24. Archie
Archie
“ I don’t know how I ever shared a womb with you.” Frankie tsks as she scans my room. “It’s not just the sushi that smells in here.”
I sniff in the general direction of my armpits, in case it’s me, but all I can smell is the sack of sushi I’m holding.
Frankie holds her nose and walks around the room, gently kicking the clothes I’ve tossed to the floor out of her way.
“It’s the fish. It didn’t stink this bad yesterday, or even this morning.” I haven’t been back up here since I woke up, though. Piper must have dropped the sack in here before I came back from walking the beach.
Frankie releases her nose long enough to pick up a pair of my board shorts. “Where’s your washing basket?”
I have a vague recollection of a laundry basket in this room at some point. “Cupboard, maybe?”
Frankie picks up the other shorts and trackpants I’ve left on the floor. “You’ve been back from Fiji over a week. Why haven’t you unpacked yet?” She nods toward my half-empty suitcase.
“I have.” I point to the clothes she’s holding.
She looks down with a question on her face. “You unpacked by tossing your clothes onto the floor?”
I scratch the back of my neck, not sure I want to admit the truth, but the expression on Frankie’s face leaves no other option. “I wore them first.”
“Did you wash them after you got home?”
I shrug.
Frankie closes her eyes and inhales sharply before carrying my clothes into the walk-in closet. Seconds later, she pulls out a washing basket.
“These go in here.” She drops my clothes into the empty basket.
“Because after we’ve worn clothes, we put them in this contraption…
” she draws her hands open over the basket as if she’s modeling.
“Specifically intended to hold dirty clothes until we’re able to wash them, which, ideally, will happen in a timely manner. ”
“Oy, I get it. Pick up after myself.” The tips of my ears burn as I realize, again, that Piper’s complaints about my messes were justified.
“That’s a good starting point.” Frankie pats my shoulder like I’m a very good boy. “But today you also learn how to wash and fold your clothes. Unless you’re planning on taking back what you told Sybil this morning, your days of hired help doing your dirty work are over for a while.”
I open my mouth to protest, then realize she’s right.
Even if I win the fight for this house, I’ll have to sell it, and every cent will need to go toward starting Bombora.
I won’t have money for housekeepers or private planes or fancy, petrol-guzzling cars.
All the privileges Piper’s pointed out to me will be gone.
“Right-o. I’ll take this to the bin…” I hold up the sack. “Then we can get started. I reckon it’s about time I learned how to take care of myself.”
I jog downstairs and drop the sack in the rubbish bin. On my way back upstairs, I stop in the kitchen, wondering if it is actually as clean as I think it is. I’ll have to ask Frankie.
But when I walk into my room, she’s not there. “Frankie?”
“In here.”
I follow the sound of her voice through the attached bathroom between my room and Piper’s and stop on the threshold when I see Frankie standing in Piper’s room.
“I haven’t been in here for years,” she says, turning in a slow circle.
“Piper sleeps here now.” I step back. The only time I’ve been in here since Piper moved in is when I put the mannequin thing by her bed. I didn’t scrounge around then. In and out quick.
“Did Piper bring the dress form with her all the way from New York?” Frankie walks to the form and lifts the different fabrics pinned to it, examining them.
“Um, I actually got that for her.”
Still holding a bit of fabric, Frankie sends me a curious look. “That’s thoughtful of you.”
I drop my gaze to the floor and shake my head. It wasn’t thoughtful, but I don’t want to get into it.
“This is stunning.” Frankie is still examining all the fabric. “Piper is really good.”
I take a breath and step inside the room. When Frankie waves me closer, I can’t resist. I’ve wanted to see Piper’s designs.
I’m not disappointed. I’m keen on the colors and patterns and the way Piper’s put them together, but that’s as much as I know. The dress is pretty, but I’m not sure why.
I reckon Frankie senses I’m clueless—she has spent her entire existence with me, after all. She runs her fingers along the top of the dress. “See how she’s combined old denim patches with this quilted cotton bodice?”
I nod, assuming the floral stuff making up the body part of the dress is “quilted cotton.” At least I know what denim is.
“I bet this is all thrifted clothes she’s upcycled.
