Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  I led the model to a rack loaded with business suits and evening dresses. I eyed my child, who still tagged along. “Natalie, please ask your friends to line up with the models in front of that door. I’ll be right over to do a last check.”

  “Okay.” She bounced away, her French braid bobbing.

  I heaved a sigh and focused on dealing with the female half of the Covarrubia problem. “Andrea, are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She had the same nasal accent that characterized her brother’s dubious diction. “I’m just tired.”

  Lifting her chin, I peered into her eyes. They were so dark a brown that it was impossible to distinguish her pupils from her irises, so a casual eye exam couldn’t tell me if she’d been toking, snorting or shooting up. I helped her remove her leather jacket and took the opportunity to check her arms.

  Noting no fresh track marks hidden amongst the tatts, I said, “All right. You have a few minutes, so clean up and get into a business suit. We’re starting with Comfort Zone, Kidstuff and Fletcher’s Gear, so we won’t need you until three-twenty or so. You have a half-hour to transform yourself into a chic, sharp businesswoman.”

  She giggled, a husky, sweet sound at odds with her tough grrl appearance.

  I smiled. “I know you can do it, sweetie. You’re the best, and everyone knows it.”

  She ducked her head and grinned at the pavement.

  I hung up her jacket, thinking, she’s almost likable when she relaxes... You can see the little girl she used to be. How on earth did she turn into a twelve-step failure?

  “What the hell is this place, anyways? It’s really weird and spooky, like a vampire’s castle. What is all this crap?” She pointed at priceless medieval stonework.

  “This is The Cloisters,” I said. “It’s the Met’s medieval art museum. You’ve lived in Jersey and New York all your life. Haven’t you ever been here?”

  She shook her head. “Never heard of the place. Had one hell of a time finding it.” She laughed coarsely. “You better hope that Vogue and Bloomie’s are smarter than me.”

  “That’s why God made taxis, Andrea.”

  Never again, I thought as I stalked away.

  ~*~

  People who aren’t involved in the industry, like Fletcher Wolf, think that putting on a fashion show is easy. It’s not. Producing imaginative, wearable, well-made clothes takes talent and drive. I studied for years at the Parsons School of Design, where I was lucky enough to win the Gold Thimble Award, which brought me the attention I needed to get my first job. After I had earned a reputation for hard work and creativity, I went into hock big-time and opened my atelier. For the first couple of years I went cheap, handling both the designing as well as the business-related chores, which included putting on two runway shows annually.

  Then I got smart and hired Maggie Andersen away from Claiborne to deal with the busywork, freeing me to do what I do best. As well as managing my day-to-day finances, she takes care of finding a suitable venue for my shows, one that’s in keeping with the themes and ideas that the couture garments reflect. Fashionistas thrive on gossip, and the more unusual a design or a show, the better. She also finds the right models, no small task since everyone wants the same famous faces and bodies on the runway at the same time. Fashion Week is wild, and I usually delay my shows to get the models I want. It’s fine with me. Anything to stand out from the herd.

  Even with numerous crises and stresses, the attempted break-in, Nat’s father Kenney on my ass and the Fletcher Wolf hassle, I was proud of my latest collection. It was fanciful and wearable at the same time, and the Cloisters was the perfect setting for them.

  With satisfaction, I watched my models strut past me through a curtain and onto a runway set up in the Cloisters’ Romanesque Hall. First we showed Comfort Zone, my line of women’s work and casual wear. Then Kidstuff, my debut into children’s wear, was followed by Fletcher’s Gear. Showing the children’s clothing and then the menswear allowed the women to change into the dramatic evening gowns that are, in my opinion, what I do best.

  Fashion shows traditionally end with a wedding dress, and this time, I’d put Adam and Andrea Covarrubia into cream silk Renaissance-inspired garb which perfectly set off their dark, slightly wicked good looks.

  The applause for each outfit was hearty, and as the show continued, I relaxed more and more. Even before the show ended, Maggie popped open a bottle of Dommy, and I risked mixing a little Champagne with the Xanax.

  Horns blared, signaling the end of the show. Excitement pulsed through my veins and danced along my skin. The models returned to the runway, looking like a fantastic and bizarre tribe dressed in exotic finery—my beautiful designs.

