Twisted Lies 4 (Dirty Secrets)

by Sedona Venez

  A big gust of wind blew, and I briefly stared up at the sky.

  Erika sighed, an exhale that was one of the weariest sounds in the world. “Business was booming for a good while, but I was smart enough to know that our escort business wasn’t my final destination in life. I wanted out, but the escort business was Bigsby’s cash cow. He would never let me just walk away. And then there was this little issue. Greer and I had fallen in love, and I got pregnant. With you,” Erika confessed, eyes still watching my expression.

  Pulling my legs up, wrapping my arms around them, I rested my chin on my knees. “So your little black book was the ledger?” I asked.

  “Yes. Greer and I got married secretly, and we needed a little insurance against Bigsby when we demanded release from our business arrangement.” Her jaw tightened. “Bigsby was pissed that we wanted out, and that’s when everything blew up between us. It was lucky that we’d given the ledger to Ian before…” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “Once Greer was dead, Bigsby came after me. He snitched me out to the authorities as the ringleader of the escort business.”

  “But he didn’t know your identity. How did the police even connect you to the ring?”

  “My ex-boss.” Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath in through her nose. “She was the only person who knew my real identity. You see, when she was convicted of pandering, tax evasion, and money laundering, she got three years in prison. When she got out, she wanted her business back. I said hell no. So she got her revenge by hooking up with Bigsby to take me down.”

  “Wow.” My eyes locked with hers. “Why didn’t you just tell the authorities about Bigsby? You had enough evidence in the ledger.”

  Erika let out a sigh. “I was scared he’d come after me and you. I couldn’t risk that. The best way to throw him off our trail was to let him believe that his plan to get rid of Greer and me had worked.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair. “Anyway, I wasn’t worried about serving time because I had a plan. I threatened to reveal the names of dozens of powerful, high-profile politicians, top law enforcement, influential lawyers, bankers, entertainment execs, and Fortune 500 businessmen listed in my little black book—the ledger. And I had every intention of doing that by splashing their names on the front page of every paper in New York.” She jutted her chin out. “So the Manhattan prosecutors—who were also my clients—decided to make a secret deal with me. The arrangement allowed me to avoid jail time, but not before seizing all my assets, along with Greer’s and Bigsby’s.”

  I shook my head. “Well, I guess that explains what Bigsby was doing for all those years following my dad’s death. He was broke and rebuilding his assets.”

  Erika cocked her head at my words. “Yes… and also plotting to wipe away any remnants of his sleazy pimp past.” Her eyes hardened. “Anyway, after my secret deal with the prosecutors, they wanted me to just quietly go away—which, frankly, I had no problem doing. I wanted to get away from Bigsby. So after I had you, I got out of New York, pronto.”

  I whispered, “You mean you got out of town without me.” My voice swam with emotion, the words spilling out around a rock-hard lump in my throat.

  “Sin, I was young with no money,” Erika whispered as tears began to pour from her eyes. “I couldn’t take care of you. Besides, I was always on the run, and that was no type of life for a baby.”

  Disappointment churned through me even though I knew she was right.

  “I wanted more for you. And I knew Ian would take care of you like his own,” she replied, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I”—her voice croaked—“bounced around the country for a while before landing in California, but I’ve always been around, looking over you.”

  All my breath and defiance whooshed from my throat in a violent exhale as I sat silently, digesting all of this information.

  Everything Erika had explained made sense. She had been young back then and made some fucked-up mistakes. Who knows? If I were in her shoes, I probably would have done the same. All in all, people weren’t perfect. But still, I needed time to process everything and come to terms with the truth of Erika being my mother.

  I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air, and exhaled slowly. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have a mother-daughter relationship with Erika, but at least the door was now open.

  THREE YEARS LATER

  IT WAS FALL NYFW—NEW York Fashion Week—one of the busiest, most stressful, and most exciting times of the year for me and my team as we got ready to present my spring/summer collection.

