Chapter five Kendra
Chapter five
Kendra
“Oh my God! I still can’t believe you’re working with me on this!”
I roll my eyes good-naturedly and push through the door into Denise’s apartment.
“Girl, you have got to stop. I’m just a person with contacts in the industry who believes in your vision. You’re the brilliant designer.”
She smiles ruefully and motions for me to take a seat with her at the kitchen table.
“Sorry. I’m sure I’ll get over the shock eventually. This line has been my dream since my days at Pratt, and now it’s finally happening.”
I set my purse on the chair beside me with a heavy thud—I could live out of this bag if necessary—and steeple my hands in front of my chest.
“So! Show me what you’ve been working on since the Maxwell show. Do you have more sketches? A general theme for the line that will inspire all the pieces?”
Denise races to her drafting table, grabs a folio as thick as a Bible, and rushes back to sit next to me. My jaw literally drops.
“I know,” she says sheepishly. “My problem is actually too many ideas after working on this for so long, but I do think I have a theme.”
She opens the folio and starts flipping through the pages.
“Most plus-size lines all cater to the same body shape. They think we’re all 5’10″ with big boobs, a big butt, big thighs, and thick around the waist. No offense to anyone who fits those measurements, but all big women aren’t built the same. Some are more pear-shaped. Some are apple.”
I nod, remembering our conversation before Fashion Week, when she first pitched her idea.
“So I thought that would be a great idea for a line; interchangeable pieces broken down by body type to create kind of a capsule wardrobe.”
I close my eyes, trying to picture it. Bright colors and strong prints on top for the pear ladies. Natural silhouettes and belted styles for the hourglass women. My face splits into a grin.
“Something for everyone. That’s such a great idea.” Denise beams back it me, and I start brainstorming aloud. “We could maybe reach out to models and influencers to talk about their struggles finding clothes, and then have them be the center of social campaigns for each shape.”
“Yes!” Denise agrees enthusiastically.
The creative juices are flowing, and before I know it, we’ve been narrowing down her sketches to build the categories for two hours.
“Damn!” she sighs, standing up from the table and arching her back in a stretch. “I need a break. I’m getting a club soda from the kitchen. You want anything? Cory keeps these disgusting green juices, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
I giggle at her pinched expression.
“Club soda works for me too.”
She heads to the kitchen to get our drinks, then starts assembling what looks like a charcuterie board.
“Did I just see you pull out cured meat?” I ask, coming over to inspect her selection.
“Yeah. If that’s cool?” she asks hesitantly.
“Hell yeah, that’s cool. I haven’t had any prosciutto since the season started; the salt makes me bloat. Now that I don’t have a show for a while, I’m gonna have a ball.”
She laughs and keeps building the platter, so I settle onto the couch to scroll through my phone. Pictures from last night’s event are already circulating, including a few that captured the look I gave Damon. Some people even turned the photo into a meme, and the comments are hilarious.
MamiMadeIt: OK, but like, my boyfriend doesn’t even look at me like that!
CooCooforKendra: Whoo, child! Are you going to pick up Plan B after that?
FashionFaeBabe: How are you gonna show the look and not show who she’s looking AT?
CatCanDre$$: I was there, and it was some Charles Melton lookalike in sweats.
That last one actually makes me laugh out loud.
NewBeauty’s account has the full set of event photos, and I swipe through them, swooning again over last night’s outfits. I’m smiling to myself, picking out which pics to repost, when I see the top comment. It already has six thousand likes.
Andre_Gibbs_Official: I remember when she used to look at ME like that.
I clench my hand into a fist and punch the cushion next to me.
“Fuckin’ Andre!” I shout, because what the fuck? He knows publicly posting a comment like that is going to stir some shit up. First, he ambushes my dad, and now this? What is his angle?
I’m so wrapped up in my rage I almost don’t notice the sound of a fork clattering to the floor. I turn to see Denise looking like she’s seen a ghost.
“Girl, what’s wrong? Are you OK?”
I jump up and come to her. She’s visibly shaking.
“What did you say?” Her voice is eerily calm, and it’s freaking me out.
“What? I didn’t say anything. I was just looking at my phone.”
“You said Andre,“ she whispers.
She turns to face me directly, her stance accusatory. I don’t know what her deal is, but she needs to chill. Just because we work well together so far, doesn’t mean I won’t pull the plug on this whole damn thing!
“Uh, yeah. My ex, Andre Gibbs. He posted some bullshit comment on one of my photos from last night, and people are already talking.”
She lets out a breath, and the color starts to return to her cheeks.
“Oh. Right. I forgot about your ex.”
She tries to go back to making the charcuterie plate, but I take the cornichons from her hand and place the jar on the counter behind her. She’s trembling. We need to get to the bottom of this right fucking now.
“Denise. Tell me what just happened. You kinda scared me, girl.”
She frowns but nods before taking a seat at one of the barstools by the counter.
“Andre was my brother’s name. He…He’s not with us anymore.”
