Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) (17 page)

“Where is Tiny? I expected her to be here.”

“She’s at the bank. Nobody wants anything from me except for money.”

I stepped forward and put my hand on her arm. “This article can help you with that. I don’t know how much Tiny told you, but I saw the collection at the showroom. I know the vibe you were going for. I’m a good person to make this happen because of that. If you’re interested, let me get a few shots around here. Your office, your inspiration boards, your samples. What didn’t make the runway show and why? That sort of thing.”

She sipped her coffee and the silence ballooned. I waited her out. Finally, she set the mug down on her desk and crossed her arms. “This collection was inspired by Kaiju movies and outer space. Think Godzilla on the moon.”

“But prior to this collection, you were known for classic silhouettes. You interned for Maries Paulson—”

“Tiny doesn’t want me to talk about that collaboration.”

“Why not?”

“She says I have to make a name for myself, not rely on the names of people I worked for already.”

I didn’t understand Tiny’s motivation. Amanda’s past collaborations and internships would separate her from a pack of recent design school graduates. Her experience would show that she had more than what you can teach in a classroom. Tiny sounded like she wanted to negate all of that. It seemed to me that Amanda didn’t need a business partner, she needed a publicist.

“When you graduated from design school, your first solo collection was ice cream factory meets Ralph Lauren. Lilac turtlenecks and riding pants, pink satin ball skirts with fitted T-shirts and cropped boucle jackets, robin’s egg blue wool blazers with matching suede elbow patches. How do you go from that to Godzilla on the moon?” I waved my hand around the part of the showroom filled with racks of cast off garments.

“My preppy stuff wasn’t getting me noticed. Tiny said I needed a Hail Mary. That’s what this collection was. A big risk that could have potentially changed everything. I had appointments with editors from all the major magazines lined up to view the samples after the show.”

“So what happens now?”

“No samples, no appointments.” She waved toward a rack. “These are new. Tiny pushed me to make a second set of samples to show the buyers who showed interest.” She stepped away from the fixture and looked over my shoulder. “Who are you?” she said suddenly.

I turned around. Dante stood inside the room.

“I’m the new photographer. Samantha asked me to meet her here.” He pulled a business card out from inside his leather jacket and handed it to her. She studied it for a couple of seconds and then stuffed it into her pocket.

“Tiny didn’t say you were bringing a photographer,” she said to me.

“Amanda, consider this a second chance to make that Hail Mary pass that Tiny talked about. I’m here. He’s here. We’ll take photos. You can use them to shop the collection to whomever you want.” I held my breath. Her eyes bounced back and forth between my left eye and my right, like she’d discovered that they were two different colors.

“Your photographer isn’t prepared for a full-on photo shoot.”

“I have everything I need in the car,” Dante said.

Now her eyes bounced back and forth between him and me. “You’re not going to get a better chance than this one,” I said. “Especially one that won’t cost you an arm and a leg.”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and scrolled through her contacts. Before making a call, she looked up. “One model, one hour.”

“I have a better idea,” Dante said. “Let Samantha try on the samples. Save you the money on a model and the time it would take for her to get here. You’ll be here the whole time, so you’ll see everything I see.”

Before I had a chance to point out that I wasn’t exactly a model size, Dante pinched my arm. I didn’t know him well enough to know what he was thinking, but I hoped he had more of a plan than embarrassing me with a split seam.

“That’ll work,” Amanda finally said.

“I’ll get my equipment,” he said. “Samantha, you want to help?”

“Samantha can get undressed. I’ll help.” She pointed to the small scrim that I’d hid behind when Oscar LeVay had first stormed into the showroom. “Change behind that. Samples are on this rack. Considering the sizes, you might want to start with the kimonos.”

I made a face at her behind her back, and then, when the front door closed, grabbed a garment and disappeared behind the scrim. Within seconds my motorcycle jacket, sweater, skirt, tights, and boots were on the floor and I was clothed in a thin red cotton robe. The showroom was colder than I would have liked, and as soon as Amanda and Dante returned, it would be obvious to everybody in the room.