  I took a deep breath, glancing around backstage. Damn! This is the calm before the storm.

  There was nothing but steamers, coffee, and loud music.

  The Zen moment was gone fifteen minutes later when the swarm of people—dressed all in black, armed with shears, blow-dryers, and hair spray, ready to bring my vision to life—started to flood backstage. The area became a packed house with models running around and the hair and makeup team covered in the tools of their trade.

  Shit. This is finally happening. I’m about to lose my NYFW virginity in three hours.

  This was my first Sin Michaels fashion show, and it was happening today, coinciding with the opening of my fashion line’s Manhattan flagship store on Madison Avenue.

  I smoothed my hand across my stomach to calm my nerves. All of the pieces of my life’s work were finally coming together, but I was nervous as hell.

  Leading up to today’s fashion show, my publicist wouldn’t even tell me too much about who was attending because I was so busy with styling and getting everything ready. Plus, I hadn’t wanted to have to deal with the possibly horrible news that no one was going to show up.

  Because why would they? I’m a designer that only my Sin Michaels A-list following understands.

  No fear, Sin! You’ve worked way too damn hard to get here.

  I kept busy, finishing the last-minute details, methodically checking over my collection that was sectioned off on hangers along with snapshots of each model who would be wearing each outfit.

  Despite the looks of disapproval and frowns I’d gotten when I announced during an interview that I was staying true to my design sensibilities and heritage by infusing diversity into my show with exclusively plus-size and non-white models walking my runway, I was sticking to my position. It was very important to me to pave the way and push acceptance of a more diverse assortment of races, ages, and body types to be represented in fashion.

  So fuck anyone who thinks otherwise.

  This was my business, and these were my designs. I wasn’t going to compromise my ethics or myself for anyone.

  And to push the it’s simply not done envelope further, I had been steadfast in my quest to pay homage to everyone who had supported me along my fashion journey. I’d decided to change the game by opening the show to the general public, and I’d set aside free passes for fans, fashion students, and faculty at FIT, Parsons, Pratt Institute, and The High School of Fashion Industries on a first-come, first-serve basis. Ticket holders would sit separately from industry members and celebrities, who would be positioned in a raised viewing area.

  After that, I’d picked an incredible riverside location in Tribeca that allowed for an unobstructed view of the One World Trade Center from every seat. The setting was perfect for my collection—grand but still intimate and the ideal platform to tell the story of my spring/summer collection.

  Now just two hours before the show was set to begin, I was obsessively steaming my wrinkled pieces and fixing final details, jostling with hair and makeup teams as well as models and trying not to stress over the press that had started arriving backstage, clamoring to interview me.

  I watched as one of the hairstylists, holding several tools in each hand, talked to a reporter while trying not to burn herself or the model. In the crush, everyone was fighting for space in the small backstage area that was our studio for the evening.

  I beckoned Giselle, my right hand and creative director. �
�Status?” I asked.

  “Everything’s good,” she stated with a forced smile.

  I gave her a look, lifted an eyebrow, and waited. She knew better than to sugarcoat things for me.

  Giselle’s resolve faltered beneath my steady, authoritative regard. She sighed heavily. “Okay. Yes, there are a few hiccups with models arriving late, but we’re on it.”

  I eyed the models making the most of their short prep time—eating sandwiches from the buffet, getting their hair, nails, and makeup done, being interviewed, practicing their poses, and looking good for candid backstage photos.

  I blew out a breath. “Then why do I feel so damn nervous?” I was a hot mess of knotted nerves.

  “Stop worrying, Sin. Everything is going great.” A smile curved Giselle’s lips.

  I nodded because I trusted Giselle. She was a whiz at helping me be as organized as possible.

  I’d planned everything in great detail. The venue would open just before sundown, and what awaited guests beyond the metal barricades was a well-planned, multisensory experience, beginning with a wooden and scrap-metal set constructed of only recycled materials and performance artists suspended on platforms against the skyline.

