She's All That

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “Peachy. I’ll give him my blessing if that’s what he wants.” Now I’ll admit, I wasn’t exactly heartbroken when Robert moved on, but this does feel like knife-twisting, does it not? It isn’t like we broke up last year! And here I see him with Katrina, while I’m sitting with Michael Sloan/Moore, the tax man trying to convince me I have an eating disorder.

  “He wants more than a blessing, actually.”

  Nate’s at my side again, clutching my shoulders, but I yank away. “Stop that, Nate! Just out with it, Kim!”

  “It’s good news actually. Robert wants Katrina’s gown custom-made and wants you to design it. He said she has big ankles, and you’d know how to cover them. I thought it’d be great because it would keep you designing, and he’d have to pay for the fabric and time. It would be your first paid gig.”

  I shake my head. “Okay, bear with me here, but what fiancée would want the ‘other woman’ ex-girlfriend designing her dress? Doesn’t that sound the least bit odd to you? What if I have some psycho episode and tear the wedding dress at the last moment? Or put itching powder in the bodice?”

  “He knows you wouldn’t do that.”

  My mouth is agape. “Right now, I don’t know if I would do that or not.”

  “It’s probably best,” Kim says with the voice of authority. “When women catch themselves a man, something snaps. They believe every other woman wants him, and they were the only one to reel him in. Katrina’s probably at home feeling for you all alone, without the love of precious Robert.” Kim brings her hands to her throat, speaking dramatically and then pretending to wipe a tear. “It was an unrequited love…because true love came along for Robert. And ultimately, true love cannot be denied. No matter who gets hurt in the process.”

  “Are you done?” I ask, as I make my way back to the counter and try to stuff the coffee grounds in the machine. “Spare me the Shakespearean tragedy routine. He dumped me. He didn’t even tell me he dumped me—that’s the worst of it. I went over there looking for sympathy, only to get more garbage dumped on me. I didn’t even have a chance to grieve because there she was: my competition. He so deserves off-the- rack when he gets married, and I hope she wears neon ankle-wrapped stilettos to show everyone her fat ankles. I hope his perfectionist tendencies focus on an unraveling thread in the middle of the ceremony.”

  Nate is laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding us. Lilly, you guys went out to dinner maybe once a week. If that. Suddenly, he’s your ex-boyfriend? I so do not get women. They call it commitment when it’s over. Where’s the reality here? The reality is that you could have cared less what he did, where he went. You’re a hypocrite! I’m staying single for the rest of my life.”

  “I think you should do the gown,” Kim perks up. “For one thing, it’s money in the bank, and in case you haven’t noticed, two unemployment checks are not going to pay our rent for long.”

  “Why don’t you design it?” I say to Kim.

  “You know my specialty is computer work. You design it on paper. I’ll put it on the computer and print the pattern. Teamwork, just like you had with Katrina and Robert—tag-team dating.” Kim starts to laugh again.

  “Where are we going to do this design work, Kim? It’s not like design software and pattern printers are available to us.”

  “So we’ll do it the old-fashioned way. We’ll make the pattern,” Kim says. “Duh,” she adds, rolling her eyes. “When Mammy made curtains into Scarlett’s gown, do you think they had computer software?”

  “I’ll invest in the computer portion of the business,” Nate says, out of the blue. Judging by the way he was staring at the television, I never knew he’d been listening.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Nate, we’re going to do this on our own. You don’t need to rescue us. As far as I’m concerned, my track record with men speaks for itself. This is going to be a women-only business. That will be my headline in Vogue.”

  “Maybe I don’t see it as rescuing. Maybe I know a good investment when I see it. This has nothing to do with testosterone, and besides, I can sue you for gender discrimination if you don’t let me in. Where’s my lawyer?”

  The phone rings, and I stumble over the chair getting to the phone.

  “Good thing she never modeled,” Kim quips.

  “Hello?”

  “Lilly, it’s Sara Lang.”

