by Jan Moran
“Just some lad’s.” He rose and sauntered toward the exit. With his broad shoulders, lean waist, and shoulder length hair, he could’ve been a male model, or a nineteenth-century artist. The sleeves of his shirt were turned back, and dark trousers skimmed his hips.
Fianna stared after him. There was something familiar in the way he moved, though if she’d ever met him before she would have remembered. She dragged her attention away from him and twisted her thick hair into a messy bun to cool her neck against the sudden heat that surged through her. And she’d taken such pains to have her curls blown into a sleek style for the show. She clapped her hands. “Come on, everyone, back to work.”
A makeup artist called out. “Who’s next?”
Penelope caught Fianna’s gaze. “What about your makeup, Fianna? You’ll have to take a bow, too.” A team of makeup artists from High Gloss, the cosmetics company for which Penelope served as a spokesperson, was cycling the models through. “You’d look great in these new colors.” Penelope had helped the company create the new line that carried her name.
“Five minutes, that’s all I can spare.” Fianna sat next to Penelope, watching her friend’s transformation in the mirror as the makeup artist went to work. Her artist touched Fianna’s chin to scrutinize her face, and the woman’s mouthed formed an “O” in surprise. Fianna blinked and quirked a corner of her mouth. “It’s a condition called heterochromia iridium.” She had one slate blue eye, and the other was hazelnut brown. It was always a challenge at the makeup counter.
The makeup artist twisted her mouth to one side in thought. “For your eyes I’ll try purple, no, maybe green. Or cognac brown…”
Penelope winked at her in the mirror.
Fianna closed her eyes as the High Gloss artist selected her brushed and colors and went to work. A five-minute respite, that’s what she needed.
Fianna stood by the entrance to the runway with her list, checking each model before she strutted onto the runway. The gorgeous young women were lined up like gazelles, some fussing with their outfits, others jiggling a leg or clicking fingernails in anticipation. Even though they were professionals, they were still young and excited.
A stylist twisted hair and sprayed tendrils, while another wielded a lipstick brush, touching up glossy lips. The magical melody flooded the night and spotlights blinked on. The time had come.
“Are you ready?” Fianna asked Penelope, her voice wavering with nerves.
“Relax, I’ve got this.” Penelope winked, then her expression changed as she got ready to lead off the show. “And your designs are fabulous.”
Would the critics think so, too?
Looking slightly haughty with a sensual pout, Penelope took to the runway with an experienced step, prancing in rhythm with the soulful music that filled the night. The layered silk skirt she wore flowed behind her. After an expert swish and turn, applause thundered through the room.
Fianna smiled with relief. Penelope could make a Hefty bag look like a million dollars. The next model stepped up. Fianna adjusted a sleeve and sent her out.
“You’re an absolute goddess, Penelope.” Fianna blew a kiss to her friend as Penelope glided off the stage and hurried to change. Kaitlin was next in line.
“Dip your chin a little, Kaitlin. There, that’s it.” Fianna whispered, fluffing the romantic lace ruffles that flowed around a deep neckline, framing the young model’s face and shoulders. She was lovely; no wonder Niall couldn’t keep away from her. Fianna waited for a beat in the music. “Now go.”
Glancing out, Fianna watched Kaitlin strut down the runway and pause. She had to admit, she was good.
Fianna glanced out and was pleased to see her friends at a nearby table. Verena Valent, who ran a skincare company, Scarlett Sandoval, an intellectual property attorney who specialized in fashion and beauty, and Dahlia Dubois, whose family ran one of the oldest perfume companies in the U.S. She had dressed them all, too, eager to showcase as many of her designs tonight as she could.
Kaitlin turned and applause rippled across the room again l.
“Let’s keep it going, ladies.” Fianna snapped her fingers above her head and turned her attention to the next model. This was all she’d ever dreamed of—a runway show of her own to introduce her designs.
