by Mia Wolf
“I went for it all, Warren,” she replies and turns her head to look at me. She looks sad, wilting like a daisy.
Why do you look like you’re free-falling from the sky, Ashley? I ask myself in my head, because I don’t want to interrupt her. Who knows what she hides behind the mask of her happiness.
“I conquered everything I wanted to.” She pauses then turns around to sit and face me. “I have everything I could possibly want. But—” Her voice trails off, her eyes becoming empty.
“Is it that it’s lonely at the top?” I ask, but I know that neither of us is thinking about that. I know why she’s upset; it’s the same thing that upset her a decade ago. Life is not about “what,” it’s about “who with.”
“It’s not about “what,” right?” she asks, and I cough as my breath hitches. Can she read my mind?
“Are you okay?” The look of concern on her face is what I never got to see on television all these years of watching her from a distance. Here, with me, she is real.
“It’s not about the “what,” you were saying,” I politely remind her.
“It’s not about the “what,”” she pauses and our eyes lock.
“It’s about “who with,”” we both say at the same time.
If this were a movie, we would both laugh synchronously right now, but the burden of the words is far too heavy in real life where problems don’t get solved just by the virtue of recognizing them. I’m thirty-five, Ashley must be thirty-seven, thirty-eight? We’re old enough to know how much “who with” matters. The only difference is that all this time, I thought it was just me.
“You tell me something about yourself now,” Ashley asks and turns around again to sort through the clothes.
“What’s wrong with that?” I exclaim when she throws out a perfectly fine pair of underwear onto her freshly made discard pile.
“You’re not in a fraternity, Warren. Have some class,” she answers. I still don’t see the problem, but I let her do her thing.
“You know how much I would charge to do this?” she scoffs. “Forget charge, there’s no amount of money in the world that I’d accept to do this for anyone. So you better consider yourself lucky Mr. Warren Maibach. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”
“Thank you, your highness,” I reply, observing Ashley move and flinch and click her tongue every time she picks up a piece of clothing.
“I could tell you things about myself,” I begin. But you can only see the shadow, Ashley. I can only show you the shadow, you will never really see me. I don’t say those words out loud. “I’ve been taking automobile engineering positions. I go to the factories or labs whenever it’s needed and do my work at home when it’s not.”
Ashley nods her head in a manner of saying that she’s following along.
“Are you liking the work?” she asks.
“Sure.”
“Wear this the next time we meet,” Ashley says, holding a red Lacoste t-shirt. There is nothing remarkable about it. “Red has always been your color,” she adds holding the shirt in my direction then throwing it on my torso from the distance, evaluating how it would look on me.
Just when I internally feel glad that we stopped talking about me, Ashley speaks again. “We're not switching the topic so soon.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t tell me about what you’ve been doing. How have you been?” She stops what she’s doing and looks at me again. There is no escape from her inquiry.
Sometimes the light washes over the shadow.
I take a deep breath. “I’ve suffered. I’ve been hurting,” I tell her, hoping she doesn’t run away from the truth.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks and her face is so radiant, so full of light that I feel like I’m tainting it by just being around her. She cares sincerely, she would listen.
It makes sense to me then. If I let her, she’ll pull me out of the darkness, won’t she? That’s exactly why I need to stop her before she does. I’m going to hell, I can’t take her along for the ride.
“Shouldn’t you call your driver?” I ask, cutting the conversation short.
Ashley looks both shocked and hurt. “He doesn’t work on weekends,” she says.
She wouldn’t believe me if I told her that I am up to no good and she’s the brightest star in the sky. I cannot do this to her because, in the end, it’s all about “who with,” and I’m barely a shadow.
Chapter 16 – Ashley
After the success of the Miranda Reynolds project, Miranda invited me to her place to have dinner, but I politely refused because my schedule really didn’t allow for it. Besides, the last time I had dinner with someone, things didn’t turn out that great. Which, on second thought, wasn’t very surprising. It’s the hollowness of the fashion industry that can do mean things to people. It’s just that when the people you think you can trust—fashion icons or not—break your trust, it’s hard not to get taken aback.
Violet tells me that Steve Parera has been making requests to have dinner again. I told her that she’s free to block his number.
I recently cleared up all of my ongoing projects and the preparations for the Milan fashion week are right on schedule, which means that I have some time on my hands to focus on something I’ve been wanting to focus on for a while. It’s something that’s very close to my heart, and I cannot trust very many people with it. Of course, Violet knows about it; she knows everything about me when it comes to work. But I need someone else, another expert eye, on it. That is where Rose Maibach comes in. The fluttering feeling in my stomach probably means that my entire life has been leading up to this moment.
Sitting in my personal office, I call Violet to update me on today’s schedule.
“What time are we expecting Rose?” I ask her, flipping through some paperwork.
“Within an hour,” Violet informs me and places half a dozen files on my desk; projects to review, bills to pay, commissions to approve. “Room A3 on the second floor is cleared up as you asked and I’ve instructed the staff not to enter.”
“I want you to be there when Rose comes,” I tell Violet.
