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Iwasn’t sure how long I sat there, hiding among the trousers like a little kid—the fucking trousers that I had designed, the wool for which had not come from halfway around the world but rather, one of the dusty Chinese fabric showrooms in Midtown.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
Devastated. That’s what I was. Muse was my friend. Forest was my hero.
My belief system, such as it was, shattered. Demolished, really, by two of the people I cared about most. Where the fuck do you go from there?
When I emerged from my hiding place—I couldn’t be a petulant, sore loser forever—I straightened my cramping legs and found the reporter gone. Forest and Muse were chatting like old friends.
Maybe they were sleeping together? Nah, Muse wasn’t Forest’s type. He preferred big, hairy guys, and Muse looked like he’d blow away in a stiff wind.
Plus, he wore bowties.
“Kealy. I wondered where you’d run off to,” Forest said. “Hey, can you pack up those dresses over there?” he asked, pointing to a pile I’d seen at least two of the twigs stomp on with their dirty black boots.
“Um…yes, of course…Forest. Hey, Forest, do you think I could talk to you for a sec?” I asked, picking up armfuls of soiled dresses. Thank goodness we had another set of samples, because these were pretty much trashed.
Muse stood there with his usual impish grin, making no move to either help pick things up or leave Forest and me to talk.
Forest approached me. “What’s up, Keal? What’s on your mind?”
I glanced over his shoulder at Muse, who was still watching with great interest. “Muse,” I said, “can you give us a minute?”
His smiled dissolved into a scowl as he slunk away.
“Forest,” I said. No point beating around the bush. “Um, Forest, you know when the reporter asked you about the collection’s trousers? And the inspiration for them?” I asked.
“Yes, I do.” He was still glowing from the show excitement.
C’mon Kealy. Put on your big girl panties.
“Forest, that was my design, not Muse’s,” I said simply.
He leaned closer as if I hadn’t spoken loudly enough.
Maybe I hadn’t. So I leaned closer to his ear.
“Forest, those trousers were my design. Not Muse’s.”
Tilting his head, he furrowed his brow.
“Kealy, I’m not sure what you are saying,” he said.
How the hell could I make it clearer?
“Forest, I think Muse is taking credit for my work,” I said.
His hands immediately flew up like a stop sign. He took a step back as if I were contagious.
Then he took a deep breath and put an arm around my shoulders the same way he had with Muse to walk me to a corner of the room.
“Kealy, I know you are a hard worker, and you are a wonderful designer. Someday you will do great things,” he said.
Wait. What? Someday I’ll do great things?
“Forest, I can show you my sketches in Illustrator. They’ll have date marks—”
His voice grew stern. “Kealy, I’m going to have to ask you to drop this. I don’t need any drama in my company, nor accusations of stealing. I told you, your day will come. You are a very talented woman.”
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing holding the pile of soiled samples.
But I couldn’t see the big, nasty footprints on them.
My eyes were too full of tears.
