Tailor-Made

by Yolanda Wallace

  “I do, too.”

  “When was the last time you talked to him?”

  Dakota held the door open for him as they walked out of the club. “Last night. He called me after the show in Dallas.”

  “How did he sound? Excited, I’m sure, but—”

  Dakota placed a hand on his arm. “Yes, he misses you, too.”

  “Did he say so?”

  “He didn’t have to.”

  “I knew it. I mean I didn’t really, but I hoped I wasn’t the only one feeling this miserable.”

  Dakota stepped to one side to get out of the path of a woman pushing a dachshund in a baby stroller as she jogged down the sidewalk. “I thought love was supposed to make you feel great, not crappy.”

  “Sometimes, it can make you feel both at the same time. That’s when you know it’s real.”

  Dakota had often wondered how it felt to be in love. Aaron’s explanation made it sound like something she would rather avoid at all costs than experience for herself.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Aaron said after they rode the subway to Harlem and joined the large crowd gathered on West 125th Street.

  The road was blocked to everything except foot traffic in all directions. The iconic Apollo Theater and the businesses surrounding it were open, but all the real action was taking place outside. Music and laughter filled the air.

  “Oh, my God, I love this song,” Aaron said as Roxxy blasted Whitney Houston’s version of a tune originally made famous by Chaka Khan. “Let’s dance.”

  “Get started without me. I’m going to say hi to Roxxy and let her know we’re here.”

  “Find me when you’re done.”

  “You got it.” Dakota squeezed through the crowd until she reached the platform set up in the center of the street. She gave Roxxy a hug and waited for her to remove her headphones before she said, “Sweet setup. Not bad for a few hours’ notice.”

  “Yeah, well, I do what I can.” Roxxy was wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans, and a pair of white shell-toe Adidas tennis shoes. All she needed was a black fedora and a fat gold chain and she could have doubled for a member of the legendary rap group Run-DMC. She fiddled with the controls on her workstation until Whitney Houston segued into the Notorious B.I.G. “Did you come by yourself?”

  “No,” Dakota said, nodding her head to the beat, “I ‘dragged’ Aaron along.”

  “I’m sure that was hard work. Tell him I don’t have Madonna on the playlist tonight, but I’ll make it up to him next time, okay?”

  “Oh, no, I’ll let you be the bearer of that bad news.”

  “Fine,” Roxxy said with a laugh. “Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Like picking up one or more of the women who are making eyes at you?”

  “Exactly. So I can’t have any of them thinking you’re my girlfriend.”

  “Excuse me for cramping your style.” Dakota gave her a quick peck on the lips. “And good luck tonight.”

  “You, too.”

  Roxxy placed her headphones over her ears before Dakota could tell her she wasn’t on the prowl. She climbed off the platform and made her way through the crowd, intending to catch up with Aaron. She stopped in her tracks when she spotted someone else she knew. Grace was dancing with a woman who was rapping the song’s lyrics word for word. The woman perfectly fit the mold for the kind of woman Grace had said she was drawn to, but Dakota sensed more of a platonic than a romantic vibe between them.

  Dakota walked over to them and tapped Grace on the shoulder. “I never imagined I’d see you here.”

  When Grace turned around, the expression on her face changed from joyous to guarded. Dakota leaned to give her a kiss on the cheek, but Grace backed away. “What are you doing here?” Grace asked.

  Dakota jerked her thumb toward Roxxy. “The DJ is a friend of mine.”

  The woman Grace had been dancing with bumped Grace’s shoulder with her own. “Are you going to introduce me or what?”

  Grace looked flustered. “Sorry. I’m forgetting my manners. Lynette Walker, Dakota Lane. Dakota, Lynette.”

  Dakota extended her hand. “You must be the best friend.”

  “And you must be the new one.”

  “Meaning?” Dakota asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Grace said. She scanned the steadily growing crowd. “Are you here with someone?”

  “Yeah, him.” Dakota pointed at Aaron, who was dancing his way down a makeshift Soul Train line.

  “Looks like you have your hands full. Is that Rich?”

