The Lingerie Designer

by Siobhán McKenna

  “How come you chose to move to LA? It’s a long way from New York.”

  “Exactly – I want to be,” he said seriously.

  She waited for him to expand on that but he didn’t, so she sought for the right way to ask him why.

  Then he grinned and added, “But it’s not as far as Dubai – and they’ve got surfing, or so I hear!”

  “Are you from the city of New York?”

  “No, New York State, Nyack. Do you know New York?”

  “I’ll have you know, I was born in St Vincent’s Hospital on 13th Street!” Helen said, tilting her chin up.

  “Wow, a real live New Yorker! You are full of surprises, Helen.”

  Helen sipped on her drink. “Is it surfing you’re chasing or a woman you’re running from, maybe?” There, she’d said it!

  “Maybe.” He looked away from her and shifted a little uncomfortably. “But it’s a fresh start. I don’t really know anyone in California. What about you? A good-looking lingerie designer, surely you can’t be single?” He tried to sound casual. Corny, Jack. He felt awkward flirting because he was terrible at it, or so he’d been told, but he was doing his best.

  “Shocker, isn’t it, but that I am. Now,” Helen said.

  “Now? Was it a man that had you packing your bags for Vietnam?”

  “That, amongst other things.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Rob. And the girl?”

  “Amy.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “Was it serious?” she said gently.

  “Yes, for me it was anyway. We were engaged to be married.” He swallowed some beer, avoiding eye contact again.

  “I’m sorry, Jack, that must be tough.” Helen touched his arm gently.

  “It was for the best, I guess. Amy and I were childhood sweethearts, I never questioned that we wouldn’t spend our whole lives together.” He stopped short of telling Helen the full extent of Amy’s cheating. It still made him feel inadequate. When Amy left, his confidence left with her. He wondered what another man offered her that he had been unable to provide.

  “It’s not your fault if she cheated,” Helen said, thinking of her own situation. “I’m sorry – I don’t know where that came from, Jack.”

  “And this Rob guy, what went wrong there?” Jack asked, steering the conversation away from Amy.

  Helen shrugged. “It’s complicated. Rob was married – to his job and his bachelorhood – I just couldn’t see that.” It was true. She had lied to herself that Rob and she had a special connection. Now, here in Hanoi, thousands of miles away from him, she realised that he was probably seeing other people all along.

  “When did you guys break up?”

  “About a month ago,” Helen sighed, “but we weren’t even properly together. As I said, it’s complicated. We’ve a lot of history together.”

  Ouch, Jack thought. His heart sank.

  “You guys may still work it out, Helen – it’s early days.”

  “I don’t want to sort it out. It’s time to move on – I’ve wasted too much time on something that was never going anywhere. It’s hard though, we live so close to each other, go to the same bars – when I’m back home that is, which is nearly every weekend when I’m not travelling with work.”

  “I know that one!”

  “Hence LA?” Helen asked.

  “Hence LA,” Jack nodded.

  As the Jazz Club filled up, they sat closer together until Jack gave his seat to a lady who was standing. He put his hand on the pillar behind Helen, his arm protecting her. Someone bumped into him and his hand ended up on Helen’s shoulder. He left it there. Now his body acted as a protective shield from the good-natured, albeit high-spirited crowd. They watched as the bar around them continued to rock. Then the band did a set of pop songs. It sounded strange to hear the familiar tunes given a jazz makeover but somehow it worked.

  “Do you want to dance, Jack?”

  Jack looked horrified at the suggestion.

  “Come on, I love this song. There’s more room on the dance floor anyway.”

  “I’ve got two left feet,” Jack protested.

  “Excellent. Bad dancing competition, it is! I haven’t done one in ages!”

  She held out her hand. How could he resist?

  “Just follow my lead.” She pursed her lips. She wiggled her index finger and hips in exaggerated moves to a jazz version of Tom Jones’s “Sex Bomb”. “Get it, the worse dancer you are, the more likely you’ll win Bad Dancing!”

