I cross my arms. Morgan appears the cynical ice queen, but she is extremely gentle-natured, and she needs a man who understands her. I’ve watched her dad parade countless wealthy men before her, and she’s never been tempted. Her first love, a music pastor, was poetic and artistic. Perhaps a little too artistic. Andy left her for Nashville, hoping to make it big in the Christian music scene. He sent her his poems for a little while, before his complete and utter failure in the music industry halted his long-distance quest for her heart.
San Francisco’s Jeweler has never understood Morgan’s genteel nature; he’s only pushed her to become the brand he created. With the right finishing schools, nannies, and the Stanford School of Business, Morgan’s exterior is nothing like the artist within. I always wondered when she’d snap. Maybe this is it.
“I won’t design this gown,” I announce.
“And I won’t come to the wedding,” Poppy threatens.
Morgan’s bright blue eyes fill with tears, but she won’t look at us. “Please, girls. I’m fighting my dad on this tooth and nail. I can’t fight you too. You have to be there for me, because that’s what friends do. Even when it seems their friend has lost her mind.” She grabs us both by the hands and looks at us both. We stand there with our hands dripping and clenched. “I haven’t lost my mind, but I have to do this.”
Poppy pushes back her red hair. “Morgan, what are you doing?”
I feel like I’m talking to a complete stranger, not my best friend since college, not the one who dissed a guy for me just to show her loyalty. Where is that Morgan? “What do you know about Russia?” I ask.
“I know all about the Fabergé eggs. My dad took me to see them once when they were on display in New Orleans.”
We’re both just staring at her.
“Well, Lilly, what did you know about Ireland? Did that stop you from chasing after that Steve Collins?” Morgan shouts—completely not like her. “I’ll learn what I have to about Russia. Haven’t I always?”
“We know you’re capable; that’s not the problem,” Poppy says calmly. “Do you remember how you felt every time you got a poem from Andy?”
“I don’t want to talk about Andy! Don’t bring him up!”
“Does Marcus make you feel that way?” Poppy asks.
“They’re apples and oranges. Marcus is a nice man. Really. That’s all I can say. I’ll never feel about another man like I did Andy. His poetry is etched in my mind forever, like Roxanne who longed for Cyrano.” Morgan searches the ceiling, then her eyes pierce mine. “Not Christian, whom she thought she loved.” Morgan shrugs. “I’m a realist though. If I’ve learned anything from my father, it’s to be practical. Living around diamonds has taught me that all that glitters is not the real thing. There are definitely the four Cs of men. Right now, I have complete clarity about Marcus.”
Morgan lets go of us, and I watch her sink back under the water. I’ve never seen Morgan yell before. The only time I ever saw her show deep emotion is when Andy dropped her via a letter. A twenty-seven-cents postage-due letter! I thought she’d cry until there was nothing left of her. One thing is certain; Morgan is drowning. What she forgets is that Poppy and I will inevitably head into the deep waters after her. Because that’s what friends do.
chapter 12
We don’t get any further information out of Morgan, who stays submerged until we leave after watching her for a few seconds. I figure her getting oxygen is more important in the long run than us knowing right this minute why she’s getting married. Poppy shrugs, decides it’s up to us, and we make a hasty retreat from the excessive health club.
Poppy heads for the Russian consulate, but sends me home to get to work. “You can’t run a design business if you’re not designing.”
I start to argue, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that Poppy on the job is more than enough manpower for any given task. I’ve got a good dose of guilt happening for leaving her alone, but we’ll regroup tonight and compare notes. Doesn’t it sound so Alias?
I wait in line to take out a business license, and the magnitude of what I’m doing begins to take shape. I am going to have a business. Based on my talent. I’ve been hearing my whole life that I’m not good enough. Not in those exact words, but in little soundbytes that mean the same thing. Now, as I stand here with every other hopeful business- person, that voice starts to talk to me again.
You can’t design.
It’s an artistic business. You aren’t artistic enough.
