Hooked: A Love Story on 7th and Main

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “It’s not a rival to Dad,” Tayla quickly volunteered. “It’s not even in the same vein of what I’ve been doing. It’s a fashion thing.”

  “Fashion?” Bianca’s smile was sincere and unshadowed. “Tayla, that’s wonderful. Is it with one of those companies for… um, average-sized girls?”

  Tayla tried not to cringe. She reminded herself that this was actually an improvement for Bianca. Tayla was built like the women on her father’s side—sturdy, stocky women of Irish descent, born to work on farms, survive famines, and run from English invaders.

  Her mother had struggled. Tayla had been put on her first diet at age nine. Every year after that had been another diet. More tears. Another fight and another series of doctors all insisting to Bianca that Tayla was perfectly healthy and nothing was wrong with her thyroid gland.

  She was just a big girl.

  Bianca had spent so much time tiptoeing around the word “fat” or “big” or “plus-sized” that “average” was nearly progressive. After all, Tayla was pretty sure the average size for a woman in the United States was something like a fourteen. Technically, Bianca was probably correct.

  Tayla nodded slowly. “Uh… kind of. It’s called inclusive sizing. They carry things from retailers who cater to bigger women and also some who carry clothing from a two to a thirty-two. It’s a little bit of everything.”

  “Thirty-two?” Bianca was mentally trying to do the calculations. It was painful to watch.

  Tayla tried to change the subject. “It’s actually more like a tech start-up. Dad should love it. It’s an online marketplace for international designers.”

  Bianca’s laugh was brittle. “Don’t tell him that part. Just say it’s in fashion and he’ll only ever half listen to what you’re saying. If you tell him it’s in tech, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Yeah, I figured.” For the thousandth time, Tayla wished her mother would just leave. She could move back to Sonoma and start painting again. She could move into her own place in the city and hang out with interesting people.

  Bianca wasn’t a bad person. She was a privileged person who’d never been forced out of her bubble. Sometimes Tayla imagined her mother as a hippie in the Haight or as an artist in Marin. Bianca had a beautiful way of seeing the world when she wasn’t miserable and drunk.

  “Hey, Mom, why don’t we go in?” Tayla shivered. “It’s getting cold.”

  “You go ahead, sweetheart. Mena will help me to bed when I’m ready.”

  “Mena turned in for the night, remember?”

  Bianca blinked. “Did she?”

  “Yep.” She stood and tried to help her mother to her feet. “Come on, Bianca.”

  “I don’t like it when you call me that.”

  “But everyone says you’re too young to be my mom.” Which was true. Botox and very good cosmetic surgery had frozen Bianca in her early forties. “Come on. Want to leave the blanket?”

  “S’cold.” She pulled the wool blanket closer around her shoulders.

  “I know.” She helped her mother stumble to the door and toward the elevator. The house was four stories, and her mother’s bedroom was on the top floor. Her father kept a separate bedroom on the third floor next to Tayla’s room. That is when he wasn’t sleeping at his club in Union Square.

  When Bianca slumped against her, Tayla was more grateful than ever that her father had had the elevator installed. When she was a child, Tayla had nightmares about her mother falling down the stairs and dying. The elevator was a prudent decision.

  She helped her mother into bed and tucked her in with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the bedside table. She also cleared out any medications in the small drawer that could interact badly with alcohol. It was something Mena probably did regularly. She stowed the various sleep aids and anxiety medications in the guest bathroom on the second floor before she made her way up to bed.

  The bed had been turned down and a gas fire was lit in the fireplace, ridding her room of the chill that came with a San Francisco night. The queen bed in the center of the room had been updated with smooth cream bedding and new pillows. The curtains around the antique four-poster bed were fresh too, a verdant green velvet that reminded Tayla of the hills around Lower Lake.

  Her bag was unpacked and her clothes hung up in the closet. Her toiletries had been unpacked and organized in the adjoining bathroom. A fresh decanter of water and a bowl of fruit had been placed on the table in the sitting area.