  “So in other words, I need to chill the fuck out,” I replied—a statement, not a question.

  Giselle nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Okay. Got it,” I responded, deciding to use my energy for last-minute adjustments when Jade burst onto the scene with a flock of eager reporters trailing behind her.

  Jade grinned at me while waving her hand.

  The paparazzi screamed questions, coming at her from all directions.

  “Jade! Jade!”

  “Jade! Can you pose for a photo?”

  “Is that outfit you’re wearing from the Sin Michaels collection?”

  Jade stopped and preened for the cameras. She was beautiful and lithe with shocking apple-green eyes. Jade was undoubtedly one of Hollywood’s most beautiful actresses, and the media was obsessed with her glam style and beauty. But I knew she was more than just good looks. She was funny, genuine, and smart.

  “Everything that I’m wearing,” Jade quipped clearly to the reporters, “is from the Sin Michaels line.” She turned strategically, allowing photos to be taken of her outfit—one I’d designed just for her—a black asymmetrical ruffle crepe jacket featuring an exploded asymmetrical ruffle peplum with square, masculine padded shoulders and silk lapels and button fastenings. Her wide-leg black tuxedo trousers had a tonal satin stripe detail on the sides.

  Damn. My bestie is the best commercial for my line. I love it.

  A reporter shouted, “How do you describe Sin’s style?”

  Jade chirped, “Daring, fearless, and constantly evolving.” She flipped her hair, playing up to the cameras. “Sin has an exuberant take on fashion that combines a willingness to experiment with a strong sense of self. Sin has fun with her clothes… which makes her clothing everything.” Jade put dramatic emphasis on the last word. “Sin is the coolest, hottest, most talented, most impressive fashion designer today.” Without another word, she sauntered away, toward me.

  When she reached me, she pulled me into a tight hug, whispering in my ear, “I brought the paparazzi circus. You know, to whip up more social buzz for you.”

  “Love you, girlie,” I whispered back.

  I adored that Jade always had my back and was my bestie and my partner in crime. When she needed me, I would be there just like she’d been for me. It’d been that way from the first day we met as freshmen in high school, and it would always be that way.

  We turned in unison, facing the rabid paparazzi. Cameras clicked. Microphones pressed forward.

  Jade playfully batted her eyes and whispered, “Relax.”

  Despite the whirlwind of media coverage I’d gotten over my collection, I still wasn’t comfortable in front of the paparazzi’s cameras. It was sensory overload. The bright side of this current fiasco was the attention I would get from Jade wearing my couture design.

  It had been quite a year for Jade. She was still on fire from starring in a smoking-hot television series. Not to mention she’d finally finished production on her first directorial feature. It had taken so much longer since she did it herself. I was so proud of her.

  One reporter asked me, “How do you handle the pressure of being the costume designer for your mother, Erika Watson’s, hot new television crime drama series starring Midori Petite?”

  Mother… Erika…

  Even years later, hearing those two words together… I still couldn’t believe it.

  Erika is my mother.

  I remembered how angry I had been when she revealed she was my biological mother and why she’d left me with Ian. Her path had been complicated, and given what I knew about life now, I understood that sometimes decisions weren’t so cut and dry. Life was short, and I didn’t want to live it with bitterness and regret. I wanted her in my life… and I’d decided to forgive her, just like I’d forgiven Core.

  Simply put, I’d come to terms with the fact that Erika did what she had to do to keep me safe. I had been angry about her decisions, but I hadn’t rehashed the past. I’d just moved the fuck on.

  Still, it hadn’t been a smooth or immediate road to some sort of mother-daughter relationship. Every interaction had felt fraught with meaning. It had been similar to the most difficult dating relationship ever—where both of us were overanalyzing every little thing the other person did. After a few months of this painful tap dance, Erika and I’d decided something had to change. Instead of trying to force an instant bond as mother and daughter, we’d decided to just be friends and let it play out the way it played out.

