Taylor Made

by kj lewis

  I’m standing in my apartment. I’m not sure how I got home or how long I’ve been standing here. I go into my closet and change into leggings and a tank. Wrapping my grandfather’s cardigan around me, I glance at the calendar to see which dwarf is out tonight and climb into his bed. Pulling the covers around me like a protective shield, I drift off into a restless sleep.

  My mouth is dry and I hear voices. It takes me a moment to process that they are coming from the living room. Poker night is starting.

  “I thought you were on a three-day?” I hear one of the dwarfs say, but I’m too groggy to discern which one.

  “I got someone else to cover the last day for me,” he says. “I came home and found Goldilocks in my bed.”

  “Mags is here? Is everything ok? How long has she been asleep? She never sleeps in the middle of the day.” Jules’ concerned voice fires off multiple questions.

  “I’ve been here about two hours,” one answers.

  “Let her sleep. She was still up when I got home at three-thirty this morning, and Drew said she was already gone for a run when he was up at five-thirty. The crock-pot has meatballs in it, so I’m sure she’ll be up soon.”

  “Ooo, I love her meatball subs,” I hear Adam say.

  I can hear them setting up for the card game. A glance at my watch tells me I’ve been asleep for about three hours. My body feels like I’ve been under for days.

  Sitting up, I try to get my bearings in the dark room. I shove the mess with John Michaels into a compartment and shut it, all nice and neat until I’m ready to deal with it. I know if I don’t get up and moving, Jules will be in to check on me. Plus, I need to get a few things done before my shift at the bar.

  I grab the hair tie off my wrist and pull my long hair into a messy bun. Standing, I gather myself enough to act like everything is okay.

  In the living room, I try to not meet anyone’s eye as I make my way to the fridge to grab a Diet Coke. Jules is the first to speak.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  “I am.” I pop the top and take a long sip, holding the cold can to my sore mouth, my back to the table.

  “I’ll have dinner ready in a few minutes,” I announce before the door opens and Drew and Kyle come in.

  “We made it! What smells so good?” Drew rounds the kitchen corner to greet me. “What the fuck happened to you?” His voice is loud and demanding.

  I can feel that everyone’s eyes have turned to see that he’s talking about me. I should have looked in a mirror before I came out. In two steps he’s towering above me, tilting my head back to look at my face in the light. Wincing from the pain, I pull my chin out of his hands.

  “Language, please. I had a run in with the stairs at work. The stairs won.”

  “I’ll say. You look like you were fucking dropped kicked.” He mutters while examining my arms for signs of more injuries.

  “Let me see.” Kyle steps around him and tilts my head back.

  I swat his hands away. “Just wash up. Dinner’s ready and I want to eat before I have to go to work.” And that was the truth. I wanted a couple of hours of meaningless diversion. Fake it until I decide what I’m going to do. I turn around to start building the meatball subs when Jules is beside me looking at me like I’ve grown two heads.

  In a low whisper meant only for me, she says, “What the hell, Mags? What’s going on? You’re a shit liar.” She adds that part before I even say anything, knowing I’m not going to willingly share information.

  “We’ll talk later. Help me make the sandwiches.”

  We carry the subs and chips to our round dining room table that seats eight. We’ve had as many as twelve squeezed around it. I sit down next to Jules, close my eyes, take a deep breath and exhale. Lock your shit down, James.

  I would usually start the passing of the food, but my hands are shaking and I haven’t been able to make them stop.

  “Adam, since I made your favorite, why don’t you start?” With the strongest smile I can muster, I finally look up at the group. Adam is sitting to Jules’ right.

  Graham is to sitting to Adam’s right.

  What the…?

  Adam introduces us. “Mags, this is my brother, Graham. Graham, this is Mags.”

  “You’re Adam’s brother?” I didn’t think it was possible to be this shocked twice in one day.

  “Older brother. Remember I told you I had a brother in Japan for the last few months? This is him.” He passes the platter to Jules.

