Chapter seven Kendra
Chapter seven
Kendra
Itry to scroll through my phone while Denise pins the pieces of the wrap dress prototype to my camisole.
“Hold still,” she chides with a mouth full of straight pins. “Unless you want me to stick you.”
She raises an eyebrow in warning, and I assume the position, putting my hands back on my hips and trying not to fidget.
“Sorry, girl. I can’t help it. Ever since Andre started publicly commenting on my photos, I’ve had to stay vigilant so things don’t get out of hand again. I went to a body positivity panel a few days ago, and I just know he’s going to talk some shit.”
Denise murmurs vaguely, still focused on assembling the fabric against my body.
“The Look Seen ‘Round the World” was just the start of Andre’s shenanigans.
Though our divorce has been final for six months now and his Instagram looks like the who’s who of young, skinny pop stars, he still finds time to comment on almost every photo I’m tagged in.
They range from a completely innocuous thumbs up emoji or a smiley face, to a blatantly flirtatious winky face or “You always looked so good in red” comment.
I don’t understand his endgame. And because I don’t understand it, I’m on edge.
Is he just trying to be funny? Is his delusion so deep-seated that he actually thinks we might get back together?
I asked my lawyer if he could issue a cease and desist or something, but he said that so far, none of the comments violate any terms of the settlement.
The settlement is beside the point! This fool is flirting with me in front of the entire internet and all my potential employers, while openly dating whichever music sensation has a new single out that week.
I wonder if the label is behind the whole thing; they always were way too involved in our relationship.
And he knows my dad doesn’t know the details of the breakup, so he keeps coming by with a nice bottle of wine or a fruit basket, or offering to take him out for a guy’s night like they used to when we were married.
Then, like clockwork, I get a call to reconsider, “find out Andre’s side of the story”.
My dad always had a soft spot for Andre, willing to overlook all the yellow and red flags for the sake of standing by my man.
To him, nothing merited a conversation, let alone marriage counseling.
When I served Andre with the divorce papers, he wouldn’t even look at me; said I’d never looked more like my mom.
I sigh and flinch when one of the pins pokes my side.
“I warned you,” Denise admonishes gently before adjusting the pin.
I’m also on edge because my self-imposed dick drought is going on a year with no end in sight.
I’ve used my vibrator so much, it’s starting to feel like I’m giving my pussy electric shock treatment.
Daniela offered to set me up with her hot roommate when we both worked the Loft event last month, but I turned her down.
Lord only knows why! I’m certainly not hung up on a certain shy basketball hunk who follows me around like a shadow.
Ugh, I barely remember the touch of a man!
I sigh again and receive another pinprick, this time to the back of my arm. Denise drops her hands in frustration.
“Girl, what is up with you?” she groans, clearly irritated.
“My bad. It’s just…” I lift my arms, then drop them uselessly by my sides and pout like a six-year-old. “I’m so horny!” I wail.
Denise breaks out laughing, and once I realize how ridiculous I’m being, I begrudgingly join her.
“So,” she starts, still giggling, “you mean to tell me it’s excessive horniness that has you squirming and sighing like a kid waiting for recess?”
I giggle at her analogy because that’s almost exactly how I feel.
“Yes, girl,” I whine. “Between the cheating, the divorce, the busy season, and now working on your line, it’s been damn near a year since I shook the sheets with anyone. Your girl is feeling antsy.”
“Shook the sheets?” I hear a deep male voice call from the door and hide my face in my hands.
“Oh my God!” I whimper. “Kill me now.”
Denise walks over and gives her boyfriend a kiss on the lips, then takes one of his bags to help him unload groceries.
“Cory, darling,” she says with a saccharine smile. “I thought I told you we needed until three o’clock.”
He drops the bags on the counter with a thud and makes a show of looking at his watch.
“Uh, yeah. It’s four.”
Denise’s eyes widen in shock.
