Page 50 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Probably,” I replied, uncaring about the cost of champagne for the network. If they could afford to rent out this posh club they could afford the bar tab. “I’m going to find a bathroom. Pour me some champagne. We’ll toast to second place.”

Blech. That left a more sour taste in my mouth then the bubbly ever would but that was my reality. Rising from the round booth I gave Enzo a clap on the shoulder then, because Mom had raised me right, I offered Zara my hand. She shook it, her lower lip trembling.

I moved down a set of flashing circular steps, bouncing off a slightly tipsy Camilo who was undoubtedly more than happy to be free of us for the night. Maybe forever. I had no clue now that the show was in the can if the network would give two shits about the losers. Megan Thee Stallions “Dance” filled the club with such volume it made my fillings shake.

“Hey, hey!” I glanced around a twink in a tank top eying me up to see Micky barreling at me like a train. He threw his arms around me, cinching me in tightly. I hugged him back. Hard. “Fucking hell, what kind of shit is this, eh? Come on, let’s find us a place to chat.”

He drug me to a far corner of the club, where the DJ was far away, and the dance floor even farther. His hawk was lank, his brow sweaty, and his eyes glowing with joy. It bit a little like a nip from a puppy, but under my sadness was real happiness for my new friend.

“Let’s get us a couple of pints. I got something to discuss with you,” he yelled then flagged down a server who, in no time, returned from the packed bar with two cold dark bitters in slim glasses. “Cheers mate. To us. The two least likely to win who grabbed themselves the top two spots!” We tapped our glasses then drank deeply. “Oh hell, that’s good. Better than the fizzy shite they keep filling our glasses with. So, Kinder, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I wiped some foam from my lip then flicked it at him when he gave me a ‘Sure right’ kind of look. “Seriously, I’m okay. Disappointed sure but that will pass.”

“Right it will. Look, I’m going to say this right up now before I get too lit. Now that I got the cash I’m opening a boutique in London. In the posh section. You come work for me. We get on well, we both like blokes, and we can turn the fucking town on its ear with our designs. What do you say?”

“I uhm…” I didn’t know what to say. “That’s…super generous. What about the scholarship.”

“Yeah, I don’t need it. Already went to RAC so I don’t have plans on more schooling. I just really needed the money and prestige winning this will bring me.”

“Oh, well, okay. Uhm… let me think on it.”

“Sure, take a think. I know you got unsettled things with Claude and all but I wanted to let you know that you and me could be something big if we joined brands.”

“I don’t have a brand.”

“You will. By the time you leave here tonight you’ll have offers from some of the big names circling around you like sharks.” He used his beer glass to point out at least four designers I knew making eye contact with me or gesturing for me to come join them. Huh, maybe there was a light at the end of this dark tunnel. “I mean to be honest your sixties look for the red carpet was much better than mine. The judges just tend to be snots about retro but I loved it. Wished I’d have made it instead of that red thing that everyone else in the world has made a hundred times. You got vision.”

“Thanks, I…thanks. I’ll think on the offer. Honestly.”

“Good, good, that’s all I can ask for.”

We finished our beers, compared notes about the rest of the designers, and then parted ways so he could talk up some skinny dude in a tight green suit. I finally used the men’s room, exiting the stall to find Carlton Hale resting his trim bum on one of the sinks.

“Hey,” I warily said as Claude’s ex-husband gave me a smile and a nod. “Thanks for backing the show and the opportunity.”

“It was our pleasure. If you have a minute I’d like to talk to you about.”

Super. This could only go well.

Not.

Chapter Nineteen

Carlton led me out of the club.

Joining us was a bodyguard the size of the Arc de Triomphe.

“There’s a little café just around the corner that stays open late for the clubbers who need some coffee and sugar to counter the booze,” Carlton explained as we rounded a soft bend in the road to stumble upon a tiny area with four tables under a narrow canopy with fairy lights. One couple sat at a table, whispering and smoking, the smell of rich tobacco smoke reminding me of Claude instantly. “How does this look?”

He motioned to a table by the open door to the coffee shop. Soft strains of a throaty soprano flowed out of the shop. What she was singing about I couldn’t tell but it felt like a love song. Lots of angst. Which, yeah, described falling for someone pretty damn well.

“Hugo, please have a seat inside and order what you wish,” Carlton told his bodyguard.

“Oui,” the dark-skinned hulk said before having to duck to enter the café proper.

A frail looking older man in an apron appeared at our table. “Would you like me to order for us?” Carlton asked. I bobbed my head as a light rain began to fall, fat droplets hitting the tarp in a slow rhythm. Carlton fell into a short but friendly sounding conversation with the server in French that left me to study the rain just starting to drip from the awning. I hurried to send my mother a text to let her know I’d stepped out for some air but would be back soon. She sent me a big thumbs-up emoji.

“He’ll bring us two espressos noisette and two pains au chocolat,” Carlton said after the server went inside.