  My stomach is fluttering, like it’s suddenly home to a thousand butterflies. “Sara—”

  “Don’t say anything, Lilly. I’m calling to tell you I’ve heard you want to go it on your own, and I’ve decided to invest in your company.” I’d like to feel a warm fuzzy, but Sara makes her call sound like she’s calling to diagnose me with something. My mouth falls open in disbelief.

  Are you kidding me? Am I dreaming?

  Now she’s waiting for a response. After all, the queen has spoken. I snap my gaping mouth shut and sputter, “Sara, you won’t be sorry. You—” But in my heart I’m thinking, Why? Sara has never done a kind deed for anyone in her life; there’s something more to this. Sadly, I realize that I don’t even care. It’s the offer I’ve been waiting for, praying for even!

  “Of course I won’t be sorry,” she says icily. “This is a loan, and you will pay it back regardless of your failure or success.”

  “I will. Completely. Don’t see it as doing me a favor, Sara. Think of it as a wise investment.” I ball my fists, thrust one into the air, and jump up and down silently. Kim and Nate are both watching me with their mouths open.

  Sara brings the joy level down, as she does with such finesse. “I don’t know how wise it will be, but trust me, I do see it as an investment. And you will pay back every cent within the year. I’m fronting you $20,000. That should be enough to get you started. You won’t be able to afford trips to the finer mills in Europe, but I know you’ve always been very good at being economical. You’ll find a way to get the better fabrics, and perhaps with your background, you might want to think of going more mainstream, rather than high-end. It’s seemed to work for Mossimo, at wherever that is.”

  “Target. Mossimo’s at Target. I’ll definitely think about that.” My finance education quickly calculates that two people living on $20K a year in San Francisco and trying to start a business with it is less than paltry, less than poverty even. I actually feel a bit poorer than I did five minutes ago.

  Sara’s still barking orders. “I’ll have the paperwork written up and a check cut. There will be no mention of my name in this business publicly. Do you understand? This will come from my private finances, which are under my maiden name, so there will be no connection to Sara Lang Couture.”

  “I understand implicitly.” She means, no connection to Jeff Lang, who she is only probably trying to stiff of alimony cash.

  “If I were you, Lilly, I’d keep Kim on the payroll, but with no access to the business accounts. Her elevator doesn’t always reach the top floor, if you know what I’m saying.”

  I look over at Kim, who has eyes as wide as the San Francisco Bay. “I understand, Sara.” And I do. Kim doesn’t have the self-control to stay away from the money, and though I hate that fact, it is a fact, and a smart business woman puts business before emotion. At least Sara does, and I’m following her lead here.

  “I’ll have a courier drop the papers off. Again, I do not want to see your face at Sara Lang Couture. Do you understand me? I am a silent partner.”

  “Yes, Sara. And thank you. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I’d better not be.” Click.

  “Ahhh!” I start to jump up and down. “We’re in business! Sara’s fronting us the money!”

  “Don’t forget me,” Nate says. “I’m buying the computer equipment. Gender discrimination, remember?”

  I laugh. “Fine, you can buy the computers, but they will be the first thing I pay off.”

  And just like that, my life does not look like complete rubbish. Although I have yet to tell my grandmother that my pipe dream is now a little more than a silve
r-lined fantasy floating in the San Francisco fog.

  The phone rings again. “Hello,” I chirp happily.

  “Lilly, it’s Morgan.”

  “Morgan, you’re not going to believe this, but—”

  “I can’t talk long, Lilly. I called to tell you that I’m getting married soon. That was my fiancé you saw me with in the restaurant. Obviously, it’s a long story, but I can’t tell you just now. He’ll be back in a minute, and I don’t want him to know my reasons.”

  “That old man I just saw you with?” I rush a hand to my mouth when I realize what I’ve just said. “What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t you let me talk to you? What’s gotten—”

  She cuts me off. “They’ll be announcing it in the papers tomorrow, and I didn’t want you and Poppy finding out from someone else. Pray for me, Lilly, and call Poppy and tell her.”

  “Morgan, what on earth?” Now I know she lives a completely different life than I do, even though we’re in the same town. I know that her world revolves around acting glamorous at the right parties, but I also know that the real Morgan is nothing like that. The real Morgan is tenderhearted and easily bruised. And she would only get married for love. I believe that with my whole heart. So what’s up here?