  “No, that’s Rich’s boyfriend. Actually, his ex- and possibly future boyfriend.” Grace looked confused—and more than a little uncomfortable. “It’s a long story.” Was the kiss they had shared a few days ago the cause of Grace’s discomfort, or was Grace’s unease due to her unexpected presence? Either way, Dakota felt like she wasn’t wanted. Not here. Not tonight. And, perhaps, not ever. She was tempted to cut her losses and walk away before she embarrassed herself or Grace any more than she already had, but she didn’t want the encounter to come to an end before she said what was on her mind. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but there’s a thing I have to attend Saturday night and I was wondering if you’d like to go.”

  “What kind of thing?” Lynette asked eagerly.

  “A photography exhibit in SoHo.”

  “Did you take the pictures or are you in them?”

  “I’m in a few photos but not all.” After she answered Lynette’s question, Dakota turned to Grace. “Joey’s in a few shots, too. She and Whitney are going to be there in case you’d like to hang out with them again.”

  “Again?” Lynette asked.

  Grace cleared her throat. “The four of us went to a Mets game last week. No big deal.”

  That night had been a very big deal for Dakota. Until now, she thought Grace felt the same way. Was Grace downplaying the events of that night for Lynette’s sake or her own?

  “I see,” Lynette said. “What’s the theme of the exhibit?”

  Dakota had no clue what Lynette did for a living, but if it involved asking questions, she was really good at her job. “The show’s called s/he. It’s a celebration of the masculine within the feminine.”

  “Sounds intriguing,” Lynette said.

  “It is. The photographer’s a friend of mine, so she gave me a sneak preview when she was setting things up. The show’s at the Stitchfield Gallery Saturday night at eight. Would you like to come?”

  Dakota directed her question to Grace, but Lynette provided the answer. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Great,” Dakota said when it became apparent Grace didn’t have anything to add to the conversation. “I’ll add your names to the guest list. See you Saturday night.”

  As she walked away, Dakota felt like she was the one who was missing out. Why did Grace seem like she couldn’t wait to get away from her when, only a few days before, she hadn’t been able to get close enough? Lynette had answered most of her questions tonight, but this was one she couldn’t field. Only Grace could. But Dakota wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  * * *

  Grace wanted to call out to Dakota, but she couldn’t speak. She wanted to go after her, but her feet were rooted in place. Dakota had barely made it out of earshot before Lynette turned to her and said, “No wonder you look so happy.”

  “Don’t start.” Grace watched as Dakota’s friend Aaron greeted her effusively, a far cry from the lukewarm reception she had given her.

  “So what’s the story, morning glory?”

  Grace moved a few feet away from the heart of the party so she and Lynette could talk without having to scream at the top of their lungs. “She came into the office a few weeks ago to commission a suit for her sister’s wedding. That’s all there is to it. She and I are just friends.”

  Lynette clasped her hands as if she were praying for a miracle. “Please, please, please tell me ‘just friends’ is a euphemism for you’re
allowing that gorgeous creature to do you six ways to Sunday. Because if I were single and she looked at me the way she just looked at you, I’d be dusting off my copy of the Kama Sutra and signing up for a slew of yoga classes so I can twist myself into all the appropriate positions without dislocating something.”

  Grace had seen the voracious look in Dakota’s eyes when she had turned to see who had tapped her on the shoulder, but what she remembered most was the expression on Dakota’s face. The hurt and confusion that had been so plain to see before Dakota had ended the brief conversation and walked away. Grace hadn’t meant to cause her pain, but Dakota had taken her by surprise. She hadn’t expected to see her tonight. And she hadn’t expected to feel so at odds when she did. The afternoon they had spent in Central Park had drawn them closer. Tonight was the first time they had seen each other since that day. Instead of picking up where they left off, why had she insisted on holding Dakota at arm’s length? Worse than that. She had practically pushed her away.

