by Cathy Lamb
“I love you, Mother!” Lacey said, blowing a kiss to the screen.
As if on cue, our mother kissed her hand and blew a kiss to the audience, waving her hand.
She does that every time, and you know who the kiss is for?
Lacey, Tory, and me.
We blew a kiss back to her.
Tory’s Temptations sold thousands.
Gave us more time.
My mother called me about an hour later. I complimented her on her appearance on Chloe and Charles while I had a slice of peach cobbler. I smeared peanut butter on the top of it. Yum.
“Thank you, dear. I am e-mailing you a photo of Lacey’s baby’s blessing quilt. I’m having a difficult time with the colors. Can you help me with it? Are you eating vegetables?”
“Handfuls of them. Can hardly stop.”
“What about exercising?”
“Every day. Sweat till I’m soaked.”
“Your sisters say you’re pale.”
“I’m not pale.”
“I can’t wait to see you. Let’s you and I go to the tea shop together for a visit and some clotted cream and scones.”
“I love clotted cream and scones.”
One would think that Lacey, Tory, and I would have grown up wild and free with a mother who was a blunt-talking sex therapist. That would not be true at all. She was kind, super-strict, involved, and conservative. “Study hard, stay in sports, focus. No drugs, no drinking, no smoking, no sex, and we’ll get along fine,” she said. “Break those rules and we’re going to have problems.”
She told us that sex for teenagers was “a ridiculously poor idea. Let me list the ways.” And then she listed them: pregnancy. Disease. More diseases. She even showed us graphic photos of herpes, syphilis, and genital warts. She showed us photos of pregnant teenagers and close-ups of women giving vaginal births. She did this before we went to sleep at night many times as teenagers.
It’s not something you want traipsing through your dreams.
“Hello everyone, come on over.”
I stood on a chair in the middle of the production floor. I’d had everyone in the company—seamstresses, our custodian, managers, etc.—come to this meeting. It was Friday, three o’clock.
I briefly wondered if I’d brushed my hair that morning. Oh, yes, I had. Yay me. I had even put a clip on top of my head to keep my hair out of my face. I wore a pink T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes.
I glanced at Grandma. I could tell she hated my outfit. In fact, she stuck out a red painted fingernail at me, ran it up and down in the air, and said, “That’s what you wear at home when no one can see you.”
She was in a pink dress and shimmery tights. The baubles: pink topazes.
“We’re going to do something different,” I said.
“I like different,” Edith Petrelli said. “Adds brain cells.”
“Different would be titillating,” Edna said.
“I’ll do it,” Estelle said.
I paused and smiled at the three of them. The Petrelli sisters were well into their seventies and yet they were not afraid of change, not afraid of new. Spectacular women. I coughed to clear a rush of emotion when I looked at them.
“I want you all to design lingerie that is reflective of you. A bra, panties, bustier, thongs, negligees, nightwear, anything we have.”
I saw a few nods and smiles. I saw their imaginations click. We’re an imaginative group.
Lacey grinned.
Tory rolled her eyes. I could hear her tapping her heels.
“It does not have to be pretty. As you know, we strive for pretty and seductive here at Lace, Satin, and Baubles, but I want you to create truth, so to speak. Raw, fanciful, funny, flamboyant, thought-provoking, artistic, graphic, emotion-laden lingerie in whatever fashion you want. We have all kinds of materials here, as you know, but I’ve taken the liberty of half emptying a local crafts store, and in those boxes, all lined up on the tables, you’ll find more. You can, of course, use any lingerie we’ve already made and embellish it. For inspiration we’re having strawberry shortcake. Any questions?”
“I don’t think you should let Larissa do this,” Beatrice said. “Who knows what she’ll create when she’s let loose around this place.” Everyone laughed.
Larissa, who had purple stripes through her hair that day, said, “New Age wonders rock and roll,” which made no sense, but that’s Larissa for ya.
“Tato’s probably going to make a huge bra in the shape of his Harley,” Lance said.
