Taylor Made

by kj lewis

  “Everyone wants to be seen for who they are and not the label we put on them. I hope you’ll trust me to not present you as something you’re not. You can be more than one thing. You don’t have to be known as the sexy artist, but there is nothing wrong with being the artist who is also sexy. Remember, you’re my client. Not the label. I won’t stray from that.”

  The waiter brings our pudding.

  “Alright then. I’ll take you at your word.”

  “Good, now dig in.”

  We finish dessert, and I pay despite his objections. We are making our way to the stairs leading to the bottom floor when I feel him before I hear him.

  “Emelia.” He’s sitting at the table I am about pass.

  I stop. He stands, buttoning his suit jacket, and nods a greeting to me.

  “It’s nice to see you,” I say, not quite believing that I have run into him. His eyes lock on mine for what seems like a minute, but I’m sure it was just a beat.

  “It’s lovely to see you again. I see you arrived home safely.” It’s not meant to be a question. He pauses, and his eyes land on Blaine’s hand resting on my exposed back. He gives nothing away to anyone else, but I notice the shutters that come down in his eyes.

  “Blaine. This is…” I pause realizing I still don’t know his name.

  “Graham.” Graham. Finally a name.

  “Blaine Moore.” Blaine’s hand caresses my skin as he lowers it to the small of my back. Reaching around me he offers his hand in greeting.

  “If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” Graham says, grabbing my forearm. My feet barely touch the stairs as he leads me down, nodding to the bartender before steering me into a small office off the restroom hallway.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?” My voice is louder than necessary. “I am with a client.”

  “A client? Really? You let all your clients rest their hands on your ass?” he asks, crossing his arms while he peruses my body.

  “I write it into my contracts. Adds a little sweetener to the deal don’t you think?” I respond flippantly, adding a shoulder shrug.

  “You aren’t dressed like someone meeting a client.”

  “I don’t work in a business office, Graham. My clothing choice is appropriate.” I lock my eyes on his, not backing down from his glower—one I get the feeling he is using to intimidate me into his way of thinking. He moves towards me, and I have to work to stand my ground when I realize I am backed into a corner. He’s close enough I could run my tongue along his jaw line. The thought sends a shiver through me.

  “So you think this is appropriate? This length?” He runs a finger along the inside of my thigh, tracing the hem of my jumpsuit before following with his thumb, the tip running along the crevice where my leg meets my hip. His touch sparks electricity in me. I know if he skims a little more to the right, he will find me wet for him. My breath catching is all the time he needs to turn me away from him, his thumb now traveling the crevice where my ass meets my thigh. His other hand is plotting a course down my back.

  “You sent me an iPod.” I go straight to the topic I want to touch on. Avoiding for now my confusion at being turned on instead of angry at his unearned familiarity. Where’s the man who held my hand and why is my body equally attracted to this one?

  “I did.” His voice is heavy in my ear.

  “Why?”

  “Because I can.”

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “I believe the polite response is ‘thank you’” he replies.

  “Thank you?” I turn towards him. I don’t need a lesson in manners.

  “You’re welcome.” His reply is authoritative and sarcastic at once. Reading me correctly he adds, “I would think twice before opening that smart mouth Emelia.”

  “Emme.” I cross my arms to put some distance between us. “If you could give me your work address, I’ll have it couriered back to you.”

  “If I say you’re keeping it, you’re keeping it.” The shutters open a little, and I see the smirk in his eyes, baiting me to put a voice to what he knows I am thinking: Asshole!

  “Blaine’s waiting for me.” Thankfully, my legs cooperate, and I walk away from him.

  Despite Blaine’s disbelief, he left with fifteen looks. I know he noticed that I was lost in my own head after running into Graham. It’s unnerving, really, that someone would have such an effect on me with very little interaction. I’m surrounded by men. Jackson, the dwarfs, my clients. I’ve never had someone that affected me the way Graham has. Even as I tell myself to snap out of it, I know there is something there that I want to explore.

