“Lilly?”
“Yeah?”
“Quit worrying. I’ll have the limo pick up your grandmother and I’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks. Bye.” I hang up, disappointed but not surprised. It’s time for that shower. I’m going to wash away the remnants of civilization and revert to the cavewoman look—and then, I’m going to design a hat, followed by a wedding gown fit for a princess.
chapter 30
Stepping out of the shower, I feel relief. I am finally going to see my hair in all its glory. I am going to embrace the real me. It’s the first step toward real and significant change! I slop smoothing crème on my hair and anti-frizz serum, and then I pick up the titanium hairdryer. “This is the first day of the new Lilly Jacobs!”
Bending over, I dry the back and roots, and just let the hot air cleanse me from all my negative emotions. (I feel like Poppy!) Bad hair did not ruin my life. Bad hair was only a figment of my imagination, made up to ease the pain of a mother who didn’t love me, a Nana who didn’t understand fashion, and a series of milquetoast boyfriends who didn’t marry me. “I am Lilly Jacobs, woman of the twenty-first century!” I say out loud, and I flip my hair up and gaze into the mirror. “Oh my gosh! I am hideous! I am Simba grown up with a mane that would rival the largest African lion.”
“Lilly,” Kim pounds on the door. “Are you ever coming out? Hannah needs to go!”
When I emerge from the bathroom, I slink out of the doorway, waiting for the first glimpse at my true hairstyle. I think you’d call it “cotton ball with an attitude.” No one looks up from any sewing machine. “Here I am,” I finally say.
A quick glance, and then everyone’s back to work.
“This is my real hair.”
“Cool,” Hannah says.
“What do you want, a standing ovation?” Kim asks.
Forget it. You can’t get blood out of a turnip. I settle down on my futon with my sketch pad, and I start to dream about the perfect gown for Morgan’s lithe figure. She’s like Cate Blanchett, wispy yet muscular, and dresses were made for her little body. I don’t have time for a lot of detail on the gown, so the shape will be everything. The shape and the placing of the darts so it hugs her perfectly. Kim and the girls are gossiping, and I close my eyes and realize nothing is coming. Nada. Zilch. Zippo.
I realize I need quiet. I can’t be creative with the sewing machines buzzing, the stereo blasting, and more women being cut open on the big screen. There’s something unnerving about the beauty of a wedding gown against the background of sliced human flesh. Call me crazy, but it’s not working for me. I can’t use Nate’s place because the smell will get to me. I can’t be creative smelling that dog.
I decide to do something that is completely not in my character. I am going to the spa. Okay, it’s not completely out of character, but by myself? Just me? That’s out of character. Not on Morgan’s dime, but on my own (borrowed) dime. Granted, I guess it’s sort of on Morgan’s dime, since I am currently borrowing from her, and my various and assorted credit cards, but this time I am paying it back, and she will be thrilled when she sees the outcome. The wedding dress that will make her long for a groom she’s in love with, not one she’s saving from an impending death.
I throw a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt in a bag. “I’m leaving. I need to work.”
“Whatever,” Kim says.
“See ya,” the other two girls chime.
After a short taxi drive, I arrive at a local hotel. It has a spa that has always been like Calgon—it takes me away when I really need it. I have an overnight bag and my sketch pad. And most importantly, an old ski hat I wore in college.
The spa is not fancy by spa standards. It has linoleum floors in a world of travertine, and gaudy chrome fixtures in today’s brushed steel environment. I get to the front desk, and Lars recognizes me immediately. “Lilly! It’s been ages since we’ve seen you.” He lowers his tone. “I imagine this means Sara Lang is not nice lately, no? She is such a bad, bad woman!”
“No, she’s fine. I’m just very overwhelmed, and I need to come up with the gown of my life in the next three days.”
“I have a room for you!”
Generally, the hotel is considered more of a day spa. But there are a few rooms, and Lars doesn’t advertise them. I have actually cleaned the rooms before, as a way to earn my keep, and it has ingratiated me to him forever. He has always asked me about the scents of new products, and appreciates my “expertise” there as well.