  Mena wouldn’t have considered any of those things an invasion of privacy. She was hired to see to guests and make them feel at home. The fact that Tayla hadn’t wanted her underwear unpacked was beside the point.

  Ah, home. Cozy, friendly home.

  Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The building that housed the offices of SOKA was a restored Victorian house in a mixed residential and commercial area of the Mission District. Located just off a main road, it had light traffic when the car dropped Tayla off. A small diner was on the ground floor of the building to the left, and a dry cleaner sat on the other side of a narrow alleyway to the right.

  The brass plate near the door was the only indication it was a business. A simple plate.

  SOKA.

  Tayla knocked, hearing music drifting from the interior. It was something fast and bright with a Caribbean beat. A few moments later, the door opened.

  “Tayla?” A smiling woman greeted her. “Welcome to SOKA. I’m Kabisa.” She held out her hand. “Please, come in.”

  Tayla followed her into the small foyer of the Victorian house. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Kabisa’s accent was as crisp as the brightly patterned shirtdress she wore.

  Tayla felt a bit starstruck. Kabisa Nandi’s biography said she had a background in modeling, and Tayla wasn’t surprised. She had deep brown skin and dramatic features, most notably a vivid smile. Her hair was twisted into bantu knots, and she wore a purple headband that drew attention to her incredible cheekbones.

  Tayla blinked. “You are absolutely beautiful. Your pictures don’t do you justice.”

  “Thank you! That’s always lovely to hear. I think you’re very beautiful too. I’ve been looking at your Instagram. I love the way you accessorize.”

  “That’s a great compliment. Thanks.”

  “Is there anything you’d like to leave by the door? Your coat maybe?”

  Tayla saw a rack of coats, umbrellas, and random bags in the entryway. It reminded her more of a home than an office. “I’ll leave my coat. Thanks.”

  “It looks like it will be sunny today. I’m so relieved. I am very ready for summer.” Kabisa ushered her up the stairs and into what looked like a slightly messy living room. “When Azim and I bought this place, we wanted to incorporate the concept of common spaces for our staff to encourage creativity and collaboration, but it’s ended up being a little bit more like a family home.”

  Tayla loved it. She saw folders scattered around and various samples draped across the back of a chaise. Two coffee cups sat abandoned on a side table.

  “I’d like to tell you it’s usually cleaner than this, but I can’t.” She shrugged. “We tend to have one day a month or so when we do a dramatic cleaning, but Azim read a study about how chaotic work spaces promote creativity, and ever since, he’s been very reluctant to ask people to clean up.”

  A heavy step bounded down the stairs, and a young Latino man with a long Mohawk and multiple facial piercings thundered into the room. “Hey! I’m Rudy. You must be Tayla. Nice to meet you.”

  “Rudy is our tech wonder, Tayla.” Kabisa pointed to the coffee cups. “Are those yours?”

  “I was coming to clean up,” he said. “Promise, mom.”

  Kabisa rolled her eyes and raised her hand as Rudy laughed. “The younger members of the staff like to tease me.”

  “No.” Rudy gave Kabisa a side hug. “She’s just the best.�
��

  “Are you and Azim at a good stopping place?”

  “Yeah, he’s in your office.” Rudy waved up the stairs. “I was going to make more coffee. Tayla, would you like some?”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the young man’s friendliness. “Yeah. That would be great. Thank you.” He looked like he was no more than eighteen.

  “Cool.” He pushed through a swinging door. “Cool, cool, cool.”

  Kabisa pointed to the kitchen. “I’m old-fashioned. All important decisions for our first business in Nairobi happened around my mother’s kitchen table, so we still hold staff meetings over meals. We try to all eat lunch together once a week.”

  Tayla’s heart was flying. So far it was a dream office. The people were nice. The atmosphere felt like a cool collective, not a corporate office.