  I cleared my throat before responding. “Easy. Like me, my mother pulls no punches about what she wants. She had a vision, and I made it happen… of course, the Sin Michaels way. When you have a new show, there are so many ways to build it from the ground up,” I told them. “Before we did the pilot two winters ago, we discussed the tone of the character, the tone of the clothes, the tone of the show, and what we didn’t want the show to be.”

  Another reporter chimed in, “I’ve heard you talk about how important it is to have a range of designs for a very diverse group of people. How do you incorporate that mentality into your Sin Michaels line?”

  I smiled before answering, “There needs to be inclusivity in the fashion industry. You know, something for a curvy woman and also options for a really petite woman. I want people to appreciate the clothes and not think, Aw, that’s hot, but it only looks good on her,” I told reporters.

  Diversity was very important to me, especially given my heritage, and that was why I’d not only chosen the strikingly beautiful buzz-cut, gap-toothed famous black model to parade down the runway tonight, but also another famous hijab-wearing model.

  I carried on. “I want to make things for all body types. With the Sin Michaels line, I have so much freedom. I’m curvy, but I don’t just design for myself. I use my taste as the muse for everything. I like to play around with silhouettes. I like women to be comfortable in my designs.”

  Giselle, who was waiting in the wings, dramatically tapped on her watch.

  “Okay. Thank you,” I said. “I have a show to put on.”

  Giselle swept in, ushering the reporters away.

  Jade bounced up and down. “I’m so fucking excited. My Sin is having her first fashion show,” she squealed, pulling me in for a tight hug. “I always knew one day your hot collection would be parading down the runway during Fashion Week.”

  I hugged her back. “Well, thank you for being my living mannequin.”

  Since we had been in high school, I’d designed most of my clothes, using her as my sounding board. She was patient, enthusiastic, and always there for me.

  She pulled back, beaming with pride. “I’d walk across coals for your ass, and you know it.”

  She was everything a best friend should be. I gave her a wobbly smile as we dashed away the tears of j
oy. “Oh hell, now you’re getting all emotional on me.”

  “I can’t help it. Look at you.” Jade’s eyes swept over me. “You’re glowing with happiness.”

  “That ain’t nothing but the afterglow from two rounds of sex this morning,” I replied, shivering deliciously at the recollection of Core taking me in the shower and then in the kitchen.

  “Morning sex…” Jade started. “I haven’t had a good, hard pounding in…” She frowned. “Oh Lord, it’s been so long I can’t even remember.”

  “And whose fault is that?” I countered. “I can get you some of this if I can only hook you up with—”

  “Don’t say it.” Jade cut me off. “I’m not interested in you hooking me up with Ram, Max, or Rocco.”

  “Hmm… that’s weird.” I gave her a mock perplexed stare, tapping my chin. “You didn’t mention Kev—”

  “Don’t even mention that cunt tease’s name,” Jade warned playfully.

  “Kevin!” I burst out laughing when Jade got flustered, and I loved it.

  Jade had it bad for Kevin, the high-IQ genius who was the official geek of Core’s team.

  Jade pointed a finger at me. “You know, ever since you’ve been getting dick on the regular, you’ve become a mean woman.”

  I rolled my eyes. “All I’m saying is don’t you think it’s fucking funny that every time he sees you, he either hightails it away or stays to give you the mean-mug stare like you’re some sort of evil vixen who needs to be doused with holy water to atone for your filthy sins?”

  “What damn sins?” She pursed her lips.

  “Come on, you know that everyone who watches your television show knows you’re a down-for-anything, man-eating tigress.” I swiped my hand at her like an animal, making a big cat sound.

  Jade burst out laughing. “Don’t make me shank you.”

  “I’m just saying…” I grinned. “Don’t kill the messenger.” I playfully batted my eyes.

  “Well, you have one thing right. I am down for anything with that man. I refuse to chase him… but a bitch like me might power-walk her ass off to get him.” She winked while mockingly pumping her arms like she was midstride.