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I stand in front of Roscoe, holding my hands above my head, shouting above the noise. “God, I love this song. Whenever it comes on, it makes Charlie and me boogie on down in the kitchen at home!” He leans forward to say, “It’s not your home any longer!” I’m in no mood to disagree with him. I’m tired of shooting Roscoe down when he tries to pretend that I’m not going back to live at Washington Heights when this is all over.
“Wow, I’m out of shape!” I laugh. “The back of my calves are killing me. Maybe I’ll come with you the next time it rains and you decide to use the indoor gymnasium instead.” He leans in again. “I would like that!”
Almost collapsing off my heels, I take Roscoe’s hand and pull him off the dancefloor. A few guys say, “Ah, stay a bit longer, blondie,” when they see me stop dancing, but shut up and move away when they catch Roscoe’s glare. He’s quite imposing with his height and lean, muscular body. We go back to our booth and I wait for Roscoe to open the champagne. I take a sip, but put the flute down quickly. “Can you get me some cold water, please, Roscoe? Sometimes champagne makes my mouth pucker.” That makes him laugh. “I know what you mean. It’s not an acquired taste so much as an overpriced Alka Seltzer!” We’re laughing and clinking our glasses of water together when a voice I recognize shrieks from a few feet away.
“Tess? Tess Joliffe?! Oh…my…God! What are you doing here?”
The marrow freezes in my bones and my stomach gets instant cramps. “Hey, Sarah,” I say in my least enthusiastic voice ever, “I'm having a drink and dancing here.” I raise my water glass as if to demonstrate.
Roscoe puts his arm around my shoulders and I wish he hadn’t, because Sarah notices the gesture in the same way a bull notices a red flag. She edges around the table in front of us and comes to sit down in our booth next to me. “You just disappeared without a trace after the graduation shows, Tess. What happened to you? Where have you been?” I can see the words coming out of her mouth, but I notice she probably would not care if I didn’t answer her. All of Sarah’s focus is on Roscoe. “Who’s your boyfriend?”
Roscoe and I haven’t prepared for this. I knew Sarah’s parents were rich: not comfortably well off like my parents, but rich enough to use their power and influence to launch their daughter’s fashion career with a vengeance. I found out from my online chats with old students that all the buyers who bought Sarah’s line are connected to the Blakely family in some way. Mr. Blakely owns one of the largest logistics and distribution companies in the States; he pulled some strings to get Sarah’s career going, and then some. I should have known she would be partying it up in Manhattan’s top nightclub on a Wednesday night. Why isn’t Roscoe helping me field Sarah’s nosey questions, dammit!
“Er, this isn’t my boyfriend, Sarah. It’s our…first date.”
Roscoe laughs and leans forward to shake Sarah’s hand. “Hey, I’m Roscoe Bridges. Tess is too shy to say it maybe, but we are dating.”
Dammit, dammit, dammit! I can tell that Roscoe hasn’t linked this Sarah with the Sarah Blakely—ex-best friend and bitch extraordinaire who stole my collection at graduation. I give his hand a hard nip. “Roscoe, this isSarah Blakely,a friend of mine fromFashion School. We haven’t laid eyes on each other since wepresented our collections. I think I remember telling you that?”
I feel him stiffen, and suddenly, he’s alert. He’s in the presence of the woman who ruined my life and my career with one fake smile and zero scruples. No phones or cameras are allowed in the club, but I have a horrible feeling that Sarah is recording this meeting somewhere in her mind. I know this because I know she’s the kind of person who would not have bothered coming over if she couldn’t get something out of it. What could Sarah possibly want? Her parents are so rich, she lacks nothing.
“Come to the ladies’ room with me, Tess?” Sarah pleads. “The music is so loud here, I can hardly hear myself think.” I don’t want to leave the protective circle of Roscoe’s arm, but if I don’t act like I’m eager to play along with Sarah’s need for girl talk, it might set her off. She has a way of always getting what she wants no matter how. Even if a scandal is the way to go. He gives my hand a squeeze as I sidle out from the booth, following Sarah. “Don’t stay away too long, babe,” he says, and I can see he’s worried.