  She still looked pretty good to Jack but he stuck his butt out anyway. To his surprise, it was easy to act like a dork, and before long he was jutting and throwing as many of his body parts as possible in various directions.

  John Travolta, with ants in his pants.

  “See, you’re a natural,” she laughed as he twirled her around. “A clear winner, Jack Taylor!” She flashed a smile as she tried to catch her breath.

  The lights dimmed and the music slowed in tempo. People coupled off.

  Helen and Jack looked at each other.

  Perfect timing.

  He put his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him. They swayed gently, hip to hip. She rested her head on his chest, feeling safer than she had in the longest time – if ever before. He closed his eyes and let go of his awkward feelings. He inhaled the scent of Helen – a heady mix of exotic amber filled his nostrils. He felt the softness of her breasts pressed against his ribs.

  “So what’s my prize?” Jack whispered.

  She looked up at him. For a moment, they held each other’s gaze. Slowly, naturally, their mouths found each other. The kiss was soft, as if happening in slow motion. Tingles coursed through Jack, as he tasted Helen for the first time. Helen flicked her tongue lightly against his teeth. The kiss became deeper, hungry.

  They stood in the middle of the floor, not speaking, lost in each other. Time stood still for them.

  It was only a kiss – but the passion was explosive.

  The cool cat on sax led his seven-man crew to a grand finale. Helen and Jack remained locked in their moment, oblivious that the slow set was over. The place erupted with applause, whistles and good-humoured demands for the band to play on. Reluctantly, Helen and Jack broke away from each other but they didn’t break eye contact. Smiling they pressed their foreheads together and stood embracing as the club continued to buzz around them.

  “Bon nuit et merci!” the velvet voice of the lead player announced. He was every bit a caricature of a jazz player, the look finished off with an oversized moustache.

  The woman Helen had noticed earlier was standing now and clapping enthusiastically. “Encore!” she shouted.

  The lights went up and the main doors opened – the night was over.

  “I’m all hyped up now,” Helen said, looking at her watch, “and it’s only just after midnight!”

  “Come on, Cinderella!” Jack took hold of Helen’s hand as he walked back to the bar.

  That would make you my Prince Charming.

  “Any chance of a few drinks, buddy?” Jack asked the barman.

  “Sorry, we’ve stayed open late as it is. Curfew tonight.”

  “Curfew?” Jack looked at Helen to see if she knew anything about this.

  “That happened to Poppy and myself the first night we were here. We were expecting a swinging nightlife, instead the whole town shut down by half past ten.”

  “They must have been tipped off you and Poppy were coming to town – my first few nights here were curfew-free.”

  They headed out into the night air.

  A motorbike taxi driver approached them. “You want nightclub? Out of town – no curfew, more drink.”

  Helen and Jack looked at each other.

  “Well, I don’t really want to end up in a brothel outside city limits, but if they serve late drink I might consider it.” She flashed Jack a wicked smile.

  “You’ve definitely travelled the world, hey?”

&nbs
p; “You better believe it. I’ve ended up in some very dodgy places in search of the Holy Grail.”

  “Holy Grail?”

  “Depends on the timing – the Holy Grail is usually rum in the first half of the evening but it morphs into a Big Mac as the evening progresses,” she said. “Remind me to tell you the story of when I brought a blind man to a strip-club-cum-brothel. That was my first and last attempt at charity work, before my lingerie life took over.”

  “You’ve been to more then one brothel then?”

  “Yep, it appears to be a hidden talent I have – sniffing out after-hours illegal drinking in the most unusual places,” she said proudly. “The brothels just happened to be attached. Which reminds me – I’ve got hooch!”

  “It’s safe to say, Helen, I never met a girl like you before.” And didn’t he know it.

  Helen started taxi negotiations without clarifying for Jack what exactly she meant by hooch or where she was taking him.

  “So, it’s the French Quarter first – you wait for me. I’ll only be a few minutes, – okay?” Helen instructed the driver, arms pointing in various directions, having found her feet in the Hanoi ways.

  “Okay, okay, get on!” the driver ordered.

