In Fashion

by Jody Klaire

  Kate pulled her clothes on. “Felt a bit underdressed.”

  Zoë flicked her gaze along the band of Kate’s boxers that peeked over her jeans. “If I wasn’t married, I’d say something witty right now.”

  “You married a woman who covers most billboards in New York in her underwear,” she snapped. Why did that sound like a protest? “Maybe she can model some boxers for you?”

  Zoë smirked.

  “Mum!” Susannah stared at her and put her hand over her mouth. Was she smiling?

  “What?” She shrugged. “It’s not on camera.” She stepped further away from Kate and her fruity perfume… Or was that Zoë’s? No, she’d always worn a deeper scent when… Move on. “I need to design,” she squeaked. “Zoë, pictures?”

  “More than enough.” She winked at Kate, who blushed enough her ears went red. Starstruck? Zoë studied her, then cocked her head and smiled a dangerous smile.

  “Zoë!” Darcy put her hands on her hips. They had work to do. Kate did not need to be ogled. She wasn’t ogling her, was she? No. She was the ultimate professional, yes. Zoë was being… Zoë. Wasn’t one modelesque wife enough? She stomped into the living room.

  “Yeah,” Zoë purred and flashed a dashing grin at Kate. She turned to follow only to stop next to Marge and shake her finger. “Naughty. She hasn’t got a clue, and you know it. Perfect man?”

  Marge blushed.

  Zoë narrowed her eyes at Susannah who clutched her phone. “You knew too, didn’t you?”

  Susannah bit her bottom lip like she’d done something naughty too.

  “Know what?” Darcy put her hands on her hips. What was Zoë doing now?

  “That I need a good coffee.” Zoë stuck her tongue out and poked Susannah in the side. Susannah giggled, blushed, and focused on her phone.

  “You need a warning label,” Darcy muttered and pointed to the bedroom. “Move.”

  “Ah, she’s bossy with you too, huh?” Kate said with a smirk.

  “Oh yeah,” Zoë shot back, her tone far beyond decent. She clamped her hands over Susannah’s ears. “Just how I like her.”

  Kate’s neck flexed again, and she wandered over to one of the cameramen trying, and failing, to ignore the conversation if the smirks were anything to go by.

  Zoë strolled over and slid an arm around Darcy’s shoulders, guiding her toward the room. “Now I know why you called.”

  Darcy blew out a long, slow breath. She shoved open the door with a whimper. “I need champers.”

  “No, champers got you pregnant.” Zoë grinned and shut the door behind her. “Better you stay sober with this one.”

  She met her eyes and understanding oozed back at her. She slumped into a leather chair at the side. “Yes, yes. That’s probably a really good idea.”

  Chapter 14

  Kate ate her dinner, staring out at the foggy, now-rainy London night. Lights along the river were in misted halos; the sand-coloured stone balcony along the river seeped with patches of rainwater, and the trees lining the street below twinkled in the bluish white light.

  Darcy and Zoë had been locked away in the room for hours. Susannah was huddled close to Marge, pouring over her tablet and whispering. The cameramen had headed out, trailing muddy boots over the floor, and Kate had mopped it just for something to do.

  It was just so weird being in an apartment with Susannah and Darcy McGregor and Zoë Windermere. These were the people in magazines, the people who millions knew by face alone. The kind of people who went to glitzy parties and won awards, the kind of women who weren’t real…not really. She half expected to wake up or be sectioned. Seeing them as people was…confusing.

  Susannah was the spit of her mother. Not as tall and less composed, but unmistakably related, from the eyes to the mouth to the frown. The only things that were different were their eyes and hair. Darcy had blonde hair—well, at least dyed—whereas Susannah’s was black. Not that unusual black when people dyed it, but the shiny black Italian, Spanish, or Portuguese women had. Must be from her dad. Was he Italian? He was short and dark-haired, anyway. Susannah was a bit geeky, a bit nervous, like she hated being in front of a camera and being pictured everywhere.

