Taylor Made

by kj lewis

  “Did you take these?”

  Above the chair hang three 11x20 antique metal frames with white matting, one above the other.

  “I did.” I am confused by the sudden change in conversation.

  “Is this your mother?” He points to one. I stop what I’m doing and look up. Today of all days, I really could use my mom.

  “It is. I took it just before she was diagnosed with Lymphoma.” I absently stroke the frame.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. She’s beautiful. You look just alike.” He studies the picture.

  “She was.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Laura James.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Others?” His question pulls me out of my reverie.

  “The other pictures?”

  “Oh.” I move a step closer. My body brushing his.

  “Those are my grandparents,” my voice softens.

  “I love this one. This was on their farm. They didn’t know I was outside, and I found them in this loving embrace, kissing. I love the lines in my grandfather’s face.” I point to him in the picture. “Like a map of who he was. Hard working. Honest. Reliable. Faithful. My grandmother’s face soft and giving of herself. Pliant, even though she was so strong.” Graham’s eyes move from the picture to me.

  “This one,” I move on without prompting, “was my first and only car. It was my grandfather’s. We inherited it when I was ten. A 1965 International Harvester Scout. I loved it. The paint job had seen better days, but I remember he said the color was Vegas Blue. Not sure why, but that has always stuck with me.” I get lost in the pictures for a minute.

  “I can’t believe you’re Adam’s brother.” I stare at him, for the moment having found the easiness we had on the plane. “I adore your family. I’m staying with your parents over the holiday. Maybe I’ll see you there.” I purposefully make it a statement and not a question.

  Pulling the curtain back, we step back into the living area. Everyone has finished their cheesecake and are starting another round of poker. All eyes move from me to Graham.

  “I’m off to work,” I announce.

  “I have to be at the hospital at three-thirty. Want to grab some food after you get off and before I go in?” Kyle asks.

  “Sure. I’ll text you when I’m leaving. We can meet at the all-night on 11th.”

  I lean over and kiss the top of Becca’s head. “I’ll call you about lunch tomorrow.”

  Moving around the circle kissing the temples of all the dwarfs and Adam. I get to Jules and we kiss each other’s lips like we always do. I whisper “I love you” in her ear and squeeze her hand to soften our earlier disagreement. I have to get my thoughts together before I can share them.

  “I get hard every time you two kiss like that,” Drew says while rearranging the cards in his hand, warranting another slap across the head, this one from Matt.

  “There is seriously something wrong with you,” Matt says.

  I pat the spot on his head as I walk out. It has to be getting sore by now.

  I’m out the door with Graham on my heels. I’m almost to the stairs when he turns me towards him. With one hand at the nape of my neck and the other at the small of my back, he pulls me to him and kisses me. It’s a kiss that is slow and learning. His lips, rough with just the right amount of softness, has my lips opening for him, giving his tongue access to mine. It lights a path deep in my belly and the small moan that escapes my throat has him deepening his kiss, adding strength to it. Both of his hands cup my face. My hands come to rest on his forearms. This man can kiss. I find myself wondering what sex with him would be like, when he pulls back and takes a breath like he’s trying to gain control. His blue eyes give nothing away, but they are a shade darker than they were earlier.

  “Good night, Emelia.”

  Before I can respond, he’s back inside the apartment.

  My shift at the bar is uneventful, and I’m out of there with enough time to meet Kyle. I’m exhausted, but sometimes I have to find creative ways to spend time with my guys. Their shifts are long and erratic.

  Kyle eats a full breakfast, while I snack on a strawberry and crème waffle. Conversation with him is always relaxed. He is my sweet guy, always considerate of others.

  He can tell that I just need this time together to be easy, so he keeps our topics light and fun. It’s a reprieve from the craziness of this week. Despite my protest, he takes care of the bill and we step outside to hail him a taxi.

  “Inside,” he motions with a bow of his head towards the backseat of the taxi door. “I’ll drop you on my way.”

  “I’ll walk. It’s out of your way.”

  “It’s not, and I’m not letting you walk home at three in the morning. Get in.”

  He instructs the driver that there’ll be two stops and gives him our address for the first.

  As the taxi makes its way into traffic, I look around at my surroundings. New York is always busy. Even at three in the morning.

  “You know you can talk to me right?” Kyle says pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You can talk to me, if ever you want someone to talk to.”

  “I’m good. I promise. It’s just been a crazy week, and I haven’t had a lot of sleep. Next week will be better.”

  “You know I try to take it easy on you, and not push you into discussions you don’t want to have. I just don’t want you to mistake that for my not wanting to be here for you.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder. “I love you, Kyle. I know there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for me. What I needed the most, you gave me. Time to just be me. Thank you.” He allows my response and kisses the top of my head. We ride the remainder of the way home like this.

  Kyle deposits me on the doorstep of our apartment and makes sure I am inside before he has the taxi pull off. Its nights like this I wish we had an elevator. I make my way up the five flights of stairs and enter the apartment as quietly as possible. There is no way I am getting up to go running. I’ll have to make up the miles later.

