Tempest: The Scarab Beetle Series: #6 (The Academy)

by C. L. Stone

  While he kissed me, he took my hand and placed it over his heart. It was beating just as fast as mine.

  I wanted to feel free to have sex with him or get any sort of affection I wanted with him, but I was becoming aware that we were in public.

  He seemed to sense it too, in particular when someone parked really close to us and walked around our car to get to wherever they were going.

  He pulled away but kept his eyes on me. “Will you let me get you some damn shoes, please?”

  “Just the basics,” I said in a soft tone. I wanted to comply. Not that I didn’t enjoy wearing some of his things. Sometimes I did it because he got annoyed with it and that made me happy. But in that moment, I didn’t want to fight about this. I wasn’t asking him to do this. He was offering. If we needed to do this to get out of here, that’s what I wanted to do.

  ♠♠♠♠♠♠

  Instead of heading into the outdoor market along King Street, Marc pulled me toward another building, one which I’d never been in before. All I knew before today was that really wealthy people went in. It could have been an office building for all I knew.

  So I was surprised when we were inside and I was looking at shops. It was sort of like the mall, but all the shops were smaller boutiques with fancy signs hanging over the doors. The window displays were done up in the best of the best the store had to offer, with jewelry displays, mannequins showcasing the latest fashions, and gift shops with big, glittery expensive stuff.

  All the halls were window displays. There were security cameras currently being installed at nearly every few feet. A security guard was posted near the entrance and he tipped his head in our direction as we entered.

  A thief’s worst nightmare. Nowhere to escape to if I lifted a wallet. I hadn’t even known this place to be a mall, which was probably a good thing. I would have been far too tempted by the challenge and the idea these people wouldn’t miss their money as much.

  Good thing I didn’t do that anymore.

  But out of habit, I kept my head down and tried not to look people in the face. I already felt out of place in the clothes I was wearing. Street rats shouldn’t be here.

  Not that Marc’s clothes were street rat, just me wearing them made me feel like one.

  It was hard to keep my head down. The whole hall, the window displays, they were all decked out for Christmas. Some had gift-wrapped boxes as if to show that this shop could giftwrap your purchased items.

  “I think we’re in the wrong place,” I said, unable to peel my eyes off every dazzling, sparkling thing.

  “There’s normal stuff,” he said. He tugged at my wrist and pulled me away from watching a Christmas train in a display going around some expensive vases and gift items. “Come on. There’s a girl shop up here, I think.”

  There was a bright pink and peach clothing shop to the left, and he walked me right into it. I hovered just inside the doorway while he checked out what was on the racks.

  The clothing was oddly shaped to me, and when he pulled out a dress, the front material hung over on itself.

  The lady working the counter, busy with a woman carrying a toddler on her back, seemed to be eyeballing us.

  Marc put the dress back. “Wrong section?”

  “Wrong store,” I said. “This is maternity clothing.” I tried not to grumble. It wasn’t his fault, but it reminded me again of what I’d probably never have for myself. I hadn’t ever thought about a kid before. I wasn’t ready to deal with it. I was just angry at the option not being there for me.

  He blinked and looked around. “Oh. So…nothing you like here?”

  I rolled my eyes. But the lady behind the counter was leaving the customer to come talk to us.

  Marc waved to her. “Sorry, I was trying to get her to buy something nice.”

  “Haven’t shopped here before?” she asked.

  He scratched the back of his head. “Not for girls.”

  “Need any help with that?” said a voice behind me, nearly spooking me out of my boots.

  I turned to find a mousey haired girl, her hair cut short. Her face had tiny features. She was dressed plainly in a turtleneck sweater and slim, dark pants and high heels and with a wildly colorful sash around her waist.

  The shop attendant for the maternity store called to her. “Gretchen! Good to see you. Sounds like they could use your help.”

  “Sure, if you’ve a minute,” Marc said, seeming eager. He walked up beside me and motioned to me with a palm. “Thing is, Kayli here needs some clothes. What’s a good place?”

  “What kind of clothes?” she asked.

  “Nice ones?” Marc said. “Girly?”

  “Nope!” I said, although a little too loud, in protest. “No,” I said a bit quieter. “Just street clothes. Normal clothes. Nothing fancy.” I wasn’t going to get stuck with just evening gowns and skirts and fancy things. If he tried that, he was going to wake up tomorrow with all his stuff hidden and only a maternity dress to wear.

  Gretchen eyeballed me and then Marc and then me again. “Are you sure?”

  “Very,” I said. “I need to be able to run in them.”

  Marc coughed once.

  “And do normal stuff,” I continued. Not like I could explain the need to randomly run in street clothes, but I wanted to get across the point. No fancy dresses. If I was going to have to fight for my life with Alice and take her down, I didn’t want my legs caught up in a skirt.

  Gretchen looked me over head to toe and then motioned for me to follow her. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you fitted first.”

  Fitted? I followed like she wanted me to, but when I stepped up beside her, I gave her a questioning eyeball. “What?”

  “When was the last time you were measured?”

  Was this a trick question? “I think I’m a medium,” I said, not even sure if that was true. I didn’t often check sizes. I just guessed and put things on.

