Ripped at the Seams (11 page)

“I'm sorry,
señor,
but we're totally booked for tonight. This is our last table.”

Bruce sighed heavily.

“It's okay,” Sami insisted. “I've got a great view of the restaurant from here.”

“It'll have to do,” Bruce said finally.

A few moments later, a waiter appeared, and Bruce ordered dinner for the both of them, since Sami seemed confused by the menu. “Just trust me,” Bruce told Sami before he told the waiter what to bring. “I wouldn't steer you wrong.”

Sami nodded and sipped on her water. She was trying to look nonchalant and sophisticated, just as Bruce had urged her to do. But the truth was, she was nervous and excited, waiting for Bruce to bring up the topic of her designs.

He didn't. They exchanged small talk throughout the meal, chatting about New
York things: how awful the subways were, whether the mayor's ban on smoking would ruin the club scene, and the high cost of rent. Not once did either of them mention anything having to do with the office. Most of the time it was Bruce holding forth with his opinions. Sami had nothing to compare these situations to. So she just nodded a lot.
Like my dad taught me,
she realized.

Finally, after a full meal of chicken and rice, Sami couldn't hold herself back any longer. “Bruce,” she asked. “Did you get a chance to talk to Ted about my designs?”

Bruce nodded and took a long sip of his sangria. Then he leaned back in his chair. “I was hoping not to talk about that until we'd finished dinner,” he said slowly.

Sami knew from his expression that the news wasn't good. “He didn't like them very much, did he?”

“It's not that he didn't like them, Sami; in fact, he thought some of your ideas were good. But the execution was just a little amateurish.”

Amateurish.
The word cut like a knife. “B-b-but you said they were good. You
liked them so much,” she blubbered as she struggled not to cry.

Bruce took her hand in his. “Well, you have to admit that I'm a little biased when it comes to anything having to do with you.” He smiled warmly at her. “Besides, Ted said they showed promise. They just needed some fine tuning. Come on, that's more than most get to hear from someone like Ted.”

Sami shrugged. “I guess.” She thought for a moment. “Look, what if I went to talk to him myself? I could even wear some of the dresses that I modeled on those designs. Maybe if I brought the whole thing to life … He did like the neck on that blouse I made, and—”

“No, don't do that,” Bruce warned her urgently.

“Why not? It's worth a try.”

“It'll just make Ted angry,” Bruce told her. “He's a busy man. He's not concerned with your feelings. If you make a big deal out of this, he'll never look at anything you've got ever again. Trust me. This best thing to do is wait a few months and then show him something else.”

Sami blinked, fighting back the tears.
She didn't want to cry. Not here, in this fabulous restaurant. Not after Bruce had been so wonderful about helping her … even if it hadn't worked out the way they'd hoped.

Bruce put down his wineglass and stared into her eyes. “Look, this isn't the end of the world. You've got what it takes. You just need a little more experience. Maybe you could take a class at FIT. I'll bet the company would pay for part of it.”

Classes. Back to school …
“I'll think about it.”

Bruce nodded sympathetically. “I guess you don't want any dessert now.”

“I've kind of lost my appetite,” Sami told him.

Bruce called over the waiter and quickly paid the check. Then he escorted Sami outside and reached out his arm for a cab.

“Riverside and Eighty-second,” he told the driver as they climbed into the taxi.

“Where are we going?” Sami asked him.

“I thought we'd go back to my place,” Bruce said. “It's more private there than at your apartment.”

“Bruce, I don't know. Maybe I should just go home.”

He stared at her with surprise. “What? You're only into me if I can help you with Ted?” he teased, but something in his voice sounded … demanding.

Sami was surprised. “No, that's not it at all. I'm just tired and a little disappointed.”

“Look, we don't have to do anything. I just thought you could use a little luxury tonight—instead of going back into that walk-up building and crashing in that little bed of yours. I promise I'll cheer you up,” he declared as he leaned over and gave her a hard kiss on the lips.