  Coming face-to-face with Dakota tonight, she had felt trapped between two different worlds—the one she had grown accustomed to long ago and the new one she was just starting to explore. She hadn’t expected the realms to collide so soon. Or so publicly. She wished she had handled it better. Instead of taking charge of the situation, she had let Lynette do most of the talking while she stood in the background wishing she could crawl into a hole and disappear. Dakota deserved an explanation. And she’d give it to her. As soon as she came up with one.

  “I don’t date clients,” she said unnecessarily. Lynette already knew her stance, but she didn’t know any other way to broach the subject that wouldn’t result in a long, drawn-out conversation that should be conducted in quiet tones on a comfy couch, not shouted in the middle of a crowded street.

  “I know you don’t. It’s a sound rule that makes good business sense because it helps you avoid messy complications in your personal life that could affect your professional life as well. To be honest, though, it’s also a bit of a copout.”

  “How so?”

  “Think about it. Refusing to date clients is an easy directive to follow when the vast majority of your customers are men because it allows you to turn them down without telling them the real reason why. It’s easier to reject the overtures of a jock with a fragile ego by telling him you don’t date clients than it is by saying you have zero interest in the piece of meat between his legs that he’s so proud of. That isn’t the case this time, though, is it?”

  “No.” Though it didn’t resolve her dilemma, Grace felt marginally better for having made the admission. Her life had always been orderly. Uneventful. Strictly regulated by rules both written and understood. Her interest in Dakota, however, was giving her the urge to break every one. Was she ready for the chaos that would be sure to follow?

  “She’s obviously attracted to you and you just confirmed you’re attracted to her. I don’t see a problem.”

  “Don’t you?” Grace dragged her gaze away from the sight of Dakota and Aaron grooving to one of Mary J. Blige’s early hits. “You know how hung up my parents are on image and respectability. My mother burst into tears because I cut my hair. How do you think my father would react if I brought a gossip-column fixture like Dakota home?”

  Lynette waved her hand dismissively. “It isn’t her reputation that’s got you twisted. It’s her look. You’ve always been drawn to lipstick lesbians, but Dakota’s as butch as they come and she’s got you so turned out you don’t know which way is up. But let’s deal with the issue you are willing to address—your desire for your parents’ approval—instead of the one you’re trying to avoid. You’re your father’s favorite. I can guarantee he won’t like anyone you date, no matter who it is, because he would rather spend the rest of his life taking care of you than handing off the job to someone else.”

  “Hope once said she could bring Jesus home and Dad would still say He wasn’t good enough.”

  “Probably, but it isn’t a matter of being good enough.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s like when a couple tells me they’re expecting a baby. I’m happy to hear the news, especially if they’ve been trying for a long time, but my mind inevitably starts wandering to how that baby got made. I don’t know about you, but that’s an image of my friends I’d rather not have in my head. It’s almost as bad as admitting your parents had sex in order to conceive you and you aren’t the product of immaculate conception. Your father’s the same way. He wants you to be happy, but he doesn’t want to have to picture anyone humping you or your sisters. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a man or a woman or someone somewhere in between. But that’s his issue to overcome, not yours. He can’t live your life for you. Only you are allowed that privilege.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “Your father’s your boss. You can defer to him all you want when you’re in the office. In the real world, that’s a different story. At some point, you have to make a stand, especially if the future he sees for you and the one you envision for yourself are at odds. It’s like I tell the kids I look after: don’t take your cues from everyone else; stand on your own two feet and teach people to follow your lead.”

  “That’s just the thing,” Grace said disconsolately. “I don’t know how.”

  “You can start by asking yourself one question.” Lynette took Grace by her shoulders and turned her back toward the party. The Mary J. Blige record had ended, a song by Aaliyah was playing, and Aaron was twerking against Dakota like he was Miley Cyrus posting up on Robin Thicke at the MTV Video Music Awards. Despite her assertion that she was a terrible dancer, Dakota was more than holding her own. She exuded confidence and power. Like most things, they looked really good on her.

  “Who would you rather be dancing with tonight,” Lynette asked, “me or her?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dakota felt uncharacteristically anxious. She didn’t get nervous before photo shoots or runway shows because she didn’t have anything at stake. The designers were the ones who had something to lose if the products weren’t received well, not her. She showed up, did her job, and called it a day. Tonight was different. Tonight, she was fully invested instead of only marginally involved. Because tonight she wasn’t modeling the latest fashions. Tonight, she was baring her soul.

