In Fashion

by Jody Klaire

  “I…” Mum stopped, then sighed. “Where do you pick this stuff up from?” She glanced out the door, and Kate ducked further behind the van. “Never mind. I have smiley faces for you.”

  “Cool!” Mikey and Mum headed inside, and Kate shuddered out a breath. Maybe a change should involve leaving the country?

  Chapter 7

  Darcy studied her nails, the shimmer on them quite pleasant in the romantic glow of the restaurant. The clientele cast glances her way and smiled when she met their eyes. She offered the correct level of smile in return: long enough to appear genuine but never long enough to invite conversation. Nerves swirled in her stomach, but she knew she’d made the right decision. Susannah needed her to make a good decision.

  “Sorry, traffic was a pain in the ass.” Zoë grinned as she leaned in, planted a smacker on her cheek, and plonked down into the chair opposite Darcy. “What happened? Another one get ditched?”

  Darcy leaned onto her elbows, then stopped. Manners—where were her manners? She dropped her hands to her lap. “Gerrard was very nice.”

  Zoë pulled a face, her shaggy flicked-out hair perfectly highlighted, her eyes glinting with irritation. “Not good. I know most think he’s hot but…eh.” She wagged her hands around, her diamond-encrusted ring sparkled in the light. “He looked…dull, but at least he wasn’t a jerk like Marshall.”

  Zoë was right. She’d always been right. It infuriated her at the best of times. Now she half wanted to stomp off, but then Zoë would stomp right after and cuddle it out of her.

  “He was.” She tapped her nails to her wine glass. “He was dull, Marshall was dull. Why are they so dull?”

  “Um, asking the wrong lady here.” Zoë flashed a cheeky smile at her. “Or did you forget the babe at home?”

  Darcy waved it off. “She just has a huge glittering light over her label.”

  Zoë pursed her lips. “She wears tracksuit pants around the house and eats Jell-O by the bucketload.” She picked up the menu, scanning down it. “I find her onesie hot.”

  Laughter burst out before Darcy could clamp her lips together. “Yes, well…she models underwear in such a way that…I imagine anything would look good on her.” Bitch.

  Zoë studied her, then flicked her gaze back to the menu. “I’m starting to think you believe that shit you spout on TV. If I didn’t know you, then I might think that and wonder if you’re hiding something.”

  “It’s not shit,” she whispered, hiding her mouth with her hand. This was why meeting Zoë in public was treacherous. She wasn’t shy of saying how she felt in public places, out loud, at high volume. “It’s about helping women reconnect to themselves.”

  “It’s about making you look good and pretending that a label fixes everything.” Zoë leaned in, her dazzling wedding ring glinting again. “And it’s based on flawed research, honey, and you know it.”

  “Then why are you using my guides to design your shows?” Darcy sat back with a grin. Oh yes, she knew those lines. She knew that Zoë loved a sharp look.

  “Oh, the design part is perfection.” Zoë tapped her hand and waved her menu in the air. “How long does it take to get a drink around here?” She threw both hands in the air and clanged a fork to Gerrard’s empty glass. “It’s the odd psychology you have going on that confuses me.”

  “Women need to change, and they don’t want to make the effort to do so. I help them find something more exciting in their lives.” She was doing a good job. Countless women had emailed and tweeted and written to say so. “They feel good when I dress them.”

  “Uh-huh.” Zoë’s eyes twinkled with a twinkle she didn’t like. What was she thinking? When she had that look, it meant being humiliated. As if yelling for the waiter wasn’t humiliating enough. “You feel good when you give women something exciting?”

  Now she made it sound seedy. “Clothes.”

  “Right.” Zoë let out a huge burst of laughter and slammed the table with the empty plate. “I read your book, honey.” She rolled her eyes. “And we both know you’re hiding a whole lot more.”

  Darcy scowled at her. “You keep that silent.”

  Zoë laughed even louder. Now the staff were glaring. “Now why would I do that…?” She tapped her finger to her lip. “How would I think you could be hiding something?”

