Chapter Ten #2
I take a breath. A beat. ‘Listen, Donal, I’m not sure.
I’m just open to conversation, eating a nice dinner with good company, making new friends, you know?
I don’t have any other agenda yet.’ Obviously, not true, but I really don’t want to hurt his feelings.
He likes me, I know he does. I have that warm feeling you get when you know someone likes you, but I also haven’t led him on with my answer.
I let what I’ve told him sink in and busy myself with a sip of water while I wait for Olivia to come back with my wine, though I’m spitting feathers at this stage.
Donal drops his chin into his hand. Thinking for a few seconds. ‘Sure. Okay, then, sounds good to me. Now, can we start over, Grace?’ he asks, nodding slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
I inwardly let out a sigh of relief. ‘Of course.’
He unfolds himself from the seat again. ‘But first, would you please excuse me for two minutes? I think I need to stick these jeans under the dryer. I’m fierce uncomfortable.’ He swaggers towards the gents in his wet, skinny jeans, and it triggers my memory.
Logan, as Rumpelstiltskin at my end-of-year college runway show.
He was the undisputed star of the catwalk.
He had shuffled down the runway on his knees, in scaly leather second-skin skinny jeans with his kneecaps inserted into long, pointed shoes.
His hair was gelled back and he was bare-chested in an open, tasselled, suede waistcoat and a red peaked hat with an enormous multi-coloured feather.
He blew kisses to the front row and the audience loved him. Ate him up.
*
‘Now that gives sex on legs a whole new twist!’ a girl shouted out, and the audience roared.
Feet were stamped on the old parquet floor.
The crowd’s cheers at the end of each student’s collection were imperative for the grading, and Logan got me those in spades.
His costume was all very tongue-in-cheek – and not very PC, I recognise now.
‘Thank you! You were brilliant!’ I said afterwards, pulling off my trilby hat and helping him out of the costume.
I was shaking with excitement as I cupped my hands to whisper in his ear so no one backstage could hear me, ‘Ferguson Brophy loved my collection! Marian said I was the one who thought outside the box the most, said my simple, gold Cinderella pre-ball dress was pure perfection – and Patricia said they loved my vision and creative individuality. And because of you, the audience cheered loudest for me. They want to offer me an internship! Me! Can you actually? Emma’s collection blew me away.
I was fully sure they were going to offer it to her! ’
‘’Course they picked you, Gracie, ’course they did. You’re the shining star of this evening.’ Logan popped his head through the neck of his white T-shirt then pulled it down over his taut, sunbed-tanned stomach.
I was beyond happy, but looking closer at Logan, he was clearly not.
‘You okay?’ I probed, slightly deflated, and puzzled.
‘Yeah, yeah. Look I’m really happy for you, Gracie. Good for you . . . It’s just I didn’t get that stupid part in that play McNally’s producing. He’s being a dick. It’s eating at me a bit. Don’t mind me.’ He looked genuinely upset as he tucked the T-shirt in.
‘But it’s only an amateur play?’ I folded the waistcoat carefully into my concertina costume box on top of my gold Cinderella dress.
‘I’m the best actor in that class and he fucking knows it.’ Logan handed me the shoes and I tucked them in neatly down the side before I sat back on my heels and looked up at his sad expression.
‘So, put on your own play!’ I said as I stood up. ‘Rent the New Theatre for a week, like McNally’s done. I’ll do your costumes.’
‘I’m broke, Gracie, you know that. I can’t afford to. I’d need to sell it out every night to break even. McNally’s a kid, he’s got a rich consultant-doctor daddy, he can afford to write and produce his own work, pay the actors, build the set.’
Logan was really taking the wind out of my sails.
‘So, do Shakespeare? Isn’t Macbeth on this year’s Leaving Cert syllabus?
English teachers will buy out all the tickets.
It’s to their benefit if students get to see a live production.
’ Logan still looked grim. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I have savings . . . I’ll lend you the money to hire the theatre, I’ve been putting money away for my store-rental deposit since I was sixteen . . . You can have it all.’
‘I can’t take your store-rental money?’
‘You can . . . Pay me back when you sell out,’ I told him, as various fellow students congratulated me as they passed backstage. I’d spotted Emma Stark, laden down with her white collection, cross the hall to avoid me. I didn’t blame her.
‘Oh, my God, Gracie. Are you sure? Genius idea! Why the fuck did I not think of that?’ Logan gasped.
We weren’t exactly boyfriend and girlfriend at this stage, it was only a matter of weeks after we’d first met, had a pint of Guinness and Logan had planted that kiss on my cheek.
Now, the cheeky smirk was back on his handsome face as he picked me up and twirled me around.
That night, we made love for the first time in my single bed. Logan was so attentive to my needs, I thought I’d have to be resuscitated. I had never felt a passion like it. Logan stayed over that night, and he never moved out.
*
I jump as Olivia stands over me, tray balancing on one hand. ‘White wine and a glass of ice?’ She puts the glasses down on the table.
‘Thanks a million.’ I grin, pushing the memory to the back of my mind.
Olivia holds two menus and fans herself with them before she puts them down on the table. ‘Sorry for the delay, it’s hard to replace the white wine in the fridges; everyone’s drinking it in this heat.’
Donal saunters back across the restaurant, now in dry skinnies. He folds himself into his seat again as I gratefully sip the cold wine.
‘Must be great to be your own boss in a creative environment all the same?’ he says with interest after we’ve ordered our food.
‘It is. I’m so lucky to get to do what I love. A lot of people hate their job, but I live and breathe mine. It was a childhood dream.’
Donal picks up his pint, circles it, the beer swirling in the glass. ‘What is the saying? Find a job you enjoy doing and you will never work a day in your life?’ he offers.
‘I never take it for granted, but honestly, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going. My dream is slowly dying.’ I twirl my wine by the stem.
He raises a bushy eyebrow. ‘Why is that?’ He leans in.
‘Well, honestly, lack of clients. I’ve no premises.
No parking facilities. You saw where I live, it’s not ideal – and there are so many brilliant bridal designers with beautiful stores, with parking.
Plus, I was so busy working trying to do this part-time while supporting Logan, I let it all slip away from me. ’
He leans in closer, a genuine interest in his eyes.
‘But you will get the business up and running, I know you will. There is always a solution. Can your clients not use the side lane for parking beside your flat? Can you not ask the council? It is a business, after all. They are there to support local businesses in any way they can.’
I smooth my hair back, thinking. ‘Really? I didn’t know I could ask that. It would help so much.’
He nods intently. ‘Yeah, you can. And I’m happy to help in any way I can, I’m pretty handy at business stuff, though I’m sure you are more than capable.’
I smile. ‘Thank you. I was going to pack it all in years ago, Logan kind of killed and saved the business at the same time.’
‘But it’s your business, you are the one who can save it now.’
‘Yeah. You’re right,’ I tell him, then fill him in on my designer ambitions.
Donal’s such a gracious listener, such lovely company and so easy to talk to. I find myself adjusting the top off my shoulders to expose more bare skin, then I lean back in the chair as our food arrives.
Why did I just do that?
Do I fancy him, after all?