“Humans need to find their inner Harley,” Tato declared, thumping his chest with his fist. “Even in a bra.”
“Does Toni have to be a part of this? This is simply feeding her odd obsession,” Delia said. “We all know what she’s going to do.”
“Paint a picture of Robert Pattinson,” several employees shouted.
Toni Latrouelle and her sisters laughed.
“Hayden’s going to make something with leopard print, cheetah print, and a pink fedora,” Abigail said.
Hayden nodded. “Maybe.” He had a pad of paper in front of him already, and he was sketching. “But maybe I’ll do something different. Something with poetic meaning.”
It was a pretty funny scene. I think the group activity took some of the sizzling fear away about what might happen to the company. We all spent the rest of the afternoon making personal, highfalutin, bang-up lingerie, as I dubbed it.
At four thirty I had spaghetti, lasagna, and salad brought in. I could not believe what our employees were creating.
I put an arm around my grandma’s shoulders.
“Unbelievable,” she said. “I knew they were smart, but this . . .” She waved her hand. “Excellent idea, Meggie. Excellent.”
“Thank you.” I basked for one short second in her praise.
“Your clothes are embarrassing, though. Tennis shoes? For work? Baggy jeans? Your hair almost long enough to wrap around your butt? I’ve seen grave diggers dressed better.”
I kissed her cheek. “Love you.”
“You should wear the clothes I sent you, or people will think you’re a homeless person.” She paused, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “I still love you, granddaughter, despite your unsightly fashion style.”
I didn’t want to tell the employees what we were going to do with their ideas.
That’d scare ’em to death.
Tory and I left our offices about nine that night. I was eating beef jerky with mustard. I handed her one, and she took it.
“They all love you, Meggie. They can’t stand me.”
“Not true.” Halfway true.
“It’s because of your star sign, the Leo.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Scotty loved you, too. He thought you were great. He had the penis taken down, you know. I was going to make it into a fountain.”
Scotty and I had gotten along fine. He was a kind man and madly in love with Tory. “He thinks you’re great, too. I believe he has a special affinity for Pisces.”
“No, he doesn’t. If he did, he’d chase me down.”
“Maybe you need to chase him. Go home.”
“I have chased him! I drive by our house trying to see him all the time!”
“I believe that’s called stalking.” I put an arm around her, and she bent her head.
“I hate Scotty the deserter, the abandoner!” she said. “He should come get me!”
I hugged her close. I hoped they could work it out. It was not looking promising.
“There’s a typhoon.”
“A typhoon?” I used the Internet to look up the weather near our factory in Sri Lanka. “Ah, no. Those poor people.”
“Yep,” Lacey said. “Mother Nature has cursed us, and them. It’s right over the factory.”
I tried to call Kalani. I tried to Skype her. No go.
“They’re not working,” I said. “They’re home. Good. At least they’re safe, but we’ll lose a day of work.”
“Yep. I swear that karma is conspiring against us. The Hippie Bleedin
g bras, the bras Kalani designed with a shelf, the weather, the sunken ship . . .”
“Seems like it, doesn’t it?”
“Speaking of conspiring against us, Larissa and Tato are coming in in five minutes,” Lacey said. “They’re at war, as usual.”
“I know.” Larissa and Tato are designers. They don’t always get along. Tory was out at another meeting, so Lacey was standing in for her.
“Yes.” Lacey tapped her fingers together. “One thingie you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re sleeping together.”
I dropped my pen. “You’re kidding.”
“No. Larissa’s divorce went through six months ago, and Tato and his girlfriend broke up this fall.”
“So it’s guerrilla warfare here between the two of them, lingerie speaking, and at home they’re mating.”
“You have the picture. Except they’re currently in a fight. Tato gave Larissa a promise ring and she won’t wear it because she says she’s not ready.”
“A promise ring? I didn’t think people did that anymore. Ah. Well. That was nice of Tato.”
