Out of Practice

by Carsen Taite

* * *

  Friday morning, Roxanne slapped at her phone until the alarm stopped its incessant and annoying tone, and then she lunged out of bed before she could change her mind and go back to sleep. She lurched her way into the kitchen to start the coffee.

  Pre-PV, she’d always been up early, ready to tackle whatever the day had in store, but after a few days with Abby, she’d learned to love the art of cuddling in bed and she kind of liked greeting the day tangled in the sheets with a beautiful woman beside her. The thought brought with it a flash of naked Abby rolling over into her arms. Yum.

  The image slipped away as she sipped her coffee and started to wake up. Vacation life was not reality. Abby was probably waking up right about now before she headed to her job as a corporate raider, tech guru, or some other equally boring but lucrative occupation that gave her the financial freedom to be able to afford to fly first class and spend a week at Azure. She, on the other hand, had to scratch out a living. She reached for her phone and scrolled through her messages before switching over to her social media accounts. The column she’d written about the protest outside of Barclay’s was still trending on an uptick. Surprising, since she’d expected the story would peak and then fade, as most did. Curious, she typed in a few quick searches and found a list of new groups formed for the sole purpose of discussing the plight of brides without dresses in the lead-up to their wedding.

  Her phone rang in her hand and she nearly dropped it into her coffee. She looked at the screen but didn’t recognize the number. She was tempted to send it to voice mail, but what if it was…No, it couldn’t be Abby. Could it? She wouldn’t call this early, even if it was her. But maybe this was the only time she had before the demands of her high-powered job kicked in. Before she could equivocate further, she answered the call. She barely had a hello out before a voice interrupted her.

  “Roxanne Daly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hold for Ms. Marshall, please.”

  She said okay, but the music on the line meant Ms. Curt and Dismissive had already placed her on hold. She racked her brain for any Marshalls she knew but could only come up with one and she didn’t actually know her. Nancy Marshall was the senior editor for Best Day Ever, the premier publication of Women’s Work Publishing & Production, the company responsible for all the wedding programming on GAL, the up-and-coming new female-focused cable network. She laughed at the idea Nancy Marshall would be calling her directly. She was mid-laugh when a piercing voice came through the line.

  “Ms. Daly, Nancy Marshall here. Where are you on the coverage of Barclay’s closing?”

  “Good morning, Ms. Marshall.” Holy shit. It really was that Nancy Marshall. Roxanne scrambled to think of a response, since Nancy’s tone indicated she should be in the middle of a hot story, not a winding down one. “I plan to do a full series on the chain closing, and I have several sources I’m consulting. The story is actually gaining traction, not fading away.”

  “As I suspected. I’d like to get a team on this right away, with you leading it, of course. Your draft of the PV honeymoon piece was excellent. Let’s set up a meeting. Rodney will contact you with the details. Can I count on you?”

  Roxanne barely heard the compliment buried in Nancy’s charging tone. She felt like she was a confident person, but she hoped that one day she would possess the insane level of confidence that Nancy had just exhibited where she could call people on the phone, command that they do things, and know it would be done. There was no denying this request. Besides, it could propel her career to the next level. “Yes, you can count on me.”

  When she hung up the phone, she did a little dance to celebrate, and finished the rest of her coffee. She considered breakfast, but the only food she had in the house was a grapefruit of undetermined age that closely resembled a shrunken head. She made a mental note to go to the store later, but right now, her focus was on all things Barclay’s, and she took to the internet to do some research.

  Barclay’s Bridal had been an Austin staple for years, and when they first opened, they hadn’t specialized in wedding dresses. They started as a family-owned dressmaker slash tailor, catering to wealthy clients in Austin. Over time, they’d started to get more and more requests for wedding gowns and began to specialize in wedding attire. The business model changed from a focus on the wealthy to providing ready access to custom dresses for a broader clientele. At their peak, the company had over a hundred stores throughout the country with their flagship store, the one she and Mary had visited the other day, in Austin, and Barclay’s became the go-to store for brides across the country. They offered an ample mix of off-the-rack dresses, but they also featured trunk shows from many up-and-coming designers whose careers were made by the exposure they received at the store.