“It’s only for a night, Lars. And no spa treatments this time. I just need the quiet.”
“Fair enough. I will make sure your room is sprayed, and the tabletop waterfall is running. Just give me a minute. I know you’re my smelling girl!” he says, touching the tip of my nose. “What is the hat about? Not stylish, no? It’s summer.”
“Long story.”
I get to my room and look around. This is my secret. My hiding place, where no one can find me, and my creativity can soar to new heights. When I’m here, I am not a failure. I am in the presence of God with my praise music playing, and the good scents flowing. I haven’t made much time for God lately, but luckily I am not forgotten. Though I probably deserve to be.
Quietude is the way I can really hear. It’s the way that design comes to me, and then flows through my fingers. After making myself a cup of chamomile, I light a candle and cuddle up in the French armchair by the window. Clicking Play on the CD, I allow the sounds of nature to fill the room… and I am in the zone.
Although the room smells divine, I have brought my own sensory therapy from the Origins store. It’s really expensive, but the citrus infusion of their “Sleep Perchance to Dream” is just what I need as a muse. I spray it heartily in the room and feel the scent rain down on me. Morgan always puts a sprayer in my goody bag and says she gets it free, but I know she goes and buys it. One day, very soon, I hope, I’m going to show her that believing in me was worth all her investment.
I start drawing frantically, and within minutes, the form of Morgan’s perfect gown emerges. It isn’t shantung silk at all! It’s a mixture of silk and satin, and strapless, no less! I wouldn’t have imagined! It flows perfectly, and there’s no veil. A veil will only get in the way. I’m so anxious, I reach for my cell phone.
“Morgan, you there?”
“Yeah, Lilly, have you set me up with anyone new today?”
“Can you guys come home? Not home-home but to my little hotel? Do you remember the one where I used to escape Nana?”
“That one on Sutter?”
“Yes!”
“We’re on our way home now. What’s up?”
“Just stop by, okay? I have to go out and get fabric. But I’ll be back. When will you be here?”
“Six?”
“Shoot! I forgot to get dinner for the girls,” I remember. “Okay, I’ll be back. Just get over here.”
I call and make arrangements to have Chinese food taken up to the loft. I will hate to see my Visa bill next month, but no good business ever happened without expending significant venture capital, did it?
The fabric outlets are closed today. I’m going to have to pay retail. But I can’t afford to wait overnight. I need it now because once Morgan gets in the doorway, she’s mine. I’ll have her draped and pinned before she even has time to say no. In fact, the answer won’t even occur to her.
It’s then that the guilt comes like the seventh wave. What am I thinking? Morgan can’t possibly get in a wedding dress this week. I suddenly remember all the tears, and the loss of the man she was going to marry. Then there’s Stuart mauling her for a photo opportunity. Getting Morgan into a wedding dress is not going to be easy, and worse yet, it’s not going to be easy on my conscience. I’ve lost it. Today, I became Sara Lang, San Francisco’s Jeweler, and my Nana all rolled into one scrawny, frizzy-haired package.
part III: boing!!!! :
chapter 31
No!” Poppy shouts. “There is no way I’m getting i
n a wedding dress! It’s bad luck for the groom to see you before the wedding.”
“What wedding?” I ask.
“Precisely! Do you want to relegate me to a life of no prospective grooms because I dressed up in a gown that I have no business in?” Poppy crosses her arm, and Morgan looks away.
“Sara is usually ready for her shows weeks in advance. I don’t have the finale dress or a model, and I’ve got five days. I don’t have time to beg. Please, Poppy.”
“I’ll help you get the diamonds from my dad,” Morgan offers, and then for the first time today, she really looks at me. “What happened to your hair?”
I reach for my hat. “I thought you said I had great hair!”
“Yeah, well, I guess it’s been a while since I’ve really seen it. I don’t remember it being quite so…so…”
“Puffy,” Poppy finishes for her. “You probably need more Omega-3s in your diet, Lilly. That would help the texture.” She reaches out for my hair, and I push her hand away.