  I’m reviewing my calendar for tomorrow when my phone beeps.

  Jules: Dinner tonight?

  I have to check my account balance before responding. I’m covering an extra shift at the bar tomorrow night, so I should be fine.

  Me: Sure! Lmk when and where

  Jules: Bubby’s 8pm

  I finalize the prep for tomorrow’s clients. My team does personal shopping as well as imaging. I have several repeat clients, some weekly that come to me for both. I have earned a reputation for knowing just the right gift to give someone. Some of it is common sense, and some of it is the same rating system I use for imaging. The questions allow me to see the recipient of the gift through the eyes of my client. It offers me the unique ability to pick out the perfect gift for that person.

  Grabbing some flats out of the closet, I leave work at 5:15, which gives me plenty of time to swing by the grocery on my way home to stock up for poker night tomorrow night. Over the last six weeks or so, it has become a new Thursday night tradition. The guys have been honing their games while teaching me to play before the annual casino charity event in the Hamptons over Labor Day weekend. I stop at Eataly for the essentials, and one subway ride later I’m home with enough time to put up groceries and freshen up for my date.

  It’s about five after eight when I arrive to find Jules has a booth already. Bubby’s is a staple in Tribeca and for me and Jules. The menu reminds me of my grandmother’s comfort food with a twist. We always order the same three starters as our meal: chicken meatballs, Shishito peppers, and mac n’ cheese.

  Jules and I met when I first moved to the city, but our friendship has really just blossomed over the last six months. We’ve fallen hard and fast into a best friendship. Jules is an up-and-coming clothing designer. She called me last February to give some insight into her new line. After a couple of meetings, we were hooked—on each other. Other than my sister, no one but Jules can finish my thoughts, or know them without me saying them. She challenges me when I need it. She doesn’t push me for info I don’t want to give. In fact, for the first few weeks of our friendship, we only discussed fashions and passions. Her dream of starting her clothing line and my vision for a mentoring program. It was May before I finally met her fiancé Adam. Even then it was only at Adam’s insistence.

  Adam comes from a gregarious family with heavy financial ties in the city. And even though Jules’ family is wealthy enough that she has some concept of what an affluent life is like, I think a part of her struggled to make sure she didn’t lose herself in Adam once they were engaged. She kept our friendship as something meant just for her for a while.

  I got to really know Adam during my weekend trips to the Hamptons this summer. I met his family when I stayed at their house with Jules over the Fourth. Despite their obvious wealth, they are down to earth and accepting. There is a lot of laughter and love in his family, something I have missed for so long now. I am especially fond of his parents. It’s like they were made for parenting. It was so different from the environment I grew up in.

  My Mama was amazing and always did her best, but my stepfather was never on her side, or mine for that matter. I never knew if she wasn’t strong enough to stand up to him, or if she simply didn’t know how. He left when I was in the 8th grade. After that, Mama, Addie, and I were a trio, and so much happier. Still, spending the week with Adam’s family admitte
dly touched a void within me that nothing since my grandparents has come close to doing.

  “So,” I reach for her sketch book, about to tell her about Graham.

  She puts a hand on the book to keep it in place. “Not so fast. How was Memphis?”

  “It was Memphis. I got in and got out. What’s to tell? The flight home was especially inter—”

  “There’s a lot to tell, Mags. I think I have been pretty patient, giving you time to tell me on your own, but I can see that is not going to happen, so I’m hoping a direct question might start the process. You have no family to speak of and going back is painful, why do you keep making the trips?”

  Only Jules and my sister call me “Mags”, a shortened version of my middle name. It’s such a casual, almost trivial usage, but it touches me deeply.

  “Have I ever told you that other than Addie, you are the only person to call me Mags? Well, you and now Adam. I forget you have a way of rubbing off on him.” I wink trying to lift the seriousness of the conversation.

  She shakes her head, her eyes loving and soft. “Other than now, you’ve only talked about Addie once. You know you can trust me.” She sounds almost hurt.

