by M R Field
“It’s long and pretty.”
Pointing to the others, I ask, “And those?”
“They’re long and pretty too.”
“So, you want a long dress?” I coax, holding the dress I have in front of her body and running my eyes up and down her physique.
“Yeah.” She looks to the ground. “I don’t really like my legs.”
“She has great legs, too,” her sister chides, crossing her arms in front of her. “I think these dresses are pretty, but they aren’t you.”
“I agree,” I add, noticing Anastasia’s shoulders tense. “But tell me more about why you don’t like your legs, and we can go from there.”
“Um, it’s just that … they look funny.”
I pull the dress back towards me so I have a clear view of her. “What’s so funny about them? They look pretty good to me.”
“The girls at school said I have giraffe legs.”
The coat hanger in my hand bends as my fingers threaten to snap it. “Say what?”
“Um, that’s why I don’t like short dresses. The girls said …”
“Oh, fuck no.” I turn and hang the dress before I throw it across the room. “You mean, you don’t like your legs because a pack of mean bitches said—”
“They’re my friends, they’re just …”
“A pack of mean whores,” I growl. “No friend would say that to you. I’ve known you half an hour, and even in jeans I can tell you’re beautiful.”
“Thank you!” Eloise claps, and she stares at the ceiling for a moment. “Finally! Someone else besides family sees what we do.”
“I don’t like this.” Anastasia steps back, avoiding my eyes as she stares at her sister. “You said I could find and choose something that I want.”
“Honey.” I step forward. “I want you to leave my store in a few months with a dress that says how beautiful you are and that is worthy of you. I know I made these”—I gesture with my thumb over my shoulder—“but please, can you trust me? I just want you to try on a few short ones, and I’ll let you try some long ones, too. I want you to see what I see.”
She adjusts her glasses quickly and sighs. “Okay, but I probably won’t like the short ones. Just saying.”
“Why? Did you forget to whipper snipper the legs today?” Eloise chuckles as her sister wiggles her nose in disgust.
“Ew, gross.”
“Well then.” I turn and pluck two short dresses from the rack. “Hold these for me, while I grab some more.” Pointing to the back, I indicate. “There, up the back to the right are the changing rooms. Off you go.”
“These my size?” she asks disbelievingly.
“Yep. Now go. I want to see you look fab-ulous.”
Her ponytail swishes as she walks across the floor to the back. When there’s enough distance between us, I turn to Eloise and demand, “You. Spill, now. What is with her?”
She shrugs and steps closer to me while keeping an eye on the back of the warehouse. “Her friends are passive aggressive and put her down all the time. She hides a lot in the library to study as they antagonize her.”
“Tell her to find new friends.”
“It’s not that simple, unfortunately. She’s shy, and they play on that.”
“They’re not friends—they’re bullies. Does she have anyone else?”
“She chats to her lab partner a bit. He’s sporty though, so he’s usually out on field trips. They give her shit about him, too. I just can’t wait until this year is over and she goes to university and breaks the ties with them.”
“You need to get her to break those ties, now. That girl is sweet and gorgeous. Jealousy is misery’s best friend.” I grab another long dress and start walking over to the room. If there is something to get my blood boiling, it’s bullies. Fuck this shit.
As we step closer, Anastasia steps out with the first black dress, which clings to her curves in the wrong places.
“Sorry, honey. Take it off and try the next one.” I reach into the dressing room and pluck the other two dresses she had off the hooks. “These will do the same. Try on this long dress if you must have a long one, and then I want you to try on these two.”
She stares at me dumbly, as I clap my hands together.
“Chop, chop, let’s get you hot.” I gently grab her arm and walk her into the changing room. “Trust me,” I say softly.
As the dresses change over the next twenty minutes, it becomes loud and clear how gorgeous Eloise’s sister is and how absolutely fucking clueless she is to it. When she eventually tries on the knee-length fuchsia dress and steps outside for us to see, my breath catches. Not because of how beautiful she is or how loudly Eloise is cheering (and she is pretty vocal), but because I have just found my muse for the sketch on my desk.