Her face immediately lights up like it’s the sunrise she had been waiting on. I’ve been suspecting that Violet is not okay with Rose’s apprenticeship under my wing. The thing is that I have to prepare someone to take on my job in the future. Rose is by far the best candidate, but that’s not the only reason why I chose her. She reminds me so much of myself that it's damn near painful. I would love to see where she’s going to take the fashion world, the way I did at some point. Besides, with Andrew Brehm on her side, she has some protection from the hungry sharks that keep swarming all around me, scavenging for an opening. She needs to be well equipped to deal with the predators so I don’t have the time to take care of Violet’s feelings. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see that they’re getting hurt.
“Your opinion matters, Violet,” I assure her. “And this is a big moment for me, I want you to be a part of it.” I smile at her warmly, hoping it will make some of the sting go away.
“I’ll let you know when Rose has arrived.” She picks up the stack of paper that has already been reviewed and leaves my office.
My phone buzzes as soon as the door shuts. It’s a text. I sigh when I realize it’s from Warren. Before I read it, I draw the blinds on my windows. I know I’ll need some privacy to handle this. The point of having a see-through window is so that the team can see me work and feel motivated to work themselves.
“I’m sorry Ashley, but I’m no good for you,” reads the text.
And yet you thought that it’s a good idea to text me in the middle of the day. I’m enraged and I keep mulling over the text over and over again. What has he become?
I set my phone aside because I don’t want to let Warren ruin my meeting with Rose. I take a moment to compose myself, draw up the blinds again, and sit up straight. I can’t let Warren take over my thoughts right now.
Violet s
wings open the door and bursts inside. “Rose is here.”
I want to leave the phone in my office just to make a point to myself, but unfortunately, there are too many important calls that I’m expecting. “Take her to A3. I’ll join her there,” I tell Violet.
“Let’s talk about it in the evening,” I text Warren to cut the conversation short and make sure he doesn’t rile me up throughout the day with overly sentimental messages.
I reach A3 where Violet and Rose are already waiting for me.
“Welcome to the team, Rose,” I say, greeting her with a hug. “Even though you’ve already helped us out quite a bit, I’m excited that you’re now joining us for real. I’m sure your skills will be put to great use at Regal.”
“I can’t believe I get to work with you, Ashley,” Rose says excitedly. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this—I’m really not that good.”
They really are siblings, aren’t they? I shake my head and try not to think of Warren everytime Rose speaks. It’s not fair to her.
“Confidence will serve you well, Ms. Maibach. I suggest you start owning your competence,” I tell her walking towards the only table in the room.
The room is almost empty—its white and clinical look was designed to not distract from the creative work and to free designers from the influence of their surroundings. The ceiling is almost twice as high as that of the other rooms. It’s less a room than a thinking chamber. Regal had it built for me when I first received the fashion designer of the year award. I appreciate it, but I also believe good work can be done in the dingiest of rooms.
“You’re here because I want to show you something,” I say to Rose. I can see her clench up as if I’m about to reveal a national secret. “You don’t need to be so scared,” I smile at her to put her at ease. “I’m thinking of starting a new fashion line. It’s called Give, and I have initial ideas both for the clothing design and the brand itself. Here,” I hand her the sketches, “tell me what you think.”
As Rose flips through the sketches, her expression not revealing anything, I explain the concept behind the brand to her. “I want it to be a clothing line for women and men who take pride in giving out to the world, making a contribution, doing their part. The idea is to make philanthropy fashionable. I’m thinking of consistently giving away 10% of the profits to charity. I’ll have people figure out the details, but I think it’s time to give back for me, too.”
I look at Rose with eager eyes, waiting to hear her opinion. She holds the sketches close to her chest and looks up at me.
“How can I help with this?” Rose asks me.
“Do you like it?”
“Ashley,” she presses her lips. “I could never pinpoint what sets you apart from the rest other than your work. You’re an exceptional designer and the whole world knows that but what truly sets you apart is that it doesn’t come at a cost of your humanity. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.” She pauses. “And, yes. The designs, of course, are as brilliant as you are. But you know that’s not what makes this, you, remarkable.”
I cough a little because I wasn’t expecting such an honest response. “I have more detailed sketches on my laptop, and I would love to discuss the brand’s vision and direction with you.”
“It would be an honor,” Rose says while giving the sketches back to me.
I flip through them idly, thinking that with Rose’s help, this could indeed turn into something great. But then something catches my attention. An uneasy feeling settles into my stomach.
“Wait.” I pause to check and re-check the designs. “There’s one missing.”
I search the desk and look all around to see if it fell or something. But the missing design is nowhere to be found. A million thoughts are racing through my head. I’m sure that I didn’t leave the design anywhere, that I put it on the exact same pile as the other designs. That leaves only one possibility, and I feel ice filling my stomach.
“Did anyone come in here yesterday when I was gone?” I ask Violet, but she tells me that no one did. “I need all CCTV footage for the entire building by tomorrow.”
Chapter 17 - Warren
“One whiskey on the rocks,” I tell Alex, who has got to be my favorite bartender on planet earth. We know each other from back in the day when I was still living here in the city. “You don’t need to be worried today, today is meant for a meltdown.” I laugh, but I’m not joking at all. Perhaps that’s why Alex doesn’t laugh.