  “It’s not about my trust in you, it’s just…I don’t know…” I turn the Mason jar they use for drinks around and around in a circle. “Difficult? It’s like there aren’t words to describe what it felt like to lose her.” I shrug one shoulder, as if the gesture itself adds some context.

  How do you explain what it feels like to have your heart ripped from you? Realistically, I know that I am not the only person to experience deep loss, but I am the only person who knows what it feels like to lose Addie as a sister. To know that my heart will never be whole again. On good days, it’s more than I can handle. On hard days it feels like someone has sucked all the oxygen out of the room, and I find I can barely breathe.

  “Did you see your asshole step-father? You know if you needed it, Adam would step in and help in any way he could.”

  “There’s nothing to help with. The man is deranged and has no bearing on my life other than to cause me grief. I hope you don’t have Adam riled up about Tony. You know I don’t like to talk about life before New York.”

  “I know, I know,” she rolls her eyes. “You are a compartmentalizer. Everything has its place and they don’t cross over.”

  “Yep.”

  “Isn’t that hard though, Mags?”

  “It’s survival.”

  That is probably the most honest thing I’ve said to her. She nods her understanding and I see her love for me in her eyes.

  “So,” I reach for the book again. “I can’t wait to see what changes you’ve made.”

  “I love you, Mags.” She lets me pick up the book this time and drops the conversation, in one cohesive gesture that elicits an appreciative smile from me.

  Our food comes, and we spend the next hour eating and talking about her sketches. Jules is a talented designer, and I know she is on the cusp of rocking the fashion industry. She is working on her designs for a show next spring during Fashion Week.

  “This one is amazing!” I draw attention to a sketch I particularly love. It’s a slim cut halter pantsuit with a sheer skirt overlay. There are slits on the sides to access the pockets in the pants. The volume of the skirt and the way its cut on the bias allows it to flow like a ball gown. It feels fresh, unique, and high fashion.

  “I’m glad you like it. That’s my favorite sketch right now. I plan to start the pattern pieces while we are in the Hamptons. I was hoping you would help me.” She gives me a beseeching smile she knows I can’t resist.

  “Okay,” I giggle. “Stop with the begging! I’ll help.”

  “Thanks, Mags! What would I do without you? So…” she pauses and visibly relaxes, “usual Thursday tomorrow?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes.” I say with forceful, frustrated contempt. “John Michaels is coming in tomorrow.”

  “Why do you keep him as a client? If you would tell Jackson how much he creeps you out, he would get rid of him.”

  “That’s why I don’t. Jackson can’t make decisions based on who I do and don’t like. It’s not smart business. We all have those clients that we would rather not work with. He just happens to be mine.”

  After dinner, we make our way up Hudson, where we run into Blaine. In a city of eight-and-a-half million, it never ceases to amaze me how often I run into people.

  “Emme, what a surprise.” Blaine plants a kiss on my cheek. “The courier service just dropped off my packages. Do you live in Tribeca?”

  “I’m glad they’ve delivered them already. I actually live in SoHo, but Jules lives in Tribeca. Jules Redden, Blaine Moore,” I gesture from one to the other by way of introduction. “Blaine and I are working on a project together.” I gesture back, “Jules is my best friend.” It’s important to me to set Jules apart from my other friends. When I introduce her to someone I want them to know that she has a place of honor in my life. She is not just a friend. She is my best friend.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m a fan,” Jules says, acknowledging his celebrity.

  “Thanks. If you’re Emme’s best friend, then I’m a fan of yours as well.”

  I laugh, “How many women do you roll that one out for?”

  “Only you, babe. Only you.” His eyes return my laughter and obvious knowledge that I pegged him as a bullshitter.

  “Are you coming or going?” His double entendre is meant to humor me. “Can I buy you ladies a drink?”

  “Su—”

  “I wish I could,” I cut Jules’ answer off for mine, “but I have plans already. Maybe some other time?”