“Wait here for a sec.” I scurry away to my workshop, narrowly avoiding slipping on the polished floor. I reach my desk and snap up the sketch and a pencil, and race back into the changing room. The front door opens as another lady comes in, and I quickly yell, “Be with you in a second! Please feel free to take a look around,” as I run like a loon back to Anastasia.
She stands there with clasped hands in front of her, biting her lip. Even in this dress she’s stunning, but I know I can do better.
I look her up and down and shake my head. “Those bitches,” I mutter under my breath. “Your legs are hot. Woman, if you don’t want them, I’ll have them, and I’ll take your boobs, too. Sound good?”
She stands and flinches at my comment, before a small smile crosses her red lips. No makeup, no pretence—this girl is gorgeous. “Um, thanks?”
I point to the mirror. “I don’t see a giraffe anywhere. Look closely. Do you?”
She stares at the mirror silently and gazes at her legs.
I walk up behind her and link my arm through hers, personal space be damned. “Really look at yourself. I want you to empty your mind and tell me if you see what they see.”
She takes a moment before her soft voice, barely above a whisper, says, “No.”
I squeeze her arm with mine and nod. “You look amazing, but honey, I have something in my hand that I think will be even better.” Raising the sketch up to her with my other arm, I continue. “I spent this week trying to work out what I needed to make it right, but what I realised it needed was you.” I turn the sketch towards her. “What do you think?”
Her fingers instantly reach for the sketch as she breathes, “I love it.” Looking at me, she asks softly, “Can you make this?”
“Oh honey,”—I flick my hand back and forth—“I can create anything, provided my muse is in my mind. What do you think of a deep purple?”
“It’s my favourite colour.” Her eyes light up.
“Fabulous.” I look over to Eloise, who stands to the side with tears in her eyes. I raise my eyebrow at her in concern. She mouths thank you, and I shrug like it was nothing. After watching my best friend Trice deal with bullshit bullies in high school, there’s nothing I hate more. “Okay, gorgeous gal, get dressed and we can make some adjustments to this sketch. I’m just going to see to this customer. I’ll be back in a second.”
I walk past Eloise and wink at her as I stroll out into the warehouse. A tall blonde woman stands with another shorter brunette by the bridal gowns. I smile, ready to launch into my greeting as I get closer.
My steps sound along the floor, alerting them to my presence and causing them to both turn. I am about to greet them when my eyes lock on the blonde, and I falter momentarily. Her eyes widen in recognition as she goes to greet me, but I shake my head, clenching my jaw.
Standing before me is one of the girls who victimised and terrorised my Trice for all those years. One who watched her group’s ringleader carve into my friend’s wrist with a Stanley knife.
“Brit,” I seethe, my fists clenching at my side. “Mind telling me, what the fuck you’re doing in my store?”
Her eyes widen in surprise in my stance.
“I, um … heard y
ou had your … own bridal … store,” she stammers, her pink-glossed lips trembling. I put my hand on my hip and narrow my eyes at her.
“Well, aren’t you fucking clever. Didn’t answer my question, though. What the fuck are you doing here?” Her hand moves along her Gucci bag strap as she steps closer to me. I can’t help but feel that she’s testing the waters. Step closer; see what I’ll do.
“I’d like you to design and make my wedding dress.”
My jaw drops.
“Your wedding dress?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
Reluctantly, my mind takes an automatic trip down memory lane and back to high school. Despite her and her minion’s pathetic apologies, after watching their ringleader bully Trice, they had engraved their names on my shit list. The scar that Trice has is now covered in a symbolic tattoo for her and Alex. Another way of saying fuck you, bullies.
I point to the door.
