In Fashion

by Jody Klaire

  “Darcy does, does she?” Kate put her hands on her hips. A flash went off, and she blinked away the blue blocks in her vision. “Ow?”

  Marge smiled. “Sorry, kid. Light in here is tough on the camera.” She hit the shutter again. Just a blink of a red light flashed. “Better.”

  “Is that to bribe me?” She could only imagine what Bennie would think. She would laugh at her and say she looked like a bloke.

  “You haven’t seen yourself.” Darcy nodded to Zoë. “Workable?”

  Zoë grinned and gave Kate a wink. “Workable.”

  Chapter 19

  The morning was spent hacking through the department store for decent clothes. Zoë would play with them to pull out the right cuts and lines, but it should appease the sponsors.

  Kate had been a good patient. She’d tried everything on—whether or not she was comfortable—mostly for Mikey. He had become Zoë’s style apprentice because, like always, Zoë came into her own when children were around. Being Italian-American and one of eight would do that. It was nice to see it captured on TV, and even nicer when Susannah was acting like a big sister to Mikey, firing off questions with growing confidence—once Marge had vetted them—and smiling. Yes, put Zoë in the mix, and people shone.

  Darcy leaned against the wall outside the changing rooms at lunchtime. Mikey, Kate, and their mother sat with Susannah and Zoë on a bedsheet from the linen section, eating a picnic. The crew had done the same—hopefully the shop staff didn’t mind—and Mikey was entertaining everyone by marching up and down in some slippers he’d found.

  She flicked out her phone and typed a tweet, after snapping a picture of the moment: Lunch amongst bedlinen and granny slippers, as Mikey calls them. #Glamorous.

  Susannah looked down at her phone and snorted, then showed it to the others before shooting a goofy smile her way. Darcy winked and wandered into the changing rooms, where Marge was arguing with someone on her phone.

  “John, Zoë is a hit.” Marge leaned against one of the doors and fed her hand through the head-spaced gap at the top as if to check anyone was spying. She looked far better with a well-sized bra. Who knew she had such shape? They just needed to pin her down, cut her hair, and pluck her eyebrows and she might look presentable. “John, they are not an item. Zoë has been talking about her wife.” Marge turned, saw her, and jumped. “Just ignore it. You know it’s rubbish.”

  Darcy took the phone from her. “John, is there an issue with Zoë?”

  John had been soft on her for a while. He’d even asked her if she’d consider a date a few times. He sighed, a sad sigh. “Darcy, I don’t care that she married Blanche Friedman. I don’t blame her. I’d marry Blanche Friedman for the underwear alone.” He tapped something in the background. Probably a cigarette. He liked to tap the pack to slide one out. “Thing is…she is married. Complaints are firing in from all angles. I’m under pressure here.”

  She laughed. “Why would her being married be an issue?”

  “Marge didn’t tell you?” He groaned. Then muttered something under his breath. “There are pictures of you and Zoë on Valentine’s Day and now, in the papers, there’s pictures of you both from years ago, old photos. They look…intimate.” He sounded like he’d put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “I know you’re just being supportive and you’re friends, but the blow-up with Zoë and her wife didn’t help.”

  She looked to Marge. “What blow-up?”

  “Check your emails. I sent you what I have. Zoë’s wife on camera, screaming at her.” He let through another sigh. “I’ve got a lot of pressure. I just need a statement from you both, something…just to clear up that there is no affair going on.”

  She handed the phone to Marge and pulled out her own with a shaking hand. Zoë had been at the house all Valentine’s Day and then dragged Susannah to the cinema. They always went to the cinema, because Susannah had said there was nothing like a chick flick to celebrate love. She clicked onto her emails and followed the link.

  “Again?” Blanche threw a heel at Zoë. Hot sunny street. Her LA house. “She calls, and you just go running.”

  Zoë glared at her. “Of course I do.”

  “Then why are you here at all?” Blanche screamed it out and kicked at the metal rubbish bin. Gate was next to it. Why was she heckling outside on the street? “Why buy me flowers when you’re going to get on a plane to her?”

  “I always take her to the cinema. I miss taking her to the cinema.” She picked up the heel and sighed.