“Stop! When I told you I had bad hair, where was the support when I wanted pickles and some commiseration? ‘Felicity made a mint on that hair,’ I believe was what you said, Morgan.”
“We thought you were exaggerating,” Poppy says with a shrug.
Which apparently means I wasn’t exaggerating. This is not good.
“What did you do to it?” Morgan asks, as if I tried to get it looking like this.
“I just blow-dried it with the dryer you gave me.”
“Did you point the dryer down the whole time?”
“Well, no, I was in a hurry—”
“Lilly, no wonder you’re frizzy. That hairdryer is not a toy. It’s serious business. Go wash your hair again. You need to let it air-dry and then dry it a little after the serum has worked in. You know all this. You can’t rush hair; it’s like fine wine.”
“My hair is definitely more like sour grapes. Anyway, I don’t have time to worry about it, and if I go in there and wash my hair, you might leave, and you can’t leave. Poppy has to be in a wedding gown Saturday night. A wedding gown that I can’t make until I measure her in thirty-four places.”
“Lilly, why can’t you get a real model?”
I don’t want to admit that I thought I was getting Morgan. I promised Sara Lang, in fact, because it just shows the kind of friend I am. I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my time, don’t get me wrong. But I am not putting myself above Morgan. I’ve watched her dad do that to her for an age.
“Please, Poppy. I’ll never ask you for anything again.”
Morgan looks at me and lets out a ragged sigh. “Poppy, remember that Stuart Surrey rammed his tongue in my mouth because of her.”
“I really thought he wanted his tongue in my mouth,” I say sheepishly.
Poppy holds up her hands. “You’re giving me bad energy here. Stuart Surrey needs to keep his tongue in his own mouth. Do you know the amount of bacteria he has in there? A human’s mouth is worse than a dog’s.” She looks at our disgusted faces. “Really.”
“I’m gonna throw up!” Morgan rushes to the bathroom.
“Thanks a lot, Poppy!”
“There are thirty-seven unique types of healthy bacteria in the human mouth to aid in digestion and kill disease-causing bacteria. But when you mix that with—”
“Stop!” I rush to the bathroom door and pound on it. “Let me in. I need Listerine, and now!” Morgan lets me in, and we both rinse with the Listerine provided by the hotel.
We come out minty-fresh.
“All right, Poppy. We have put up with this long enough. You don’t get dates because you freak people out with your talk of energy and bacteria and yeast,” Morgan tells her. You go, girl. “Let’s just eliminate those words from your casual conversation, okay? You keep the alternative stuff at work, and we’re all good.”
“What are you mad at me for? Lilly’s the reason Stuart had his tongue in your mouth.”
“Which I didn’t realize was quite so disgusting until you enlightened me.”
“Poppy, stand still. I’m measuring.” I take out my tape and go after her.
She runs behind the chair. “I’m not doing it. Gauze is back in, with Birkenstocks,” Poppy says. “I saw it in a magazine, so I really don’t need any fashion help at the moment, and I’m definitely not in need of a couture wedding gown.”
This causes both Morgan and me to forget our current battle, and we both stare at Poppy. “It has to go out of style to come back in, and since you never did dismiss the style, its coming back in is irrelevant,” I say.
“Why me, Lilly, really? I’m no model.”
“I designed the dress for Morgan,” I finally admit. “I can rework it if I have all the measurements, but I can’t afford to pay a model to be here today, and I need them now.”
“The gown’s for me?” Morgan asks.
“I didn’t think, Morgan. I’m sorry. I had a vision and I didn’t think it through. I just saw you in that gown and the town of San Francisco in awe. I saw you walking down the runway and—”
“On one condition,” Morgan says, and I start shaking my head.
“No, no. I’m not putting you in a wedding gown this week.”
“When I’m introduced at the end, you say that I was engaged to Marcus Agav, that my fiancé was killed by liver disease, and you make a plea for people to fill out their donor cards on their driver’s licenses.”
