Page 46 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Sure, whatever.” Stunned and sick at heart I didn’t give two shits about anything other than how my desires had probably ruined Claude’s life. If I had just kept my hands to myself he would still be here. “Can I sit here for a few minutes. I don’t want the others to see me upset because they’ll think I’m ashamed and I’m not. What Claude and I have between us is nothing shameful.”

“No, sweet, love is never a thing to be ashamed of. Rest here for a bit. We will work on a small announcement to explain why Claude is not here for the final show then release a short note to the press with our explanation.” She rose from her knees to kiss my cheeks. “Stand strong, duckling. Claude’s respite will do him good. The sights at his little country maisonnette at 1489 Rue du Mistral Caché, Trones-sur-Gard are exquisite.”

“Thank you,” I murmured wondering why she had been giving me something like GPS coordinates at a time like this.

“It will all be wonderful, duckling, you’ll see,” she told me.

Nodding dully I sat there with my sight locked on my sneakers until the door clicked. So many emotions bubbled up in my breast I couldn’t name them all. Melancholy, loneliness, anger, loss, fear. The longer I sat the more refined the whirling feelings became until only a scant few remained.

Disbelief, hurt, and anger. Blinking rapidly to clear my hazy eyes the ire rose up to overcome the other sentiments. Raw hot anger at the one person who had the most to gain by hopefully having me tossed out and Claude sent packing to the countryside. Enzo Piras. Overcome with blinding rage I stormed from the fitting room, stomping past crew members in a red fury. I heard someone shouting, “Stay with him!” behind me but I gave zero fucks right now if what took place was filmed or not. Let the world see. I blew through the doors to the work room like a typhoon. Sewists and contestants looked at me as I made a beeline to Enzo who was watching me swoop down on him like a chicken watching a hawk. His eyes went wide. He tried to get around his work table but I was too mad, too fast, and too lost in emotions to let him get away. I fisted his shirt then jacked him against the wall. Claude’s employees gasped in shock. Pretty sure this was the first time they’d seen some dude throttle another dude among the fine silks and taffetas. Bolts of fabric hit the floor.

“You miserable fuck,” I snarled into Enzo’s face while I drew back a fist.

“Whoa! Whoa mate, easy!” Someone grabbed my raised wrist. Mickey, lean as he was, was strong enough to stall the punch to the face Enzo had coming. Other men interceded, sewists and one of the producers, heaving at me to yank me back several feet from the little shit that had turned something beautiful into something tawdry. “Easy, easy, this ain’t the way to settle it. He ain’t worth it.” Mickey got in my face, placing his hands on my shoulders to secure me to a far wall among the notions. “Hey, look here, right?” My gaze flew from Enzo waving his hands at me as the room overflowed with vibrant Italian. Bad words all I was sure. “Right here. There we are.” Micky smiled at me. “Not sure what’s gotten wedged up your arse but fists won’t solve it.”

“He ran like a rat to Xavier and Soline to tell them about Claude and me!” I snarled, shaking loose for a moment before Mickey and a dude from the sound crew got me refastened to the wall.

“What?! I did not such thing you stupid idiot!” Enzo yelled back.

Aside from Enzo shouting about his innocence the room was dead quiet. Mickey shook off his shock first, probably because he already knew about Claude and me, and was about to say something profoundly Mickey when Zara wiped at her eyes as she stepped forward clutching a muslin sheet as if it were a breast plate.

“It wasn’t Enzo. It was me,” she said, her chin coming up slightly. My mouth fell open.

“See! See! I was not the one but this overbearing American comes in with his accusations and fists. This is why the rest of the world hates—”

“Shut the fuck up Enzo or I’ll come over there and show you just what happens to arseholes to talk shite to the mate of a lad raised listening to the Bow Bells,” Mickey snarked, one arm on my chest.

“Zara,” I whispered, the ire and outrage that had possessed me now fading into a stunned sadness. “What…why?”

“Because you…I saw you and him kissing on the steps last night.” She had to clear her throat. “I don’t care if you’re two men, I don’t, but he’s one of the shows biggest stars with lots of power. He could have persuaded Soline to give you a high grade on the finale. I’ve worked too hard to have my chance to better myself be given away to someone who’s sucking Claude Barrons dick. It’s not fair. You and him…it’s not fair so I went to Soline this morning. It’s not fair,” she said in closing then left the room in a whirl of muslin and tears.

“Fuck me,” I groaned, sliding to the floor to sit amid rolls of textiles, my head bowed, as I let the sadness wash over me. The pit was deep, dark, and wholly consuming. “I’m going to drop out.”

“Like bloody hell!” Mickey gave my head a pat before turning pitbull on everyone in the room. Barking like a mad dog off his chain he got the workroom emptied of non-show personnel in record time. When I looked up after the silence enveloped us it as just Enzo and Mickey left. And the fucking cameras. “Okay, so you quitting is not happening,” Mickey said as he dropped down beside me, long legs stretching out in front of him, the knees of his jeans shredded.

“I don’t want to have an asterisk beside my name on the fucking Wikipedia page.” Great. I was whining now.

“No one is going to put a bloody asterisk beside your name on any page. If you win, which you won’t because I’m going to win, but say on the off chance that you do, people won’t give a shit. Claude was not a judge. Was what you two were doing walking the gray zone? Probably but I never worried about you using your dick to come away the winner.”

“I’ve had the misfortune of seeing his dick yesterday as he got changed. It would never win him any contest,” Enzo interjected. I so wanted to throat punch the guy but I was too depressed. Later. I’d knock him on his ass later.

“I hate you,” I grumbled at Enzo who shrugged.

“I do not care. I don’t like you either. You’re a pretty boy American who is too loud, to pushy, and always has to have too much damn ice in his drink.” Ice? The guy was pissed about ice cubes? “What I do care about is you walking off because your boyfriend left the show like a little cry baby boy and taking the only person capable of giving me some real competition out of the game.”

“Fuck right off!” Mickey barked at Enzo.

And so he did. Enzo strolled over to his table as if I’d not just been about to clock him. He yelled at the cameras to give us all some fucking space. They didn’t.

“I may hate that arsehole but he does have a point,” Mickey said. I let my head drop to my folded arms, eyes closed, elbows on my knees. Eyes closed to block out the waves of defeat rolling over me. Maybe if I didn’t see things I wouldn’t feel things. Doubtful but worth a try. “Not about him winning because I’d not put that fucking tulle frock on my uncle’s nanny goat but his other point is firm. If you leave you take away one of his two biggest competitors. Zara, the sneaky cow, isn’t in our league. She’s never been but the judges are gaga over her for her whimsical turnouts. Fine. If you’re dressing anime cosplayers. She’s floundering in this final challenge and she knows it. That’s probably part of the reason she ran to turn you and Claude into the powers that be.”

I grunted. “I feel like puking.”

“Sure, I get that but brother this ain’t the time to be sick all over yourself. You need to finish this assignment. For your mum and sisters and for yourself. Quitting will always leave a big question mark in your mind. Would I have won? Could I have won? Was I a wanker for quitting over a bit of flirting?”

“It’s more than flirting,” I argued because damn it Claude and I had real feelings.

“Maybe, maybe not, but if its solid then you’ll still be hot for each other after this show is fucking over, right?” I muttered something unintelligible even to my ears. “Well, I’m right. You know it. Also, if you walk then Claude, who you told me you were mad over, will have sacrificed a lot for nothing. So you think on it hard before you make a final call. Sorry this happened, mate. It’s the shits but if the director and producers are willing to let you stay then you’d best stay just to show them all what kind of boning you’re giving your corsets.”