  Yes, Darcy had texted her just after punching Marshall. Zoë had been happy to be let in from the cold, but hearing Susannah say how badly people treated her had spurred her on. Zoë was better at people, always had been.

  “You miss her?” Blanche threw her hands in the air. “You miss her?”

  “Oh, get over yourself.” Zoë glared again.

  She knew the face. Protective. Susannah was her girl, her baby as much as Darcy’s.

  “Get over…?” Blanche hurled her other heel. It pinged off the Ferrari roof. “I married you. Me. I didn’t see her even holding your hand in public!”

  Blanche must mean Darcy. Why? Surely Zoë would have explained who Susannah was, wouldn’t she?

  Zoë looked at the roof of her car, her brown eyes fired up.

  Yup, here came the Latin temper.

  “Get over yourself. If you don’t like what I give you, find someone else.” She threw the heels back at Blanche, got in her car, and screamed off.

  Darcy closed her eyes. Zoë always put Susannah first, even if it meant protecting Susannah from the truth and risking Blanche’s love to guarantee that. What a mess.

  Darcy took the phone back from Marge. “John, Blanche is on about Susannah.”

  “That really doesn’t help.” He groaned a long groan and thunked something. “That’s… I’m sure that’s not legal.”

  “Susannah is like family to her.” Publicly, that was all she could say. She wasn’t sure if she could quite face how…exposing calling her anything else would be. She scowled. She was not going to follow his deranged thought path. “They always go to the cinema on Valentine’s Day.”

  “But she met you in a restaurant. She kissed you,” he muttered away under his breath. He sounded slightly awed by it.

  “Yes. Italian roots and a gregarious nature. You would be hard pushed to find a woman she hasn’t kissed.” She smiled at Marge, who looked ready to kiss her herself. “Zoë does not like her car being hurt. She loves that car. She was not going to explain anything in that mood.”

  He sighed. “It still doesn’t help us… Maybe if Susannah said—”

  “No.” She tapped her finger to her lip. “However, I know something that will.” She handed the phone back to Marge and dialled Blanche’s number.

  “Great. It’s you,” Blanche spat down the phone. “I’m in Knightsbridge, so if she is leaving me, the least she could do is tell me herself.”

  Brat.

  “If I wanted her, I’d have her.” Yes, she was a far bigger bitch than this green rookie. “You’re needed. Get your bony excuse for a body here and erase the damage your pathetic tantrum caused.”

  “Who do you think you are to talk to me?” Blanche growled.

  “I’m Darcy McGregor, dear.” Turn up the bitch. She smiled at Marge, who raised her eyebrows. What? She’d spent years in fashion—she could out-bitch anyone. “If you don’t play nice, I’ll have her back in my bed before you can flash that expensive smile.” She tutted and checked her nails. Still perfect. “Wouldn’t do well for that career of yours, would it?”

  “I don’t give a shit about my career,” Blanche snapped, but her voice wobbled. “I love her, don’t you get that?” Plaintive was so boring.

  “Yes, sob, sob.” She yawned down the line as Marge continued to stare. “She has a daughter, dear. She’s going to see her regul
arly from now on, so here’s a touch of advice: fit the label or the scissors will come out.” She cut the line. Marge blinked a few times, shock in her eyes. “Oh, as if you didn’t know already.”

  Marge blinked again. “I really didn’t.”

  “Then your gaydar needs retuning.” She turned and strolled back to the picnicking brigade. Zoë must have been desperate to talk to her, desperately torn to choose between Susannah and Blanche. She couldn’t let that happen. Zoë shouldn’t have to choose, and that meant taking a step back. She rubbed her hand across her aching stomach. So, why did it feel like she was cutting her own heart in two?

  Half an hour later, Mikey, Kate, and Susannah had taken to playing imaginary cards—Zoë’s idea—as the camera crew set up various sections in the store for more shopping challenges. Kate’s mother was nose-deep in some steamy romance, if the delightful cover was anything to go by, and Darcy had resumed her position, watching.

  “Why did you call her?” Zoë muttered as Blanche strolled in, looking fit to grace any billboard. California sunshine would do that to a girl.