One after another, Fianna sent the models out in rapid succession. And each one met with applause and approval, and until finally, she sent her evening gown selections out, with Penelope leading the way once again.
Fianna looked out. Not even her closest friends had seen these. Judging from their expressions, as well as those on the faces of fashion buyers, members of the press, and high profile charity donors, everyone loved them.
“Hurry, hurry,” she said to the models. “Now, everyone out again, all together.” All the girls returned to the runway for a final walk and a storm of applause.
“Bravo, bravo,” she heard from the audience. Fianna drew a hand through her bright auburn mane. It was over, and she’d survived.
“Come out and take your bow,” Penelope said, taking her hand and pulling her onto the runway.
Fianna paused for a moment, drinking in the sight to remember. My first show. A smile spread across her face as she raised her hands in acknowledgement of the audience and then applauded her models. She bowed, blew kisses, and bowed again.
Penelope took Fianna’s hand again and led her offstage. “Everyone loved it,” she said, and hugged Fianna as soon as they were backstage. “You did it, Fianna! How does it feel?”
“Honestly, my head is still spinning. It moved so fast.”
“It sure does,” Penelope said, laughing with her. “But you did a great job. You’re a real pro. You were the calmest new designer I think I’ve ever seen. Most of them are half crazed or half blitzed.”
“I was more like scared stiff,” Fianna added, grinning.
“That’s because you’re a sane one. Genius doesn’t always reside with sanity. When it does, the stage for greatness is set.”
All the models hugged Fianna or kissed her cheek as they filed back, and crystal champagne flutes were quickly passed around. “Here’s to an incredible show, thank you all for a fantastic job out there. You made my designs look amazing.”
“That was easy enough, because they are,” Kaitlin said, raising her glass. “And here’s to you, Fianna.”
Fianna smiled. Kaitlin’s expression was genuine, and she seemed like a sweet young woman. She was probably the youngest of the group. Niall and Kaitlin were certainly an attractive couple.
Niall. Why was she still thinking of him? But she had to find him and thank him for the music. With its evocative melody, it had really helped make the show. Everything had synergy—from the models to her clothes, from the music to the lighting. If anything was out of sync, the show would suffer. Tonight, as if by magic, all the elements had coalesced, and all the stars had lined up in the celestial heavens for her.
Tonight was her night.
All Fianna needed was someone to celebrate with. She sipped her champagne, crinkling her nose at the bubbles. She loved her friends, but she wished she had someone special in her life.
Her mother often told her she had made a huge mistake leaving behind the man who loved her in Ireland. Was that true? A demanding man might get in the way of her aspirations, of the passion for her craft that many could not understand. Especially her mother. And yet, as much as she loved what she did, she missed having someone with whom she could confide her deepest thoughts and desires. She often stole glances at Verena and Lance, or Scarlett and Johnny. They seemed so happy together.
“Kaitlin, do you know where I can find Niall?” Fianna asked. “I’d like to thank him again for the music.”
“He said he was joining some of his friends.” Kaitlin giggled. “Look for a group of handsome guys, and you’ll find him.” She lowered her voice. “But I think they’re all taken.”
“Well, Niall is certainly taken with you.” Before Kaitlin could say anything else
, Fianna excused herself. She gave instructions to her assistant and the interns who were helping her organize clothes and accessories, and then decided to look for Niall.
As she pushed the door to the event space open, she wished Davina were here. Only her aunt understood how much tonight meant to her. The youngest of her mother’s sisters, Davina had been like an older sister to her at first, and later, more like a surrogate mother. Davina had been one of the most popular runway models of her day before she retired.
Watching her aunt on the runway had sparked Fianna’s passion for fashion design. Davina had helped her with her application to FIDM, the Fashion Institute for Design and Merchandising in Los Angeles.
Her mother had refused to condone such “nonsense,” as she called her daughter’s creative ambitions, saying it was much more sensible to find a man, marry, and begin a family, since that’s what she would do anyway. Why run away to America to study when one had no intention of ever using that knowledge?
