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Sarah looks at me with a calculating gleam in her eyes. “Don’t think about tearing it up, Tess. There are security cameras around here. And just think what the news cycle will say about Roscoe tomorrow morning. I can spin this story to make the two of you look very, very foolish, you know?”
“Give me the contract, Sarah!” I fumble in my purse, looking for a pen, but Sarah must have thought ahead on this one. She hands me the paper with a pen clicked to the top of it. I lean over to rest on the table and begin reading through the contract. It basically states that
I, Tessa Rose Jolliffe, agree to work for Sarah Blakely Inc. as Head Designer for ten years starting from the launch of the new Spring/Summer 2023 collection, through to the Fall/Winter collection 2033. I agree I don’t own any of the designs I create during this time. I agree to forfeit any intellectual property rights during the ten-year period. I agree to produce award winning, bestselling collections every season. If at any stage the collections flop, I agree to forfeit my bonuses, which will only be released to me in one lump sum after my ten-year contract is up. Until such a time, I agree to receive an annual salary commensurate with other head designer salaries for exclusive fashion brands in New York.
Feeling like I’m selling my soul, I sign the contract.
“Don’t forget to initial here,” Sarah’s French manicure points at the bottom corner, “and here.”
I sign and then push the paper away from me as if it’s poison. I can’t speak. The lump in my throat is too large. When I try to say something, the bile rises into my mouth. I choke and gag. It’s hard to breathe. Sarah pats my shoulder as if she’s just given me the chance of a lifetime and I’m too sick in the head to realize it.
“Chillax, Tess. You’re talented and young. Do this for me and it will create great opportunities for you. You should have agreed to be my teammate last year and not throw such a hissy fit and flounce off before I could hire you. You forced me to do this, you know? You have only yourself to blame.” It’s as if she can’t stop gloating over me, even now that she’s won. “When I saw the two of you at the club, I was so pleased we could hook up again and mend fences between us, Tess. I’ve got a good head for business, but I struggle with the creativity side of things. Now that I have you, I know I’ll make it big.” Sarah flicks her hair back as she warms to her theme. “It was so funny seeing you bopping around your boyfriend on the dancefloor. He’s a lot older than you, isn’t he? That’s what rich menalwaysdo. They choose young girls to marry and have children with because they can control them more easily. You should thank me for giving you this opportunity to make it before he forces you to start providing him with heirs, because that’s all he sees you as, you know, a brood mare for his kids. And then he’ll go back to dating his models, you wait and see.”
She checks the paper to see if I’ve left my contact details on the dotted line. “Cool, my dad’s lawyer will call you once the lease is signed on the new workroom and studio. And don’t get any ideas about getting that Jake lawyer of your dad’s on this. I swear I’ll destroy you and your billionaire boyfriend in the press if you do.”
It’s a long time before I realize I’m still sitting on the rooftop. It’s nighttime and the sound of rush hour traffic has dissipated. Sarah’s gone, but she wasn’t a figment of my imagination because a copy of the contract is on the table next to me, trapped under my untouched beer bottle to stop it from blowing away in the wind. I check my phone. Oh God, it’s nearly eight o’clock. I’m running late which is beyond rude in Japanese culture. I nearly lose my footing going back downstairs, my legs have gone numb from sitting for so long. Once I hit the sidewalk, I walk-trot as fast as I can to the hotel, which luckily is just around the corner. The restaurant’s street door will be the easiest way to access the table. It’s hidden from passersby’s eyes by a thicket of topiary bushes and the obligatory Manhattan canopy over the sidewalk. The sliding windows have all been opened to let in the summer evening breeze.
“Where’s blondie? Did you give her the wrong time too?” I hear Harrison’s voice. I recognize it easily because he sounds like Roscoe Light. I freeze and hold my breath behind the topiary.
“I think she’s a gold digger. She’s only using you so she can finagle her way into the fashion world.”
I hear Roscoe make a scoffing noise. “Tess doesn’t need anyone to help her make it big time.”
“Yes, yes, you can go on telling yourself that, Roscoe,” Mitchell joins in the conversation. I recognize his voice too. “But she’s twenty-four. That’s twelve years younger than you. That puts you firmly in the Sugar Daddy category, I’m afraid. She’s practically an embryo compared to you. What’s the appeal? What makes this one a keeper? Besides that hot little body of hers, I mean. And she’s pretty, but you can’t deny she’ll want to ride on your coattails all the way to whatever fashion designers consider to be success. Dressing airheads for the Oscars, or whatever.”