  Jack and Helen climbed on the back of a motorbike that wasn’t much bigger than a moped. As the driver only had one helmet, it was decided that they’d both go without. They sped through the streets, the wind blowing Helen’s long hair into Jack’s face. He couldn’t see a thing but was quite happy with the experience of Helen’s butt wedged between his legs. On cue, Helen writhed on the saddle.

  “Yeehaw! Hello, Hanoi!” she shouted at the empty, rain-drenched streets, throwing her arms in the air. Liberated by the Bad Dancing contest, she was free to do whatever she wanted, without worrying how she looked. Her energy was infectious and Jack joined her in greeting the sleeping city.

  The driver pulled up to a side entrance of the hotel, to avoid being seen by the guard on the door, with two slightly crazy tourists on board.

  “Won’t be long,” Helen said, disappearing into the dark grounds.

  Jack and the driver sat in silence. The driver offered him a cigarette. Jack shook his head. Minutes passed. Jack tapped his foot and tried to see if Helen was coming back. It was too dark. Even though he hadn’t actually agreed to whatever it was Helen was offering, so far he was enjoying the ride.

  Soon after that Helen reappeared, much to Jack’s relief.

  “I’d ask you in,” she said, “but Poppy is sleeping.” She held up a couple of cans of Coke and a battered old plastic bottle, which was full of a clear liquid.

  Jack was intrigued.

  “Mother’s milk.” She sniffed the bottle and wrinkled her nose. “Devil’s firewater might be more accurate actually,” she admitted.

  “Where now?” the driver revved the throttle.

  “Hong Ngoc Hotel, please,” Jack requested.

  Right answer, Helen thought, the perfect answer actually.

  Chapter 53

  Helen insisted on paying the driver and gave him closer to the original amount he requested – a combination of goodwill and inebriation, which often made Helen feel extra generous. That and the fact they hadn’t ended up arrested or in Hanoi’s Accident and Emergency room. Job well done, the driver sped off.

  “Goodnight, Mr Jack, Miss,” Quan nodded and smiled as they entered the lobby.

  “Night, Quan.” Jack tried to look casual as though bringing a woman to his room was no big deal. He felt a tinge of apprehension. The kiss with Helen had been firecracker hot. That excited him but also scared him somewhat, if he was being honest. They’d talked more than they drank tonight, but he didn’t want her to think him presumptuous, by asking her to his hotel. She was so confident and wonderful. What if he disappointed her?

  Helen couldn’t stop thinking about the taste of Jack’s kiss. Was she imagining it or was it something special? She’d thought things like that only happened in cheesy Hollywood movies. Yet, here she was, Helen Devine, cynic extraordinaire, wanting to touch her mouth, which still tingled as if sprinkled with pixie dust. This felt strange – her usual cynicism replaced by nervousness and anticipation. She liked it.

  “Have you any ice?” She looked at Jack hopefully as she pulled the ring of the Coke can.

  He shook his head, “I do have two plastic cups though.” He went into the bathroom and retrieved them. “So are you going to tell me what we’re drinking?”

  “I’m not sure – call it hooch or moonshine. I bought it for a dollar from an old man at the back of a market – he made it himself, or his wife did, over an open fire. It must be organic.” Helen poured the clear liquid into the cup. “Straight or with coke?”

  Jack took a sniff – the pungent smell of earth, smoke and alcohol accosted his nostrils. He coughed but simply said, “Interesting.”

  “With Coke so,” Helen offered the can. She kicked off her shoes and settled on the bed. The overhead light in the room glared. Jack turned on the TV, instead of the table lamp, to spread a gentler glow. The channel set to MTV, he pressed mute.

  “How about some Coldplay?” he tapped through his iPod and the soft sounds of “In My Place” flowed from the travel-dock.

  “I like it, Pussycat Dolls on visual, real musicians on audio, best of both worlds.” Helen laughed.

  They sipped their drinks. It was rank but neither admitted it.

  “I think it’s made with potatoes, so one of your five a day.” She winced as she swallowed the foul-tasting hooch.

  As the room was small, the only seat was the bed. Jack sat beside Helen but didn’t move to kiss her. There was an awkward silence.

