like a spring goddess that had decided to walk among mortals.
Unlike the other models, she didn’t dance when she reached the center of the bridge. In fact, she barely moved at all.
After the expectations left by the previous displays, the audience fell silent as they waited to see what would happen.
When she was sure she had everyone’s attention, the model flipped her coat off her shoulders, so it turned inside out, revealing that it was actually a second dress. The new dress slid down around her, covering the soft pastel colors of the first dress with a new design of sharp metallics.
The model turned like a queen, graciously allowing the audience to gaze upon her altered appearance. As she moved, the metallic fabric occasionally parted enough to flash hints of the pastel colors beneath.
Absolutely stunning.
I held my breath, feeling giddly as an electric rush of pride raced though my veins, and truly prayed Nathan liked the unique piece as much as I did.
The name Las Vegas translated to “The Meadows” because the city was meant to become a green oasis in the middle of the desert. This never happened, due to the obvious lack of water, but the city persisted anyway.
This was one of the things I liked about the city. It thrived on defying expectations and not being what it was supposed to be.
Although, now that I thought about it, there was a deeply rooted link between the Mafia and Las Vegas as well. The criminal underworld played a big part in shaping “Sin City” into the desert jewel it was today.
It seemed I shared more in common with this city than I even realized.
When the last model successfully completed her walk and stepped off the bridge, I let out my held breath in a rush. Oliver and Ashes each gave me a high-five.
“Yeah! Even better than I expected,” Ashes cheered.
“It was good,” Oliver agreed. “Although, I think one of the models may have broken a shoe on their way off the bridge. Her last few steps were a bit unbalanced. I hope they get it fixed in time for the encore walk.”
Just as the words left Oliver’s mouth, all the models appeared again, this time coming from the other side of the bridge in single file line to show off the whole collection together one last time. Just as Oliver had said, one of the models had definitely broken a shoe. It looked to have been hurriedly reattached to her foot with straps that were similar but not quite the same material as the original shoe.
One of Kiki’s sharp manicured nails suddenly poked me right under my ribs. “What are you just standing there for? Get ready. It’s time for your speech.”
Oh, right.
The speech.
I’d been so focused on each outfit that I’d almost forgotten my role in the show.
Tugging at my clothing to make sure everything was in place, I stepped out onto the bridge. The glass under my feet had been carved with a subtle texture to make walking on it easier, but I still feared I would slip and plunge into the fountain. Watching my feet only made it worse, since I could see right through the bridge to the water below.
The models had danced on this thing?
Whatever we were paying them, we needed to double it.
I’d already been fitted with a microphone backstage, so my voice rang out through the speakers as I recited the speech Kiki had written for me. My mind was completely blank as I looked out over the audience filling the sidewalk and spilling onto the street, which had, thankfully, been shut down before the show. I couldn’t remember a word of what I was supposed to say, but my mouth went through the motions anyway, guided only by muscle memory after Kiki had made me practice the speech so many times.
Smart woman.
It was a generic composition, thanking everyone who had helped me, and waxing a bit of poetic about the freedom and beauty of Las Vegas that inspired me. Then, of course, I ended it by thanking everyone who had enjoyed the show, claiming that their satisfaction made all of my efforts worthwhile.
That was a lie, truth be told. I only cared about one person’s opinion. So long as Nathan liked it, the rest of the audience could hate every outfit I put on the runway, and I wouldn’t bat an eye.
Still, the public were the ones who would buy Fantaisiste’s products, so they were the ones I needed to keep happy at that moment.
I finished my speech and gave a dramatic bow. With the afternoon sun beating down on the back of my neck, I was glad for Kiki’s choice of clothes for me. The tight pants were hot, but the shirt compensated for the temperature and gave my skin room to breathe. Missing sleeves, and the front mostly open, it was meant to look like a “deconstructed” suit. A homage to the “deconstructed” kimono that had started everything. Most people wouldn’t get the reference, but I didn’t care.
It made me smile and felt like my own little secret hidden right under everyone’s noses.
When I stepped off the bridge and into the shade of the backstage area, I stumbled as the weight of relief hit me.
The show was over.
I’d done it, and based on the sound of the audience’s applause, it had been a success.
A strong hand caught me under the arm and held me upright.
Looking up, I met Nathan’s gaze. As usual, his expression gave nothing away.
Was he happy?
Angry?
Disappointed?
Tugging nervously at my clothing again, I stared at his chin rather than meet his eyes.
“So... How was it? Did you like it?”
My hands were restless and wouldn’t stay still.
Where had I put that fidget spinner?
I could use it now.
Nathan studied me for a moment, never letting go of my arm even as his expression remained frustratingly neutral.
“What do you think?”
Biting my lip, my gaze dropped down a few inches to look at the tattoo on his neck that peeked out from the collar of his shirt.
“Well, I certainly hope you liked it. I mean, logically, you should. You’ve seen all the outfits before. Nothing should be a surprise. But seeing something in the workshop isn’t always the same as seeing everything together on the runway.”
I was rambling. I knew this, but I couldn’t seem to stop. My words kept coming, making less and less sense, until the feeling of Nathan’s strong finger under my chin brought my word vomit tirade to an abrupt halt.
He tipped my head up, so I was looking directly into his eyes. For a moment, his expression was so intense it made me squirm, but then a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth.
“I loved it. It was... fantastic.”
Overcome with excitement, I jumped onto him and wrapped my arms around his neck in a tight hug. He didn’t even stumble, slipping his arms underneath my ass as he was suddenly burdened with my weight, and holding me close, so my feet dangled off the floor.
No words were needed. Every feeling coursing through me was expressed when I pressed my mouth to his, and he didn’t hesitate to kiss back.