"Where is that photographer?" complained Lis. "Isn't it two o'clock?" She glanced impatiently at the clock on the wall, which showed ten minutes until the hour.
"The models are ready," piped up the assistant. The door swung open and the stranger from the cab strolled inside.
"Lis O' Neil?" he asked, holding out his hand. "Gabe Miller. Hope I'm not late."
"Right on time," said Lis, with a smile. "Everyone, this is Mr. Miller, fresh from assignment in the Rocky Mountains, now here to photograph our designs for this fall's catalog."
He glanced around the room with a polite smile, his eyes settling on Myri last. His smile widened to a grin before he turned his attention to the leather bag at his side.
"Are your ladies ready?" he asked, pulling out an expensive digital camera attached to a worn strap. With one final glance at Myri, he followed Lis and the models in the direction of the studio backdrop.
"He's cute," whispered one of the seamstresses. "Does he know you from somewhere?"
"Sort of," Myri answered. Then blushed. "I mean, we met just a few minutes before. He was probably just surprised to see me here." She busied herself with the sketches on her desk, remembering that tomorrow the purple evening gown and wrap were due for inspection.
Was she thinking about him? The realization caught her by surprise. Her fingers fumbled with the phone as she lifted it from the cradle, the receiver toppling onto the floor.
"Sorry," she said, noticing a few seamstresses glancing at her curiously. She dialed the number to Johann's cell phone, forcing her mind to think of the purple embroidered wrap instead of the warm smile of the rugged photographer.
But think about him she did. Although she didn't catch any further glance of him on assignment as she hurried to finish the design for tomorrow's shoot. She was hoping maybe she would bump into him in the lobby on her way home, but no such luck. Her ride home was next to an empty passenger seat minus a newly-purchased copy of Design Divas through the Decades.
At home, she typed his name into an online search engine, scanning for pictures of his Rocky Mountain assignment. And found a series of stunning black and white shots of national parkland and majestic mountains, bald eagles soaring in the sky. His bio listed him as an avid climber and outdoorsman whose photo shoots ranged from the wilds of Colorado to the streets of Paris, mostly for magazines and coffee table volumes.
With a sigh, she closed the laptop and glanced towards the view of the city outside. The green leaves of the park trees in the distance, the lights of the windows around her aglow in the twilight. The first night in ages she hadn't had a party or social engagement to occupy her time.
She dug through her purse for her cell phone, her fingers brushing against the slip of paper from the restaurant. Pulling it out, she reread the message with a faint smile. On impulse, she reached up and pinned it to a corkboard beside her computer, the surface covered with invitations, postcards, and photos.
Maybe Bette was right. Maybe there was such a thing as a lucky charm, after all.
*****
The morning paper thumped against Myri's apartment door at seven-fifteen. A little later than usual, but all she read was the weather and fashion section. No time for the rest, including the section Bette planned her day around: the horoscope.
Myri rolled out of bed and pulled on a paisley-patterned skirt and vintage ruffled blouse. Pulling a scarf through her hair, she caught a glimpse of the fortune cookie slip reflected from the bulletin board behind her. Reminding her that there was a slim possibility she might run into the handsome photographer from yesterday's encounter.
Luck or no luck, she couldn't help the way his smile had made her feel. She only hoped he was a tiny bit impressed by her fashion designs.
Unrolling the paper, she flipped past the zodiac chart and horoscopes, glancing over the comics before pulling the style sheet from the stack. Tucking it under her arm, she slipped on her shoes and hurried downstairs.
The bus was crowded with morning passengers for the rush hour commute. Myri squeezed into the last available seat beside an older woman. A paper lay open across the passenger's lap, the pages from the entertainment section with its puzzles, quizzes, and lighthearted entries. Myri edged aside to give the woman room to spread it out, clutching the edge of the seat for support.
"What's your sign, dearie?" The woman's voice startled Myri, who was daydreaming as she stared at the moving scenery.
"Um, my what?" she asked. Then realized the woman was holding open the Daily Predictions section of the paper. "I don't believe in those things," she said, pointing to the column.