  “Are you excited to be moving to LA?” she asked.

  Jack considered this for a moment, “I don’t know about ‘excited’ to be honest, I guess so. I love the sea and it’s south of LA I’m moving to, not the city – I don’t think I could handle the traffic and smog.”

  “I admire your courage to try new things. Me, I’ve stayed stuck in a job I lost interest in long ago, unwilling or unable to move on.” She swished her drink in the cup.

  “Now how can you say women’s underwear isn’t interesting?” he laughed.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Helen playfully punched at him. “I worked hard to get where I am, I thought getting to director level was what I wanted, and it was for a while. Now though, there’s no challenge. It’s well paid but other than that it’s, well, empty.”

  “If you could do anything in the world, anything at all, if you’d no commitments, no contracts to fulfil, no financial restrictions – what would you do?”

  “Gosh, part of me wants to move back to Dublin, part of me still loves lingerie and yet another part of me wants my life to account for something – to give something back to the world. I’d like a better work-life balance – as you said, actually use the Dubai apartment, enjoy the fruits of my labour.” She hugged her knees in as she thought of her possibilities outside of the box. “I don’t want to end up retired with nothing to show for life except a gold-plated bra – I reckon that’s what I’d get instead of a gold watch – home alone, with just my cats for company.”

  “You’ve got a cat?” Jack asked, remembering how Carine, the French girl he’d met in Cambodia, had talked about her cat. If she hadn’t mentioned Halong Bay, he might not have even considered coming to Vietnam. Thanks, Carine.

  “God, no – I’m allergic. I have a dog, JD.”

  This appeared to please Jack. “I’m a dog person too.” He observed Helen, whose glow could have lit the room – no TV required. “And what about when you were a kid? What did you dream for your life?”

  “Oh my God! Would you believe, I wanted to be a nun?” She waited for his reaction.

  “Not possible! I don’t believe it,” he teased.

  “Honestly, I wanted to be closer to the Highest Power and, anyway, apart from my dad, all boys were smelly and I would never want to touch one. Especially not after Roger the D
odger, as I called him, took out his willy in the garden shed – and it had a rash on it. Imagine, the first willy I ever saw had a red rash on it from Roger wetting his pants!” She hooted with laughter at the memory she had long forgotten.

  “I can’t say I’d approve of you joining the convent as a career change. Maybe have a look at your other options though.”

  “Are you mad? I’ve got a massive mortgage on my place in London plus an expensive addiction to anything with the word Prada on it.”

  “I don’t know, Helen, maybe it was this moonshine that had you aglow, but you should have seen your face when you talked about what you really want in life.”

  Jack had hit a nerve.

  “I thought so many times about quitting and going off to travel the world – ride horses in Patagonia – bring Poppy to an Ashram in Kerala (and make sure she came back this time). Get on a plane to New York with Mum – take her back to the lights of her beloved 42nd Street. And then, maybe consider starting my own business.” Helen sat up straight. “You know, I still love designing, it’s the red tape and office politics I’m tired of. Anyway, it looks like I’ve missed the boat now – I should have done it a few years ago when world economies were flying high.” She sighed. Settling back into the pillow, she stifled a yawn.

  “I don’t know, I think if you really want something you’ve just got to go for it.”

  “Is that what you do? See something you want and go for it?” Helen’s question was loaded with double-meaning.

  Jack wasn’t sure if she was being seductive or if it was wishful thinking on his part. Rather than risk looking foolish he answered at face value.

  “Pretty much. Before, I had my whole life mapped out. Good old reliable Jack. Look where it got me. Now I’m happy I moved on. Hey, I’m moving to Southern California, that can’t be bad!” Despite his words, his tone lacked lustre.

  Helen laid her head on her arm. She willed him to ask her to stay but she couldn’t read him. Maybe she was imagining it, but it was as if the atmosphere had turned more into friendship than lovers? Something was holding him back and she couldn’t figure it out. Maybe he just didn’t find her attractive – there was a big age gap after all. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for Jack to be with someone in their early twenties.