  He places his hand over his heart as if wounded. “Guess I’ll have to settle for what I can get. Thanks again for lunch today.” He bends and kisses me on the cheek with an evident linger.

  “Nice meeting you Jules.” He gives his dazzling smile to her, the one that I’m sure has his fans dropping their panties, and walks away in the opposite direction.

  “When did that happen?” Jules looks at me like I’ve been holding out on her.

  “Oh yeah, by the way, Blaine Moore is now my client.”

  “I love Adam, but man, he’s hot. Sex on a stick, I’d lick that…”

  “Don’t even say it, Busta Rhymes,” I laugh. “Better watch it or I’m telling Adam.”

  “He’s used to me,” she shrugs, unabashed. “Besides, I think the only person Blaine Moore wants near his manhood is you. He looked like he’d take you right here on the street if you gave him the slightest encouragement.”

  “He’s just a flirt. Don’t read more into it than there is.”

  “I know even you are not that blind, Mags. But whatever you want to tell yourself. Who am I to judge?”

  “Exactly!” I add in agreement.

  We’ve made it to the corner of Hudson and Beach. “I’m going to grab a cab. I’m meeting friends uptown,” Jules announces. “Want to share? I can drop you on the way.”

  “No, thanks. I think I’ll walk. See you tomorrow night?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  The air is hot and humid, but a nice breeze makes the walk home pleasant. My thoughts land on Graham again. Since my first attempt to tell Jules was thwarted, I decided to hold onto it for a little while longer. Another compartment, for now. When I arrive home, I find I actually have the apartment to myself. A phenomenal treat.

  I turn on some music, change into shorts and a tank, check the calendar, and make the dwarves meals for the next couple of days. The song shuffles from MisterWives’ “Our Own House” to Snoop Dog’s “Gin and Juice” as I start a load of laundry and move on to cleaning the kitchen, living room, and bathroom.

  An hour later I finally sit down with some ice cream, when Kyle and Drew come in looking more exhausted than I know I feel.

  “Hey, James.” Kyle flops down on the couch next to me. “How was your day?”

  “Good,” I say, feeding him a bite of chocolate marshmallow. “W
orked with a new client. How was it saving lives today?” Living with six people who perform miraculous lifesaving surgeries every day puts any craziness I have going on into perspective. It’s hard to be too upset about most things when you realize there are people out there dying and losing their loved ones. Living with these guys has given me an appreciation for healthcare workers.

  “Shitty,” he exhales as he moves his head into my lap and unfolds his body down the remainder of the couch. I run my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. A minute later, I hear snoring. A minute after that Drew comes into the room and sits in one of the chairs, leaning his head back and stretching his legs out on the coffee table. “Any more ice cream?”

  “Yep. Want me to fix you a bowl?”

  “I’ll get it. Moving might wake him up and he’s had a tough day.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “He lost two patients. A 32-year-old who crashed on the table and an eighteen-year-old who died before making it to the OR. He had to tell the families. He’s just exhausted.” He moves to the freezer to get some ice cream for himself. “Apartment looks nice.” He acknowledges that I cleaned as he reenters the living area with a Jethro-sized bowl.

  “Thanks. There are some towels in the dryer if you need one. Will you take the others their food when you go in tomorrow please?”

  “Sure thing.” He bends over and kisses the top of my head and shovels a heaping spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

  He tilts his head back slightly so the ice cream won’t run out with his open mouth. “By the way, how’s your ass?”

  “A little sore.”

  “Tomorrow, just a little soap and water. Don’t leave it under the running water. Did you pick up the antibiotic Matt called in?”

  “Not yet. But I will”

  “Make sure you do. Those aren’t the sutures that dissolve, so one of us will have to remove them. Should be fine to do them before you go to the Hamptons next week. Night.”

  “Good night.”

  I tap into my ninja skills to replace my leg with a pillow for Kyle’s head, grab my laptop, and set up on the other couch. Its midnight and I have some work I want to do before going to bed.