  “Let’s go up to meet Azim.” Tayla walked up the staircase. “I hope you don’t mind stairs.”

  “I grew up in Russian Hill, so everything was a climb,” Tayla said. “No problem.”

  “That’s a beautiful area, but we love the Mission. There is so much energy here.”

  “I agree.”

  Kabisa showed her into an office that looked over the alleyway. There was a small balcony with various plants growing. In fact, the entire office was filled with plants. They hung in the windows, and an indoor palm grew between twin desks on the longest wall.

  Unlike the rest of the house, this space was impeccably neat. Organized bookcases filled one wall, and two mustard-yellow chairs sat in front of them, lined up in perfect symmetry. The room was painted a soothing blue, and the scent of lemon filled the air.

  “This is a great office.” Tayla looked around. Though the room was neat, it was filled with art and photographs of all kinds.

  “Azim and I work in here, and as you can see, we like things a little neater. But all our employees are allowed to personalize their spaces.”

  “How many employees do you currently have?”

  “We have five still in Nairobi because we have a physical store there. We have another two setting up a satellite office and probably a physical store in Chiang Mai, Thailand, right now, and then five here.” She sat in one of the yellow chairs and motioned for Tayla to take the other. “Expansion is inevitable. Not because we’re anxious for the business to be bigger—we actually liked being a smaller company—but because our market is growing, and without expansion, our customers are going to become dissatisfied. The upside is that we’re going to be able to highlight artists and designers from new markets like South America, where we haven’t been able to travel much in the past.”

  “So you and Azim do all the research yourselves? Finding new artists and companies?”

  “Not entirely, though that’s how we started out. We get a lot of referrals now from existing relationships. Most of our new artists come via word of mouth.”

  “That’s so cool.”

  “And now with the app launching—”

  “Hi.” A tall man stood in the doorway of the office. “I see Kabisa has already started.”

  “Azim!” Kabisa rose and Tayla joined her. “Meet Tayla. Tayla, this is my husband, Azim, the business brains of SOKA.”

  “Don’t let her fool you,” he said. “Her brain is plenty business-minded.

  “It’s very nice to meet you.” Tayla shook his outstretched hand. “I really like your office.”

  “Thank you.” Azim had a much lighter accent, and he looked Indian, not Kenyan. He was as tall as Kabisa but had a slim runner’s build like Jeremy. He wore glasses and was clean-shaven. He was also incredibly handsome. He didn’t look like a tech nerd. He looked like a Bollywood star playing a tech nerd. Tayla tried not the stare at the two ridiculously pretty people she might be working for.

  “Was the office easy to find?” he asked.

  “So easy.” She pulled out her phone. “But I can’t lie. I use my phone to find everything.”

  Azim smiled. “Then you are our target demographic.”

  Tayla and Kabisa sat, and Azim pulled up a chair. They continued the meeting, talking about the development of the app, which was a fairly open secret in the online fashion world. Kabisa talked about her ideas to create community on the app with chat rooms and profiles where users could post pictures and keep fashion journals.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Tayla said. “Think about how many times you’ve been shopping and tried something on, taken a picture, and had to wait for friends to get back to you if you want a second opinion.”

  “Exactly,” Kabisa said. “Imagine if you could join a group on the SOKA app specifically for clothing opinions. It wouldn’t have to be related to our inventory either. It could be for any clothing. But you’d have a built-in community of people ready to give you advice on fit or suggestions if you don’t know what would be good for an event. Things like that.”

  “So it’s going to be a combination of social network and shopping app?”

  “Yes,” Azim said. “But curated, like it is now, and we’re already working on filters and moderation, because we want the chat rooms and forums to remain positive and constructive.”

  “Will people have the option of creating a private profile and limiting what is available to see?”

  “Absolutely,” Kabisa said. “I think that’s essential for user trust.”