But Sami knew nothing could cheer her up. And sex with Bruce was probably the furthest thing from her mind. “I really need to go home,” she told him, choking back the tears.

Sami didn't sleep well that night. Her disappointment was overwhelming—as was the fear that Bruce was going to lose interest in her because she'd refused to go home with him the night before. Of course he'd said all the right things, assuring her that he understood and walking her to the door. But Sami thought she heard something change in his voice. It was more than just disappointment. He'd suddenly sounded as though he were speaking to a naive young girl rather than to the woman he called his girlfriend.

Since sleeping was obviously out of the question, Sami got out of bed just before
sunrise and decided to take a shower and have a cup of coffee, hoping that would be enough to keep her awake through the day.

Rain awoke just after six and emerged from the bedroom just as Sami was putting another top on her cup of coffee.

“I'll take one of those if you're pouring,” Rain murmured, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Sami nodded and pulled down a second mug. She looked over at Rain. It was amazing how great her roommate could look first thing in the morning, even with her tousled red hair and make-up-free face. She was just one of those natural-born beauties.

Of course Sami had thought she was a natural-born designer. But that was before Ted Fromme had pulled the rug out from under her dreams. She sighed heavily and finished her cup of coffee, then dragged herself into the bedroom. She was grateful that Rain was too tired to start up a conversation over coffee. Sami didn't feel much like talking.

Quickly she went into her small closet and pulled out a blue-green linen dress that brought out her eyes. She studied her face
in the mirror as she put on a little mascara and some lip gloss. Then she headed out the door and prepared to make her way through the crowds on the subway plat-form to board the train that would take her to work. As a
receptionist
.

Sami let out a blasé sigh. Nothing about New York seemed very exciting anymore.

“So did you take my advice?” Ted Fromme asked Sami as he walked into the office just a few minutes after she had arrived.

“Your advice?” she said. “You mean about FIT?”

“What about FIT?” Ted asked.

Sami shook her head. Come to think of it, it had been Bruce who had suggested the schooling, not Ted. “Nothing,” she murmured.

“I meant about going out and seeing the town,” Ted continued.

“Well, I went to La Comida last night with … a … uh … friend,” Sami told him, keenly recalling Bruces warning about the importance of keeping their relationship a secret.

“Nice friend,” Ted said. “That place is great. I used to go there quite a lot when it first opened. Now I've moved on to Cafe 17. You know how it is in New York: The hot spots keep changing.”

Just then, Bruce strolled into the office. His face fell slightly when he caught a glimpse of Sami talking to Ted. He walked over and stopped in front of her desk. “Any messages for me?”

“Oh, Bruce, just the man I wanted to see,” Ted greeted him. “How are those designs coming?”

“You'll have them by Friday morning, I promise,” Bruce assured him.

“I hope so,” Ted replied. “You're the last of the junior designers to submit his designs.”

Sami could see Bruce's shoulders sag at the way Ted emphasized the word “junior.” It was hard for a man as dedicated and ambitious as Bruce to think of himself as a junior anything.

“You'll have them,” Bruce reassured him. “I just want to put in a few extras to make sure these are the designs that blow you away.”

Ted nodded and smiled slightly. “I'll see you later, Sami,” he said as he walked away. “I'm glad you considered my advice.”

Bruce waited until Ted was gone before he perched himself on the corner of Sami's desk and studied her face carefully. “What advice was that?” he asked with a curious tone in his voice.

“Oh, he just told me to go out and enjoy myself more. I told him I was at La Comida last night. But don't worry, I just said I went with a friend.”

“You didn't talk to him about the designs?” Bruce asked anxiously.

“No, and he didn't mention them, either,” Sami said mournfully. “I think he has a heart of steel. How can he be so nice to my face after rejecting my designs?”

“That's just Ted,” Bruce said quickly. “He doesn't think he did anything to hurt your feelings. To him, it's just business.”

“But he must have been an aspiring designer at some point. He must remember how that felt.”

Bruce shrugged. “That was a few years and several million dollars ago, Sami.”