  Zoë…well… She was…Zoë. She swayed when she walked, true model gait, and she was styled to perfection. It was hard not to be in awe. When Zoë had stepped out to get Darcy and her a drink, she’d only had to wink, and Kate had dropped her mop. Shaggy blonde hair, deep-tanned skin, brown eyes, lips fuller than anyone else could pull off, and a figure that just hypnotised. Kate pulled up her knees and leaned on them. She knew everyone in the LGBTQIA, or really, any community would be clawing at her for getting to stand in the same room as the woman. Zoë had that fairy tale marriage, the great career, the looks. She just made that dream seem…possible.

  And Darcy… Kate picked at her knees. She didn’t know what it was about Darcy McGregor that fired up something in her, but she was either trying to tease her or reassure her, get reassurance, or just make her laugh that wonderful laugh. Emotions raged, and she never did that; she never got flushed because a woman was staring at her breasts, or her legs, or her boxers. She didn’t get so worked up when anyone else hoisted her breasts or her bum…and on camera. She wasn’t someone to be bashful, but how could she not be near Darcy and her aqua eyes? She put her head in her hands. Hopefully no one noticed.

  “You handled yourself spectacularly,” Marge said, leaning back in her chair and throwing her glasses onto the table. “Kate, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her thaw like that before.”

  “What do you mean?” She sat upright. Must have looked upset. Darcy had been sexy, patronising, knowledgeable, bitchy, and…just Darcy.

  “She’s hard to wind up,” Susannah said, a grin on her face. “As in, she’ll be calm and then punch a guy, but she doesn’t snap.”

  Kate leaned against the wall. “Like that actor…Marshall something?”

  Susannah beamed, her eyes twinkling. “Yeah. Like that.”

  Kate looked out at the rainy London night. Maybe she was a lot like Darcy herself? She was always calm until she flipped. “Best I keep my guard up, then?”

  Marge chuckled, then eyed the door Zoë and Darcy were locked behind. “I don’t know what they are concocting in there.” Her phone rang, and she picked it up. “John…yes…I know the sponsors will want full advertising, but, John, think of the figures. Who has seen Darcy working with Zoë before? You have any idea the opportunity this is?” She met Susannah’s guarded gaze and rolled her eyes. “Who doesn’t want to see them together on screen? They haven’t been in the limelight together since that fashion show.”

  Kate smiled. Yeah. She didn’t do fashion, but it was played on most programs or recreated. Zoë and Darcy had been, what, in their early twenties at most? They’d burst down the catwalk to some thudding pop tune in floor-length trench coats, then ripped them off to reveal see-through, ripped-up jeans, slashed tops, and attitude that pulsed when they turned and posed as a pair. Then they’d turned and strutted back up the catwalk to a standing ovation. Sounded simple, but wow, it was the sheer power of the looks in their eyes, the stances the, “I own this,” that made the designer who he was.

  Susannah studied her, then narrowed her eyes, frowned, and went back to her phone.

  Kate wandered over and eased into the curvy wooden seat beside her. “Must be hard sharing your mum, huh?”

  Susannah met her eyes: she seemed guarded, lonely, looking for support, worried. Click, click, click, like a camera shutter capturing raw emotion. “I don’t know any different.”

  “I always felt like I had to share my mum too.” Kate studied her short nails—Darcy would mutter about those, no doubt. She’d once tried false nails for Bennie, who wanted her to be more “feminine” for a friend’s wedding. All it had done was make it hard to grab anything, make a lot of things more…awkward, and she’
d lost one in the photocopier on the Monday morning. Frank had been fuming for days about that false nail; not once did he figure out it was her, though.

  “But did you ever think she was…false?” Susannah glanced at Marge, then tapped at her phone.

  “Oh yeah, really fake. She had an affair when I was a kid. She kept having an affair, even when Mikey was born.” She pulled over the tissue box, ripped off a corner of it, and cleaned her nails. Maybe she was being a bit deep, but it still got to her. “Mikey was a toddler when I was in my mid-twenties. Everyone thought he was mine.”

  “They did?” Susannah tapped at her hand and fished something out of a designer handbag. “Mum’s. Just don’t let her catch you.”