  “Fine.” She had to give Zoë something, or she’d just raise the volume. “It was the buzz of the show.”

  “Or the buzz of androgynous style.” Zoë wagged her ring-laden finger through the air. “I kept your confidence.”

  “Yes, but you have held me hostage with it ever since.” She picked up her menu and slapped Zoë’s hand. “And will you desist with the waving. Everyone knows you have the ring on. We know. Let it drop.”

  “Spoilsport.” But Zoë did put her hand down. “I wear men’s jeans.” She frowned. “I look good, and the boyfriend look is hot right now.”

  “Hot? To whom? You’re different. You know how to accessorize.” Zoë had always been unique. It worked for her. Designers did as they pleased anyway.

  “Yes, but I am offended.” Zoë grabbed her by the scruff and planted a smacker on her lips. “So if you mention butch and manly as a threat one more time, I’ll dig out some photos.”

  “It isn’t a good look.” She held up her hand. Let’s hope no one inside had a camera. If they did, she was suing. She was. She would sue Zoë too. Was she flushed? “I don’t care what you say. Who finds androgynous attractive?” Oh, now the manager was coming over. That was it. They’d be done for lewd conduct. “I don’t care if it’s men or women looking… It’s not.”

  Zoë raised her eyebrows.

  “Get over yourself.” She flapped the napkin around.

  Zoë leaned back and grinned up at the manager who stopped next to their table. “You taking my order, honey?”

  He straightened his tie, and Darcy put her head in her hands. Every time. Did Zoë know how many restaurants they’d been banned from? Darcy could go there alone, but not with Zoë. At this rate, they’d have to meet at a café, and then what would the press say?

  “Ladies, please could you keep your behaviour to yourselves?” the manager said in a stuffy English accent. “We run a distinguished establishment.”

  “Nope.” Zoë flicked her menu around. “If I’m thirsty, I just get louder.”

  He glanced around, then looked Zoë up and down. “I’ve called your chauffeur, Ms McGregor.”

  And there it was. Ejected. Every flipping time.

  “Why? You don’t do lesbians?” Zoë scowled up at him and said it at high volume until every face was watching. Oh wonderful. Make a scene. That would help.

  The manager eyed her. No, he clearly didn’t like lesbians or loud people or maybe women. He’d been delightful until Gerrard left but then ignored her. Nothing like some prejudice to keep a girl humble.

  She pulled out her phone. She could deal with that. “I am tweeting about our treatment. Think it’s only fair that people know who serves them food.” She winked at Zoë. “I think your treatment of my dear friend is deplorable.”

  The manager held up his hands. “Now, Ms McGregor…”

  “And…posted.” She stood up and held out her hand to Zoë. “Hashtag discrimination.”

  Zoë stared at her but followed as she led them out to her chauffeur. London was full of Valentine’s Day couples all trying not to get in trouble for forgetting.

  “No bawling at me for getting us thrown out?” Zoë whispered as they got into the back. “No, ‘why do you have to flaunt yourself’ again?”

  “I’m your…friend. It’s my job to stick up for you.” She met her chauffeur’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Home.”

  He nodded and screeched them out into the building traffic. Why was Zoë still staring?

  “What?” She concentrated on the statues and crazed drivers
navigating Hyde Park Corner.

  “You’ve never stuck up for me before.” Zoë shifted in her seat to stare. She knew how much that grated. Why did she need to do it? “You’d have socked me one for kissing you in public before.”

  Her chauffeur looked focused on the road as if he were deaf. Good man. “You didn’t kiss me, you merely smacked me on the lips. Kissing is gentle, loving, not an assault.”

  Zoë bellowed out a laugh. “Then you’ve forgotten how to do it right.” She winked at the chauffeur, whose lips twitched in a smile in the mirror. “Anyway, it worked. You’re taking me home.”

  “Susannah misses you for some reason. Can’t imagine why.” But she could feel a smile tickling at her lips. Zoë had something not many people had. “And it’s about time you paid a visit to your daughter.”

  Zoë grinned. “Oh, I get that title back now?”