  It was a gorgeous collection, even if I do say so myself. Flowing satin robes trimmed with velvet, lace and feathers worn over the jewel-toned, fluttery silks that I love so much. The kids followed, still in the leather children’s sportswear, and through the curtain, I could see everyone forming a double line along the sides of the runway.

  I checked my look in a nearby mirror and blinked to moisten my leaf-green contacts. I quickly freshened my lipstick, crimson to match the trim on my tabard and the diamond-shaped insets on my boots. I drew a deep breath, threw back my shoulders and straightened to my full height, such as it is.

  This was my moment.

  The room erupted in applause as I stepped through the curtain. I smiled through a few happy tears, then heard a voice murmur, “That must be the bitch goddess herself.”

  Startled, I looked down to see Fletcher Wolf, leaning back in his chair. He grinned at me, so I guessed that he hadn’t spoken. But the man sitting next to him had an expression on his face that reminded me of a great white shark devouring a helpless seal pup.

  Screw him. I gave the Wolf’s companion a little bump and grind.

  Fletch winked at me as I stalked down the runway past him, feeling like, well, a bitch goddess in my tough-girl thigh high boots.

  “Holy mackerel!”

  I turned to see Fletch’s buddy jumping to his feet, staring at my hair. Laughing, I gave him a little wave of the hand and continued down the runway. When I reached the end of the catwalk, I spread my arms wide and bowed. The applause crescendoed.

  It’s not modest, but I have to admit that I love the applause, the camera flashes going off in my face, the excitement, knowing that tomorrow I’ll read rave reviews of my work. Creation is its own reward, but a little encouragement never hurts.

  Natalie turned handsprings up the runway and reached my side. I grabbed her hand. “We did it, baby! We did it!” I hugged her close as the audience roared.

  Everyone was on their feet, except Fletcher Wolf. That turd. Why couldn’t he and his snotty friend get into the groove?

  Oh well. I should have expected that someone who’d compare a designer suit to the blue light special wouldn’t enjoy the show. He didn’t matter.

  After the show, the reporters, no doubt facing a deadline, headed out the door clutching laptops and cameras. The buyers remained, clustering around me, and I began to pitch them.

  This was a crucial part of what I do, and I found myself using my daughter as a prop. “Leather! People don’t want to make kids’ clothes out of leather because it’s expensive. But anything else is a false economy. Look how sturdy this is.” I tugged at Nat’s tabard, ignoring her annoyed expression. If she wanted to go to her chi-chi private school and gymnastics lessons, Mommy had to sell some clothes. Or, rather, a lot of them.

  I continued, “This will never wear out. It’s unisex, can be passed from child to child. Wipes clean with a damp cloth. The Kidstuff leather line—”

  “Is marvelous. So is the designer.” Fletcher Wolf shoved past a woman and seized my hand, lifting it. “Congratulations on a great show.”

  He caressed the back of my hand with his lips, and I could feel myself getting red. With anger. Flashbulbs popped, adding to my embarrassment.

  “Oh, man! You gross me out.”
Pulling away, Natalie beat it.

  I jerked my hand from his. “Stop it!” I snarled. “I’m trying to sell clothes. These people are buyers!”

  “Oh, all right.” He turned to the women, who watched avidly. He smiled, clearly getting a kick out of putting me off my stride. “Buy her clothes. That gal over there can take your orders.” He pointed at Maggie Andersen.

  The buyers left in a rush. Hands on my hips, I glared, tapping a toe against the stone pavement. I was about to give him a very large and mean piece of my mind, but then I noticed someone I loathed even more than the Wolf.

  Shit. Trent Whiting. A louse from my Parsons days. He looked even more outlandish than ever, in fringed leather and a Stetson. These days, he had shaggy blond hair and a string tie around his skinny throat. I winced at his affectations. Did the twerp think he was home on the range? What was he trying to pull? Everyone knew that he hailed from South Trenton, not South by Southwest.

  “Trent Whiting.” I crossed my arms over my torso. “A dubious pleasure, to be sure.”

  “It’s Trent Nevada now.”

  Why would a supposedly sane adult take a name that would make a third-grader roll her eyes? I guffawed. “Like Claude Montana? You’ve got to be putting me on.”

