Chapter 14
Lior
I slid into my favorite pair of worn-in sneakers – once again restored to their pre-poo glory thanks to Graham – and stepped out onto the stoop, breathing in the warm summer air.
It was going to be a hot one today, which was why I’d hurried through my morning word games and cappuccino.
I wanted to get my walk in before the heat turned from tolerable to melting-the-clothes-to-my-body hot.
That way I’d have enough time to shower and cool down before my meeting with Daniela, the newest rising star designer in the fashion world.
She’d touched base the evening before to let me know we’d be doing a fitting for several pieces she hoped would be used in the shoot that would be happening for Vogue.
It was a coup for her. Old hat for me at this point.
I’d posed for Vogue more than my mother had now, which was a point of pride for me that didn’t come without a little jealousy from her, as evidenced by the way she always changed the subject when any mention of the magazine or its famed president was mentioned.
Since arriving back home, I’d been admittedly, if not begrudgingly, bummed not to run into Graham.
Not even a glimpse of him and his trusty sidekick had been spotted.
I knew he still existed thanks to the clean shoe, the poem he’d left in it – which I’d framed and set in the bookcase of my living room, because a Graham Forrester original wasn’t something to be hidden away – and of course his column in the Sunday paper this morning.
But we hadn’t bumped into each other again and I wondered if he was out of town?
Or, worse, maybe something had happened to Bronte?
I’d practically ripped the paper apart this morning getting to his weekly article in hopes of some sort of clue about his whereabouts…
but it was a charming piece on one of the local bakery owners.
No word about Bronte. No hint at where he’d been the past few days.
No suggestions to why I hadn’t seen the two of them walking in the neighborhood.
At the bottom of the steps I took a left, as had become my new habit.
I found it curious that Graham must have changed his route as well.
I assumed to avoid me just like I’d done to avoid him.
And yet, having both done the same – probably with the same intention – we had seen each other more often, if only from a distance. Well, except for the past few days.
Maybe he’d decided to go back to his old route.
Also, I found it unfair that he knew where I lived, but I had no idea where he resided.
I wondered if I did, would I have the guts to walk by?
And what would be my excuse to do so? I supposed I could always leave some form of ‘Thank you’ on his doorstep.
But then he’d know I’d tracked him down, and maybe he didn’t want to be found. At least not by me.
“Thank you for coming on a Sunday,” Daniela said, letting me in through the back door of her workshop, which was conveniently located only a few blocks away from my house.
“Of course,” I said, leaning in to hug the diminutive designer. “I’m excited to work with you. And see what you’ve got in store for the shoot.”
“Lior!” a woman’s voice said as I entered Daniela’s sewing room.
I grinned at the familiar face of Risa Collins, the creative director for Vogue, and hurried over to give her a hug as well.
“I didn’t know you’d be here too,” I said.
Risa had the kind of instincts and intelligence that both awed and frightened me.
Pair those things with an innate sense of style and the effortless way she conducted herself and she was a lethal combination several times over.
Along with her boss, she could make or break a career.
But despite her professional prowess, I always found myself at ease in her company.
Unlike Katya, who I knew was terrified of her.
“She’s like a predator,” she’d said to me once. “She makes you feel falsely at ease, and then goes for the carotid.”
“Please stop watching the National Geographic channel,” I’d responded.
It was actually listed as her favorite channel on her bio and it wasn’t a joke.
I’d lost count of the number of times I’d had to ask her to stop telling me creepy creature facts while we were on a shoot.
It was hard giving fuck-me eyes when she was going on and on about the sex lives of bean beetles.
“Daniela and I had lunch the other day,” Risa said to me, smoothing a hand over her thick auburn hair, which was twisted into its signature sleek bun at the nape of her neck.
“She mentioned you were doing a fitting today so I thought I’d drop in to see some of the designs – and you of course.
” Her voice lowered. “In case you have good Oliver Manning dirt to share.”
I laughed. “I hate to disappoint but, other than him being exactly how the media has portrayed him over the years, I’ve got nothing. No dirt… no injuries by cane.”
Her deep-throated chuckle filled the room.
“Dammit,” she said, and then we both turned to survey the scene around us.
Daniela’s workshop was a large space filled with gorgeous pastel fabrics, set against white-painted walls.
“I feel like I’m in a painting,” I said, wandering carefully and running a hand over satins and silks and a crisp lavender cotton. “It’s like walking through one of Monet’s garden scenes.”
The designer smiled and shrugged, looking around the room herself.
“I’ve always loved soft things,” Daniela said. “Colors like these are calming. They bring me a sense of peace when the world around me feels like chaos.”
“And then she adds something like this,” Risa said, holding up a matte black shackle.
“I mean…” Daniela said, a glint in her eyes. “Who doesn’t like a little calm with a hefty side of S&M?”
Risa nodded with a level of sincerity I wasn’t prepared for.
“I am into it,” she said.
I kept my mouth shut. To say anything would most likely bring us back to the subject of Oliver Manning, and that mediocre worm needed to be shoved back into his can, sealed, and tossed in a river. I’d never forgive myself for being so stupid.
“Okay,” Daniela said, getting down to business and turning to me.
“I have your measurements, but I’d like to do my own while I have you here, and then I’ll have you try on the finished pieces so we can see how those fit.
After that, I’ll drape a few things on you and pin them.