  “We all agree with that,” Azim said. “And since we’re a retailer and we’ll be charging a small yearly subscription for the app after a trial period—we’re thinking under five dollars—we won’t be collecting data for use by anyone but us for internal marketing and suggestions.”

  Tayla nodded. “I think most people can live with that.”

  “The position we’re thinking about you for would be influencer outreach,” Azim said, “though we’d obviously be looking for input on other aspects as we go.”

  “As a social media user,” Kabisa said, “I think some of the metrics companies are currently using for marketing aren’t what we’re looking for. Our customer isn’t always following fashion blogs or influencers. Often they’re following travel. Or photography. Or art. Music. Social justice. It’s not all about the models.”

  “I can see that,” Tayla said. “But fashion is still a huge community online.”

  “I agree,” Azim said. “And the numbers don’t lie. Inclusive sizing and diversity in marketing are keys to reaching that community.”

  Tayla said, “I’m really happy to hear you say that, both from a professional and personal standpoint.”

  “We encourage all our retailers to offer clothes in a wide variety of sizes,” Kabisa said. “After all, if all we had to offer was clothing for women my size, my sisters would kill me.”

  Azim smiled. “You think she’s exaggerating, but I can confirm that. My sisters-in-law have no mercy.”

  “Good to know.” Tayla was impressed. More than impressed. For the first time since she’d sent in her résumé, she realized she wanted this job. Really wanted it. Not just for benefits or salary, but because they were doing something extraordinary, opening online retail to designers and customers of all kinds.

  “Okay,” Tayla said. “You’ve sold me on your company vision. Let’s talk about specifics.”

  Tayla groaned into her hands. “Tobin, why did you send me this job listing?”

  Tobin sipped his margarita. “Told you. And clearly, I want you to move back to San Francisco. That’s why I sent you the job.”

  “It’s perfect. It’s like the perfect company.”

  “Nope.” He raised a hand. “I guarantee it’s not perfect. No job is perfect. Things you think are amazing right now might eventually get on your nerves. Doesn’t mean it’s not great though. And the two of them are so…”

  “Hot?”

  Tobin laughed. “Yeah. Pretty much. Everyone is buzzing about working for them. Everyone wants in.”

  “Okay, you know I have no problems with my self-esteem, right?”

  “I have known thi
s for some time, yes.”

  “But seriously, why are they that interested in me? I’m a small-to-medium-level influencer; I don’t have the biggest follower count. Not even close.”

  Tobin frowned. “I think there’re two things you’re not seeing. One, you have a business background and an accounting degree. More than one tech start-up and fashion company has been doomed from the start because they can’t balance a basic budget. So that’s one thing you have going for you. The other thing is, look at your friends.”

  She frowned. “What about my friends?”

  “I don’t mean real-life friends. I mean online friends. You may not have the highest follower count, but the people who do follow you are some very big names. You know the people with the high counts and they respect you. The people with the biggest following aren’t interested in outreach. They’re interested in raising their profile. You, on the other hand, know everybody. At least you know them online. You’re the model other models like.”

  “I guess so.” She finished her martini and waved at the waitress to order another one. “I’ve never thought about that. A lot of those girls I just know because we all started blogging around the same time.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a serious person and you don’t chase drama. And now some of those early contacts are huge names. That’s valuable. I think SOKA was brilliant to spot your potential.” He glanced to the side and eyed her legs. “I spotted it years ago.”

  She laughed. “Never going to happen.”

  “Why?” He reached for her hand. “We don’t work together anymore. All the reasons you gave me for not hooking up aren’t reasons anymore.”

  Tayla slipped her hand from his grip. “Because… of other reasons. And I’m kind of seeing someone right now.”

  “I don’t mind. I wasn’t asking to marry you.” He frowned. “Wait, where? Where are you seeing someone? In that little town?”

  “Yes, in that little town. And I know you don’t mind, but he would. I don’t think he’s a casual-fling kind of guy.”

  “Are you serious?”