"Just for fun, then," the woman said. "Mine's Gemini–says here that today is a good day for settling old arguments and making travel plans."
Clearly the woman found this subject interesting. To humor her, Myri smiled. "I'm a Sagittarius," she said. Watching as the woman scanned the page with interest.
"It says today is a good day for bold decisions. A bright future lies ahead for your career and romantic life. Any chance you're a banker? Or a matchmaker?" With a smile before she flipped the page to the next section.
Bold decisions. Myri refrained from snorting with amusement as she turned her attention to her thoughts again. A list of important "to do's" that included a last-minute meeting with Johann before the new photo shoot.
"Where are my sketches," he demanded, the moment she walked through the door. "Lis is all over me for the changes to the design and frankly, I'm about two nanoseconds away from despair over the metallic embroidery..."
"Calm down, I have them right here," answered Myri. "These are your originals and those are Lis's changes on top." Holding out the sheaf of papers only to have them snatched.
"Next time deliver them to my desk pronto," he snapped. "My staff is in tears over this–Malique, have Ginelle and the dress here immediately." He waved his hand in the direction of another fashion assistant. A model was ushered in, the metallic purple gown pinned around her body in flattering folds. A ruffle along the right sleeve, crossing the breastline.
"I'm not crazy about the position for that ruffle," Lis announced as she joined them. "And where is the sequined neckline I requested? That top is supposed to be bandeau, not flat." She tugged on the dress's loose form, bending her tiger-striped nails away from the material.
"But Lis–" began Johann. His boss interrupted him.
"No. Absolutely not. I want something original. Something simple but sophisticated," said Lis. "Any ideas, anyone?"
It was a brainstorming session, the kind of snap question that Lis used to determine her best employees, the brightest fashion minds in the business. The first voice to speak was Johann's, since he was a veteran designer in Lis's firm.
"We could lift the skirt on one side for a tapered look," suggested Johann. "Give a little "oomph", if you will."
"Good, but not enough," said Lis. As she spoke, Myri felt a tingle pass through her frame. It was now or never if she wanted to attract her boss's notice.
"What if we raise the neckline instead and move the single strap around the neck like a collar?" said Myri. Raising her hand slightly, as if in a classroom.
Despite their silence, she pressed on. "See, we take the strapless look and add a semi-halter style to one side, fastening like a traditional collar. Finish it with the sequins and a rutched bodice–" She halted as her boss's lips parted to speak.
"I like it." Lis said, slowly. "It's been done before, but the twist is making it like a collar." Her fingers pulled the shoulder strap free of its threads and wrapped it loosely around Ginelle's neck, studying the effect.
"We could taper the sides ... perhaps add a studded fastener," mused Johann. Lis's assistant was scurrying to take notes as they talked.
Lis turned towards Myri with a smile of approval. "Fast thinking," she said. "I like that." She snapped her fingers towards her assistant. "Make a note of Myri's suggestion," she said. With a sly smile as she followed Ginelle and Johan towards the fitting roo
m.
Myri's knees wobbled for a moment. Her name was in Lis's notes. She was finally getting close to the boss, to the future goal of being a designer. One bold move bringing her closer to Lis's elite staff.
Bold decisions. A bright future for career and romance. With a flash, the horoscope's message appeared in her mind. What a coincidence, to encounter the opportunity for such a move the very morning she came across those words.
The open window in the office fluttered the items on her desk. She caught sight of the Magic 8 ball someone had left on her desk as a paperweight. Lifting it, she closed her eyes playfully.
"Will I be lucky in romance today?" she asked. Turning it over to read the message on the other side. "It's your lucky day."
"Nonsense," she muttered. Tossing her hair as she checked the messages and looked at the sketches left on her desk for modification. She picked up a few of them and made her way towards the studio to join the session in progress.
Only one model was ready, wearing a lace t-shirt dress trimmed with pleats as she checked her text messages while waiting. Across the room, Gabe was adjusting the lens on his camera, scanning the room as if searching for a target. When he caught sight of Myri in his lens, he paused. Lowering the camera, he gave her a friendly smile.