  Jennifer hadn’t instituted a dress code for the evening, but Dakota decided to dress up for the gallery show instead of down. She ditched her favored uniform of a T-shirt, faded jeans, and canvas tennis shoes in favor of a multicolor checked dress shirt, a dark blue Jil Sander suit, and leather oxfords.

  She checked her look in the mirror, then grabbed her keys and headed to SoHo. The event was supposed to start at eight. She arrived twenty minutes past the scheduled start time to give guests time to trickle in. She wasn’t trying to be fashionably late in order to make an entrance. She simply didn’t want to stand around waiting for people to show up or her nerves would have ratcheted up even more. If she had delayed her arrival much longer, though, she wouldn’t have been able to squeeze through the door. The gallery was packed, filled with invited guests and curious passersby who had wandered in off the street to see what the fuss was about.

  She spotted Joey and Whitney parked in front of the open bar. If not for the trademark cycling cap covering her short black hair, Joey wouldn’t have been recognizable. She was wearing black dress pants and a tuxedo shirt instead of a ripped T-shirt and voluminous cargo shorts. By her side, Whitney was wearing a gorgeous beaded dress that would have made 1920s icon Isadora Duncan proud.

  Dakota kissed Whitney on the cheek and gave Joey a fist bump. “You two look great.”

  Joey hooked her thumbs in her red suspenders, which were adorned with illustrations of vintage bicycles. “I have to keep pace with you, don’t I?”

  “You can try.”

  “Asshole,” Joey said with a laugh.

  “I knew the show was a big deal,” Whitney said, “but I had no idea there
would be this much hoopla.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as if she didn’t want potential eavesdroppers to think she was being a braggart. “We’ve been interviewed by two of the local network affiliates as well as a cable news channel.”

  “I feel like an honest-to-God celebrity,” Joey said.

  “You look like one, too,” Dakota said. “You both do. Thanks for agreeing to do this, dude. Jennifer appreciates it and so do I. The shots turned out great, don’t you think?”

  “She’ll never admit it, but she had a lot of fun once she got comfortable in front of the camera.” Whitney pinched Joey’s cheeks. “I’m just glad we had a chance to share this gorgeous face with the world.”

  “Now my image is going to be hanging on some stranger’s living room wall,” Joey said. “Weird.”

  “You get used to the idea after a while,” Dakota said.

  “All in all, I’d rather stick to fixing bikes.” Joey raised her plastic cup of red wine in a toast. “I’ll leave the modeling up to you.”

  Dakota made small talk with Joey and Whitney for a few more minutes and greeted several other people she knew before she sought out Jennifer to see how the show was going.

  Jennifer Stitchfield, the photographer who had taken the pictures on display, also owned the gallery in which the exhibit was being held. Dakota met her years ago at a party in Chelsea. The gathering, a rooftop get-together thrown by a friend of a friend to mark the end of summer, hadn’t been very memorable, but Jennifer had proven impossible to forget.

  A couple of inches over six feet tall, Jennifer was one of the few women Dakota literally looked up to. She had flowing auburn hair, green eyes, and an intricate tattoo of trailing ivy etched along her left leg. The first time Dakota laid eyes on her, she had wanted to use her tongue to trace that tattoo from its end point on the top of Jennifer’s foot to its point of origin slightly north of her upper thigh. A few hours later, she had done just that.

  She hadn’t been entirely honest with Grace when she said she had never met a woman who made her long for more than a leisurely roll in the hay and a friendly good-bye the next morning. Jennifer had made her dream of sharing her life and building a future with someone, but it hadn’t taken her long to realize she wasn’t ready to lay a foundation strong enough to sustain a relationship. She had too many places to see, too many things to do. And, most of all, she needed to prove to herself that she had what it took to hold someone’s attention for the long term, not simply pique their interest for one night. So far, she was still waiting for confirmation.