“I guess.”

“He was right about you getting out to see the city more, though,” Bruce said, changing the subject. “The excitement suits you.” He chuckled. “I don't think I'll ever forget your face when you saw RuPaul. It was classic!”

Sami blushed.

“There are so many hot spots in this city. We'll get to all of them,” Bruce continued.

“I know,” Sami agreed. “And not all of them are so expensive. Vin told me about this place in the West Village where the waiters sing opera.”

“
Vin
recommended it?” Bruce noted. There was that tone again, she realized.

“Do you want to try it?” Sami asked, consciously ignoring the tone in his voice. “We could go tonight.”

“
Sami,
” Bruce warned her.

“What? No one heard me. There's no one here but us.” She was right. The reception area was empty.

“Yes, but someone might walk in,” Bruce reminded her.

“I'm sorry,” Sami apologized.

Bruce smiled warmly. “It's okay. Working
together like this is hard for me, too. Sometimes I have to fight off the urge to just run out here and grab you in the middle of the day. You look awfully sexy answering those phones, you know.”

Sami laughed. “You should see me when I sign for a package.”

“I'll be picturing it all day,” Bruce assured her. “Believe me, I'd love to do anything with you—even go to some place Vin recommended. Unfortunately, tonight's impossible. You heard Ted. I have to get those designs finished by Friday. But after that, I'm all yours. Maybe we can go out Saturday night and celebrate.”

“Okay, you put out the paper plates, and I'll get the chicken,” Sami told Rain later that night, when the two girls were alone in their apartment.

“I'm so psyched. I haven't had a home-cooked meal since … since I left home,” Rain said as she set the kitchen table. “Unless of course you count the endless boxes of mac and cheese I've shoved down my throat since I moved here.”

“I thought it would be fun,” Sami said
as she checked the chicken one last time to make sure it was cooked. “I hope you like this. It's a recipe my dad uses at the coffee shop. It's usually the Wednesday special. Of course, he makes it with mashed potatoes on the side, but since you're getting ready for Mollie Mack, I thought grilled veggies would be better.”

“Sounds yummy.” Rain watched her roommate carefully. Sami hadn't said anything about how Bruce's meeting with Ted Fromme had gone, but Rain had a feeling that Sami wouldn't be home making chicken if he'd suddenly declared her the next Coco Chanel. Still, Rain hadn't wanted to pry into Sami's business. If she wanted to talk about it, Rain figured she would.

Just as Sami placed the chicken on the table, there was a knock at the door. Three short taps and one loud pound.

“I'll get it,” Rain told her as she leaped up to get the door. She unhooked the chain, turned the two bolt locks, and clicked the small latch over the doorknob to the right before she could open the door.

“Hey, don't you ask who it is first?” Vin asked as he faced Rain in the doorway.

“I recognized your knock,” Rain assured him. “What's that?”

She pointed to the dark brown table Vin carried in his arms.

“It's for Sami,” Vin said, placing the table down in the living room.

“I've been living across the hall from you for a year now and I've never once gotten anything more than a curtain rod. Sami's here a few days and she gets this?” Rain teased.

Vin blushed slightly.

“Ooh, I've struck a nerve.” Rain laughed. Then she called into the kitchen, “Sami, come here. You've got to see this!”

“What's up?” Sami asked as she came out of the kitchen. “Hey, Vin. What's doing?”

“It's what
Vin's
been doing,” Rain said as she pointed to the beautiful wooden table. “Making this for you.”

Vin pointed at the table. “It's a drafting table. I thought you might need it now that you're working at Ted Fromme.”

Sami walked over and ran her fingers over the smooth, lightly stained wood. Vin had constructed the table so that the top
could be tilted at different angles. There were spaces for pens, and rulers, and other tools a designer might use. At the top he'd gracefully carved the letters “SG,” her initials. It was the most beautiful thing Sami had ever seen.

Suddenly, the tears she'd been holding in for the past twenty-four hours came crashing out of her body like a tidal wave.