Taylor Made

by kj lewis

  “Emme!” Blaine walks towards me. He’s wearing jean cutoffs that hang loosely from his hips showing his sculpted v-shaped lower torso when he raises his arms to hug me. His Ray-Ban aviators hang from his Memphis Grizzlies t-shirt collar. I take a step back halting him.

  “I’m nasty.”

  “I’m a sure thing, babe. You don’t have to talk dirty to me.” He pulls me into a hug.

  “You.” I try to stop the smile coming to my lips. “You need professional help. Love your t-shirt.” I tug on the hem.

  “I’ve had Memphis on the mind the last few days,” he says with a shy smile. “I got this when JT and I were collaborating on a song. He had just become an owner. Came into the studio giving everyone t-shirts.”

  “JT, as in Justin Timberlake? I am so not in your league,” I laugh.

  “Actually, you have that all wrong. It’s me who’s not in your league.” His eyes are sincere. He takes a breath as if to lighten the topic, his charm is disarming.

  “I’m glad you could meet me. I was nearby and wanted a burger, but no one to eat it with. Then I thought of my good friend Emme and how much you like to eat.”

  He has me there.

  We walk through the park towards the shack.

  “I wish I had grabbed a t-shirt.” I motion to the running bra/capri set I’m wearing.

  “Do you run often?”

  “As of recently, yes. I’m training for the marathon in November. Do you run?”

  “Only if I’m being chased. I was surprised you weren’t busy.” He looks at me as we make our way forward in the lengthy line to the window. The trees are providing a nice shade. It’s a beautiful day.

  “I actually had an entire day where I had nothing to do. I could just be where I wanted to be. It’s been wonderful.”

  The girl in the window asks for our order. “Ladies first,” he smirks and gestures me forward. I roll my eyes.

  “I’d like the Smoke Shack burger with crinkle fries and a vanilla milkshake.”

  “Make that two,” he says, “and one t-shirt.” He hands her money and takes the pager and t-shirt she hands him.

  “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. I love t-shirts.” I pull it on and re-tighten my ball cap and ponytail.

  He shrugs. “My manners win out over my wanting to watch you eat in that outfit.” His look is sexy and inviting.

  “What’s your story? Don’t you have a groupie you can sex with?”

  “Are you a groupie? You’ve said you like music.”

  “I’m a fan. There’s a difference.”

  “Are you seeing someone?”

  His question has me pausing. I’m not technically seeing anyone, but even as I think it, I know that I wish I was. What is that and where is it coming from? A week ago I would have been all over Blaine. On paper he’s perfect for me: funny, loves music, easy going, uncomplicated. Not to mention sexy as hell. I mean, I’m just a regular girl from Memphis. The fact that I am sitting across from one of the hottest musicians in the industry is not lost on me.

  But a lot can change in a week.

  “It’s complicated.” I finally land on a response.

  He nods and reluctantly moves on to casual dinner conversation.

  His niece is the first topic of conversation, and it’s obvious he adores her. We talk about Memphis and the places he got to see while he was there performing, the music that comes out of the city. We talk about my work and his next album. I tell him about the mentor program I want to start. It’s easy, comfortable. Deep down inside, though, I know its only friendship. I don’t get the same feeling in my stomach as I do just thinking about Graham.

  We make our way to the entrance.

  “Thanks for dinner. It was perfect.” I lean into hug him, but instead he plants a panty-dropping, feel-it-in-your-sex kiss on me. It takes me a minute to realize that I’m kissing him back, and another minute to stop it.

  “I’m sorry, Blaine. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t want to lead you on. I don’t want to make you think there’s something here. I’m in the middle of something complicated with someone else,” I tell him. His arms are still around me and his hand is resting on the curve of my ass.

  “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “No, that wouldn’t be fair to you. Plus, you’re my client. It’s just bad timing for us.” I finally push off him. “I’d like us to just be friends?”

  “Just friends?” he echoes, as if he’s testing the thought. I nod my head in response.

  “Alright, friend.” He puts his arm around my shoulder, and I loop mine around his waist. “I’ll walk you home. That’s what ‘friends’ do.”

  No matter what is scheduled for the day, Sundays always make me miss my family.

  We had a very bourgeois, godly grandmother who expected us to go to church as a family. She was a hard-working, no-nonsense, Bible-Belt woman. Grandmother could drive a tractor, milk a cow, and then show up to have tea with the ladies at the local tea room in a hat crowned with flowers and feathers.

  From as early as I can remember, we spent Saturday nights at their farm. We’d wake up on Sunday to a large family breakfast, chores that we were expected to do, church, then a big lunch of at least one fried dish and all of it from the garden. After, we would sing and play music. Sometimes I would play the cello, but mostly on Sundays, Grandmother liked the piano. Hymns as a rule, with a few old soulful songs mixed in.

  My grandfather would sit on the bench with me and teach me new cords. He would tell me stories about courting my grandmother, how she made him work for her heart. “She didn’t give it easily,” he’d say. Then he’d slide off the piano bench and make her dance with him. My grandmother would blush and laugh about how her wiggle has turned into a jiggle, and make him crazy until he’d finally stop and start dancing with my mom. He was a wonderful grandfather, but I could see by the way my mom adored him that he was also an amazing father. Always on her side, always in her court. I would watch them and wonder what it would be like to have that. I never begrudged her relationship with her father. I was always happy for her. I felt like the one break Mama got in life was to be born to amazing parents.

  My mom is who inspired my move to New York. She came to the city after she graduated college in Tennessee. Working in a bookstore, she met and fell in love with my father. He died shortly after. She later found out she was pregnant and moved back home. She always talked about him with only love, but there was a sadness to her eyes. I don’t know that she was ever whole again after that.