While Dante’s plan had the possibly intended goal of embarrassing me, it had also left me alone in Amanda’s showroom until they returned.

First thing I did was look through her desk drawers for the threatening letters. With one hand holding the robe shut, I made slow progress. I needed both hands. I let go of the neckline and dug through her desk. Five pair of scissors, a couple of tape measures, a stack of sketch pads. Paper clips, Post-its, pencils and pens and highlighters. I was so absorbed in the search of her desk that I didn’t hear her come back inside.

“Just what the heck do you think you’re doing?” Amanda asked.

21

Breakup Rule #6: Keep wearing good underwear.

The red cotton robe flew open. Dante’s camera snapped several shots. I pulled the robe closed and glared at him.

“I was looking for the letters,” I said.

Amanda crossed the room and slammed her desk drawers shut. “You weren’t supposed to tell anybody about those,” she hissed. She looked at Dante, and then back at me.

“I’m only trying to help.”

“Then do what you said you were coming here to do.” She disappeared into the back room.

Dante stepped closer to me. I looked up at him, my knuckles turning white as I clutched the robe shut. “Thanks for the heads up. I thought you were going to be lugging in a bunch of equipment?”

“I said ‘equipment.’ I never said ‘a bunch.’” He glanced down at my white knuckles. “I know you’re cold, but you’re going to have to relax for the photos.”

“Fine. Tell Amanda to turn up the heat.”

He slipped his hand inside the collar of the robe, bent down, and kissed the side of my neck. Cold was no longer an issue.

I stepped back. “Let’s do this.”

One hour and seventeen costume changes later, I was back in my turtleneck, skirt, and boots. Dante had used one large overhead light as a spot above me. I rested in a chair opposite Amanda’s desk while he packed it up.

“I’m curious,” Amanda said. “Why do you use film when you could go digital?”

“Film captures reality,” Dante said. “It takes more than a point and click mentality to get the shot. You know those Hollywood glamour photos from the thirties and forties? Film. One overhead light, just like we used here. The light defines the angles of the face. No need for retouching. You might want to consider it for your catalog.”

“You’re not going to touch these up?” I asked in a panic.

“I’ll use a white pencil to bring out the highlights. I won’t need more than that.”

I found an empty hanger and re-hung the red robe. It had served as my between-outfits costume, keeping the secret that I couldn’t close most of Amanda’s samples. Amanda glanced at me and stood up. “Can I talk to Sam alone for a second?”

“Sure.” I gave Dante an I-don’t-know-what-this-is-about look. He hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, saluted us, and then left.

As soon as the door was shut, she held out her hand. “I’d like those letters back,” she said.

“I don’t have them.”

“Where are they?”

“You left them on your desk the day that you showed them to me. I hid behind the screen when Oscar showed up, and when I came out, they were gone.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oscar took them? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought maybe you had the foresight to put them away before you let him in. If you didn’t, then I think it’s safe to assume that he took them. You didn’t think anything when they were missing?”

“I thought
you
took them.” Her eyes were wide with fear. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

“Amanda, he only has a copy. Tell the police. They have the originals, right?”

“What are the police going to do?”

“They’ll ask him about them. That’ll keep you from being involved. Let Detective Loncar do his job,” I finished.

Amanda shooed me out of her studio and I found Dante waiting by the Corvette. “You were pretty good in there,” he said.

“Yeah, well, don’t do that to me again.”

“What? I thought you’d like having a chance to examine the samples up close. I can’t think of anything closer than getting you inside them.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t entirely fit inside them,” I said, remembering the strapless red gown that didn’t zip up the back. Thanks to Dante’s suggestion that I step in as model, Amanda had gotten an unexpected peek at my underwear. Hard to maintain your post-breakup class around the maybe-former girlfriend when she knows your panties have a bow in the back.

“Come on, I’ll buy you lunch to make up for it.”

“No thanks,” I said. “I’m going to skip lunch. Too much to do. You should get back to the darkroom to develop the film.”

He slung his bag over one shoulder and tipped his head. “Just because the red gown didn’t zip up over your hips doesn’t mean you have to give up food,” he said.