  “You love her, and you love your daughter. It’s time she knows about Susannah.” She smiled as Zoë double-checked. “Oh, and she knows I could steal you anytime I choose, so she needs to stop playing up.”

  “Out comes the bitch.” Zoë rolled her eyes. “Explains the outfit.”

  “Yes, enjoy her making a point.” She nodded to Susannah, who glared at Blanche like she’d throw her imaginary cards at her. “Best she learns your daughter comes first.”

  “You mean it, don’t you?” Zoë’s eyes misted. “I can tell her…tell Susannah?”

  “Yes, just give me chance to explain to Susannah first.” She kissed Zoë on the cheek and shoved her forward. “Now take her somewhere away from cameras, because I am not tolerating PDAs.”

  Zoë winked and strode to meet Blanche, who shot a glare at Darcy, grabbed Zoë’s hand, and yanked her in the direction of the café. Susannah rolled her eyes, then that frown—that all too-familiar frown—formed, and she went back to her game.

  Mikey glanced up at Darcy, then pulled his mouth to the side. “I think idea!” Yelled so loudly that even Blanche looked over her shoulder. He slammed his hand to the bedsheet. “Snap!”

  “What’s that?” Kate tickled him, and he squirmed.

  Marge wandered over with her handheld camera. “Always good to have some extra footage, considering how the live segments keep going.”

  “I think…” He beckoned Darcy over, then hurried and grabbed her hand, pulling her to the bedsheet. “I think…I think Darcy… Yeah.” He grinned, then took deep breaths. “I think that Kate-oh surgeon Darcy.” He grinned at Susannah. “Darcy in baggy trousers.”

  Susannah burst into laughter as Marge’s eyes lit up. “Yes…yes, that sounds like a fantastic idea. Surgeon styled by the patient. What a way to round off the series.”

  Darcy scowled. What? No. Wasn’t it bad enough she had to suffer Miss I’m-on-Every-Billboard? No way.

  Mikey jumped up and down, gripping Kate, who winced. “Darcy,” he said, tone serious, brow furrowed. “You lovely.” At least he had good taste. “But you sad. You need to find smile too.”

  Susannah nodded to the camera. “She does. She’s really lonely.”

  Darcy folded her arms. Why had she said that? On camera. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

  Susannah glanced over at the café. “I don’t think so.”

  “I do.” She glared at Marge, who kept filming. “Must we have this on TV?”

  “Yep.” Marge grinned. Wonderful.

  “You scared I’ll dress you in skinny jeans?” Kate asked with a wink.

  “More a bin bag with pockets.” She was not being dressed by Kate. That meant spending more time around her, and…it was safer if she didn’t.

  Mikey met her eyes with ultimate puppy dog and pouty lip combination. “We need to find you smile.”

  Ugh. Someone would think she had a heart. “Fine. When we’ve finished with Kate.”

  Marge—still filming—high-fived Susannah. “Now we have a program.”

  Susannah pulled out her tablet as Mikey danced about. “Oh, they are going to go crazy for it. Styling the Stylist will be the hottest trending hashtag.” She grinned. “Eat that, happy snappers.”

  “Susannah.” She tried for stern, only she was laughing too hard to pull it off.

  “Happy snap?” Mikey looked up at her.

  “Yeah,” Susannah said, leaning in. “The goons with cameras outside.” She thumbed in the direction of the door.

  Mikey nodded. “Goon snap. Snap scum.”

  He did have a way of summarising.

  “Cut.” Marge grinned and led Susannah and a bouncing Mikey off somewhere…to plot, most likely. They were a dangerous combination.

  “I…er…” Kate rubbed the back of her neck, a crooked smile on her face. “I…I should say sorry for earlier.”

  “‘Should’ generally means you won’t.” She glanced over at the café. Best not to think how exciting it had felt, how easy it had been to let Kate linger, how much she’d considered kissing her back. It was more potent…more…thrilling than even being with Zoë had been. Somehow… No, that couldn’t be right, could it? That it was deeper somehow? How was a quick peck on the lips deep?