  “We’ve met,” we say in unison, drawing the attention of everyone around us.

  “You’re the guy from the airport,” Drew states absently, finally placing him.

  “I am,” Graham replies his eyes locked on mine.

  In a tailored suit, he is breathtaking. In jeans and a t-shirt, he’s delicious.

  “Mags is the girl on the plane?” I hear Adam asking him. Graham moves his eyes from me to his brother and without a word spoken, Adam drops the conversation.

  “What are they talking about?” Jules asks me.

  I feel like I’ve gone down the rabbit hole.

  “I thought your brother wasn’t expected home before Thanksgiving?”

  “I finished early.” His eyes are on me again.

  “Are you here to practice poker?” I redirect the conversation, trying to gain my footing by acting like this shock isn’t a shock, and to prove it I pretend I can carry on a normal conversation.

  “I’m here to spend some time with my brother. He already had plans tonight, so I came with him. I’m glad I did,” he adds taking a bite of his sandwich.

  “Hope you like subs,” I chirp. I’m not sure what he is thinking, but I see a humor in his eyes that moves out as quickly as it came in.

  I almost drop the platter when it is handed to me.

  “Shitake!” I catch a sandwich before it hits the table.

  Adam laughs, “You know you have me saying that now instead of shit.”

  “James is too polite to cuss,” Kyle says passing the potato chips. “It’s the sweet Southern girl in her.” He gives his best imitation of my accent, while winking at me.

  “Are they serious?” Graham looks at me. I know he’s referring to my colorful language on the plane.

  “They are. My mama didn’t like curse words. Taught me that a real lady never uses them.” I raise a brow, daring him to rat me out. Cussing has been something that I only say to myself. Mama always said I needed to watch my language that it paints a picture of who I am. Her expectations trained me not to cuss in front of others. Already Graham knew something about me I never showed to the others.

  “Wonder what your mother would say now?” he counters. He thinks he has the upper hand.

  “Nothing. She’s dead,” I say, matter-of-factly. Some would say it was crass, but my mother would be the first one to say, “by all means necessary.”

  Two things happen. Everyone at the table looks at me like they aren’t sure who I am. It’s rare they hear me talk about my family. And then Graham looks at me like he knows exactly who I am and what I’m doing. It’s a cocky gesture that throws me off my game.

  “Did you say you were working tonight?” Kyle pulls my attention back to him. “You work too much. I wish you would quit.”

  “It’s no biggie. I’ve only had to work two jobs since moving in here.”

  “No “biggie”? I’m not sure that’s even a word.”

  There’s a knock at the door, and Drew disappears to answer it. We’ve begun clearing the table to set it up for poker when he reenters carrying a large vase of dark red roses. There must be three, maybe four dozen. He opens the card.

  “Do you have an admirer?” I smile at him.

  “No, you do.” He looks from the card to me.

  “If they’re for me, why are you reading the card?” I snatch it out of his hands, giving him my best mean face.

  As soon as I see the card, I perform an Emmy-worthy act to keep my face from showing too much. My mouth didn’t catch ge
t the memo.

  “How did who get your address?” Drew asks.

  “What?” I look up at him like I’m just now realizing he’s standing there. I lower my hand so he doesn’t see it shake.

  “You just said, ‘How did he get my address?’ Who are those from James?”

  “No one.” I pick them up and throw them in the trashcan.

  “If it was no one, there would be no reason for them to sign the card ‘I’m Sorry’. Plus, you love flowers. Why are you throwing them out?”

  I grab the trash bag and take it into the hall and throw it down the trash shoot. I can’t believe that fucker sent me flowers. How does he know where I live?

  Entering the apartment, I’m relieved Drew has dropped the inquisition and they have the game ready to go. I grab another Diet Coke and take my seat. I pop the top on my drink.