  Last year, following the death of the senior Barclays, things started to change. Roxanne clicked through several articles that detailed the changes at the store. Less designer influence and less selection. Customers began complaining about the downturn in customer service and how the “experience” they’d come to expect was sorely lacking. Sales dipped and there’d been talk of closing a few of the stores in lower volume areas, but the sudden closure of all the stores wasn’t an act any of the forecasters had seen coming. The closure had been abrupt, like many such business closures were, but unlike when a grocery or electronics store closed, customers couldn’t just run down the street and pick up a new wedding dress.

  Roxanne jotted down a few questions. Were finances the reason for the closure? Did the reputation for quality and great service die with the founders? Based on what she’d read, she couldn’t imagine Mr. and Mrs. Barclay would’ve closed with no notice, leaving brides-to-be without their gowns. She scribbled down a few more notes, and then she checked her email to find a new message from Nancy Marshall’s assistant, Rodney, with details for a meeting at Best Day Ever tomorrow morning. Yikes. She drained the last dregs of her coffee, thankful she’d got up early because she had a lot to do to be ready to pitch Nancy and whatever team she’d assembled. Her mind was already whirring with possibilities. This could finally be the big break she’d been hoping for, and nothing was going to throw her off track.

  * * *

  Abby spread out her files in the conference room while she waited for Wynne to arrive. She was looking forward to spending some one-on-one time with Wynne, plus she was glad for the company since Campbell and Grace were both out of the office, working other cases. When Campbell had come up with the crazy idea that they all should quit their jobs and start their own firm, she figured they’d spend the first year hustling for new clients, but four months in, they had already developed a good client base. Between landing social media breakout star, Leaderboard, and the loyalty of past clients like Tommy Barclay, the three of them had wound up being busier than they’d been at their old firms, but decidedly happier now that they called the shots.

  “You look deep in thought.”

  Abby looked up to see Wynne smiling at her. “That’s how I always look before my second cup of coffee. Join me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Abby led the way to the office break room and pointed at the espresso machine. “I’d offer you a cappuccino, but your girlfriend purchased this beast and I still haven’t figured out all the features. I hate to admit it, but Graham usually makes mine.”

  “Good news, we have one at home and I’ve finally mastered the art of cappuccino making. Do you like yours dry or extra dry?”

  Abby flashed on an image of Roxanne’s delight when she’d brought her cappuccino from the resort restaurant in bed. She’d vowed then and there to learn how to use the machine, and maybe even buy one of her own. “What I’d really like is for you to show me how to make my own once we get this silly dress business sorted out.”

  “Deal,” Wynne said. “In the meantime, I’ll be your contract barista.”

  Abby watched her flip some switches and turn some knobs, and then accepted the steaming cup Wynne handed her way. “This
is delicious.” Abby sipped her drink. “I’m not usually intimidated by new things, but for some reason, I have an aversion to all the dials and buttons. I guess I got too used to ordering on the fly, but it really would be much nicer to be able to make it whenever I want. Besides, then I can file this under skills to impress all the girls.”

  “Campbell may have mentioned something about a particular girl from your trip.”

  “Campbell has a big mouth.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Abby instantly felt bad. “No, it’s okay. I’ve never been one to keep secrets when it comes to my social life…Besides, it was a vacation fling, nothing more.”

  “Got it. No special cappuccinos for vacation-only girl.”

  Abby laughed along with Wynne, but she felt a twinge of guilt at relegating Roxanne to the same category as all her past flings, but she wasn’t sure why. Silly, really, since she wasn’t likely to see her again which meant none of this even mattered. It was time to turn off vacation mode and get focused. Back in the conference room, she dug into the Barclay’s file.