“I’ve seen Tato cry three times in the last week. Don’t tell him I told you.”
I rubbed my eyes. I don’t like employees dating. It gets complicated and creates a mess at the office. There’s the distraction for the couple, the conflicts, and the problems that come up with other employees who think the romance is a detriment/ great source of gossip/entertaining, etc.
Like my grandma, I will fire employees who are dating someone above or below them. It’s an unfair balance of power, for one, and the employee who is below the person he or she is dating could easily sue our company and say they were forced into the relationship, or they were fired because the relationship ended or, God forbid, they might have felt forced into the relationship to keep the job. I hoped it wouldn’t happen, but I can’t guarantee it, so no dating someone above or below you.
However. I cannot prevent everything, and neither could my grandma. Besides, no one gets in the way of two people with determined hearts, or determined libidos, that’s for sure.
For example, years ago Brenner and Jocelyn dated for two years until they had a big fight and broke up. The fight was about croissants. I didn’t get the details. The breakup enraged Jocelyn, and she flipped Brenner’s desk over. Brenner retaliated by flipping her desk over. They met in the middle of the production floor and had a screaming match. I have no idea how they went from screaming to making out, but they did, and Brenner carried Jocelyn back to his trashed office, kicked the door shut, and nine months later they had a baby. They have been married now for twelve years and have four kids. The next set was triplets.
Both still work for us and we love them.
Zan and Latrice dated when I used to work here. Latrice broke up with Zan and started dating a banker. This pissed Zan off to no end, and we actually had to separate their offices. In a meeting one time Zan said, “We need a design that will help a woman who’s flat look like she has something, even a molehill. . . . We need underwear that will help women hold in their stomachs. . . . Can we create a bra in red that women can wear when they’re crazy bitches?”
I shut him down quick.
But Latrice responded by suggesting we start a line of underwear for men “who are small and piddly in that department, like a worm. Maybe we can add padding to the front of the jockey? What can we do for men who have no butt? Does anyone have a product out there that will add butt? Who wants a small-butted man? I don’t.”
I shut her down, too.
I told them to shut up or get out. I wasn’t running a long-lost love business, and shortly after that, Zan and Latrice both left. Zan became a natural food store owner, and Latrice became a tour guide in Africa.
Larissa and Tato are not a good combination for me because of their temperaments. They are both artistically explosive.
Larissa has been with our company for twelve years. She is thirty-four years old and all her shoes are four-inch heels. I have never seen her wear the same pair twice. She has a shoe obsession, which she admits. She grew up on a farm baling hay, milking cows, and driving a tractor. She has straight blond hair with a pink streak on the right side. Or a purple streak. Or green. Depends on her mood. She has four cats.
Tato’s mother is Asian, and his father is African American and an ex–pro football player. Tato’s six three, played college football, and has a Harley. He also grows orchids and goes to different orchid shows around the nation. He reads books on orchids. He has photos of orchids that he’s taken. The colors of the orchids are in our bras and panties and lingerie. We even had an orchid line. Poetry can bring that man to tears.
Together, those two are thunder and lightning. Thunder and Lightning were definitely unhappy. You could feel the ticked-off sizzle in our meeting.
Lacey and I had Tato and Larissa sit diagonally across from each other. I figured if Larissa leaped at Tato—yes, she’s that much of a hothead—I might be able to catch her.
“I can’t work with Tato when his demands are unreasonable. . . . Larissa can’t commit to any design. She can’t commit... Look at his idea for a spring bra, Meggie. Any woman wearing that thing is going to look like a peacock in heat . . . maybe you should wear it, Larissa, to get some heat . . . shut up, Tato . . . don’t get personal with this . . . it’s not personal, I simply don’t like what I’m seeing because it reminds me of an exploding acid trip . . . why don’t you go home and take a nap, settle your hormones down. . . .”
Tato sniffled. Larissa’s chin trembled.
“Stop.” I held up a hand to Thunder and Lightning. “Stop.”