And then Fianna had opened her boutique on Robertson Boulevard, and her mother had stopped talking to her. So much for being proud of her daughter.
At least her sister Lizzie was getting married soon. That would alleviate some of the pressure.
Fianna paused and looked around. The crowd showed no signs of thinning out, and a singer was setting up on another stage. No doubt the party would last long into the night.
“Fianna, come join us.” Verena was waving to her from the table where her friends were seated. “You should have seen it from out here. It was the best runway show I’ve ever seen. And the crowd loved it. Imagine, even Greta Hicks had a smile on her face.”
“That’s a good sign.” The Fashion News Daily reporter was not one to conceal what she thought.
“I bet you’ll have great coverage in the media. And I heard this event raised the most money ever for the Women in Pink Foundation, even topping last year.” Verena had been honored the prior year at the foundation’s fundraiser at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
A well-built athletic man in a tuxedo seated next to Verena leaned toward them, draping his arm around Verena. With a tender movement, he straightened the thin strap of the romantic, flowing dress in rosy pink Fianna had picked out for Verena to wear, which was perfect with her alabaster skin and fair blond hair. “Nothing could top that night,” Lance said. “That’s the night Verena and I met. This is our one year anniversary.”
Verena laughed. “And what a year it’s been.” She clasped Fianna’s hand. “For all of us. This is your dream, Fianna. I’m so happy we’re all here tonight.”
“Who’s at the restaurant?” Lance and his partner, Johnny, had opened a restaurant called Bow-Tie a few months ago.
“We have an assistant manager now,” Lance said. “Since it’s a weeknight, it’s not too crowded.”
Fianna winked at him. “You mean, only a dozen or two people waiting to get in, as opposed to the line down the block on the weekends? I’m awfully glad I know you guys or I’d never set foot inside.”
A dark-haired man with a red bow-tie leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “That’s what friends are for, mi amiga.”
“Johnny, it’s so good to see you. Where’s Scarlett?”
A smile lit his face as looked past her. “My lovely lady is coming this way. She stopped to talk to Greta.” He held a hand out to a coppery blonde woman wearing one of Fianna’s designs, a ruby red gown. She moved through the crowd with calm assurance.
“Scarlett, what did you think?”
“I think I’ve got a licensing deal in the works for you. That was a magnificent show.” Scarlett Sandoval was an intellectual property attorney, and since she’d opened her own practice she’d promised to help Fianna secure licensing agreements for accessories such as purses and sunglasses.
“This is certainly your night, Fianna,” Verena said. “The Saks west coast divisional manager for fashion just left, but she told me she’s going to contact you about your line.”
Fianna let out a little squeal. “And where’s Dahlia? I can smell her fabulous perfume lingering here at the table.”
Scarlett laughed. “I think we’re all wearing one of her perfumes tonight. And Verena’s skincare. Last I saw, Dahlia was going to the dance floor.”
Fianna turned in her chair. The music had started again, and the dance floor was filling fast. She saw a petite, dark haired woman wearing the black evening gown she’d designed with her in mind. It was reminiscent of the classic dress in artist John Singer Sargent’s portrait of Madame X. Fianna tilted her head, apprising the look. The sweetheart neckline and nipped waist was perfect on Dahlia.
Scarlett shot a look at Verena. “What do you think of her date?”
“We don’t really know him,” Verena said, seeming to choose her words with care.
Fianna was intrigued. “What’s he like?”
Scarlett twisted her mouth to one side, and Verena threw her a be nice glance. “What I meant was that it’s probably a little daunting meeting your date’s friends all at once,” Scarlett said.
“How diplomatic.” Fianna grinned. “But Scarlett, that’s what I love about you. You always tell it like it is.”
“That’s the attorney in her.” Verena sighed. “Scarlett, the poor guy’s not on trial tonight. You’ve been going after him like you’re interrogating him.”