“Fuck off. No way. No how.” I snarl, her features flinching in shock, as she steps back. Unbelievable. “You may have forgotten what you and your whore friends did, but I haven’t.” Her shoulders slump as she turns quickly and walks out the door.
Yeah, bitch. Good to see you’re still gutless. You better leave. Right the fuck now.
The fractured tree trunk stands with a beating heart inside, bursting through the wooden stems. The man holds a tattered white flag in his hands.
The gutter that lines the panel lies heavily scripted with, “Take a chance. Be the better man. Before you’re trapped forever.”
TTE
THEO
Straightening my tie, I enter the open door to the empty warehouse and shake my head. Why am I worried about how I look? It’s not like he’s going to fire me.
I am due for another tatt appointment for the next stage of my back. I bet that would make him reconsider seeing me. Fancy his son having arms full of ink; it probably would disgrace him as much as it does Ko.
The strong aroma of coffee fills my nostrils as I step across the wooden floors. I clasp my satchel at my side, eager to get this over and done with. Hopefully one of his underlings will be here to filter any discourse, but I doubt it.
Being summoned has left a sour taste in my mouth, yet as I step into the foyer area my senses become alert. I don’t see him. Looking around the empty room, my designer instincts begin to simmer. Working with an empty warehouse lures me like putty in my hands. Looking around and not seeing anyone is strange, but while the room is quiet, my senses begin to kick in. From the high-end windows up the back, to the exposed beams in the ceiling, ideas begin to churn rapidly and my stomach quivers in anticipation. Despite having to work with my father, I can’t help the excitement that comes with creating something new. Leaving your own mark and creating a piece of immortality is the icing on this shitty cake.
I walk farther into the warehouse and continue to look around. Without waiting, I open my satchel and reach for my sketchbook, fine liner, and measuring tape. Flicking open my book, I draw a faint line to represent the border of the room and begin making little marks along the edges for the current room features. Eager to map it out, I make side notes for potential posts to add in the construction. The internal battle of getting the measurements down whilst holding back the ideas makes my fingers tremble slightly. An hour passes, and I sketch more characteristics of the walls and floors, the location of windows and columns.
I tuck the pen behind my ear and stow the notebook under my arm as I walk to the closest wall with my measuring tape pulled. I hear a deep cough behind me.
“It’s great to see you have a strong work ethic,” Ricardo states, as he steps closer to me.
I hold the tape mid-air and turn to him with a stoic expression on my face. Definitely no plebs sent out here today. “Is that your form of sarcasm, as this is our first meeting? Nice to see your strong work ethic of being”—I pull out my phone for a moment to check the time—“an hour and a half late.” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth in disapproval as I watch his passive face break out into a grin.
“On the contrary. I am merely observing how you are working today.” His thick accent rumbles. I was used to Japanese accents from back home, but his Spanish one unnerves me.
“Good excuse. And I was almost thinking you leaving this place open and unattended wasn’t weird at all,” I add sarcastically as I wave to the tape in my hand, eager to get on with the job. “Back to it, I guess.”
Just as I’m about to turn, he holds up both hands, and my eyes lock on the coffee cups he holds. “Elly prepared these. She knows what you liked, so I hope you don’t mind. It is, after all, our first meeting, and what day would it be without a good coffee?”
Fuck. Here I am, trying to get on with it, and he brings me coffee. His kindness is something I don’t expect. I already know refusing it will result in a barrage of text messages from my sister.
Sighing, I walk begrudgingly towards him and extend my hand for a cup. He smiles and hands me mine, then gestures to the sketchbook under my arm. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking notes of the room before we discuss the plan. It’s so I can …” I pause and look at him, quizzing. Why is he here? He should know this part is about the preliminary meet, unless …
“I’m here to work and spend time with you, Theo. I can see your confusion. I normally have my foremen in charge of projects see to the arrangements, but in this case, I’ve made an exception.”
The tape whirls shut in my hand as I process his statement. “So, you’ll be here …?”