  “Cara,” he murmured huskily, “I see you haven’t forgotten me.”

  “I haven’t forgotten my root canal, either,” I snapped.

  Fletcher laughed. Trent favored Fletcher with a withering glance. Fletcher remained unwithered, if the baseball bat in his pants was any measure.

  “Doesn’t look like the lady wants your company, er, Trent.” Fletcher glanced at me.

  “I’ve known Cara since Parsons.” Trent still sounded like an arrogant S.O.B. “She’ll talk to me.”

  “We have nothing to discuss.” I turned and left, preferring the company of anyone else.

  I noticed that Wolf’s surly companion was hitting on Ella Langer. Finding Jimmy Benton, the top Fletcher’s Gear model, I offered him my congratulations while covertly watching Fletch talking with Trent.

  What on earth could those two have to discuss? I’d hung out with Trent during my second year at Parsons until I realized he’d ripped off several of my designs. I’d never expected to see such an unpleasant blast from the past at one of my shows. Who the hell had let him in?

  And although Wolf had stated that he wanted to back off from the litigation, AnnMarie hadn’t mentioned any formal proposal from his lawyer.

  So two of my enemies looked thick as thieves, thieves who wanted to steal my company. I rubbed the back of my hand against my side, involuntarily reliving Fletcher’s caress. His gall amazed, confused, and frightened me. Though he appeared to be normal, he was someone for whom normal boundaries of behavior didn’t exist. He was unpredictable, and that bothered me. A lot.

  When would this all end?

  Several days later I sat at my drafting table, sipped coffee and read industry papers’ accounts of the show that bothered me even more. A photo of Wolf kissing my hand overshadowed shots of my clothing, outfits we’d painstakingly stitched for months.

  The caption was even worse. Wolf Eyes New Prey...Will corporate raider Fletcher Wolf, scion of the toolmaking family, shift gears to head into high fashion?

  Another read: Haunt Couture: Cara Fletcher puts on a show to remember in the spooky environs of the Cloisters... Influenced by tarot cards, Robin Hood and Renaissance angels, the show attracted fashionistas as well as corporate raider Fletcher Wolf. Wolf’s attendance prompted speculation... Related story page one of business section...

  On top of that, Natalie had told me that a short video of Fletcher kissing my hand had become a youtube sensation. Fletcher Wolf had garnered more attention than my designs, damn him. That wretched photograph had run in no fewer than four papers. My resentment grew as I read that the takeover rumors had sparked a rise in Fletcher Tool and Gear stock. Shouldn’t I get a cut?

  Well, it didn’t matter. Ann had assured me that since I owned my company one-hundred-percent, no one could ever take it from me against my will. Orders were coming in at a brisk clip, staving off financial collapse. With luck, Ann would quickly deal with the lawsuit, and the irritating Fletcher Wolf would soon be gone from my life.

  And, hopefully, from my dreams.

  I shoved the Wolfman out of my mind and turned my attention to next year’s spring line, which would be shown in early November. I’d learned that time was more precious than gold lamé and Chinese silks. After staff summer vacations stole productive weeks, the autumn would seem mighty short. Best to get a move on. I picked up a piece of charcoal and set to work.

  Chapter 6

  The day began innocently enough, though Natalie, excited because school would soon close for the summer, was more of a challenge than usual. Persuading her to get dressed, eat breakfast, then get into a taxi in time to arrive at school before the first bell had been a chore. But I’d done it, and now I could relax during the cab ride to the workshop.

  Reaching into my satchel, I took out my cellphone to call my parents. Carson Fletcher, my dad, answered.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hello, sweetheart! How’s everything going?”

  My heart contracted. Dad always sounded cheerful, but I knew that his M.S. had reached a more acute stage. “Everything’s fine,” I said. “You doin’ okay with that wheelchair?”

  “It’s great. I feel like a butterfly just come out of the chrysalis, after being stuck with crutches for so long. By the time you send Natalie to us, the house should be completely retrofitted. You know, we hired someone to make all the doorways bigger and build a couple of ramps.”

  “Cool. But I won’t be sending her, I’ll be bringing her myself.”