  “You always had it. Stop being a baby.” As if that would have ever changed. Yes, it was a problematic issue publicly when Zoë had married another woman. Personally, she hated the idea, but…Zoë needed stability. Her wife, as suitable as she was aesthetically, balanced her. Was that the right word? Yes. Before, Zoë would have thrown things, ranted, got violent. Balanced, yes, that was the perfect word.

  “Either way…thanks.” Zoë whispered it and cuddled into her arm, much like the homesick child who’d huddled with her in their photoshoots.

  She tensed, then sighed and relaxed. “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter 8

  Kate took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. Mum had sent her a simple text telling her to get her backside round there and explain before she tracked her down and tanned it.

  Weirdly, it worked just as well as it had when she’d been a kid. Her backside had been tanned…a lot. She told Mum it was abuse, and Mum had told her that the law isn’t retrospective and to get over it. Too clever for her own good, that’s what she was.

  “In?” Mikey flung open the door in a pea costume with some kind of toolbelt. Cartoon? She loved him, but she drew the line at kids’ TV.

  “Yeah, until she kicks me out,” she mumbled, hoisting him into her arms. “What mood she in?”

  He poked out his tongue and groaned.

  Great. Tanned backside it was.

  “Kate, sit down.” Mum’s stern tone made her freeze in the hallway. She’d been through this already. Why did they need to do it again?

  “I’ll stand. It’ll be easier to get to the door.” She put down Mikey, who stood in front of her in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips. “Thanks, babe.”

  “Not babe, Sproutman.” Mikey smiled up at her. Something in his eyes flickered, and he blinked, a vacant expression on his face, then wandered off into the living room. “Where’s Dad-step?”

  “Decided you want to watch the race, huh?” her stepdad said, sounding delighted. “We’re on lap twenty-five.”

  There went her bodyguard. She turned to Mum, who had a cigarette pooling smoke upward in one hand, a cup of tea in the other, and Bennie’s letter in front of her.

  “Hit me with it, then.” She folded her arms. Wouldn’t hurt less, but she felt better doing it.

  “Bennie is marrying Laura?” Her mother touched up her curly blonde hair—used to be grey before Darcy “grey hair equals ancient” McGregor. What was she on?

  “Looks like it.” The big letters declaring “getting married” made it pretty flipping obvious. What did she want, a fanfare?

  “Laura is gay too?” Her mother rolled her eyes. “Do you know anyone normal?”

  “No.” Family included. Was anyone normal anyway?

  “She was hanging around you a lot.” There were the narrowed eyes. Here came the pasting. “Bennie never left you alone, even after I told you to stop talking to her.”

  “You kicked me out at twenty. You lost the right to tell me anything.” Only reason she stuck close now was for Mikey. If Mum had bothered paying attention or doing something other than running off with another bloke, then Mikey might have been fine. Someone had to look out for him.

  “Don’t be like that. Bennie is a slapper, and even Mikey knows it.” She dragged on her cigarette. “Laura cheat on you?”

  “Yes.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. The sound of race cars whizzing around a track like a heartbeat, zoom, zoom; zoom, zoom.

  “You didn’t know?” She tapped the ash off the tip and sat back.

  “I suspected. Just didn’t think Bennie would do that to me.” And she’d been blind. It was always a competition with Bennie. Didn’t matter that only Bennie saw it like that, she always had to win. She was probably marrying Laura just to prove something.

  “Which is why you’ve been so quiet.” Mum sighed and leaned further into her seat. “I made it impossible for you to talk to me.”

  Duh.

  Mum pursed her lips. “I know that look. Fine. I reacted badly about things…but I had good reason. I had hopes for you.” She rolled her eyes to herself. “Stupid, because my mother said exactly the same to me when I married your father.”

  “Yeah, guess she did.” Okay, how quickly could she leave this conversation? Maybe she could pretend some competitor had broken into work to steal their lead?

  “You’re not happy. I don’t like it.” Mum dragged on her cigarette again. “You never dress up. How do you expect any decent woman to look at you?”