  Gretchen guided the way down the hall, speaking to me. “That’s fine. It just lets me know where to begin. And with you, at the beginning. If you’re going to be running in clothes, you need them to fit well.”

  “I’m not saying it’s all running,” I said.

  “But you need certain types of clothes because you’re an active person.”

  “Only some of the time. Short bursts.”

  She waved to my attire. “Is this your preference?”

  I shrugged. “It’s okay. To be honest, I’m pretty basic.”

  “She doesn’t really have any clothes at the moment,” Marc said behind us. “She’s been borrowing mine.”

  She seemed to consider this and nodded. “So we need to start from the very, very beginning. Basics. I think I’ve got some ideas for you. Luckily, I had a cancellation, so I’m free. You’ve got perfect timing.”

  Cancellation? I thought she was just going to show us some shop that fit what I needed. “So…who are you?”

  Before she could respond, I got distracted. The hallway had ended, and we arrived at an expansive room where two elegant marble staircases nearly encircled the largest Christmas tree I’d ever seen. Bedecked to overflowing with Christmas decorations, displays of wrapped Christmas gifts and a bigger train, big enough to carry children if you fed it a couple of quarters. A large chandelier hung over the Christmas tree, nearly touching the tip, looking like an upside-down crystal tree itself. There was a piano playing somewhere, and around the edges of this large room were restaurants and more shops. Another hall matched the one we were leaving on the other side.

  She headed for the staircase. “My name is Gretchen, but mostly people call me Gretta now. My shop is up here.”

  I couldn’t help but gawk at the idea. “You own a shop?”

  “A clothing boutique. I’m a designer and make custom outfits.”

  I wanted to pause, but I felt like I was floating up the stairs with her, following her in shock.

  Custom clothes.

  A fashion designer.

  I was
way out of my league.

  So was Marc. He couldn’t afford this.

  I left Marc a very long, very scared look. We were going to have to say no. Couldn’t she tell we weren’t going to be able to afford this? She should know better than to invite just anyone up to her shop.

  He seemed completely oblivious, and also curious, urging me to continue. I was going to say something. What did I care what she thought of me? It’s not like I’d see her again.

  Only, he motioned me to continue and nudged me with a finger when I tried to defy this silent request.

  This was going to be a disaster.

  Gretchen led the way along the second floor of the mall, passing by other boutiques and a spa before arriving at one shop that didn’t have any window displays at all. It was striking in its simplicity compared to the other stores. The door was frosted glass with “Tissu Deux.”

  “This is it,” she said.

  “Tissu?” I asked her.

  “It’s French for fabric.”

  “And the Deux?”

  “It means two. This is the second Tissu in existence.”

  She owned two? “Where’s the other one?”

  “Far away,” she said. She held open the door for me. “Come on in.”

  The lighting was much dimmer as we entered, so it took a second for our eyes to adjust. But at first it was just a short, dark hall.

  Once we got to the other side, we were in a large room with dark curtains hanging along the walls like a theater would have. There was a small stage as well, with some lights focused on it.

  Besides that, there were waist-high black pedestals. The tops were glass and the bases were lit up to shine light on fancy mannequins in outfits. There were about twelve of these in a semi-circle, all lined up just ending before a few white couches that faced the stage.

  While there were a couple of very fancy dresses and skirts on some of the mannequins, some had what I considered normal clothes. One was jeans and a white T-shirt, just the shoes were high heels and the purse looked expensive.

  No racks of clothes.

  Nothing you can just pick up and take to a cashier.

  No cashier at all.

  Worse than I thought.

  Gretchen came up beside me, as I’d stopped at the mannequin that had the plainest clothes. The white T-shirt one. “Is this more you?”

  “Without the heels,” I said.

  “Do you like any heel?”

  “You can’t really run in heels.”

  “Some you can,” she said. “Short bursts. I’ve dressed dancers in long heels. Although we had to get them balanced and make them super lightweight since they do kicks and twists and things. Some need to be heavier and wider to keep balance better. It depends on what the situation is.”

  I raised a brow. “You dress celebrities?”

  “I dress everyone. But yeah, some.”

  I grimaced and suddenly felt dirty and ugly in the clothes I was wearing. “Maybe we shouldn’t be wasting your time.”

  Marc had been looking at several of the displays, studying them. When I spoke, he was instantly at my elbow. “We’re not sure how this works. Do we point to what she’d like to try on?”

  I stuck an elbow in his rib. “He means we’re probably not your usual clientele.”

  She seemed genuinely curious and motioned for me to follow her. “Why don’t we just get started? I’ll measure you, and then we’ll work out the type of clothes that suit you.” She waved a hand at Marc and then pointed to the white couches near the stage. “Why don’t you get comfortable? This might take some time.”

  I glared at Marc. Don’t you dare leave me.

  He went right for the couch like an innocent pup and sat down.

  Traitor…

  Gretchen had me follow her to one side of the stage, where she pulled back part of the curtain hanging from the wall and revealed a door. I followed her though and down another hallway. There were doors that were open on the left. She skipped two doors and then entered the third, flicking the light on.

