17. Chapter Seventeen #2
“Whoa! Whoa mate, easy!” Someone grabbed my raised wrist. Mickey, lean as he was, was strong enough to stall the punch to the face Enzo had coming.
Other men interceded, sewists and one of the producers, heaving at me to yank me back several feet from the little shit that had turned something beautiful into something tawdry.
“Easy, easy, this ain’t the way to settle it.
He ain’t worth it.” Mickey got in my face, placing his hands on my shoulders to secure me to a far wall among the notions.
“Hey, look here, right?” My gaze flew from Enzo waving his hands at me as the room overflowed with vibrant Italian.
Bad words all I was sure. “Right here. There we are.” Micky smiled at me.
“Not sure what’s gotten wedged up your arse but fists won’t solve it. ”
“He ran like a rat to Xavier and Soline to tell them about Claude and me!” I snarled, shaking loose for a moment before Mickey and a dude from the sound crew got me refastened to the wall.
“What?! I did not such thing you stupid idiot!” Enzo yelled back.
Aside from Enzo shouting about his innocence the room was dead quiet.
Mickey shook off his shock first, probably because he already knew about Claude and me, and was about to say something profoundly Mickey when Zara wiped at her eyes as she stepped forward clutching a muslin sheet as if it were a breast plate.
“It wasn’t Enzo. It was me,” she said, her chin coming up slightly. My mouth fell open.
“See! See! I was not the one but this overbearing American comes in with his accusations and fists. This is why the rest of the world hates—”
“Shut the fuck up Enzo or I’ll come over there and show you just what happens to arseholes to talk shite to the mate of a lad raised listening to the Bow Bells,” Mickey snarked, one arm on my chest.
“Zara,” I whispered, the ire and outrage that had possessed me now fading into a stunned sadness. “What…why?”
“Because you…I saw you and him kissing on the steps last night.” She had to clear her throat.
“I don’t care if you’re two men, I don’t, but he’s one of the shows biggest stars with lots of power.
He could have persuaded Soline to give you a high grade on the finale.
I’ve worked too hard to have my chance to better myself be given away to someone who’s sucking Claude Barrons dick.
It’s not fair. You and him…it’s not fair so I went to Soline this morning.
It’s not fair,” she said in closing then left the room in a whirl of muslin and tears.
“Fuck me,” I groaned, sliding to the floor to sit amid rolls of textiles, my head bowed, as I let the sadness wash over me. The pit was deep, dark, and wholly consuming. “I’m going to drop out.”
“Like bloody hell!” Mickey gave my head a pat before turning pitbull on everyone in the room.
Barking like a mad dog off his chain he got the workroom emptied of non-show personnel in record time.
When I looked up after the silence enveloped us it as just Enzo and Mickey left.
And the fucking cameras. “Okay, so you quitting is not happening,” Mickey said as he dropped down beside me, long legs stretching out in front of him, the knees of his jeans shredded.
“I don’t want to have an asterisk beside my name on the fucking Wikipedia page.” Great. I was whining now.
“No one is going to put a bloody asterisk beside your name on any page. If you win, which you won’t because I’m going to win, but say on the off chance that you do, people won’t give a shit.
Claude was not a judge. Was what you two were doing walking the gray zone?
Probably but I never worried about you using your dick to come away the winner. ”
“I’ve had the misfortune of seeing his dick yesterday as he got changed. It would never win him any contest,” Enzo interjected. I so wanted to throat punch the guy but I was too depressed. Later. I’d knock him on his ass later.
“I hate you,” I grumbled at Enzo who shrugged.
“I do not care. I don’t like you either.
You’re a pretty boy American who is too loud, to pushy, and always has to have too much damn ice in his drink.
” Ice? The guy was pissed about ice cubes?
“What I do care about is you walking off because your boyfriend left the show like a little cry baby boy and taking the only person capable of giving me some real competition out of the game.”
“Fuck right off!” Mickey barked at Enzo.
And so he did. Enzo strolled over to his table as if I’d not just been about to clock him. He yelled at the cameras to give us all some fucking space. They didn’t.
“I may hate that arsehole but he does have a point,” Mickey said.
I let my head drop to my folded arms, eyes closed, elbows on my knees.
Eyes closed to block out the waves of defeat rolling over me.
Maybe if I didn’t see things I wouldn’t feel things.
Doubtful but worth a try. “Not about him winning because I’d not put that fucking tulle frock on my uncle’s nanny goat but his other point is firm.
If you leave you take away one of his two biggest competitors.
Zara, the sneaky cow, isn’t in our league.
She’s never been but the judges are gaga over her for her whimsical turnouts.
Fine. If you’re dressing anime cosplayers.
She’s floundering in this final challenge and she knows it.
That’s probably part of the reason she ran to turn you and Claude into the powers that be. ”
I grunted. “I feel like puking.”
“Sure, I get that but brother this ain’t the time to be sick all over yourself.
You need to finish this assignment. For your mum and sisters and for yourself.
Quitting will always leave a big question mark in your mind.
Would I have won? Could I have won? Was I a wanker for quitting over a bit of flirting? ”
“It’s more than flirting,” I argued because damn it Claude and I had real feelings.
“Maybe, maybe not, but if its solid then you’ll still be hot for each other after this show is fucking over, right?
” I muttered something unintelligible even to my ears.
“Well, I’m right. You know it. Also, if you walk then Claude, who you told me you were mad over, will have sacrificed a lot for nothing.
So you think on it hard before you make a final call.
Sorry this happened, mate. It’s the shits but if the director and producers are willing to let you stay then you’d best stay just to show them all what kind of boning you’re giving your corsets. ”
I picked up my head to look at him with confusion. “What the fuck are you even talking about right now?”
“Not a bloody clue but it got your head up. Keep it up. I got work to do.” He clapped me on the shoulder then heaved himself to his feet. My sight lingered on his floppy boots – my mother would have a cow over those untied shitkickers – until they disappeared behind a cloud of organza.
My gaze flickered to the crew. Feeling miserable to my core I held up both middle fingers. They eased back a few feet but kept recording. Fucking A this reality television sucked. There was no thing as a private moment to break the fuck down. I was never doing another show like this ever again.
“I’m fine,” I snarled as I pushed to my feet, shoulders set as if cast in stone.
Mickey was right. Putting up with all of this bullshit for weeks would be for nothing if I strolled now.
My mother would still be stuck working double or triple shifts.
I’d still be tossing cow feed into the back of pickup trucks owned by homophobes.
My dreams would be nothing but mist. I’d be known as a quitter.
And then there was Claude who had given up so much to ensure I’d be able to compete to the end. The stupid, noble, gorgeous man.
I made my way to my table, Claude’s sewists watching the theatrics as they worked, and picked up my grandmother’s shears and returned to cutting and pinning.
There was no looking away, no sniffling, no dabbing at dewy eyes.
That shit had to be shelved for later. Even when Zara returned there was no emotion shown on my half.
She averted her eyes for the rest of the day.
I kept mine on my dress. The one that reminded me of Mom, my sisters, and Claude who had all given so much to see me succeed.
The day of the final runway I’d be sure to wear the old hat of Dad’s that was crumpled up in the bottom of my suitcase. Kenny Graham’s boy did not raise a son who quit. Cried on occasion? Yes. Quit when things got hard? No.