Stick with math. Math is an absolute.
A Stanford degree to play with a sewing machine?
You never were a good judge of your own abilities.
And then I hear the cackling, and I unwittingly grasp for my hair.
I struggle with my self-image while waiting in the snaking bureaucratic line and listening while all the immigrants starting their businesses speak in their native tongues to annoyed Americans behind the counter.
“They are the American spirit!” I want to yell. Look at them. They barely know how to say “yes” in English, and they’re embarking on the adventure of a lifetime: to make it or break it in the American business world—in their new, capitalistic society. That’s impressive. But of course, there aren’t any brownie points for trying and failing, and I’m more than aware of this.
“You start business?” a man in front of me asks.
I nod. “Fashion design. I make dresses.”
“Ah, very nice.” He pats his chest. “Pho Noodle House in Tenderloin. You come; here’s coupon.”
“I love soup!” I take the coupon from his hand. “Thank you so much,” I say, waving the paper. “I’ll visit.”
Another line opens, and he’s off. I’m a little awestruck at how prepared he is. I mean, no business license yet, and he has coupons! He hands another coupon to the city clerk. Lord, I hope I know what I’m doing. The voices start back up again.
As the city clerk beckons me toward him, my stomach starts to rumble at the mere thought that this is it. Or maybe I’m just hungry. You know how they say skinny people forget to eat? And that it’s a special kind of stupid? It’s not stupid really. It’s just that life gets in the way, and my stomach doesn’t shout for attention until the dizziness starts. Perhaps if I had something more than work in my life, food would be more important. As it is, which soup can I’m going to have a relationship with tonight is definitely not worth much brain activity.
“I’m starting a business,” I tell the clerk, a slender, middle-aged woman without much regard for fashion.
“Honey, you’re all starting businesses. Look around you at all the ahn-tree-pre-newers,” she says sarcastically. “Forms?” She holds out her palm.
So it’s not new to her. Must she stomp on my heart? I hand over my forms, which are apparently filled out wrong, and I almost go home at this point, but I wait through the line again and—Ta da!—I have a business license!
I grasp the paper from “Miss Happy.” Here it is. I hold in my hand the last opportunity to make something of myself in design, and it’s all on other people’s dimes. I know this isn’t exactly as fear-inspiring as, say, impending death by Amazonian snakes or anything, but I hear the Indiana Jones music anyway. Gulp. Lilly Jacobs Design is officially open for business.
Failure now means Starbucks would no longer be a luxury. Eating would be. Still, you can’t wipe the grin off my face the whole way home on the bus—which, incidentally, I’ve learned is as good as bug spray in warding off unwanted seatmates. Smile, and people evidently think you’re scary. But back to the job at hand: I think even more important than the business is the fact that I have taken a stand! I’m going to live my own life! I’m not looking backwards at what I maybe should be doing, but looking forward to what I think I’m called to do. Now, if I can just get Morgan to follow my lead, find the man of my dreams, and tame my hair, all will be good.
My answering machine is beeping as I unlock the latches and enter the loft. K
im is asleep under a mountain of tangled blankets. At least, I think she’s under there.
I press the blinking machine. Beep. “Lilly? I trust you received my check today. Let me see your sketches before purchasing any fabric. I want approval of colors as I know it’s not your strong suit.”
Beep. “Lilly? There’s a contest for up-and-coming designers in Vogue magazine. You’ll need ten sketches with the designs finished for the show. The deadline to enter is next Friday. I trust you’ll look into that today. I will sponsor you if a sponsor is needed.”
Beep. “Lilly? How on earth do you expect to run a business if you’re not there to answer your phone? First rule of business: be available. Get a cell phone. That’s an order.”
I roll my eyes. Like $20,000 for goods/services and two people’s living expenses is going to purchase the luxury of a cell phone. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I’m not exactly living at the Ritz just yet. In San Francisco, California, that’s pocket change! Granted, pocket change I didn’t have, but still. I pick up the check with my name on it, and all those zeroes. What an amazing feeling this is before the actual work starts!