“So? I look after my friends.” Scarlett winked. “But I got some good information, didn’t I?”
Fianna shook her head, amused. She was sure she’d hear the whole story later. “I’d love to stay with you, but I’m looking for someone, and I want to catch him before he leaves.”
Johnny waggled his eyebrows. “And who’s the lucky guy?”
“Just one of the model’s dates. He gave me the music to use. His name is Niall.”
“Niall’s here?” Johnny shot a look at Lance. “I thought I recognized that music.”
“Oh, you know who he is?” Fianna rose from the table, craning her neck. She thought she caught a glimpse of him striding toward an exit.
Johnny raised his brow. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I nearly threw him out for hanging around backstage. But he turned out to be really helpful. Excuse me, I think I see him.” Fianna darted through the crowd after him. She felt curiously drawn to him. He was Kaitlin’s boyfriend, but she had to speak to him.
She reached the exit and stepped from the red carpet onto the soft sand. She reached down and slipped off her black heels. Shoes dangling in her hand, she started for the shoreline.
At once she saw him, and her heart quickened. The moonlight illuminated his broad silhouette. He jerked his arm and threw something into the water.
Fianna was suddenly incensed. Having grown up on the island of Ireland, she was protective of the ocean. She marched toward him. What was he throwing into the sea?
2
“HEY,” FIANNA CALLED out, pointing at him. “What are you doing? You can’t throw trash in the ocean. What was that? It better not be a cigarette.”
Niall swung toward her. The wind whipped his white shirt and moonlight lit his face. “And what are you, lassie, the shore patrol?”
“Don’t lassie me. Littering the beach is against the law.”
“Well then, you caught me. Guilty as charged.” He held out a fist as if to taunt her.
She put her hands on her hips. “Open it.”
With a slow grin, he unfurled his long, slender fingers to reveal a trio of smooth stones. “You mean to tell me that skipping stones is illegal in California?”
She smirked at him. “You could’ve told me.”
“You didn’t give me a chance. You attacked first.”
“You’re probably going to tell me it’s because of my fiery red hair, that I’m a passionate woman, aren’t you?”
“Actually, no.”
“What then?” Fianna couldn’t help herself. What was she doing? She’d come to thank the man, and instead, she’d verbally attacked him.
His eyes crinkled at the corners and he looked bemused. “If you really want to know what I think, have a walk with me.”
“Aren’t you waiting for Kaitlin?”
“Sure, but my sister always takes forever to get dressed.”
“She’s your sister?”
Niall lifted an eyebrow. “What did you think?”
“Well, most men who hang around backstage are just there to, well, you know what they want, what they are.”
“Ah, you thought I was a modelizer.” When she made a face, he added, “That’s what Kaitlin calls them.”
He started walking, and Fianna fell in beside him. The tide was coming in, and they walked close to the water’s edge. Fianna loved the salty smell of the ocean, which was teeming with life and reminded her of home. The lights of Malibu colony glowed around them and stars sparkled overhead. As wonderful as the evening had been, Fianna was glad for a respite from the crowd in the quiet of the night.
“I want to thank you for the music. You were right, you know. It really helped make the show. It was such a lyrical, haunting song, and it helped create the magical mood I imagined.”
Niall glanced at her, and a slight smile curved his lips. “We deliver the same message, but convey it in different medium.”
He touched her shoulder. “I recognized that quality in your work, Fianna. Whimsical, playful, lighthearted. Like a fairy at work.”
“Was that your music?”
“Aye.”
“It’s beautiful.” The full sleeves of his shirt fluttered in the sea breeze. Now it made sense. The way he dressed, and spoke, and the music he created. He was an artist, just like she was. “You should try to get your music out there.”
Niall skimmed a stone across a rolling wave. “You think so?” He handed her a rock.
Fianna took aim and skimmed it, dancing the pebble along a swell. “Sure. You have talent. Have you been in the states long?”
“Not long.” He handed her another rock. “You have a good arm.”