“At every meeting while I try to drop in weekly to see how it’s coming along.”
“But, I won’t be here. I’ll be at the office.”
“No,” he pauses. “I have requested that we have weekly meetings here to discuss the project.”
“To spy on me?” I straighten, my fingers tightening around the coffee cup.
His heavy accent softens as he continues, “No, to work with you.”
“What if you hate my ideas?”
“Está bien. Then we can modify them.”
I take a sip of coffee as I watch his face study mine. As a child, I had been told that my deep green eyes came from a great grandfather on my mother’s side, and I was too naïve to not believe it. My mother was half Japanese and half Australian. Subconsciously, I spent my youth with my hair covering my face as my shyness limited my social contact. I hated when people stared. But now, staring at Ricardo, my very own green eyes bore into mine. It is no wonder my father hated me so much. I was a constant reminder of a lie. One that I had innocently tried to mask.
“Did you know my father? Before I came to find you?” I blurt out and cringe, shaking my head in frustration.
“No. We only met when you were a teenager. I have spoken to him on the phone once, though,” he responds instantly. “After you visited me for the first time.” His shoulders straighten for the verbal battle that he is obviously expecting.
That time I visited him, or stormed in on him, really, I had met my siblings, and the rage I felt towards him dissipated as soon as I was confronted with sisters that I had known nothing about. My internet stalking had been limited to him only. But when I saw my sisters standing there, the connection had been instant. Elly’s embrace had been so strong, it was a wonder I didn’t lose a rib. My father had never done that.
But I don’t retaliate. I don’t need to be reminded about him. I wonder for a moment what my oba-chan would say if she knew I was standing here with my real father.
Blinking away the thought, I lift my coffee cup in a mock salute. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” I swing a large gulp back and head to the other side of the room. Resting my cup along the protruding edge of the bar, I unbutton my shirt and roll my sleeves up. No use having any pretences here; if he wants to get to know me, he can get to know the real me. Piece by motherfucking piece.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I bring it out quickly to see a text from Trinity. I’ve
hidden from her this week to meet the other part of my life that she is yet to know about. The other part that I use to bring out the anguish and the hurt that I conceal and turn them into something poetic and meaningful. To bring meaning to it, in some sort of weird and fucked up way. It is also a good excuse to unleash my dark and twisted side onto the coloured pages and create my own world within a fantasy that no one can touch. The world of TTE.
Each month, I release another graphic novel that follows the lives of my two central characters. Ryder, my agent is persistent in making sure that I’m releasing monthly. He was intrigued by my narrative and it spurred me on. After leaving Trinity so abruptly, I’d buried myself so deeply into my drawings, capturing moments where if she looked closely enough, she’d see a story about the forgiveness that I hoped she would give me one day. Our real-life story is tragic enough, but on the pages in my novel, I can restore us. I can tie her to me indefinitely. It’s our little piece of immortality that will hopefully bring us closer … when I eventually have the balls to tell her about it. Rather than hide behind my sketches when life gets too hard.
Last month’s submission has just been printed and shipped to the stockists. One in particular, I have a view of from my office window across the laneway.
Swiping across the screen, I read her message with a smile. Despite me being a moody arsehole, she wants to talk to me.
Trin: Hey.
Me: Hey.
Trin: So, did the recent southern action cause your fingers to drop off?
Me: Nope, my fingers are working just fine.
Trin: No sprains?
Me: No. Should they be sore?
Trin: Just looking for a reason as to why you haven’t called me.
Me: You haven’t called me.
Trin: No, dude. You left in your man PMS. You had to call me. That’s how we roll.
Me: Oh, I know how we roll. ;)
Trin: Ugh. Haven’t heard from you all week. That’s like a decade in our terms. You over your man rags or whatever was bothering you?
Me: I’m getting there.
Trin: Typical man response. I’m looking for my friend, Theo. If you see him, tell him I wanna hit the flicks sometime. His shout for being a douche.