“Lilly, turn that thing off!” Kim emerges from the mountain of blankets. “I thought I was having nightmares! Listening to Sara Lang invading my sleep is like hearing the Freddy music in those horror movies. That woman’s like nails on a chalkboard, screeching at me all day when I don’t even work for her! She’s crazy, and you invited her into our world. This is your business. Don’t you forget it!”
I pause at her advice. It’s so much easier to let people tell me what to do, but Kim is right. If I’m going to take the dive, I have to jump in head first. “Didn’t you hear the phone ring?” I ask, wondering why Kim didn’t answer.
“I did. I wasn’t answering it when I heard who it was. Unlike you, the sadistic one, I’m in no hurry to welcome that woman back into my life. We escaped, and you’ve put us right back into bondage. Lilly, you didn’t even take the time to think about this. Where are you going to sell your designs? Who wants couture from some unknown? You need a business plan.”
I yank her out of bed. “Come on, Kim. We’re in business.” I wave the license in front of her.
“You’re in business, Lilly.” Kim plops back on her mattress and covers herself in blankets.
“Come on. It’s noon, Kim. We’re wasting daylight.”
“I agreed to go into business with you, not with Sara’s money and not today. A normal person would at least allow one unemployment check to come. You didn’t take it as a clue that we escaped evil, did you? Is it necessary this business start now? Today?” She’s muffled under the blankets. “She’s the devil, Lilly, and you’ve sold your soul.”
I yank the blanket off her. “I’ve done no such thing. She’s an investor. She doesn’t have any say in the business.”
“Approval of colors before you ordered? Get a cell phone? Right, she has no say. I’ve done nothing but heard her say all morning. What I haven’t heard is your plans.”
“Listen, we’ve got no other choice, Kim. Without Sara, our capital currently includes five cans of kidney beans and a twelve-pack of Diet Pepsi. I don’t think we’re in a position to be picky. We’ve got a week to make ten designs and one wedding gown for Morgan that will not be used.” I roll my eyes. “Hopefully, we’ll have one more for Robert’s bride-to-be if they make it down the aisle. I’m having a hard time feeling the love there.”
Kim jumps out of bed in yesterday’s clothes. “Count me out of this business venture. I’m taking at least a week off. If you don’t like it, find yourself a new employee.” She runs into the bathroom and slams the door on me.
I get out my sketch pad, hoping Kim’s over her tantrum before it’s time to transfer them to the computer—when we get a computer. There’s a pounding on the door. I open it to see Nate standing alongside a million Dell computer boxes. “I got them shipped overnight. Are you ready to set up? The design software is going to take a while longer to get here. Maybe tomorrow or the next day.”
“Nate, what on earth did all that cost you?”
“It’s really more packaging than product. Don’t be too impressed. Tell me where to set up.”
Like there’s a lot of choice. “That would be on the one table we have in here. I’ll clear Kim’s dishes.” I rush over to the table and pick up the empty Cup-o-Noodles and food-encrusted forks. Disgusting.
“Where’s Kim?” Nate asks, a little more nonchalantly than usual.
“She’s holed up in the bathroom now, hiding from me and anything resembling work.”
“She had a hard day yesterday,” Nate says, while pulling the boxes into our studio.
“Your point?” Considering I’ve recently been dumped, fired, and told by my grandmother I’m destined to be a hunchbacked spinster, I’m not inclined to muster much sympathy for Kim at the moment. Especially when I can only see her presence in terms of the mess made in the loft today. She obviously wasn’t in bed the whole morning.
“Not everyone is driven like you,” Nate says, as if ambition is a dirty word. I step back, wondering what’s changed about him, why he’s standing up for Kim and her attitude. Unemployment wouldn’t be such a problem if we didn’t live in the country’s most expensive housing market.