  “I don’t know if Campbell mentioned this, but Tommy is an old friend and I knew his parents. I may not be sentimental about wedding dresses, but I do care about supporting whatever he needs as far as the family business. Basically, he wants to know what his options are. The twins, his brother and sister, are kind of jerks, and they’ve never been keen on being part of the family biz. Tommy’s been anticipating a break with them for a while and has already started looking at other options, including an online only site to sell wedding attire, but all this media is going to kill any chance of salvaging the business in any form if it’s not contained.”

  “I’m surprised Tommy was on board with shutting down the business in the first place,” Wynne said.

  “He wasn’t, but he was outvoted. The twins held a meeting when he was out of town. They have completely unrelated business interests and were never really into the whole bridal industry thing anyway. Barclay’s started having some financial trouble before their parents died, and they view this as an opportunity for a fresh start. Of course, if they’d really wanted to do this right, they should’ve filed bankruptcy first, but they probably suspected Tommy would fight them on that front because he’s always been convinced bankruptcy means failure. Now, everyone’s options are pretty limited. ”

  “I’m guessing Tommy doesn’t get along with the twins.”

  “It’s hit-and-miss. They’re younger and weren’t raised in the business like he was. Mr. Barclay senior always envisioned his children taking over the business, but Tommy was the only one of them who expressed an interest. Just last year after his wife died, I advised him to give Tommy a larger interest if he wanted to create a legacy, but he held out hope that the twins could one day spark to the business. Of course, he had no idea he would be gone so soon.”

  “That’s rough. I remember reading about his death so close to his wife’s. Truly tragic.”

  “It’s been hard on all of them, but Tommy has been devastated. And now to watch while the business he made his life’s work be shuttered and then smeared in the news? It’s a lot.”

  “Okay, what’s the plan?” Wynne asked. “Revive the business or keep it closed and mitigate the damage?”

  “Good question. The plan for now is to provide Tommy with his options, which includes making a plan the twins can live with, hopefully one that allows him to salvage Barclay’s reputation long enough for him to spin the current business model into something workable. We’ll put together all the contingencies and arrange a meeting. And I think at this point we need to consider bankruptcy as one of the options, and I know only enough to be dangerous. Campbell said you have some experience?”

  “I do, although I’m not an expert, but I’m as qualified as anyone to give some advice. The first step is deciding on the long-range goal. There’s completely going out of business and then there’s staving off the debt to give time to restructure.”

  “Yes, those. I’m already hearing about lawsuits headed our way, and if bankruptcy can hold those off, I’m all for it. Are you in?”

  “You bet.” Wynne raised her coffee mug. “Here’s to saving the bridal dress business.”

  Abby clinked her mug against Wynne’s. “And the future of Barclay’s.” She wasn’t sure she cared about the bridal dress business, but she did care about Tommy and his happiness. She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if she showed up to the firm one day and found that Campbell and Grace had decided to shut down the business by outvoting her.

  Stolen dreams. That’s what she was fighting against, and now that she had realized her own dream of being in business for herself, she was even more committed to helping others achieve theirs. And no, her dreams definitely did not include a certain tall blonde who looked particularly good in a swimsuit.

  Chapter Seven

  Roxanne stepped into the sleek glass and steel conference room and tried to act nonchalant, but she was a queasy mixture of excited and nervous. She’d been to Best Day Ever’s offices a couple of times, but never to the top floor executive suite, and she was glad she dressed for the occasion in something other than her usual writer’s attire of yoga pants and her favorite hoodie.