I feel the evening bar vibes and hear the smooth jazz playing in the distance over a din of hush-hush conversation. I see the dim amber lights that always make me think of pouring alcohol. The fact that the bar is drenched in alcohol lighting makes it even easier to get drunk, to blend in, to belong.
“One whiskey on the rocks,” Alex says while sliding the alcohol towards me. It stops an inch away from my hand, and I can see that there is water at the base of the glass already.
I grab the alcohol and gulp it down as if it’s milk. I don’t like to wait until the ice makes the drink so cold that I get a brain freeze. Right away is the best time to drain it, especially when you’re trying to get drunk. Alex halts a moment and watches me finish my drink.
“So it’s one of those days,” he says as he walks away to take another request.
“I’ll need a refill,” I shout at Alex and spin my bar stool around to look at the venue. I feel the alcohol reaching my head. That’s good news.
“Here’s your refill,” I hear Alex’s voice from behind. I notice a woman staring at me from the opposite end of the bar. She seems to be drinking alone and is eyeing me quite lecherously, if I may say so myself. I avert my gaze and turn around to face the bar instead.
I raise the glass at Alex and cock my head in something of a cheers. He serves a round of alcohol to a group of strangers then comes back to chit-chat with me.
“Alex,” I say to him.
“Yes, Warren,” he replies enthusiastically as if we’re in a sitcom.
“She said, “we’ll talk about it in the evening.”” I make air quotes as I speak. “Would you call this the evening?” I raise my hands and gesture towards the room. I suppose I’m a little drunk already.
“It indeed is the evening,” Alex replies like a good wingman.
“Indeed,” I say to myself, gulping down my second glass while Alex attends to more customers.
When he returns, I slide the glass back to him and he refills it without me asking him to. “I should go to her house, right?” I ask him sincerely. “I should go to her house and ask her, ‘isn’t it the evening? Weren’t we supposed to talk?’”
Alex doesn’t respond to what I said. “Where’s Sebastian?” he asks instead.
The name brings a bitter taste to my mouth and I make a disgusted face. “I’m not talking to Sebastian anymore. We’re done,” I say and repeat, “we’re done” three more times. Maybe more often.
“Give me another one,” I say to Alex. “Should I have drunk vodka? Why am I not getting drunk, Alex?”
He simply passes the refilled glass back to me. “You should go home, Warren.”
“No,” I reply sternly. “I should go to Ashley’s house and tell her we’re supposed to talk in the evening,” I nod in agreement at the idea. “Yes, that’s what I should do.”
“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice says.
“Excuse me,” I reply, turning my chair around to see who it is. “Ashley?” I ask.
“No, I’m Meghan,” the voice says, I’m not really looking at who it is. But I can tell it’s the same woman who was ogling me a while ago. “You can call me Ashley if that’s what you want. I can be whatever you want.”
“No,” I tell her and turn my chair around to find Alex laughing for some reason. I give him my card and he returns it when the payment is done.
“Should I buy you another drink?” the woman asks while my back is to her.
I don’t respond, slip out of my seat, and leave the bar for the night. I call a cab to
Ashley’s place because we need to talk.
When I arrive at the mansion that she calls her home and ring the bell, no one answers. Then I realize I’m supposed to answer the intercom. It makes me laugh.
“Hello,” I say laughing, “sorry. This is Warren Maibach. Here to see Ms. Ashley Wang.” My words are slurred, but I feel good.
The door opens a few seconds later and I walk through a long, brightly lit hallway that gives me a little bit of a headache from all the glowing lights. Ashley is standing in the garden outside the main building of her house.
“How did you know where I live?” she asks me with her arms crossed in front of her.
“It’s evening,” I tell her, pointing at my watch. “We’re supposed to talk in the evening.”
“You’re drunk, what am I supposed to say to you?” She seems to be angry for some reason.
“I’m not drunk, Ashley,” I reassure her, but she sighs and stares at me silently, her arms still crossed in front of her chest.
I look up at the sky and see the stars. And it suddenly fills me with a lot of happiness because I’m with the person that I always think of when I see the stars. So far above me that I can only pretend to catch them. I reach my hand up to the sky and pretend to catch a star but lose my balance a little. That makes me laugh, too. I falter and take some time to regain control.
“Look, Ashley,” I tell her. “The stars shine just like you do.” I point at the sky then look at Ashley, but she’s not looking up. She’s staring at me, her nostrils flaring. My happiness dissipates because she’s not seeing what I see.
“Why aren’t you looking up?”
Chapter 18 – Ashley
I’m standing in the garden, staring at Warren and thinking how unflattering he looks right now. Loose shirt, unbuttoned at the top, jeans slipping obnoxiously lower than his waist, and there is a look of irresponsibility on his face that’s making my disdain turn into anger. I’m standing far away from him yet I can smell the alcohol on him and all I can think of is the audacity he has to show up looking like a mess in front of me. Does he not care about what I think of him? Are we that comfortable with each other?