“I’m driven? To what exactly? Are you saying I’ve given up my ethics to live this life of luxury? Pardon my sarcasm, but what do you think I’m selling my soul for, exactly?” I ask, scanning the room. “Morgan’s gym has a hairdryer amounting to more than my current net worth. I went to Stanford, Nate. Shouldn’t I have an ounce of ambition?”
“Yes, we know that, Lilly. You seem to be reminding us of that a lot. I went to MIT. Did you know that?”
I straighten at this. “Well, no, but you never mentioned it.”
“Because no one really cares. Does it impress you?”
“Sure it does.”
“I rest my case. Your education may mean something to your grandmother, but really it means nothing to us. This is San Francisco, and like Wall Street, people only care about results. Show us the results. Don’t you watch The Apprentice?”
I shake my head. “I just want to shave off that comb-over, so I can’t bear to watch.”
“Just have some understanding for Kim. She’s not like you.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“I’m just saying your dream is obviously different from hers. You can’t force her to feel like you do. I’m putting my money up behind you because I know you will make it, Lilly. I believe in you, or I wouldn’t have done this.” He looks at all the boxes. “But Kim’s different. You have to let this be her idea. She doesn’t have anything to prove, and she needs to know she’s valuable. She’s in a hard place right now.”
I drop the plate I’m scraping into the sink. “I’m not forcing her to do anything. I’m giving her a job. I’m playing her personal maid every day. How valuable does that make me exactly?”
“Kim feels judged.”
“Well, call Dr. Phil. She’s wasting her life, giving out our phone number to any number of leeches at the local bar, and when’s the last time she did laundry? I’m not here to judge her, but I’m not her mother either.”
“It’s her life to waste, Lilly.”
I’m aghast. Is he kidding? “Just the other day you were telling me to get her help. What happened to the tough love, Nate? Did you wimp out on me before we got started?”
“I talked to her, and she just seems like a lost puppy. Like she needs some time to find herself. She’s not ready to start this business.”
“News flash: neither am I. But I’m not ready to live on the street or with my Nana either. This is it. I design, or I find a clerk position doing accounts payable. With my résumé, those are my options. Yesterday, I would never have agreed to let Morgan wear one of my designs. Today? I want to design her monthly wardrobe because I’ve got nothing here. A wing and a prayer.” I kiss his cheek. “And, thanks to you, a compute
r system.”
Kim comes out of the bathroom, and I notice Nate stand up straight. “Kim, are you all right?” Whatever’s going on between the two of them doesn’t appear romantic, but what it is mystifies me.
“I’m hungry.” Kim rubs her face like a toddler before bedtime.
“Let’s go get something to eat.” Nate grabs Kim by the hand. “I’ll be back to set this up tomorrow when the software is here.” Without giving me time to respond, they’re out the door.
The roar of the freeway bothers me all the time, but especially when I’m alone in this damp loft. It makes me feel like everyone has a place to go, and I’m only left with their fumes. The constant noise reminds me I’m not living on the ocean, designing for Hollywood’s elite, but that I will soon be eating on my only workspace, the one table we own, wondering if my life will ever get to the next level.
The phone rings, and I’ll admit, I’m leery of answering it and hearing Sara’s angry bark at the other end. Her husband may have left her, but there are a few of us without the option of eliminating her completely from our world.
“Hello. Lilly Jacobs Design. How may I help you?”
“Quite impressive,” Poppy says into my ear. “I could totally feel your positive vibe. You are on fire with adrenaline. You are a couture designer! You rock! You—”
“Actually, I feel like dirt. Nate and Kim just escaped me like I was Sara herself.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Mulling over my food options: three-bean salad from a can or cream of mushroom soup,” I open the fridge. “With water instead of milk,” I say despondently.
“You can’t eat that stuff. There’s MSG, preservatives, hydrogenated oils, and heaven knows what else. Pick up the can. I want you to tell me how many things you can’t pronounce.”
I put the can down. “I give, Doctor. I’ll fast and pray tonight. Is that better?”
She's All That Page 11