The ladies’ restrooms are blessedly quiet. Sarah leads me to one of the stalls and leaves the door open so she can chat whilst she lines up a toot of coke on the toilet lid. She sniffs and then shakes the bottle and straw in my direction. “Er, no thanks, Sarah. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
She comes and sits on the padded stool next to me. “Work? Really? What work are you doing nowadays? I know, like, you thought I stole your idea for my collection, Tess.” She reaches for my hand, continuing to hold it while she speaks. “But you have to know it wasn’t, like, deliberate. It was completely subliminal! I hold your talent in such great esteem, I must have wished for my own sketches to resonate in a similar way. Honest, I promise I didn’t, like, do it deliberately. Please, Tess, you have to believe me. I think fate brought us to the same club tonight so I can apologize for the mistake. I fucking revere you, girl. You’re going to be, like, a legend! I’m not even sure I want to do the fashion thing anymore and have told daddy to sell my label to a house. I honestly can’t be bothered to sit down and conceptualize something fresh twice a year. Only you have that crazy ability, Tessa. And that collection I did? Well, don’t they say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?” She laughs and then gives a long sniff.
Sarah seems so chatty and friendly, it makes me feel like a heel for hating her without asking her why she did what she did. It’s happened before in the fashion world. Someone is shown a sketched-out idea and then don’t realize it when they copy it a few weeks later. Did I kick a friend to the curb because of a simple mistake she made? Sarah never forced me to show her my designs, I showed her because I was so proud of my work and I wanted to brag a bit about my unique point of view. Did I deserve what happened to me? It’s so confusing.
And look where my little fashion glitch got me? I now have a work room on one of the top floors in one of the most prestigious Manhattan neighborhoods! And Roscoe Bridges wants to…back me.
“Okay, Sarah. It would have gone better if you had said all this to me at the time, you know, instead of driving off in your daddy’s limo five seconds after the show, but I’m ready to let bygones be bygones.”
“Oh my God! That’s so cool! You’re like my best friend ever, Tess, you know that. And your boyfriend seems cool.” She fishes around in her purse and brings out a notepad and pen, “Give me your number and address. We must get together.”
I’m tempted to give Sarah my Washington Heights address, but know that Charlie would never forgive me if I did that. “I’m at RB1 in NoHo, Sarah.”
“Oh my God!Oh my God! That’s where Justin di Gucci has his workshop! Don’t tell me you have your workshop in the same building?! My mother has been trying to get Justin to create her a piece for years.”
I’m tired of Sarah’s raptures by now and if she says ‘Oh my God’ one more time, I’ll be tempted to hit her over the head with my purse. Was she like this before all of this happened and I just didn’t notice or is this rubbing me the wrong way because I’m still hurt by what she did to me? “Listen, I should be getting back to Roscoe’s…speak soon, Sarah, okay?”
The last thing I see is Sarah going back into the stall for another line of coke. I thank heaven for the strong work ethic my parents instilled into me from an early age, because it saved me from wasting my time with drugs.
When I get back to the booth, Roscoe has three women seated at the booth with him.
“Babe,” he shouts over the music. “This is…you know what, I’ve forgotten everyone’s names already.”
A tall, willowy blonde stands up to shake my hand. “Hi, I’m Kate. I used to date Roscoe. This is Belinda.” A tall, slender woman with long tawny hair stands up, says in a delightful South American accent, “Pleased to meet you, I’m Belinda. Last year’s Miss Southern Hemisphere. I dated Roscoe a few months after I won, because his friend supplied the car that was one of my prizes.” Belinda folds herself back behind the booth table. The woman who stays seated just waves at me. “Hey. I’m…”
I interrupt her, “You’re a household name, Rapunzel, since you started dating America’s favorite basketball player. Pleased to meet you.”
I’m about to slide around the table and sit down, but Roscoe holds up his hand and stands. “I have an early—”
The three women seated around our table all burst out laughing and finish Roscoe’s sentence for him in mocking voices. “We know, Roscoe.You have an early business meeting tomorrow and you can’t stay up late.” Kate turns to me with a commiserating expression on her face. “Good night, Tess, and good luck. You’re going to need it.”
CHAPTER17
ROSCOE