"It's you," he said. "The mysterious stranger from yesterday's cab." He held out his hand. "We meet again. I'm Gabe Miller."
"Myri Taylor," she answered. As she touched his hand, a tremor passed through her body like an electric shock. Awakening pleasant sensations from the tips of her fingers to her curved lips.
"So, what were you looking for with your lens?" she asked. "After photographing the great outdoors, this studio must seem a little cramped." She crossed her fingers, hoping he would be impressed by her knowledge of his background.
"You mean, what am I doing here photographing models?" he translated with a grin. "Actually, it's a nice change. A friend of mine got me this gig after my Yellowstone shoot fell through."
He raised the camera to his eye again. "Thus far, I think my favorite angle was over this way," he said, the camera sweeping over her. The shutter snapped before she could move.
"That's not fair," she said. "You should've warned me. My hair is messy, I have barely any makeup on–"
"You look gorgeous," he answered. "You're a fashion designer with an impeccable sense of style." He gestured towards her skirt and vintage blouse.
"Actually, I'm not a fashion designer–yet," she corrected. "I mean, I want to be. But right now I'm still an assistant. You know, collating other people's notes, helping touch up garment designs, redoing sketches."
His finger tapped against the camera button. "I'll bet your closer to the goal than you think," he said. "That dress yesterday? As good as anything I photographed a couple weeks ago in New York."
Her skin tingled. "You really think so?" she answered, playfully. "Maybe I should pack my bags and head for New York. Once I'm famous, I'll make sure my design firm hires you full time for its shoots. Except for when you're off on nature assignments." Planting one hand on her hip, the other on the nearby table as she struck an elegant pose.
Rolling his eyes, he swiveled the camera away. "No fake poses, please," he said. "I only want natural beauty when I'm taking photos on my own time." His glance fell on the windowsill, his features rearranging themselves in an expression of surprise.
"Look," he said, softly. Touching her arm as he moved closer to the open sill, where a butterfly rested on the ledge. Wings fanning slowly outward, revealing bright yellow with small black markings.
Myri sucked in her breath as a shaft of sunlight set the delicate wings aglow. "I could see that as a gown design," she said. "Something filmy and soft, with billowing sleeves." Carefully, she reached a finger towards it as it lifted its wings.
"Hold it a second." Gabe lifted the camera again, focusing the lens. A snap of the shutter and the butterfly lifted from the sill and floated away again.
He turned towards her. "That was perfect," he said. "One for the portfolio instead of a magazine insert. I'll send you a copy when I have it printed."
"I look forward to it," she answered. "More than the other you took, definitely." Laying the modified sketches on the table, she turned to go. Glancing once over her shoulder this time to catch a glimpse of his smile.
*****
"It's silly, so let's stop talking about, okay?" A blush spread across Myri's cheeks with these words as she reached for the bowl of stir fry on the table. "This is a girl's night out, remember?"
It was her once-a-month "t-shirt date" with her girlfriends, where they sported their favorite casual wear and picked a restaurant for dinner. Shawn usually wore a strange tie-dyed affair featuring skulls and flowers, unlike Bette's cartoon character images. Myri's was self-designed, a flock of sparkling butterflies traveling from the pink sleeve to her waist.
Usually, they ate at Oracle's or an Italian place near Bette's apartment. But when Shawn suggested Fu Lin's again, Myri had no objection.
"So what did he say?" Bette teased her. Snapping open a crisp egg roll, she spilled cabbage across her plate. "Somebody was talking about him in the fabric room today. They claimed he was good-looking."
"He might be," Myri admitted. Doing her best to seem casual, since she was beginning to regret mentioning the incident at the photo shoot. A butterfly and a photograph wasn't exactly a glaring beacon that romance was in her future. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. He'll probably be moving on to another assignment in a month or so."
"But you don't want him to," guessed Shawn. "Look, Myri, if there's a connection, then make an effort. Tell him how you feel if you have to."