  “Morgan, you’ve got to tell me the truth,” I say worriedly. I’m a bit panic-stricken, and I can’t imagine what would possess Morgan to marry a man twice her age without notice. Think Dr. Emmett Brown from Back to the Future marrying a mentally, spiritually, and emotionally healthy Paris Hilton, and tell me that adds up. One doesn’t need a background in finance to know this account doesn’t balance.

  “It’s a long story, Lilly.” Morgan sniffles. “I just need you praying, all right?”

  “Morgan, you can’t leave me dangling here.” My throat catches, and I can barely talk. Morgan is not getting married. Not without a good, long talk and possibly cryogenics for the groom to allow her to catch up. “What if I just announced I was marrying Robert this weekend? You wouldn’t be asking questions?”

  “Just trust me,” Morgan says, and I can hear her voice cracking. She can’t lie to me. “Lilly, this is for the best.” But I can hear her soft sobs, and my heart just grieves. My own tears are forthcoming.

  “No, Morgan, you’re not getting married. Were you supportive when I wanted to down a gallon of pickles? Were you supportive when I thought it was getting serious with Robert? I mean, if I remember correctly, you actually cheered when he broke up with me. Good friends don’t stand by their friends’ bad decisions.”

  “I want you to design the gown, all right?” Morgan asks, ignoring me. “I have to run. Put me on your design calendar, and I’ll explain everything later. Love ya.” Click.

  The world has gone completely crazy. Is there something in the air? Why is everyone getting married? Is there some run on tax credits or something? Maybe I should have asked my date tonight. Or not. Definitely not!

  chapter 10

  Morgan, purveyor of all I wish I could be, is getting married. Somehow I thought that when such news reached me, I’d have to fight massive friend-envy for her choice of an incredibly gorgeous, wealthy, Christian, Orlando Bloom look-alike (the guy I couldn’t marry due to his lush, full locks of hair, so fantasizing about him is good).

  It’s just wrong that I can’t even be jealous, seeing as how her beau looks more like he should be set up with my Nana than any one of the Spa Girls. I tossed and turned and prayed all night, but I never found comfort or sleep. I never even thought about my business. Morgan…getting married…it consumed me.

  This morning, Morgan’s not answering her cell, nor Poppy’s and my calls to the house. We even tried talking to her father, “San Francisco’s Jeweler, Richard Malliard,” as he calls himself. He never says, “Good to meet you. Richard Malliard.” He says, “Pleasure,” as he thrusts a moist hand at you and “San Francisco’s Jeweler, Richard Malliard.” But apparently Richard’s conspicuously missing this morning, in addition to Morgan. The newspapers, contrary to Morgan’s predictions, are eerily quiet of news on her impending marriage.

  Regardless of the perilous possible weddings surrounding me, this new business venture has got to be good news to my Nana. I’ve felt the need to patch things up, and what better news than the announcement that I have obtained financial capital to act as fabric glue of the relational sort? At least, as I stand here outside her doorway, I’m hopeful it’s good news to her. (Granted, I’m not sure she even saw the end of World War II as good news, but her granddaughter on the verge of success? Call me an optimist.)

  I’m about to ring the doorbell when the door flails open. Max is standing there. He’s taller than I remember him, at least six feet. I guess I’ve never stood right next to him before.

  “Hey, Lilly.” He says with a genuine smile. His deep brown eyes wrinkle at the edges, and his entire face shows his expression. It’s very endearing. I can see how he’s charmed my Nana completely. (No easy task, trust me.)

  “Hi,” I say, looking at the aluminum ladder in his hands. “What’s that for?”

  “Your grandmother had a light bulb out. She’s a slave driver, that one.”

  Tell me about it.

  Nana laughs cheerily behind him. “He’s only trying to charm this old lady, Lilly. I’ll bring you some cookies when they’re done, Max.”

