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“It’s me, baby,deal with it.”
“Deal with it?” I groaned, repeating his words as if it were meant for me and the many detour signs that cursed my morning. I swiped at the sweat on my face, more agitated than before, as I reached the corner of Gerard’s boutique. My watch confirmed everything I knew was already true, I was almost twenty minutes late and impossibly frustrated. I tried to collect myself, dropping my heels to my feet, slipping them on with what felt like a rock between my toes. I puffed a strand of hair from my face, scurrying along to the now propped entrance.
“After you.” A tall and looming man with a Dodgers cap held the door open, his eyes concealed behind a pair of thick black shades.
“Yup!” I sighed, half paying attention to his smirk, noticing the hue of minty green gum he casually chewed. I passed him, his scent lingered like cherry and spice, centering me as a gust of cool air blew through the entrance. I straightened my posture, recognizing the familiar orange glow of Gerard’s darkened skin.
“So she lives.” He announced, exaggerating his expression of shock, up from an array of fabric swatches. The way his eyes magnified behind the thick lenses of his designer frames gave him the appearance of an animated doll.
“I ran here.” My smile twitched as I approached the large counter where he worked. The letters of his last name hung above his desk, reading more like a command than a welcome. He glanced over my body, placing a half-chewed pencil behind his ear.
“That explains the sweat,” he added with the scrunch of his nose, “and despite the nature of our business, being fashionably late is never a good look. Buthappyto see you nonetheless.” His greeting extended far past a courteous hello. He was happy to see me, back in his presence, out of options, and in his palms. I combed a strand of wet hair behind my ear, attempting to look presentable.
“Happy to be back,” I lied. “It’s apparent I have lots to learn, and what better way than being with the best.” I flattered him, and my soul buckled under the weight of my words. Gerard huffed with a laugh, pulling out a large pair of shears, clipping along a strip of tweed. He didn’t even look at me anymore, he merely returned to his work as I continued. “I have plenty of new sketches and ideas, things I think you’ll really enjoy.” I pulled out a large book, covered in tags for quick access, “You know I’m serious, and I really want to impress…” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully, “you, that is…” I added, my eyebrows raised. Gerard glanced up, dragging the book into his tiny hands.
“Pretty bold assumption.” He said flatly, licking his finger before flipping the pages. All I could do was stare, his face studying each new look and sketch. There was no denying it, the expansion of his lids, the unconscious nod of his head. He liked them, that was for sure. He cleared his throat regardless, as if to reboot his intentions for having me over. “No.” He announced, the word itself almost caught in a cough.
“No?” I questioned, “Well I have more. I’ve been drawing up designs in my spare time and these are the fabrics I’d use.” I pulled out a thick binder, flipping it open. “I could see this for Fall fashion week, or even The Met Gala!” I announced, showing a swopping satin dress, its bottom sprawled like a trumpet with sleeves composed of hand stitched feathers. Sleek, wild, a bit crazy, much like my morning.
“No.” He winced, ruthlessly committed to dragging me down. “Your look is dated, I’m not sure what era this is even from.” He closed it shut, not sliding it towards my direction, but rather all the way towards the other end of the table.
“Dated?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”
“And you wouldn’t, that's why you’re here and not with your clients. Like you said, Miss Harrison, you have lots to learn.”
“Oh, ok…” I drew out my voice, buying the time I needed as to not whimper. “Well if you don’t like my designs, then at least let me style for you again.” I conceded. I didn’t want to style, but if it took me starting from the bottom up again, I would.
“Oh,” he laughed, “I’m not hiring you, Gemma. Not for anything.” He answered, the quick clip of his words matched each sharp compression of the shears in his hand. “You’re crazy if you think that.”
My body boiled, not from the tone of Gerard’s voice, but rather, the inescapable sensation of being watched. It pricked at my neck, teasing like a hot dagger, the sense of lingering eyes. Quickly I peeked up, recognizing the figure close by as the man in the Dodgers cap. He stood near a rack of clothes, his shoulders held in a tight leather jacket. His stare sat guarded, shielded with dark shades, but directed at me. I grimaced, feeling the cringe of embarrassment, knowing he witnessed the entire failed interview. I was sweaty, on the brink of tears, and completely disheveled from the run.
“But I thought you wanted to hire me?” I questioned, returning my attention to Gerard. “I guess… I’m just confused.”
“You certainly are.” He scoffed. “I wouldn’t hire you to fetch my coffee, Gemma. The fact you showed my clients yourowndesigns while working for me was completely disrespectful. How could I forgive that? I couldn’t. So instead, I taught you a lesson.”
“Gerard, that was a complete accident.” I reminded him, recalling the moment one of his A-list clients caught me sketching and begged for the look to be made. “It happened once, and I even gave you all the credit.”
“I’m not listening,” he plugged his ears. “I had to remind you that you were never truly anything special.” His smile curled into an ugly smirk, “Besides, you were late today, just like before. Back when you were here, it was always something new, running off to help your poor mommy in some crummy Brooklyn apartment,” he seemed disgusted. “I don’t need that garbage around my shop, or your second hand looks.”
My mouth dropped; his words stung in the most viscous of ways. To even bring up Claire, to drag her into this. Why would he, or more importantly, how could he? That was over four years ago, and it was hell. Claire was on the wrong medication, and I had to be there to put her back together. Gerard had no idea the extent of my leave, but he knew enough to allow me to go. And now, he asked me to an interview, and for what? To watch me struggle, after stealing my clients and ruining my business? A big, fatfuck youteetered on my tongue.
“Any questions?” He blinked rapidly. The urge to leap over the counter and wring his neck was overwhelming, to say the least. I hated him, but most of all, I hated how he made me feel, like I was a little girl again with no control.
“Just one.” A thick, steady voice hummed in the air, diverting my attention to the end of the counter. It was the man from before, standing unfazed, flipping through the pages of my designs. “Does this come in black?” He asked, the hint of dark tattoos peeked from his cuff, his hand imprinted with a black rose. He pointed towards a Polaroid, a Calvin Klein suit I styled for an event: navy jacket, burgundy tie.
“Yes…” I muttered, still reeling from the effects of Gerard’s attack.
“And you can curate this? If I needit?” His voice deepened, steeped in an accent like Latin silk.
“Well... of course.” I fidgeted, looking back at Gerard who was not amused.
“I’m sorry, sir, we’re in the middle of something right now.” Gerard chimed in, almost apologetic. The man looked up at me, only me, staring in silence as if Gerard didn’t exist. He closed the book, lifting it with one hand, who’s weight required two of my own.
“I’m here for a stylist, and I’m short on time.” He announced. His black boots clicked with a heavy thud, perfectly matched with knee slit denim jeans, as he approached.
“Well, I can style you sir, that’s no…” Gerard's words stopped, blocked by the motion of the man, who said nothing at all, but instead, raised a single finger to his lips. The implied shush startled me, as Gerard’s face turned from orange to red.
“I’m not sure if you're what I was looking for, but you may be what I need.” He said, curiously eyeing me as he set the book by my side. I reached for it, but he stopped me. He placed his hand on top of the cover. His skin glowed like bronzed honey. “Like I said, I’m short on time, and I’m ready to make a decision.”