“Oh, shit. I must’ve been in the zone; I didn’t even notice.”
“Or,” I offer, “it took you longer than expected because I wouldn’t stop fidgeting.”
Denise’s smile is warm.
“I was trying to give you some grace. It’s not like designing and working on prototypes all day is a chore.”
“Should I go check out Barnes I just didn’t want to take up your whole Saturday.”
Denise looks at her man with a pleading expression, and he folds immediately. He loves her something fierce!
“No problem. I’ll leave you—“
“Stay!” she insists, giving him another peck on the cheek. “I’ll be done in ten minutes.” She looks at me meaningfully. “Assuming someone can stay still.”
I lift my hands in surrender and turn back into her personal mannequin. Cory settles onto the couch with a kombucha.
“In that case,” he says with a mischievous smile, “what was that I heard about needing a little shebang-a-bang?“ He waggles his eyebrows for emphasis, and my cheeks flame. How embarrassing! At least he doesn’t know who I was thinking about when I said that.
“I’ve just had a lot going on,” I mumble, avoiding eye contact. “It’s tough to get back out there.”
And that’s before taking into account my little issue. I just hope I’m horny enough by the time I finally get laid that it’s not a problem.
“What happened with Damon? Didn’t y’all hook up after the Bailey Maxwell show?”
“No,” I sulk. “He said he had to get home early because he had a bunch of apartment tours the next day. He didn’t even take my number.”
And that was…four months ago, now? Has it really been that long?
I count the months in my head. Yes, it has.
Sure, he’s always around, lurking, but I haven’t actually spoken to him since February.
He stopped trying to hide after the wink incident, but he still hasn’t made a move.
God, am I being dumb? There’s shy, and then there’s… whatever this is.
“And he’s proceeded to follow her around like a puppy to all her events in the city,” Denise adds, interrupting my mooning.
Cory laughs out loud then, and I’m struck by how hot he is. He and all his brothers are very easy on the eyes. Their parents must be stunning.
“Thank you, ladies. You have no idea how hard I’m going to bust Damon’s balls for what you just told me,” he says with a grin.
Denise giggles and then stands to inspect the dress.
She circles me, angling my arms this way and that until she’s happy with what she sees.
Then she takes a picture with her phone and hands it to me.
After all these weeks, I’m still struck by the gesture.
No designer before her has bothered to explain their vision to me; I’m but a lowly model in their eyes.
I barely recognize the woman staring back at me from the phone. I look fantastic.
The dress is double-lined, forest green satin, dotted with metallic gold leaves like the freckles on my nose.
Intricate gold stitching around the bust and waist makes my boobs look amazing and brings out the amber in my eyes.
I look down at myself, twirling left and right to make the leaves sparkle in the light, to feel the smooth slip of the fabric against my skin.
“Denise. You are a magician.”
I move towards the mirror next to her drafting table to admire myself more thoroughly, and Denise trails behind me.
“It looks even better than I thought it would,” she says wistfully.
“What about Mom if Damon’s still got his head up his ass, I’ll just choose some other lucky guy to hang with.
Denise snorts.
“Weird? No way. Mama Park’s philosophy is ‘the more the merrier’. She’ll probably be thrilled to have more people there. And she has the best refreshments at every party. It’s like she’s trying to be Brooklyn’s answer to Martha Stewart.”
I ponder for a few more seconds, then nod my head. Fuck it.
“Yeah, OK. Why not? Give me the details and I’ll bring some plates and napkins.”
“Henry?” I gasp, spotting my attorney as soon as I walk through the door of the stylish Clinton Hill brownstone. He’s standing next to a thick Latina sporting a rock so big, it could sprain her finger if she’s not careful.
Henry’s eyes widen in shock, and he makes his way through the crowd to stand next to me, his fiancée close behind.
“Ms. Gray? What are you doing here?”
I wave him off and lean forward for a light hug, which he awkwardly returns.