  Kate grinned and pulled out the nail scissors—had Darcy’s name engraved, huh. “Yeah. Even when Mum said he wasn’t, they still thought she was covering me.” She picked at her thumb, which always got grubbier for some reason. “She never paid attention to either of us…not really.” She cleaned off the scissors and stashed them away. “We fell out, big style, and I moved out.” She sighed. It still gnawed at her. “I came home to see Mikey try sliding down the bannister and fall from ceiling height onto his head.” She pushed the case toward Susannah. “Mum was too busy with her bloke.”

  Susannah put her hands over her mouth. “No…like that?”

  “Oh yeah.” She leaned back in her chair as Marge nattered away to the guy on the phone. “I took Mikey to hospital and flipped. I smacked the bloke so hard I broke my knuckle and his front tooth.”

  “I would have too.” Susannah nodded, that frown deep, her eyes full of compassion.

  “Yeah, anyway. It’s why Mikey is…and he’ll always be…” She tapped at the edge of the table. “Just a kid on the surface.”

  “He seems happy, though?” Susannah patted her hand, leaning in. “He likes seeing you smile. I saw the video.”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged and picked at the edge of the table again. “I haven’t forgiven Mum, even though she married the guy. Dad got really messed up over it.” She leaned onto the table. “I did the same thing.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to forgive.” Susannah leaned onto her fist. “I don’t know my dad, not really. Zoë was around…” She shrugged. “But then she got married.” She glared at the door. “And the only thing Mum has an affair with is a camera.”

  “But, unlike my mum, she does pay attention.” She nodded at the door. What were they doing in there, anyway? How hard was it to dress a person? “She notices.”

  Susannah let out a full teenage snort. “Yeah, right.”

  Kate turned and winked at her. “Yeah, right.” Full teenage impression right there, yeah.

  Susannah giggled.

  “Look, John. Zoë is a designer.” Marge tapped her finger to the table. “What do you mean a family show?”

  Kate winced. “I guess John doesn’t rate my boxers, huh?”

  Susannah giggled again. “He’s the head of the channel. He always yells.”

  “John, choose your words carefully. There is no need for that kind of talk.” Marge gripped the table, fingertips white. “I will not have a male designer.”

  “Because a male designer is family-friendly?” Kate motioned to the door. Yeah, Zoë had punched a few photographers, been drunk and pictured drunk, but she was a celebrity.

  Susannah smiled. “More than Zoë, probably.”

  “John, I’m hanging up now.” Marge scowled at the table. “Why do I need to check the Twitter feed?” She shook her head. “I’m running with Zoë.” She cut the call and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Did Zoë make his clothes too tight or something?” Kate bumped Susannah’s shoulder. Hopefully Marge would calm from purple-faced. It did not look healthy.

  “Zoë is a lesbian. That’s the only thing I can think of.” Marge flicked through her phone. “He’s not like that. He’s never been like that.”

  Susannah’s face dropped as she stared at her phone. “Um…there might be a good reason.”

  Marge leaned over, and her face dropped into the same ashen grimace. “Oh dear.”

  Kate folded her arms. She’d give them space. This was their thing, their lives.

  Susannah met her eyes. “There’s a picture of Mum leaving the restaurant…and in a restaurant on Valentine’s Day.” She flipped the phone around. A picture of Zoë planting a smacker on Darcy’s lips. “Kissing married women on Valentine’s Day isn’t really family-friendly.”

  Kate chuckled. “It’s hardly steamy.” She shook her head. “Zoe’s kissed her before like that.” And she so did not have that picture on her phone.

  Susannah exchanged a look with Marge.

  “She wasn’t married then. It was for show,” Marge mumbled.

  Kate flicked down the screen. “Yeah, but look, she’s talking about the restaurant. It’s support.” She tapped Susannah on the hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Susannah smiled, but it was more guarded than before. Marge was much the same.

  “Come on, your mum is not like mine. She’s not going to have an affair with a married woman.” She held up her hand. “Okay, that sounded like my mum is a lesbian. But you get the idea.”

  Marge tapped Susannah on the shoulder, her brow wrinkled. “Of course. Kate is right.”

  Susannah nodded but went back to her phone, her frown line deep. “Sure.”