  I startled myself looking in on mirrored walls, seeing her reflection and mine repeated so often under the lights. There was a plush rug on top of hard dark wood flooring. Near the door was a large wood and iron, antique coatrack and then a long table to one side. All of this reflected in the mirrors a few dozen times in on itself.

  “Wait here a second?” she said to me. “I’ll go get my kit.”

  Kit?

  I grimaced, already highly uncomfortable, and was tempted to run for the door while she was gone.

  A DIFFERENT WORLD

  When she got back, I spent a half hour turning around, lifting my arms, bending over and going into all sorts of positions while she held a tape measure to my body.

  And when she couldn’t get accurate with my clothes on, she had me take them off.

  So I was standing around in my underwear while she was doing all the measuring and taking notes.

  I gazed over at her clipboard where she’d written things down. “Did you really need to know my ankle size?”

  “I like to get everything down on paper,” she said. She studied the numbers on her clipboard like it all made sense to her.

  After she was done, she left and brought back clothes.

  That’s when it felt like I went into robot mode. I did what she told me, putting a variety of shirts and pants on while she marked some notes, only to take them off again at her say so. I wasn’t even sure what I was wearing at times. Pants, jeans, T-shirts, some blouses, a skirt, one dress. Sometimes with shoes, sometimes without.

  How she got me to be so patient with her, I’d never know. If anyone else had done this, I would have been setting them on fire. When we were getting to jackets and outerwear, I was wearing down.

  “How much more do we need to do?” I asked. “It’s been fun, but…this is a lot of clothes.” The table and the coatrack were covered in all the outfits she’d had me put on, some tossed aside as not for me, some she approved in a different pile. I couldn’t tell you which ones. I didn’t pick them, she did.

  “Yeah, we’ve been at it a while,” she said. She sat back on her heels on the floor and brushed a palm against her forehead to wipe away some hair. “It’s been months since I’ve put together an entire wardrobe for someone.”

  My eyes widened. “Wardrobe? I…don’t need much.” I nodded to the pile of clothes. “The T-shirts. A pair of jeans…I don’t even want the dresses.”

  She flicked her hand at me. “No, I just wanted to see those on you. Although the chartreuse has your name all over it.”

  I gazed at the tennis ball colored dress. The shape was okay, but the color was nope. “You’re kidding.”

  She got up and held a jacket up to her own body and then to me. “If you’re wearing your boyfriend’s clothes enough he wants to buy you your own, I’m guessing you basically don’t like anything you own and need everything new. So we’re getting you everything. A capsule wardrobe. You’ll be able to mix and match everything and you can add in whenever you like. But you’re covered for every occasion.”

  “Erm,” I said. “Look, I don’t know if I can afford this. I didn’t know we were doing all of it. I can’t ask Marc to pay for it all.”

  She sighed a little. “I know. But look, all of these”—she motioned to the collection of items—“were created for people who tried them on and decided they didn’t want them. Most were headed to the donation bin.”

  “Why?” I asked. “They’re perfectly good clothes. Why don’t you put up some racks and sell them?”

  She smiled in a way that she seemed amused. “Like the other shops around here?”

  “Kinda.”

  “I’m not really a factory,” she said. She held up the jacket and motioned to it with her other hand. “These are custom. I used to operate like everyone else, but not everyone fits in the same manufactured piece of material. Some need different fabrics, different shapes, colors. I was frustrated with limitations.”
>
  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Plus, people pay booka moola when something is this custom.” She put her jacket on the table with the other clothes. “Rarity increases value.”

  She was smart and creative. Hard not to be jealous. “Huh,” was all I could say. Custom clothes. A talented fashion designer. “I don’t know how we can pay for any of it.”

  She waved her hand quickly at me. “I’m going to make a few adjustments to some of these, but then I’ll only charge the cost of materials.”

  I raised a skeptical brow at her. “For real? Why?”

  “You’re not the first girl to walk in here without a clue or lick of fashion sense. And I always appreciate when you’re willing to play model and let me pick the clothes. Most people try to tell me what to do and what they should be wearing.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Designers don’t sell trends. They create them. Maybe you’ll stop by again and do some modeling.”

  I snorted. “You’re insane. I’m not a model.”

  “I don’t really like working with size zero models. The fashion industry does it for…reasons. But I work directly with clients, not with bulk buyers for fashion outlets, I can’t really operate the same way. People need to see outfits on figures that match their own to make decisions.” She went back to the pile of clothes, particularly the ones she’d put aside for me. “I’m going to make a few adjustments here, but by tomorrow evening, I’ll be able to deliver them to you.”

  I found this amusing. “You offer delivery?”

  “Often I get paid extra to display the new garments in closets. For me, it gives me a chance to match what I’ve prepared with what they already own and see who else they buy clothes from. It also gets me out of the office.”

  I gave her the address. Just before I was going to get out of the last pair of jeans and a light sweater combo she’d given me, Marc emerged, poking his head in through the doorway.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but you’ve been gone an hour.”

  Had it really been that long? He probably also needed to get more supplies than just clothes. Whoops.

  It was the look on his face that scared me.