It’s here that I’m struck by how truly unselfish Morgan is. She has lived her entire life for other people, and granted, she lives well, but I wonder what she wants for herself. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I would have been walking down the aisle soon, Lilly, and that commitment meant something to me. It still does. Besides, I sort of like the idea of ending Stuart Surrey’s quest once and for all. He knows that there’s bigger fish in the sea than Caitlyn Kapsan. He started coming to our church specifically to bag himself a rich wife. He’s no more a Christian than—well, just never mind. Will you make the announcement, or are we turning Poppy into a runway model?”
Poppy is currently sniffing the ylang-ylang oil, and curling her fingers to her nose like she’s an ylang-ylang connoisseur.
“Morgan?” I say fearfully, and we both look at Poppy.
“Will you make the announcement?”
“No one knows about your engagement. Why tell everykristin one now that it’s over? Isn’t it better as water under the bridge?”
She comes around the chair and sits down. “I’ve been letting men take over my life by saying nothing for years. It’s finally my turn. I want my father to think I’m just getting up there to be a fashion puppet, but then he will know that I know exactly what he did in Russia. I want him to know he forced me into that engagement in a way, and even though Marcus was a fine man, my father’s mistakes have haunted me long enough. I want my father to know I am not depending on him anymore.”
“This will also fire up the press to find out exactly who Marcus was. Do you want that now that he’s gone?” Poppy asks.
“I’m not ashamed of my engagement. Please, Lilly, let me do this.”
“Forget it.” I drop the tape measure. “I’m not doing it.”
“You’re the one who’s always telling me that my father takes advantage. Here’s your chance to do something about it. Help me fight for my freedom, or I’ll be wearing diamonds and walking around society parties for the rest of my life.”
“This will make you the subject of gossip for weeks! I’m not doing it. You can’t trade in your father for a whole different kind of annoyance.”
Morgan bends over and picks up the tape measure, thrusting it at me. “Measure!”
“Fine!” I smirk at her and grab the tape measure. “But I don’t know what good you think this is going to do,” I mumble some more under my breath.
“Would you quit mumbling? I’m ready to shove a pickle in your mouth.”
I look up at her. “Do you have any pickles?” I ask wistfully.
“Measure!”
“You know, the chances of this coming off successfully are nil anyway,” I say out loud.
“No,” Poppy says. “You are not going to get anywhere talking like that. This is your chance. You’ve worked for years to get here. This is your show. If you fail, at least fail on the runway—at Fashion Week. Get there and fail, all right? Take the risk at least.” She starts spraying my sensory therapy scent, and I’ll admit, I feel better by the end of it.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Life just looks better when it smells good.
My cell phone rings. “Shoot, I meant to turn that off.”
“You better answer it, in case,” Poppy says. “You are starting a business.”
“Lilly Jacobs Design.”
“Lilly, it’s Sara. Listen, I think I may have been a little too fearful of the jeans. I’ve decided to showcase the denim after all and leave the gowns in my background. Shane has assured me that that particular journalist has been way off before.”
“No, Sara!” Shane! Bane of my existence. “Sara, I’ve got the gown that will put you on the map again. It makes Vera Wang and Monique Lhuillier passé. Are you willing to let your legacy go so quickly?”
“I’ve thought about this—”
“Morgan Malliard is wearing the gown, Sara.” I try to sound incredibly strong, and not like my whole life is riding on this Saturday night. But it’s everything to me. With at least six gowns, plus a wedding creation, and no Fashion Week show? When I pay the girls for their time, and for the fabric I purchased, I’m in debt to the tune of nearly $10,000.
Sara is speaking to someone else, when I hear what I’ve said register to her. “Morgan? She’s agreed to the show? She’s never done a show before.”
Poppy grabs my cell phone and wrestles it out of my hands. “Sara Lang? This is Poppy Clayton, Morgan’s publicist and agent. She’s cleared many things from her calendar to wear Lilly’s gown on Saturday. If Lilly’s gown isn’t available, she’ll have to take the Paper, Denim & Cloth show.”
My mouth is agape. How on earth does Poppy know about Paper, Denim & Cloth? A competing San Francisco designer, and forerunner in the denim business. I am definitely impressed. What else does she have up her sweat-shirted sleeves?
She's All That Page 26