  Looking up to see who’s placing the first bet, I catch Graham looking from me to the Diet Coke and back to me. There’s a dare in his look, and I’m immediately reminded of our flight when he refused me my soda. I take a long drink and look at him, catching the tick in his jaw.

  Don’t fuck with me tonight buddy. I’m not in the mood.

  “We’re here!” We all turn to see Matt and Becca enter into the apartment.

  “Just in time,” someone responds.

  Matt walks around the table and sets a Junior’s cheesecake in front of me.

  “What is this for?”

  He plants a light kiss to the top of my head. “Happy Anniversary.”

  “Today?” I ask, looking from him to the cheesecake trying to remember.

  “Yep. Three years ago today, you came into our life.”

  “And I don’t know what we would do without you!” Becca throws her arms around me and kisses my cheek. “I know I wouldn’t have made it without you, and I don’t even live in the same city.” She darts accusatory glances at the dwarfs. “Hello,” she says to Graham, just now noticing someone in the room she hasn’t met before. “I’m Becca, Matt’s wife.”

  Graham introduces himself.

  “There’s food on the stove,” I instruct.

  “Great, I’m starved,” Becca starts to the kitchen, halts, and comes over to me.

  “I almost forgot. Let me see.” She pulls on my arm to raise me from my chair causing me to flinch.

  “I’m sorry, James. Did I pinch you?”

  I shake my head, ignoring the stare coming from Graham.

  “Well,” she looks at me waiting. My look of confusion has her explaining.

  “Your incision. Matt said he stitched you up. I want to see if he did as good of a job as I would have.” Becca is not about to be outdone by a man.

  “What happened?” The dwarfs who weren’t here for the injury ask.

  “Long story short, roach in shower.”

  “Ah,” they say in unison, and though no other words are needed, Drew continues.

  “It was deep enough that she needed sutures. Trauma-with-a-stint-in-Plastics over there thinks he’s better than the rest of us.”

  “I am,” Matt interrupts.

  I stand and lift my cardigan to the side, pulling down my leggings just enough to show Becca my incision.

  “There’s quite a bit of bruising, and it looks like it’s been bleeding.” She leans closer and looks up at Matt. “You didn’t match the incision.”

  “What are you talking about?” He sets his plate down and walks over to look. “I went slow and made sure she wouldn’t have any scarring.” He pulls my leggings down so he can see. I cross my arms and roll my eyes.

  “What happened?” he asks. “It looks like it was ripped open.”

  “Nothing happened.” I swat him away and sit back down.

  “Didn’t you say you fell in the stairway?” Graham asks, regarding me. I move my eyes from him back to my cards without saying anything.

  “So, he sutured her,” Drew continues “Twelve stitches. Took him forever.”

  “I didn’t want her to have a scar.” Matt bites into his sub.

  “It’s on her ass. What’s the big deal? I’ll take two,” Russ says throwing down two cards.

  Graham’s eyes are still on me.

  “Well,” Drew says, studying his cards, “if you had seen the ass we got to see yesterday, you would understand. Three please.” He says to the dealer.

  Becca walks by him and slaps him on the head.

  “Damn! Why do people keep doing that?” He rubs his head.

  “Because that’s like talking about your sister. It’s gross and inappropriate. And Emme is more than her ass!”

  “Start the next one without me. I have to change for work,” I say grabbing my poker chips, having won that round.

  “Why don’t we all take a break,” Drew suggests. “Anyone want cheesecake?”

  “Save me a piece,” I say over my shoulder moving to my alcove to get ready. I barely have the curtain closed before it’s pulled open again. Jules steps in.

  “Cut the shit, Mags!”

  “What?”

  “What’s going on? You’re sleeping when I get here. You’re in a mood. You get flowers from someone with an ‘I’m Sorry’, and you’d think they were about to combust the way you had to get them out of here. What happened? Somebody did something wrong, and I want to know who and what.”

  “Stop being so dramatic.”

  “That’s not an answer! The more you deflect, the more I know something isn’t right!”

  Adam opens the curtain. “Everything okay in here?”