  “Oh, good. When?”

  “School’s out at the end of the week. I’ll bring her up Saturday, and we’ll both be there for Father’s Day. She’ll stay for the next week.”

  “Why such a short time?”

  “She’s enrolled in computer camp and gymnastics for most of the summer. Keeping her in a routine is important at this point in her life.” Also, I didn’t want to burden my parents with Natalie for too long.

  “Can you stay over, sweetheart?” my father wheedled.

  “Just for the night. I have the show coming up in early November, ya know. Time seems to move so fast once September rolls around, so I want to get a jump on things now.”

  “Honey, you work too hard. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

  “What mistakes? You’re a great father.”

  “I regret the amount of overtime I worked when you were growing up.” Pain and doubt infused my father’s voice. “I was too busy trying to make it. And now, time’s so short… “

  “You were around plenty,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. Um, how’s Mom?”

  “She’s fine. Jenna!” I could hear Dad calling to Mom. “Pick up a phone, it’s Cara.”

  “Hi, sweetie!” My mother came on the line. “What’s going on?”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “How’s the lawsuit?” Dad asked.

  “Okay. The Wolf’s called off his pack, at least for the moment. Last week, Ann and I signed an agreement to delay the case for awhile.”

  I hadn’t seen Fletcher Wolf when we’d signed the paperwork, which was just as well. He didn’t belong in my life, regardless of the sweet memory of Fletcher’s tenderness when he’d kissed my cheek, and the sexy, sensual glint in his eyes when he’d given me those incredibly suggestive flowers the day he’d visited the workshop. His presence at my show had scared me, bugged me and, dammit, I just couldn’t forget the stroke of his lips on my hand. I’d spent entire weekends with men who’d made less of an impression. That really bothered me. I wanted to get him out of my head, but that seemed impossible.

  “I’m glad the case has settled down,” Jenna said. “Now maybe you can relax a little and focus on your work.”

  “Exactly. Sales reports are great. There were mass
ive advance orders for Fletcher’s Gear. Even better than our projections, so that stores could stock up before Father’s Day. If the Wolfman leaves me alone for awhile, I’ll make a dent into my debts and be able to pay AnnMarie’s fees to get rid of the case. She’s working on a game plan to handle Wolf right now.”

  Fortunately, I hadn’t had other wet dreams involving Fletcher Wolf. Well, not too many more, so I was able to put the Fletcher Wolf problem into the correct perspective.

  “Okay. How’s Nat?” my mother asked.

  “Excellent. We expect good grades this semester. We’ll be down on Sunday, and she’ll stay for a while.”

  “How about you, Cara?” Mom probed, of course. That was her way. “When are you going to take some time off?”

  “I can’t right now.”

  “Sweetheart, this isn’t good. You haven’t taken a decent vacation since you left school. And even then, you worked summers.”

  “I can relax later,” I said. “Right now, I want to repay my loans and start making a profit. Then, I’ll make as many licensing agreements as I can before I sell out. That way, I’ll max out my financial potential. If I want, I can continue to design for the couture clients, but I’ll have enough bling to retire from the mass-produced, ready-to-wear market. That’s the plan, at least.”

  “If you say so, honey,” my dad said. “You know that we’re always here to help you.”

  I smiled. I’d never accept financial assistance from my father, who was on disability retirement, or from my mother, who devoted herself full-time to taking care of my dad. My seven-figure loans were too big for me to ever ask my parents for a bail-out. Nope, I definitely operated without a safety net, but I’d never let my parents know how close to the edge I danced. “Thanks, Dad. It’s good to know you’re in my corner.”

  “What have you found out about those phone calls?” Jenna asked.

  I winced, pressing my lips together. After Natalie had blurted out the story of the attempted break-in and the trap on the phone, I’d had a long talk about what Grandma and Grandpa ought to hear. It was a sensitive issue, since I believed that Nat needed to talk about matters that troubled her. Still, she was old enough to handle adult information without telling her grandparents about everything. At least, I hoped so. “Frankly, the phone company, the police and I are all stumped. The calls seem to come from various public phones all around the eastern seaboard, so it’s not Kenney. It’s probably just a glitch in the phone lines, and they’re trying to track it down.”