” Frankie’s wide grin encourages me to really study Piper’s work.
I want to see what she’s seeing. “Remember when Piper and I used to go thrifting? She’d repurpose her finds into something better.
Even the vintage designer stuff. Piper liked to make everything she wore.
It was sort of like making it her own, I guess. ”
“She’s good?” I ask.
“She’s better than good. Look how she’s made the stitches noticeable and imperfect.
And the little bits of embroidery on the patchwork.
I think this is a Japanese technique—I can’t remember the name of it.
Honestly, Arch, Piper is going to make a name for herself.
I’d wear this.” Frankie fingers the stitched flower design, then glances at the bed and moves there.
I examine Piper’s dress in the making more closely, trying to imagine her in it.
When I glance back at Frankie, she’s slowly turning the thick pages of the sketchbook I’ve seen Piper carrying around. She studies each one, but I stay where I am. Sure, I’ve messed with Piper plenty, but going through her things? That’s too far, even for me.
“These are even better,” Frankie says over her shoulder before tipping her head toward the book, inviting me to look.
Tentatively, I move closer until I can see Piper’s drawings from behind Frankie, which is technically peeking , not going through.
“Check out this patchwork dress.” Frankie points to the page and then to the different textures Piper has labeled. Recycled denim, reclaimed leather, vintage silk.
“Her designs are as good as any designer I’ve seen who is focused on repurposing,” Frankie says next to me.
“I wonder if they’re for Luca Valente.”
Frankie huffs a laugh. “If they are, he’ll take all the credit for them.”
I think I remember him dressing Frankie for a few events. She doesn’t sound like a fan, though.
“What do you mean?” I study the page closer, then give into temptation and flip to a few more, all of which have similar labels.
Frankie stops me from flipping a page to examine a design more closely.
“The last dress I wore to the Oscars was a Valente, but the designer he sent to measure and fit me implied that the dress was one of the few things Valente had actually designed in recent years. Apparently, he uses his employees work more than he does his own these days.”
“Is that normal?”
“I remember my designer friends telling me that ‘borrowing’ happens a lot, especially when it comes to ideas. There’s so much collaboration that the path between idea to execution gets blurry.” Frankie walks to the Surf City High picture Piper teased me about her first day here and smiles at it.
“Luca, though, has a reputation for going straight from idea to execution without any collaboration, so his designers don’t get the kind of hands-on experience that will help them make a name for themselves.”
My heart sinks as I take in what she’s said. “I wonder if Piper knows that. She was pretty excited about her internship.”
Frankie shrugs. “I doubt she’s aware. I get the impression it’s the sort of thing people get blacklisted for being public about.”
I glance at Piper’s sketchbook again. I’ve seen her drawing in it every day since she’s been here. I’m not keen on the idea of something she’s worked so hard on being stolen from her.
My jaw tightens. I know how that feels.
Dad may have been the money behind “Surf City,” but I’m the one who spent twelve-hour days on set filming and months promoting the show. I’m the one who finished high school with a tutor and moved across the world from my mum. I worked hard and sacrificed a lot. And I’ve got nothing to show for it.
“Ready for your lesson in laundry?” Frankie asks, before wandering through the spotless bathroom that Piper has had to herself.
Reluctantly, I shut Piper’s book, my mind still on whether I should be worried about her working for Valente.
I stop long enough in the bathroom to sniff Piper’s body wash. The label says it’s lemon verbena. I’ve already committed the smell to memory, but now I have a name for it. Although, I’ll probably always just call it Piper. The two are inseparable in my mind.
I walk through to my room where Frankie is dumping clothes in my washing basket, already giving me instructions on how to keep my room tidy, along with reminders that she was the one who picked up after me on days the housekeeper had off.
But I only half listen. My mind is back on my conversation with Sybil and what comes next.
Going back to Aus means I keep the financially comfortable life I’ve always had…
the only life I’ve ever known. On the downside, it means, at best, putting off my Bombora dream, and at worst, giving up on it completely.
More than that, it means giving up the people who are most important to me: Frankie and my friends who are family too.
I reckon I’d like to add Piper to that list of people I don’t want to leave behind.