  Cue double blink. Huh? “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not butch. You’re not a girly girl, but you’re not one of those…” She waved her hand around like that would make it any less offensive. “You’re not either...so what are you?”

  “Me.” She’d had that lecture off Laura and Bennie at various points. She wasn’t butch enough—Laura; she wasn’t girly enough—Bennie. She was sick of it. What did it matter?

  Mum laughed. “Yes…but you have no…definition. No style.”

  “If you tell me to read Darcy, I’m going to tan your backside.” She scowled. Mikey didn’t shut up about the program. Every time she picked him up, there was a new saying of Darcy’s.

  “I want you to meet her.” Mum held up a card. “I want you to let her help you.” She held up her cigarette-wielding hand. “Don’t say no. You can’t. I signed the form saying I was you.” She sighed. “She really does help people. I went and read up on the people on her first series. Every one of them is doing great. Being on the show got them respect. People knew them… They even got better jobs.”

  Kate turned around. Mum had lost it. Nicotine had finally smoked out her brain.

  “Kate, they’ll be here next week. You want to get me in trouble?” Oh, Mum knew how to work her, didn’t she? What could she do, tell them that her mother had committed fraud? Was it fraud? “Bennie is getting married just after the reveal airs…”

  “So?” Kate folded her arms.

  Mum had a shifty grin on her face. “Would be a nice way to send the message that you’re over her.”

  And double whammy. Shit. Her heart lurched with her stomach. “Next week they’ll be here?”

  “Yes. Laura likes the show, if the photo is anything to go by.” Mum’s tone said she knew she’d won. “Be nice to stick it to her too, right?”

  She glanced in the living room. Mikey the Sproutman was roaring around the living room. He loved Darcy. He said he didn’t, but he didn’t shut up about her. She wanted a change, right?

  “Yeah, it would.” She nodded without turning around and headed out the door. Only then did she let the tears spill over with a smile. What a change. Mum hadn’t kicked her out for once. Hadn’t spouted off about being abnormal. In fact, she was sticking up for her. Now, there was a first. Stick it to Bennie and Laura? She could do that? Yeah, Mum and Mikey would love it.

  She smiled. Yeah, it was well worth suffering Darcy the flipping Wonder-Surgeon just for that.

  Chapter 9

>   Darcy watched the city of Cardiff tootle by outside the minibus window. It was tipping down to the extent cars ploughed through deep pools of water, and plumes gushed into the air and soaked the wide pavement complete with fenced-in trees. The sun had been warm and pleasant, the sky clear until they’d flown over the Severn and thick clouds enveloped them. She hadn’t been to Wales before but was noting not to bring suntan cream. Yes, if in Wales, bring raincoat.

  “Mum, aren’t you going to watch the video?” Susannah sounded delighted. She’d been beaming and chattering on the whole journey into Cardiff from the airport. Mostly with Marge, but it was pleasing to hear her appreciating good television.

  “Yes. I like to do it outside the residence. It gives me a nice feel before I head in and pick up the patient.” She smiled. Her routine was perfectly timed. She pulled a pencil from her bag and twirled it between thumb and forefinger. It would be one of the live snippets. Every evening, seven p.m., primetime, one hour of fashion dreams would be made.

  “What’s that?” Susannah leaned in and frowned at the pencil. “Did you seriously buy something cheap?”

  “This is a quality product. The lead is far less prone to breakage, and it has a pleasant red and orange.” She smiled. They’d been the pencils she always used. Her first pack that her mother bought her. The feel of the ridged angles was pleasant to the fingertip.

  “It’s cheap.” Susannah sniggered and tucked her hair behind her ears. “They hand those out in school. How do I not know this about you?”

  “Because they are more than adequate.” She tapped Susannah on the nose and put her headphones on. “Now go have some make-up applied, and do not chew your lip.” She sighed. Chapped lips on high definition television? Not a good mix. She turned to her tablet, flicked it on, pulled up the video Marge had uploaded, and hit play.

  “Kate is cool,” a boy dressed as a sprout yelled, then jumped up and down. Why a sprout? At least it was healthy. “Needs a smile.”