“You think the fact that I didn’t fit in a sample sized dress is going to make me give up food? You have a lot to learn about me.”

“I guess I do.”

I zipped up my coat. The air was cold and wet, like the gas around a fresh tray of ice cubes when you first pull them out of the freezer. I stopped by my car, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I held it in for a few seconds and then exhaled. The crispness invigorated me. I’d always loved the first cold snaps of the season, the promise of impending flurries, and the beauty of a fresh blanket of white snow when it covered the streets and yards.

A series of clicks sounded. I opened my eyes and found Dante with camera in hand. I threw my own hand up in front of my face. “What are you doing? The photo shoot is over.”

“Just thought I deserved something for my hard work.”

“I think you got that something when my kimono opened up.”

“I didn’t look,” he said. He kept a straight face and I almost believed him.

I unlocked the car and tossed my bag on the passenger side seat. “I have a client coming this afternoon and I don’t want any distractions.”

“A distraction, huh? I was wondering how you compartmentalized me.”

“I don’t compartmentalize people,” I said.
Real classy,
I thought.
That’s the equivalent to did not/did too in the fourth grade playground.

Dante folded his arms on the top of the Corvette and leaned on them. The black leather of his motorcycle jacket tightened around his muscles. A blast of wind tossed my hair around my face. Dante’s jet-black Elvis-style barely moved, except for the strands that dusted his forehead.

“Samantha, I don’t judge you for who you are, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see who you are. You put people in boxes to keep them separate from each other. It’s like you’re protecting your relationships so they’re there when you need them. Friends go here,” he stood up straight and pantomimed something on his left side. “Bad guys go here,” he pantomimed to his right. “I don’t know where you tried to file your last boyfriend. I don’t even know if he’s still in the picture.” He walked around the Corvette and stopped when he was facing me. He reached a hand out and tugged on the collar of my coat. “I’m waiting to see where you file me.”

“Dante, I can’t offer you anything other than what we have right now,” I said.

He picked up my hand and pressed my fingers to his lips. “You’ll tell me when you figure things out?”

“I’ll tell you when I figure things out.”

He nodded and put his equipment in the Corvette. I got into my car, backed out of Amanda’s driveway, and left. As I reached the corner, I glanced in the rear view mirror. Dante was still standing by the Corvette, watching me drive away. I turned right at the corner, turned right again at the Stop Sign, and pulled over into the red zone.

I wasn’t anywhere close to figuring things out.

Since leaving Dante’s apartment yesterday morning, I’d gone to New York, reconnected with my boss, talked my way into a job opportunity, and established a working relationship with Detective Loncar. These were all people who served a purpose. Was Dante right? Did I compartmentalize the people in my life so they’d be there when I needed them?

I didn’t like how that sounded. Even if, for the first time since leaving New York, I felt like I had something to focus on. If not for the arsons, things would have been looking good. Why? Because I’d pushed thoughts of Dante and of Nick out of my mind for twenty-four hours and focused on me? Or because I had temporarily surrounded myself with people who could offer me a boost when I sorely needed it?

That’s it. I didn’t want to be the kind of person who used her friends. I thought back to Molly Diers’ desperation this morning. She was counting on me to make things a little better when she had to face her ex and his new young girlfriend. I could do that. Starting now—right now—I was going to do something for someone else—for her.

Work history notwithstanding, Tradava was as good a place as any to start building Molly’s new wardrobe. I went in a side door, past the juniors department, straight to the coffee counter. I found Eddie on the top rung of a six-foot-tall ladder, a hot glue gun in one hand and a fist full of glue sticks in the other.

As visual director for the store, Eddie was in charge of the various displays that showcased designers, trends, and colors. Most people didn’t recognize the effort that went into maintaining the newness of a store that had been around for several decades.

A row of white mannequins, clothed in ensembles of red, orange, and winter white, lined the wall usually occupied by a display of chocolates. I adopted a pose at the end of the row and stood still. Eddie climbed down the ladder and stood back, assessing the work he’d finished. He turned around and scanned the row of mannequins. When he got to me, he shook his head. Glue dribbled from the glue gun and left a trail down the side of his paint-stained jeans.