  “Fine,” we answer simultaneously, not looking away from each other.

  “What’s going on, Mags?” Adam demands.

  “Great, now you’ve got him started.” I motion towards Adam.

  “I was talking to you only. I didn’t expect him to hear,” Jules responds, but not apologetically.

  “It’s a curtain, Jules, not a cloak of invisibility. What did you think would happen?”

  “Mags?” Adam crosses his arms, waiting for a response.

  I look to Adam. “It’s fine. It’s nothing. Get Jules some cheesecake.” I dismiss them both. Adam pulls a pissed off Jules out to the living room, and I close the curtain. Again.

  Ten Thirty Eight is more of a bar than a club. It does have a small dance floor, but most people are just as happy to hang out in the places where you can sit and attempt to talk above the music, or shoot pool on the upper level. A lot of business people come in on their way home from Downtown. Tonight I’m working the bar, where I usually make the most in tips. Black ankle pants that are fitted to show every curve and a black corset top is the standard uniform. I’m covered, but that’s about all I can say.

  Sliding the pants on, I’m fastening the corset when the curtain pulls back and Graham steps in. Without a word he’s behind me and our eyes hold each other’s in the mirror as he moves my fingers and slowly connects each fasten. The tips of his fingers touching my skin along the way. His eyes move to the rise and fall of my chest, lifted by the boning of the corset, before landing back on mine in the mirror. Neither of us says anything.

  “Who sent you the flowers?” He finally breaks the silence.

  “No one of consequence. Why did you give me an iPod?”

  “Because I can. What happened today?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, casually, putting in my earrings. “You can do a lot of things, doesn’t mean you should.”

  “Emelia.” His tone implies a warning.

  “Graham,” I reply with a just a hint of mockery. His jaw ticks in response. “Why do you use my given name?”

  “Because it’s obvious that you’re many things to many people, each with their own name for you, but under all that is Emelia. Who you really are.”

  What the hell does that mean? Who I really am? Like he would know. Like anyone would. I’m proficient at showing people what I want them to see. They know me, but there are still parts that I haven’t shared with anyone. Not since Addie.
<
br />   “How did you know that was my name?”

  “I have my ways.”

  ”So, you’re an expert on me, even though we’ve only spent a little more than three hours together?” The sarcasm in my voice is not to be mistaken.

  “Careful. Are you seeing Blaine Moore?”

  “Only professionally.”

  “What about your roommates?”

  “The dwarfs? No. They’re like brothers to me. Like Adam.”

  “Including Drew?”

  “Especially Drew.” With exasperation, I pull my hair into a ponytail. “What is it you want, Graham?”

  “Who sent the flowers?”

  “An acquaintance.” I move in front of the mirror to apply a little cover up to my lip and add a hint of pink lip gloss. I’m refreshing my mascara when he moves into the tight space and stands directly behind me.

  “What happened to your arm?” I follow his gaze to my arm where there is definite bruising. Shit.

  “I fell. Can you hand me that purse please?” I point to the Chanel I carried today that is sitting on the chair. His eye still on my arm, he studies it for a moment before wrapping his hand around it, matching his fingers and thumb to the bruises. I can see the pieces fitting together and the fire coming into his eyes.

  “I don’t tolerate dishonesty, Emelia”

  “Just because I don’t answer your questions doesn’t mean I’m dishonest.”

  “Omission or diversion on purpose is dishonest.”

  I reach around him and pick up the purse.

  “If you stopped buying Chanel, learn to live within your means, maybe you wouldn’t have to keep two jobs.” His judgment catches me off guard, and for a minute he looks regretful. I hate that I care what he thinks. Anyone else and I wouldn’t give a damn.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s not my purse. When you work for Jackson, he expects you to present yourself in a certain way, so he gives me open access to the closet at work. In his line of work, image is everything.” I start switching the items into a little clutch I picked up at H&M. I don’t like to take things of value to the club.