  I change into an oversized t-shirt and grab my pillow and blanket from the chest in the living room. Stretching out on the couch, my mind wanders to the events of yesterday. There’s no way around it: I will have to let Jackson know that I am dropping John Michaels as a client. I need to decide if I am going to file a report. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate and would be furious with anyone in my position for not going to the police. But John has a great amount of influence, so I am not sure it would do any good. It’s my word against his. I know his guy will protect him and contradict my story. And if it goes public, which I assume it would since it would be a part of public record, it could get nasty. I already have one legal battle on my hands. But what if he did this to someone else? I couldn’t live with myself knowing that my decision to not report it might impact someone later.

  I hear far away voices that are coming closer and closer.

  “Sleeping Beauty.” Drew is lightly shaking my shoulders. Reluctantly, I open my eyes, adjusting to the light.

  “Good morning,” he says.

  I stretch and bend into a sitting position, trying to acclimate to my surroundings.

  “What time is it?”

  “Past eight,” he reports. “Everyone’s gone. I didn’t know what time your first meeting was, so I was afraid not to wake you before I leave.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What did y’all do for breakfast? Do you have to leave now? I can make a lunch before you go.”

  “You know we love how you take care of us, but we can make it on our own, too. You needed the rest.”

  “I know y’all can.” I’m standing now. “I just like knowing y’all are looked after.”

  “And you do a great job. I’m off.” He blows a kiss and is out the door.

  I fold up my bedding and send a text to Jackson letting him know that I’m running late. Thirty minutes later I’m on the subway headed to work. It’s
not as crowded as usual, I guess people are already leaving the city, which is common on summer weekends. Anything to get away from the heat. I love New York, but the subways in the summer leave a lot to be desired. The whole place smells like two sweaty truckers pig wrestling.

  It’s no time at all before I’m at the door for Amanda to buzz me in.

  “Good Morning,” I greet her.

  “Good Morning, Emme. This is for you.” She hands me a black box. “Came for you earlier.” She’s smiling like a kid on Christmas, waiting to see what’s inside.

  I open it to find a stunning Mikimoto Pearl Lariat necklace. Twenty-two inches in length with a white gold clasp. I bought one for a client last month. It runs a little over $4,700. “Who delivered this?”

  “A courier service. There’s a card on the back of the box.” Amanda flips my hand over so I can see. I remove the card and open it.

  “I’m sorry,” it reads.

  Enough with the “I’m sorry”! I exhale a frustrated breath.

  “Can you have these couriered to John Michaels before noon today please? His office address is on file.” I hand the box back to her.

  She runs her fingers over the pearls. “But they’re so beautiful? Are you sure?”

  “Yep. Make sure they get there before noon.”

  I start around the corner when I think of Addie. Turning back to Amanda’s desk, I instruct her, “If at any time John Michaels shows up and you are the only one in the office, you do not answer the door. Do you understand?”

  “But he can see me sitting here.” She crinkles her brow in confusion.

  “I don’t care. You tell him it’s a new office policy.”

  She nods her understanding, but her guise tells me she thinks I’ve lost my mind. I continue to look at her letting her know that I want a verbal confirmation that she understands.

  “Got it,” she confirms.

  I leave a confused Amanda, who has the good graces not to ask me any questions, in the reception area and head to Jackson’s office.

  I knock and enter all in one motion, taking my usual seat in a chair in front of his desk. He’s wrapping up a call and motions that he’ll just be a minute. I watch my friend as he commands the conversation. I have learned so much from him in my time here. I couldn’t ask for a better mentor.

  Jackson leans forward, lacing his hands together with his fingers. He’s wearing slim cut jeans and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A polka-dotted handkerchief peeks out of the pocket of his navy pinstriped vest. His aged brown leather belt gives the ensemble youth and edge.

  “Good morning, beautiful. How are you?”

  “Good thank you. Sorry I’m late. I overslept.”

  “The perfect opener for what I want to talk to you about. What do you think it says to others that my number one has to work a second job?”

  “Oh, goodness. Not this same nut.” I shake my head.

  “I’ve been patient long enough, but now it’s interfering with my business.” He moves around and sits on the edge of his desk in front of me.

  “Are you saying I’m not doing my job?” I bristle and sit up.

  “No. You are excellent at your job. The best in the city.”

  “And you already pay me like I am. I’m already paid more than anyone else in my line of work. It’s not your fault that I have debt to take care of.”

  “It’s not yours either, so don’t get me started.”

  “Who peed in your Cheerios this morning? My mom and Addie’s bills are my responsibility. Is it ideal? No. Is it fair? Probably not. Is it a fact of life? Yes.”

  “Well, starting today, your salary is increased to cover what you make at the bar. I won’t have you working all hours of the night and serving people who may be potential clients.”

  “Since when do you care what people think?”

  “I could give a fuck, but we are in the business of imaging, and you know as well as I do that labels are hard to shake. Perception is reality.”

  “No one is going to label you cheap because I work a second job.”

  “It’s done. Call the bar and tell them or I will.” He moves back into a place of authority behind his desk.

  “I’m so sick of men this week.” I shake my head in frustration.