  “Yeah. I’m really not sorry at all.” Kate shrugged and shoved her hands in the pockets of her ill-fitting jeans. “But thanks…for not flipping.”

  “I don’t get angry.” Hmm. Not quite the truth, but she’d run with it. “Not much…” She laughed as Kate raised her eyebrows. “You get me angry.” She laughed harder, and Kate smirked. “And some people…I don’t…normally.”

  “Yeah, I see that,” Kate said with a grin. “Defensive thing?”

  She blurted out her laugh, full of confusion, of attraction, of exasperation. Everyone turned to stare at her, and she tapped Kate on the chin. “Yes, perhaps it is.”

  Chapter 20

  The day went by in a blur, but shopping was officially exhausting. Seven p.m. and the show aired; seven-thirty and it went live. All with Kate as a human mannequin. She didn’t know about anyone else, but it took some stamina just whipping clothes on and off, and even more so with Darcy inches from her. By eight, shooting had wrapped, and Zoë had whisked off Blanche and Susannah somewhere, much to Susannah’s irritation, if the Darcy-style scowl was anything to go by; Mikey and Mum had headed out—Marge’s wife worked in a theme park just outside London, so she’d arranged for Mikey and Mum to get free run of the rides the next morning and a hotel stay for all his help during the day. Mikey had won a load of fans by himself.

  Darcy had taken her on a tour of London—or the driver had—filling in little touches of places where famous people lived or details that only people who knew the city intimately could know. Fascinating and really exhausting. So much so she was ready to drop as she followed Darcy into the empty apartment. She checked her watch—nine-thirty—and she was ready to curl up in bed. Shocking.

  “Are you going to wince through dinner?” Darcy asked as she flitted around the kitchen. How was she so full of energy? Must be the twig breakfast.

  “Depends if it tastes nice.” She slumped onto the sofa with a groan. “How do you do this all the time?”

  “Practice.” Darcy chuckled like she’d heard that before, a lot.

  Kate focused on the black-and-white picture of Darcy, collar turned up, sensual eyes, hair falling into her face. “It’s easier than a photoshoot?”

  Darcy flicked her elegant eyebrow and tossed ingredients into a wok. “Or a fashion show.”

  Kate rolled her head to focus on her. “Why did you choose to be a model?” She held up her hand—with effort. “I mean, you were right to…but why modelling?”

  “Are you looking for insight or some glamourous tale of local girl
done good?” Darcy swished the pan around and shrugged off her plum-coloured jacket. Her shirt had no sleeves and some frilly bit down the middle that made her arms look all kinds of toned and showed off her slim waist.

  “Insight.” Kate squinted through bleary eyes. The spotlights over Darcy cut a small shadow under her deltoid, around her triceps, and pulled out the tone of the muscle. Somehow, it looked feminine yet so strong.

  “I always wanted to design. I needed money to do that and contacts.” She splashed something from a bottle into the wok. “I developed early, so it felt natural to model. When you’re twelve, things seem like a really good idea.”

  “That’s young to know what you want to do.” Kate sighed and leaned back into the sofa. “I still don’t know what I want to do.”

  “Ah, so we come to the security guard,” Darcy dished out with a knowing smile. “Who decided to get you the job?”

  “Bennie worked there for five minutes.” She chuckled. Was she that see-through? “I stayed on, though. I like it there. No stress.”

  “But you have five A levels at A-star.” Darcy tapped the small table and placed the plates and two mugs down on it. “I don’t sit on sofas to eat, it’s bad for the digestive system. Up.”

  Kate smiled, groaned to her feet, and headed to the table. Bossy was off again. “I did my A levels after I left school.” She slumped into the chair. “You’re bossy a lot.”

  “Yes. I’m a mother.” Darcy smiled and handed her a bowl with sauce in it. “Try it before you pour it on.”

  “Why, is it made of rice milk?” She eyed it. It smelled okay.

  “Amusing.” Darcy tapped her hand. “Why did you study after leaving school?”

  “I like learning things.” She tucked in. Nice. She tested the sauce. Gross. No, she would stick with the nice food. “Just for the sake of learning. Sad, huh?”