I hurry to sit next to her and rest a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”
She huffs, lifting her lips at the corners; I guess that’s supposed to be a laugh. But I can tell she’s still shaken.
“How could you know? I lost him to suicide a while back.”
I cover my mouth to stifle my gasp. As an only child, I always wanted a sibling. I think my dad steered clear of having more kids because of how things worked out with my mom. But to have a sibling and then lose them? And to something as horrible as suicide? I can’t imagine.
“It’s OK. I’m dealing with it. I go to therapy and everything,” she says, her smile fraying at the edges. “Hearing the name out of nowhere just caught me off guard.”
“Well,” I start, “I really am sorry. And I don’t plan to keep talking about my ex, if that helps at all.”
She cocks her head thoughtfully.
“That’s right. Didn’t you two…I mean—” She trails off, looking hesitant. “I don’t want to bring up anything upsetting—well, anything else upsetting—but I saw the articles about you and him online. It looks like things got pretty ugly.”
I snort at that description.
“Ugly isn’t the half of it. There were groupies at every tour stop, and he was even sleeping with his background singer. It was a hot mess.”
“That’s terrible, Kendra.”
Denise gets up to bring the drinks and the board to the coffee table. I guess it’s time to spill the tea. She chooses a salami-wrapped mozzarella stick and motions for me to continue. I pluck a grape from the bunch.
“Well, as you probably already know, TMZ broke the story about him at that hotel in St. Maarten.” Denise bobs her head.
“Yeah, well, when that came out, all the other women he was with came out of the woodwork.
They were hitting me up on Instagram, stopping me in the grocery store, even heckling me as I left shows.
“With his squeaky-clean image and pretty-boy looks, I was the bad guy. I must’ve done something to make him cheat.”
I shake my head bitterly at the memory of the horrible DMs I received daily. Denise sucks her teeth.
“So he cheated on you, and it’s your fault? The internalized misogyny is real.”
“Exactly! Like, you don’t even know me, but somehow you think you should message me about how to keep my husband? That I’m supposed to be understanding because he’s handsome and sings like the second coming of Donny Hathaway?”
I angrily pluck another grape from the plate before finally taking a slice of salami.
“Anyway, we had a prenup because we were in love and he was never going to cheat on me,” I drawled sarcastically. “It took half of what I make in a year in legal fees, but the divorce was final four months ago and now I’m living single like Max and Synclaire.”
Denise laughs and gets up to go to the kitchen. She comes back with a bottle of rosé and two glasses; I extend my hand automatically.
“That’s what I’m talking about. Club soda isn’t gonna cut it for this kind of conversation.”
“So what did he say on the post?” she asks while pouring our wine. I bring up the comment again and hand it to her. She reads it silently, then rolls her eyes.
“He must be delusional if he thinks you’re supposed to keep looking at him with stars in your eyes while he fucks half the Eastern Seaboard.”
I lean over and pull her into a tight embrace.
“OK. We are officially best friends,” I say with a laugh, and she joins me.
“By the way…Who were you looking at like that? The rest of the comments aren’t wrong; you were eye-fucking whoever it was.”
I smile slyly and take a sip of rosé.
“You actually know him. It was…Damon. Your boyfriend’s brother?”
She sits back, shocked.
“What?! You’re fucking dating my boyfriend’s brother? Do we need to set up a double date?!”
I laugh and playfully push her shoulder.
“Slow down there, chick. We’re not dating. He didn’t even come home with me that first night.”
“But you wanted him to?!” she asks, gaping at me. “I can’t believe I missed that.”
“I think you were a little preoccupied getting back together with your boyfriend,” I point out.
Her smile turns warm, and I can practically see the love on her face.
“Yeah. We had a lot of making up to do.” She looks at me mischievously. “A lot. Like a whole night’s worth.”
We both giggle and clink our glasses together.
“I still don’t know why Damon didn’t come home with me that night, but he’s been at every event since. He hides in the back, like I’m not supposed to notice the six foot six basketball player standing by the door.”
“That’s hilarious,” Denise says, still chuckling. “I’ve seen how he dresses; I bet he sticks out like a sore thumb.”
“Totally,” I agree. “But, strangely, it’s not creepy. I mean, yeah, he’s been showing up everywhere I am, but he’s not hassling me or anything. He’s just…there. Being silently supportive, I guess.”
A lump forms in my throat at the thought that a near-stranger is more supportive than my own flesh and blood.
“Oh, OK. So it’s only light stalking, then. That’s OK.”
I smirk and push her again.
“Whatever, chick! Everyone knows it’s not really stalking if the guy is hot.”
Denise almost spits out her drink, and I hand her a napkin.
“Now, you know that’s not right,” she says. Her tone is chastising, but her grin matches mine. I primly take a sip of my wine.
“I said what I said.”
We cackle at my silliness, and I refill our glasses.
Tomorrow, I’ll have to deal with the fallout from “The Look Seen ‘Round the World” and Andre’s comment.
Tonight, I can hang with a new friend and gab about boys and dating.
Hopefully, Damon will reach out soon. If not, I’ll just have to find another way to ruffle his feathers.