“Shut up!” I hear Roscoe snap back. I know that tone because he uses it when he’s impatient or things aren’t going his way. He uses it on the phone all the time when someone says something he doesn’t want to hear. “Where the fuck is she anyway? I told her to be here at seven-thirty.” I peek around the topiary bushes and see Mitchell and Harrison smirking at Roscoe, who has his back to the window but his cuff is still shot from when he checked the time on his watch. “None of that shit matters when she’s in bed with me, Mitch. Gold Digger, Sugar Baby, I don’t care. If she wants to ride my coattails all the way to the Oscars and more, I’m sure I won’t mind.” He makes the comment in such an offhand manner, it’s as if talking about me is a subject he’d rather not bother with.
I’ve heard enough. I step away from the window as if it’s a rabid dog. When I feel the sidewalk under my shoes, I turn and run down the block with my hand raised. When the cab stops, I know I have to go somewhere I feel safe.
“Washington Heights please.” I don’t care how much the fare costs. I need time to think.
CHAPTER22
ROSCOE AND TESS
“Mr. Ishida, Tess will be so sorry to miss saying goodbye to you. Perhaps she also got the time, or even the date, wrong like her fiancé did.”
Much laughter from everyone at the table, and I pray my fake laughter hides the worry I feel inside. There’s something about Tess’s non-arrival and her subsequent lack of communication that doesn’t sit right with me. I keep up the polite chat until my brothers and I leave the hotel via the street exit. Harrison is drunk and staggers against the topiary bushes in large terracotta planters outside the doors. I hope the fresh air outside sobers him up, but this being Manhattan in the summer, all we get is a blast of sultry pollution. I see George parked outside the hotel lobby’s main entrance and head toward him.
“George, you haven’t heard from Tess, have you? Any emergency?” He replies in the negative, so I waste no time. I’m already busy texting as I get in the door George is holding open for me. It’s nearly midnight, and it’s hard to keep my panic under control when the doorman tells me Tess left at five that evening and hasn’t been back since. I feel sweat breaking out on my face, and it has nothing to do with the heat rising up from the sidewalk when I run outside, looking right and left, hoping to see her approaching the building. Coming home. The action reminds me of the morning I mentioned her name to Simon over the phone without her permission when we were lying in bed together. She cut me out of her life so quickly and efficiently that it made my head spin, but no…it can’t be. Because this time, IknowI’ve done nothing wrong.
I wait on the sidewalk, sitting on the marble steps at the building entrance, ignoring the interested stares from other RB1 residents, the lobby guard, and passersby. One old man walks past me with a tiny and equally old dachshund on a leash. He says to me over his shoulder once he walks past, “Don’t worry, sonny. She’ll come back.” And then he continues his walk. The smell of exhaust blocks my throat and I cough. At least I think it’s a cough. I sit on the step, craning my neck from left to right and back again. Waiting.She has to come home. I need her to come home. To me.
“Sir?” The lobby guard puts his hand on my shoulder. “What?” I wish I could hide the strain I’m under a bit better. “Sir, come inside. I’ll call you if I see Miss Jolliffe arrive. Don’t you think that’s best?” He gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze. I look down the street and see the sky is already turning pink. How long have I been out here? My phone hasn’t vibrated once. The guard puts his hands under my arms and heaves me up. “Come on, sir. I promise you’ll feel better if you go to your floor and get some sleep. There must have been a family emergency, don’t you agree?” He guides me to the elevator door, but when I don’t enter my pass code, he puts his hand into my jacket inside pocket and uses the magnetic card I keep in there. He stays with me all the way to the top, walks me down the corridor, and then sits me on the edge of the bed. I fall into a curled-up position on top of the mattress after he takes off my shoes for me.
“Wait for morning, sir, and then call Miss Jolliffe’s parents. Okay? I promise everything will be alright.”
I hear the elevator door close. I’m alone with my thoughts.
* * *
I think I slept, but I don’t wake up feeling any better. I rinse my mouth out and drink some water, but the thought of food or work or swimming repulses me. I check my face in the mirror and I look exactly the same as I always did, but I don’t feel the same. I’m empty. Hollow. I run down the spiral stairs in my bare feet. She must be back. She has to be. It was all a misunderstanding. I don’t want to even think about my Tess being in an accident. The sliding doors are shut, but unlocked. I push them open and go inside. “Tess?” I can tell from the crushing silence that she’s not here, but I go through the apartment anyway. I’ve never shown much interest in her creations, not unless she’s wearing them. The dress mannequins look like abandoned sentinel butterflies standing in the bedroom.
She’s blocked my number. I use all my phones to try and get ahold of her, but she must only be answering calls from numbers she recognizes.Tess! What the fuck! Where are you?
I get ahold of Karl. “Find out Mr. and Mrs. Jolliffe’s landline number for me, please, Karl. And do it as discreetly as you can. Maybe ask Gerry Mannheimer if he knows where Tess is while you’re on it. Check all the hospitals and precincts for accidents and kidnappings. Anything that could have stopped my fiancée from coming home last night.”
“Fiancée?” Karl’s mouth is muffled as he presses his phone close to his mouth while he jots down notes with his right hand, “You mean Tess?”