They stopped. I was so, so tired. I leaned forward and said, quietly, “Listen to me, and listen closely. Fighting will sink this company. Your petty competition here will sink this company. Your immaturity about each other and your relationship will sink this company. Why? Because I need everyone giving one hundred percent right now. Everyone. You two aren’t doing that for me. You’re not doing it for the company. These doors will shut permanently in a few months if we don’t all work together. I am not asking you two to work together peaceably, I am ordering you to do it.” I glared at both of them. They both looked shocked.
“I am not interested in your personal problems. You should not be banging each other as it is, because you work together. I am running a business that has critical problems, not a counseling service. If you want to keep fighting with each other, let me know right now, today, and I will fire you and hand you a final check and you will walk out that door. Say the word.”
I heard Larissa suck in her breath. Tato held up both hands.
“No, no . . . no, we want to work here—”
“Tato and Larissa, I am not a patient person and you know it. I have no more patience for this mess. You two get your heads together and get your line designed and bring it to me by Friday. I will hire someone else to do this job if you can’t. We are depending on you, as we are depending on all the employees in this company, to help us get back on track. You are replaceable. I am replaceable. Lacey is replaceable. Everyone is except my grandma.”
Larissa was staring at her hands, shoulders shaking. Tato rubbed his face. Couldn’t have his tears showing!
“I’m sorry, Meggie, Lacey,” Larissa sniffled.
“Me too,” Tato said, voice pitching. “Me too.”
“Good. Get back out there and work. You have until Friday to get me what I need or don’t come in on Monday.”
They were chastened, they were embarrassed. Thunder and Lightning left.
Lacey winked at me. “Good job.”
“Thank you. They need it. They’ll bond together, thinking it’s them against me, then they’ll get super creative, and by Friday we’ll see an excellent line. They needed a referee, they needed a reason to bond together, and they have it.”
“You’re smart, Meggie.”
“No, not that smart. But I get what motivates them.”
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“Which is?”
“Each other.”
17
Hi. My name is Hayden Rockaford. My mother, Lacey O’Rourke Rockaford, is the chief financial officer at Lace, Satin, and Baubles; my aunt Meggie O’Rourke is the CEO; my aunt Tory O’Rourke is the design director; and my great-grandma, Regan O’Rourke, is the owner.
I work here part time, after school and after play rehearsal and choir. I draw designs for the company because I adore, adore, adore fashion and style and lingerie and pretty things. I have a collection of lace and piles of my fav fabrics at home.
I’m supposed to talk about myself, right, Meggie?
First I gotta take a breath since I’m being filmed. Okay. Here goes. I’m going to say something I’ve kept secret: In my head I’m a girl, not a boy. I call myself Holly.
Sorry. I’m nervous to talk about this. When I was younger I loved when my sister, Cassidy, and I put on makeup together and did our nails, and I loved wearing her dresses. I wanted to be a cheerleader or a princess, but mostly a mermaid. When I was five I asked my mom if she was playing a joke on me by pretending I was a boy.
It was always sad on my birthday when my presents were footballs and baseball bats when what I wanted was my own pink kitchen to cook in or a sewing machine or a ruffled dress, like Cassidy’s presents.
I can hardly explain it, but when you don’t feel like you’re in the right body, it messes with your mind. It’s like you feel insane all the time. I look down and what’s between my legs shouldn’t be there. I don’t even like looking at it. I’m embarrassed by it. It’s like it’s an attachment, something that’s been forced on me. I’ve had a lot of depression. Depression, like, I don’t want to live anymore.
People think that people like me, transgender, are freaks of nature or something. They think we’re losers or creepy or mentally ill. We’re not. It’s terrible to have to be like this, but we’re not freaks. It’s not our fault.
I think that when my mom was pregnant, something happened and I was supposed to be a girl but I got the plumbing for a boy instead. It’s like a mistake. But I’m not a mistake. No one is a mistake.