  “I’m your boss and you are my employee. This has nothing to do with the fact you are female and I am male. If Henry were fighting me on a second job, I would be having this conversation with him.”

  “It feels like money I didn’t earn,” I try to explain.

  “Those are your issues, Emme. Not mine. If you didn’t earn the salary I’m going to pay you, you wouldn’t be getting it. Your life feels like it’s unraveling because it is. You won’t let me help you pay those bills, fine. But this is my business, and I will run it as I see fit.” And because he’s Jackson and can’t stand the thought of my being upset, he softens the conversation with “We’ve already agreed you would take a paid leave of absence to get the mentor program operational. If you really want it to succeed, you can’t continue at this pace.”

  He circles his desk one more time and pulls me into an all-encompassing hug. He’s done being my boss. He’s being my friend right now, and I burrow into him.

  “You would move mountains for me. Don’t you understand what it means to me that you won’t let me do the same for you? I love you, Emme, but it’s hurtful and you have to own that. You have to learn to rely on people.”

  “Now,” I say, pulling away and repositioning the conversation.

  “Guess that ends bonding time,” Jackson laughs as he moves back to his chair.

  Ignoring his jab, I continue, “I’m dropping John Michaels as a client. Henry will be his stylist from now on.”

  His demeanor shifts to match mine, and his eyes probe me. “What brought this about?”

  “It’s just time. Henry is ready to go solo on some accounts, and Michaels is not really a big enough client for me anymore. Add to it that I have the mentor program starting. It’s the right step.”

  He studies me for a long time. “That sounds reasonable. Care to tell me the real reason now?”

  “I just did.”

  “Emme.”

  “I have a few calls to make before my lunch meeting,” I effectively end the conversation. He reluctantly nods as I close the door behind me. I release a long breath and lean against the door. I know Jackson well enough to realize that I didn’t exactly make it out of there unscathed. Pushing off the door, I head to my office.

  The next three hours fly by. I work on the outline of how to best position Blaine in the market. Henry, Joy, and I work on pulls and the items I want them to pick up. We have designers who send us their inventory to use on celebrities, but we also shop clothes ourselves. Over the last year, I have passed a lot of the shopping to them, but I still do my fair share. It helps keep my relationship strong with the stores. I also do most of the vintage shopping, which is something I enjoy.

  Taxis to meetings are a work expense, and I’m thankful I don’t have to do another subway ride in these heels. Since it is a causal Friday meeting, I am in a white fitted shift dress with elbow length lace sleeves. The dress shows off my Khloe Kardashian ass. If I don’t stick to running, it’ll make its way to Kim status. On her, I think it’s a fabulous ass. On me, it would look ridiculous. My jewelry is minimal. I have my hair pulled into a long ponytail.

  Marty, the doorman at the St. Regis, greets me by name, and informs me that Ms. Cameron is already seated in the King Cole Bar. Thanking him, I make my way through the opulent lobby that always manages to take my breath away.

  Entering the mahogany-paneled bar, I see Colleen Cameron seated at a table for two. She is facing the Old King Cole mural that sits above the bar. With a silly grin on his face, Old King Cole sits in the middle of the mural upon a throne while jesters sit at his feet. The mural extends across the bar with other medieval looking characters whose purpose is to entertain the king. It contains a secret that you can
usually get a bartender to divulge after you’ve ordered a few drinks.

  As I come up to the table, Colleen stands and greets me with a kiss to each cheek. She is a picture of beauty and elegance. She is in her late 40’s. Her brown hair is pulled into a chignon. She is wearing a demure black dress with a slight flare to the skirt, the perfect backdrop to her signature pearl earrings and necklace that she has worn every time I have seen her.

  “Emme, darling. It’s so good to see you. I took the liberty of ordering you a Bloody Mary. I hope you don’t mind.” Her look is mischievous as she takes her seat. “You can’t come here without having at least one.”

  “Is that so?” I know her game. “You know I don’t hold liquor, Colleen.”

  “King Cole Bar created the Bloody Mary. You simply have to have one. I will make sure you are seen home safely if need be.” Her smile coaxes me, causing me to giggle as I take my first sip. It is delicious.

  “See?”

  “I know. I don’t know why I question you, Colleen. You have never led me astray.”

  And it’s true. Colleen has been my client since the first week I started working for Jackson. She has watched me grow into this role and has directed her fair share of clients my way. We have a non-disclosure agreement in place, not that it’s needed. How Colleen conducts her business is not for me to say.

  Colleen Cameron is the high-class madam of New York City. She has a variety of girls who work for her and cost a minimum of ten-thousand dollars a night. More than once she has tried to get me to work for her. First as one of her girls, then as a partner. She wanted to use my rating method to match the right John to the right girl. While I don’t judge Colleen or her girls, it’s just not the scene for me.

  “You look tired dear.” She assesses my appearance.

  “I had a late shift last night.”

  “If you came to work for me, you would only have to work a couple of nights a month, and still have more money than you would need.”

  “You’re sweet, Colleen, but I doubt you would make the money with me that you do with your other girls,” I muse as I look over the menu. “I’m not the hanger-size girl most of your men would expect.”