  “Ms. Marshall will be with you in just a moment.” The thin, gorgeous, perfectly accessorized receptionist answered another call, and Roxanne took the opportunity to wander around and look at the framed magazine covers on the wall. Online content was becoming the driving force of the various magazines Women’s Work put out, but print still reigned supreme and Best Day Ever was their crown jewel. Despite the plethora of Pinterest boards and Etsy shops, brides-to-be still loved to gather a stack of magazines and spend hours flagging pages featuring all their favorite things. Maybe someday print would be obsolete, but she hoped not because having a regular column in the print edition was her idea of making it, and she held out hope she would achieve that dream one day.

  She heard the sound of the door open and looked up to see Nancy Marshall enter the room flanked by a tall, thin young man with a goatee and another, slightly older man who looked like he’d raided the fashion closet and taken everything he could get his hands on. Trailing behind were several tall, willowy young women, all carrying iPads and green juices. Roxanne suddenly felt underdressed and like she had the words “I ate a cheeseburger and fries last night” tattooed on her forehead, but she hid the dip in confidence beneath a smile. “Ms. Marshall, it’s nice to meet you.”

  Nancy gripped her hand. “Good to meet you too. Have a seat?”

  Roxanne followed her lead and took a seat close to the head of the table. Nancy introduced the guy with the goatee as her assistant, Rodney—he was the one who’d called her with the assignment for the honeymoon piece—and Mr. Too Much Fashion as Stuart Lofton, head of visual media, whatever that meant. The juice girls remained nameless and they gathered at the other end of the room where they started typing on their phones, giving the impression they were either bored or live tweeting the meeting. She did her best to ignore them and focus on Nancy. “I think you’ll be pleased with the final spread on the resorts in Puerto Vallarta. I just received the photos and I should have the captions turned in this afternoon.”

  “I didn’t bring you here to talk about that.”

  “Okay.” Roxanne wasn’t sure what to make of the brisk tone.

  “Women’s Work would like to take Best Day Ever to the next level.”

  “Next level?” Roxanne felt foolish for repeating the words, but she wasn’t at all sure what Nancy expected and she didn’t have a clue where this conversation was headed.

  “Yes.” Nancy motioned to Rodney who sprang to life and fired up his iPad. He displayed a new logo on the screen with a flourish, while Nancy kept talking. “We’ve been working on the concept for this pilot for a while, and GAL network is on board. All we need now is the talent. I know that we’ve discussed expanding our licensing agreement to link your blog to other platforms, but I�
��m thinking bigger picture.”

  “Bigger picture.” Roxanne suppressed an urge to bite her lip. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “Television. An hour a week. All things bride. Occasionally featuring celebrity guests with their grand, splashy plans, but primarily focused on ideas that normal, everyday brides can incorporate into any-sized budget. A perfect combination of aspirational and practical. Rodney?”

  He started a slideshow and turned it toward her. Roxanne watched the presentation, impressed with the level of planning that had gone into developing the concept. When the slideshow concluded, she turned her attention back to Nancy. “Very thorough and a great concept.”

  “It is for the most part, but like I said, we’ve been stumped on one portion of the planning.” She paused and Roxanne was unsure about whether she was expected to fill the void, so she merely nodded. “The host. We’ve met with some top talent, but nothing has quite been the right fit.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find the right person,” Roxanne said.

  “Actually, I think we have.” Nancy motioned to Rodney, who fired up the iPad again. “Take a look.”

  Roxanne watched the screen fill with a familiar scene—the front of the downtown Barclay’s store, with a crowd of protesting brides-to-be. And there she was in the thick of it. But how? She hadn’t taped the interviews. She glanced back at everyone else in the room, but they were all staring at the screen raptly watching her talk to a bride-to-be named Emily who’d ordered a wedding dress based on a picture she’d drawn of her dream dress when she was only twelve. Emily detailed how she’d scrimped and saved to purchase the dress and her final fitting had been scheduled days before, but when she showed up to try on the dress, Barclay’s was closed for good.

  Roxanne watched as Emily teared up and she did too, moved by the emotion in her voice. She couldn’t deny there was an extra level of emotion in the video footage that didn’t always come across in her blog posts.