  I break out as much of a smile as I can manage. There’s a bit of animosity in me toward Max. He watches television for a living and gets my Nana’s full approval, while I finish two degrees at Stanford and work for San Francisco’s leading designer, and I’m still seen as a failure. Definite inequity going on here. Logically, I know better than to try to please Nana for the rest of my life. I know this; I’m a smart girl. Yet something snaps in me every time she gives me a look—or even a sniff—of disapproval. I just want to make everything right.

  “What are you doing home in the middle of the day?” Nana snaps at me.

  “I came to tell you that I have officially started my own business. I have investors and two pending wedding gown orders.” And yay, color isn’t a factor here!

  “Investors? You mean Morgan, I’m assuming,” my grandmother chirps.

  “No, actually, Morgan has nothing to do with the company. The investors are asking to remain anonymous though, so I can’t tell you, as part of the contract. Only that I have the capital, and soon I’ll have the equipment to get started.”

  Max nods his head. “Great news, Lilly. Isn’t that great, Mildred?”

  “Sure, it’s great news for you. It means you’ll have a tenant forever,” Nana says. “Unless she can’t make this rent either after this jump, and I’ll be living in the Tenderloin district next thing you know.” Nana then starts mumbling to herself. Loud enough for all to hear, naturally. “Always a dreamer…she’s just like her father…can’t be bogged down by reality.”

  I smile pathetically. It’s not that she means anything by these words. It’s the form of manipulation she uses to get me to do what she wants. Only this time, I’m not budging. I just read the book Boundaries, so bring it on!

  “Mildred, your granddaughter is amazing,” Max says with a twinkle in his eye. I watch him suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to fall, but he continues. “Lilly found capital in less than a week, and she’s a fighter, not to mention a great designer. You told me so yourself.” Max gazes at me for a long time, then turns back to Nana. “What’s wrong with this place, anyway? You have a great landlord. Think of all the supermodels who would die to live on the floor beneath mine, international hottie and television reviewer that I am.” Big smile from both of us here.

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it—”

  Max holds up a palm and smiles. “Never mind. I’m not up to it. I was up late watching bad television pilots last night. Complain to Lilly, and write it down. You’ll need proof for any legal matters anyway. If you sue me, you’ll want to have your ducks in a row. I know a good lawyer.” Max laughs as he struggles to get the ladder
out of her apartment.

  It occurs to me that “Geek” was definitely too harsh an assessment. I’m learning, Lord.

  “Nana, really, I’m a good designer, and my investors believe in me. That’s proof that you should too. I even have two pending orders.”

  “No one has invested more in you than I have, Lilly. I just don’t want you to end up like your father. You have a degree in finance.”

  So I’m reminded, daily. I mean, it sort of makes me happy I didn’t major in gynecology. Can you imagine hearing, “Lilly, you have a degree in gynecology!” all day? “Nana, my father didn’t even have a high school education. I have two degrees from Stanford. I will not starve; I promise. Besides, if things get really bad, I can move in with Max.” I laugh, but Max turns around and winks at me. Now my body betrays me and suddenly feels as though I’m floating. What the heck?

  “My door’s always open,” Max says.

  “Aren’t you tired of living with that strange girl?” Nana asks me. “You should have your own place by now. Shouldn’t she, Max? And where do you think you’re going?” Nana turns her wrath on Max. “I need my garbage disposal looked at.”

  I open my mouth to tell her I would have my own place if I wasn’t paying two rents, but then I’m not up for the suggestion we room together. I love my grandmother, but being around her 24/7 is toxic on the system. Dr. Poppy said so. In fact, it’s probably a lot worse than pickles and diet soda.

  One might wonder why I put up with her, but she loves me like nobody else, which is why she nags me like nobody else. When my dad died and my mother abandoned me, there was one person who stood by me—Nana. When there’s a gaping hole in your heart and someone stands in the gap to stop the pain, they earn the right to nag.

  “Nana, we’re doing all right, aren’t we? Why do you think I’ll be happy if I’m rich? Morgan’s not any happier than I am, and she’s always been rich.” Even mentioning Morgan’s name makes my throat constrict. I’m worried sick!