There are a couple designs I wanted to wait to sew until I saw how the fabric fell across your body, and I also just wanted to see the material hanging off you to see what it inspires.
I have my mannequins but they don’t move and sometimes what I thought was a good idea becomes an even better one when I see movement. Sound good?”
“Let’s go,” I said and pulled off my sweatshirt.
We spent the next several hours talking, laughing, and watching Daniela work her magic as she pulled straight pins from a pin cushion attached to a piece of elastic on her wrist and twisted fabrics, pinned them, re-pinned them, considered, and re-pinned again.
All this while grabbing pieces of faux leather, latex, chains and more, and placing them carefully at my neck, waist, and wrists.
Risa ordered in food, as well as champagne, and what began as a fitting became an impromptu party.
The usually buttoned-up, top-tier Vogue employee soon let her hair down – both literally and figuratively – her auburn waves now flowing down her back, blazer thrown haphazardly on the head of a mannequin, lipstick rubbed off.
And while Daniela and I took minimalist sips from our glasses, Risa was on her second glass and barely picking at her plate of food.
She’d become louder and more talkative as the day went on.
“Turn this way,” Daniela said to me.
I was standing on a round, white riser in the corner of the room in front of a three-way mirror, a swath of iridescent white fabric folded and tucked around me, held in place at my neck by the large shackle Risa had found earlier, and at my wrists by two smaller versions.
“I’ll take two of those,” Risa said, taking a large gulp of champagne and then popping a bit of cheese in her mouth.
I caught Daniela’s eye in the mirror, a move that wasn’t missed by Vogue’s creative director.
“I’m getting a divorce,” she said. “He doesn’t know it yet.”
“Oh.” My mouth formed a small circle as my brain raced to find something appropriate to say, Daniela furiously pinning, her lips pressed together as she worked. I prayed I didn’t get poked in the midst of her frenzied avoidance tactic.
“I found out last night he’s cheating on me,” Risa continued.
“Oh Risa,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
Daniela quit pinning, a look of defeat on her face. I assumed not because the gown didn’t look divine – it was stunning – but because she now had to participate in this uncomfortable conversation.
“So if you could make me a shackle dress too,” Risa said to Daniela. “Preferably with less material… maybe just a couple of strips here and here?” She gestured across her breasts and then her crotch.
Daniela’s eyes again met mine in the mirror. This time we all laughed.
“What a dick,” Daniela said, reaching for her glass. She downed the liquid and speared a ball of mozzarella. “Just tell me when your first date with someone good is and I’ll make you something amazing.”
I wasn’t sure if Risa would remember our conversation that day and regret it, or be glad for it.
We weren’t her people, but sometimes those kinds of people were the best kind to have around when you needed to let loose.
Maybe new friendships would form because of it.
Maybe she’d get home later and bury her head in a pillow and scream, and then send Daniela and I gift baskets tomorrow with cards thanking us for being so discreet.
To which we would read between the not-written lines “Say a fucking word and I’ll end your career”.
Who knew? But for now, she was in a safe place and seemed to know it, and maybe that was good enough.
“My ex-husband and I had one of those rooms like in Fifty Shades,” Daniela said, helping me out of the dress.
The room went still as both Risa and I stared at the petite blonde with her wide-set green eyes and faintly freckled nose.
“Well,” Risa said. “That explains a lot.”
She and I stared around the room at the designer’s work.
“I suppose an outfit just doesn’t feel complete to me without a touch of a bondage element,” Daniela said.
“How come he’s your ex?” Risa asked. “Sounds like a match made in heaven.”
“Or in the Pleasure Chest,” I said, naming the well-known Manhattan adult store.
“He said he grew a conscience.” Daniela sighed. “And didn’t want to spank his wife anymore.”
I grabbed my own drink now and took a swig, trying to get the image of this spritely woman being spanked out of my head.
“Should we…” I pointed to a piece of material hanging on a rack.
“Oh! Yes,” Daniela said, sliding her little pin cushion bracelet back on. “So what I’m thinking for this one is…”
Two hours later we were done, five new gowns pinned into shape ready for her sewing needle, me back in my clothes, Risa’s hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.
“Thanks for letting me crash your party today, ladies,” Risa said.
“It wouldn’t have been a party without you,” I said.
She turned to Daniela. “I’m really excited for what we have in mind for this shoot. We’re doing something a little different and seeing the clothes today has confirmed that it’s a brilliant idea.”
“Can you tell us more?” I asked.
“We’re going with a storytelling theme. Daniela’s designs bring to mind fairytales.
They’re lightness and darkness. Good versus evil.
The innocent and the villain. The seductress and her prey.
” She paused and gave us a wink. “Her pieces tell stories, and there’s a juxtaposition within each one.
We’re going to do a play on that by pairing each piece with actual literature.
A line of poetry. A quote from a famous novel.
A lyric from a song… And all by female artists.
The words will scroll across the page while the models…
” she looked to me, “…show off the clothing.”
“That sounds amazing,” Daniela said, her eyes lighting up.
“I love it,” I said.
“The best part is,” Risa said. “We’re trying to get an actual writer to play against you as your sexy adversary.”
A pit opened in my stomach.
“Oh really?” I asked, my voice faint.
“Yes!” Her excitement echoed off the small lobby of Daniela’s workshop. “We have a few names in mind but one definite favorite.”
“And who is that?” I asked.
But I knew before the name passed through her lips.
“Graham Forrester!”