"That'll spoil the whole thing," Bette scolded. "Go with the flow; that's my advice. You'll see the signs if he's the one." She passed Shawn a bowl of sweet and sour chicken.
Myri didn't answer. Wrapping a piece of dark hair around her finger, she tried to turn her thoughts away from Gabe. Blushing at the memory of his compliment during their cab ride.
"What do you think of this?" asked Bette. "It says, 'Good weather brings good news; expect a change in your forecast'." She lowered the slip of paper from a fortune cookie, its broken halves lying on her plate.
"Sounds like nonsense to me," answered Shawn. As if to prove her point, she opened the second fortune cookie. Clearing her throat, she read aloud, "The going gets tough for those who don't have the spirit to move on." She tossed the remains in the bowl. "Now what is that supposed to mean? Am I to expect tough times? Or is it affirming the spirit I already have?"
"It's just for fun," suggested Myri, with a shrug. Although her voice was a trifle less convinced than usual. Reaching for one of the packages, she popped it open and drew the cookie from inside.
The slip of paper unfolded in her hand: One of life's little moments awaits you; enjoy the space open for you.
Frowning, she let it slip into the bowl with the remains of Shawn's cookie. Snapping her own between her teeth, its crunch distracting her from the argument of her friends and the thoughts in her mind.
"So what do you think, Myri?" Shawn asked. "Is Bette crazy for reading meanings into everything around her?"
Myri hesitated, then answered. "I think Bette's the same as always. Just a little more open to superstition than the rest of us." Surprised that her answer required a split-second of thought; as if she actually almost believed Bette for a second.
"Tonight the check's on me, so no complaints," Shawn warned them, pulling out her wallet. "I landed a big gig with the hottest coffee shop in town as of this afternoon."
"Sounds good to me," said Bette. "Most of my petty cash ended up paying for makeup for the wedding– who would've thought persimmon was such a hard bridesmaid color to match?"
Myri had learned not to argue the point on this subject. She added a few bills to the tip mile and flashed the waitress a friendly smile before she rose to leave.
"You're coming to the concert tonight, aren't you?" asked Bette. Shaw
n had received free tickets to a jazz event from her last employer.
"Not tonight," Myri answered. "There's a cocktail party for some of Lis's staff and I promised to be there." With a "sorry" frown in Shawn's direction, who was struggling to stuff her guitar into the backseat of her Volkswagen Beetle.
"I don't suppose a certain somebody will be there?" teased Bette.
"It's too soon for Gabe Miller to be invited," Myri answered, "So no more broad hints from you, all right?" Turning towards the bus stop before her crimson face attracted further teasing, not turning back until the sound of Shawn's engine roaring to life told her it was safe to wave them goodbye.
The bus doors were on the verge of closing as she rushed towards it. Rats–being late meant she would have to race through dressing for the party. As it was, she was destined to be jostled about on a crowded city bus.
The wheels slowed and the driver opened the door for her as he pulled against the curb. Hopping aboard, she paid her fare and glanced around at the crowd inside. Her eyes fell on a single empty seat on one side of the aisle.
Making her way towards it, she sat down next to a woman absorbed in an electronic book. The woman glanced up with a polite smile.
"Lucky you, getting the last one like that," she said, pointing to the seat. Then returned to her book as if no further conversation was warranted.
Myri shivered at these words. A strange coincidence, given the fortune cookie at the restaurant.
The space open for her. A bit of random luck aboard a bus was no reason to believe that her fortune cookie was more than a random slip of paper.
As she changed at her apartment for the party, her eye fell on the original slip of paper from Fu Lin's, tacked to her bulletin board. A funny little smile played around her lips at the memory of the accidental cab meeting. The way Gabe's blue eyes crinkled when he smiled.
The next morning, her fingers didn't flip to the comic section first, or the style section just behind it. It flipped open the horoscope page, her eye wandering curiously over the entry for Sagittarius. As if a casual encounter with the words printed there.
Lucky in Love? Page 2