  Kate picked up the case with the nail scissors in and grinned. “If she is, we’ll cut her nails short. That’ll teach her.”

  Susannah chuckled, and whatever worry was in her eyes faded. Yeah, it was crazy to think Darcy and Zoë were an item. She glanced at the door… And she was not pulling that picture and saving it to her phone. Nope.

  Chapter 15

  Darcy lay her head back against the wall, feeling the softness of the leather seat against her thighs, the dimples against her back, forcing herself to be grounded, calm, and serene.

  “Babe, that shrink shit is not going to get Kate dressed.” Zoë tapped the draftsman’s table. “You want me to work on the whole wardrobe?”

  Darcy nodded. Focus on the leather. “I want to create something she’ll actually wear. She likes pockets.”

  “So, let’s redesign these cargos; pull out some sharp lines over the hips to accentuate curves, and twist it over the thighs to show off her tone?” Zoë scribbled away.

  “Side pockets might work, but I want front pockets, nothing on the hip.” She let out a slow breath. “We want to pull that material forward when she fills the pocket and accentuate her”—she tried not to visualise the toned, pert bum asking to be squeezed—“assets.”

  Zoë laughed. “Haven’t seen you that flustered in a while.” She scribbled away, her tone laced with irritation. “You want flared. I think that’s too much.”

  “You’re right. Let’s go for a wider than standard, but only slight.” She swiped her finger through the air. “I was not flustered.”

  “Honey, you squeezed her breasts on TV.” She laughed, but it sounded more irritable than jolly. “Then you freaked out…as always.”

  “I squeeze a lot of women’s breasts.” She scowled. Who was Zoë to talk? “It’s my job.”

  “Uh-huh.” Zoë scribbled faster—either she was inspired or angry. “I know the look. I used to see that look.”

  Darcy glanced at the door. “Quiet.” She glared at Zoë’s back. “Susannah could hear you.”

  “You really think she doesn’t know we had sex?” Zoë rolled her eyes. “No matter if you shoved her in boarding school for a few years, she was around enough to know.”

  “You say it like I abandoned her.” She frowned and gave up on meditating, slumping down next to Zoë at the draftsman’s table. “It’s the best education.”

  “And you didn’t want her growing up to be you.” Zoë smiled at her and stroked her cheek. �
��Don’t forget, I know you.”

  “Too well.” She glanced back at the door. “I’d like an angular shape on the jacket. Let’s celebrate her shoulders.”

  Zoë pencilled in her idea.

  What was that? She pulled a pencil from behind Zoë’s ear and corrected the mess. “I said celebrate, not neon-sign them.”

  Zoë attacked the pencil, thwacking it with her own and causing a wonky line. “Who is the designer?”

  “Me. I taught you everything you know.” She swatted Zoë’s pencil back.

  “Most things.” Zoë tapped her on the nose. “Some you needed to be taught.”

  And there was a blush. She frowned and turned back to the design board. Every piece of clothing Kate could need. Still, she liked Zoë’s touch on an outfit. They worked together…on paper.

  “Try not to act like it was torture to sleep with me, will you?” Zoë muttered and threw her pencil down. “You need to get past this.”

  Something Zoë had always wanted to say? Seemed like it by the frustration, the intensity in her eyes.

  “I don’t need to do anything.” She focused on the few skirts and dresses and hoped Kate would try wearing them.

  “Yes, you do. You’re not going to be happy if you keep dating the wrong gender.” Zoë pulled her chin up to stare into her eyes. “And this gender is not going to put up with lying through their teeth.”

  “You didn’t lie.” She pulled her chin free and flicked through the colours she’d picked. Kate would look incredible in hot pink, but would she wear it?

  “Yes, I did, which is why Susannah can’t figure you out.” Zoë scribbled a new line on the shirt, making it almost flamingo. Perfect.

  “She doesn’t need to. She just needs to understand that I’m capable of doing my job and I can be happy by myself.” She drew Kate’s figure, her abdomen, her smile.

  Zoë drew an arrow to it. “Because sketching a woman is ‘happy on your own?’” She stretched out an exaggerated yawn. “Whatever, honey, that chick has you hot, and it’s about time you let someone close.”