  I wanted more information. I’d ask her questions about him, what he was like, what his favorite color was, his favorite music—anything that popped into my head. But all she would tell me was that his name was Harry, and eventually I tired of asking the same questions to never get an answer. She always told me that I reminded her of him, that our spirits were the same.

  That must have been why my step-father, Tony, hated me. He was a controlling, emotionally abusive fucker who made our lives hell until he finally left us when mama was diagnosed with cancer. Real gem, that one.

  “What time are you leaving?” Becca’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I’ve been staring absently at the pictures of my family.

  “Noon. I’m almost done packing.” I should have finished last night, but I had finally decided to use the iPod Graham sent me. It took me the rest of the night to get my music organized and loaded after I finally admitted to myself that I truly loved the thoughtfulness behind the gift.

  “I’m so excited! I’ve never spent a week in the Hamptons. We don’t arrive until Tuesday, but I’m already packed.” Becca points to her bags in the hall.

  “I can’t wait for you to be there.” I return her excitement as I pack my grandfather’s cardigan, when my phone dings. I have a text from Amanda that includes only a link.

  It takes a minute to load. When it does, it leads to a web page that houses celebrity gossip, and there’s a group of pictures of me and Blaine from yesterday in t
he park. Us hugging, him giving me the t-shirt, us eating and laughing, and then three different ones of us kissing at the park entrance. All with his hand visibly cupping my ass. At the time I knew it was there, but I didn’t realize how low his hand had gotten. Addie always said my ass was like a shelf; it’s just a natural resting place. This is going to be a thing. I already know it. Kill me. Kill me now.

  I almost don’t answer my phone when it rings a few minutes later, but it’s Jules and I know she won’t stop calling until I answer.

  “Yes?” My greeting is short.

  “Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” she says with fake cheer. “Do you have time to come here before you leave today? I’m stuck on the outfit I want you to wear to casino night, and I need you to try it on.” She clearly has not heard the latest celebrity gossip.

  I check my watch. “Um, sure. I can do that. I’ll just have Jackson pick me up there. Be there around eleven?”

  “Perfect. Grab some donuts on your way.” She makes a little begging sound, and I hear Adam laughing in the background.

  I hang up with Jules and call Jackson. He’s going to swing by, grab my bags, then pick me up in Tribeca.

  I take a few minutes to spread my work things out on the table. I want to make sure I have everything I need since I’ll be working from the Hamptons for the next several days. I load my laptop and files into a bag and throw in my camera. I’m distracted when the guys come in from their shift at the hospital. As always it’s a whirlwind of conversation. I go over the food I precooked for them with strict instructions they aren’t to eat junk the whole time I’m gone.

  Colleen and I meet at Square Diner in Tribeca for breakfast to finalize a few items for her girls at Casino Night in the Hamptons. It’s a causal meeting and I have no problems fitting in with my sundress and flip flops.

  “So, how are you?” I ask Colleen who is taking a seat in her booth. Even on a Sunday, she is polished in white fitted jeans and a navy blue tank. She really is beautiful.

  “I’m well, thank you. How are you?”

  “Out of breath,” I say on an exhale having had to jog most of the way to make it on time.

  “Is that because of Blaine Moore? I saw you kissing in the paper,” she teases me.

  “You saw that?”

  “I see everything.”

  “No. I know it doesn’t look like it in that picture, but we’re just friends.”

  “Trust me, I know. I saw how you looked at Graham. Although, I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t like to be a fly on the wall when Graham sees the picture.”

  “I doubt he will even see it.” I look over the menu to see what I want to order.

  “Like me, Graham sees everything.”

  “Not everything. He still thinks I work for you.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I haven’t told him otherwise. He’s just so…”

  “Dominating, sure of himself, bulldozing…”

  “Yes, yes, and yes. He jumped to a conclusion based on nothing. Also, he has all this information on me, and he thinks he knows things when he doesn’t.”

  “Graham is a business man who doesn’t take no for an answer, Emme. He’s used to getting his way. He’s also very protective of his inner circle, which consists almost entirely of his family. So, you aren’t telling him that you don’t work for me, why? You think it gives you the upper hand?”

  “I guess I want him to figure it out on his own. He can research all this information, but he doesn’t sit me down and ask for it. He just demands it and then jumps to conclusions.”

  “Emme. You have been on your own for a long time. Some of this is Graham being Graham, but some of this is understanding what it is like to trust someone to take care of you. You’ll know when it’s the right time to set him straight. I think this could be a good thing for you. Trust your gut and trust Graham. Of course, one way to solve this would be to actually come work for me.” She smiles into her orange juice.

  “I love you, Colleen.” I answer her mischief with a laugh.

  “That’s sweet, dear. Order your breakfast.”

  It’s starting to sprinkle and I’m running behind, so I grab a cab to Jules’s place. I thought breakfast with Colleen would settle my thoughts some. She was supposed to be a totally unbiased opinion. It befuddles me that she basically advocated for Graham.

  I’m so caught up with overthinking all of this that I totally bail on bringing donuts, which leads to a very disgruntled-looking Jules in front of me now.

  “Are you feeling okay?” She touches my forehead. “I have never known you to forget donuts.”

  “I wanted to have breakfast with Colleen before I left, and I was running late,” I whine.

  “Okay.” She easily lets me off the hook. “I have the pants for you to try on. I want to see how they fit across your honey pot. Make sure I have all the lace in the right place.”

  Laughing at her words for my lady parts, I run my hands over the dress form in her work room. Jules and Adam live in an industrial loft in Tribeca that is connected to a large open space that Jules has turned into her design studio. It has great natural light and views of all the cool architecture people love about this area.

  “Jules.” I turn to look at her. My proud smile mimicking hers. “It’s amazing. When did you design this? I thought you were working on a dress you wanted me to wear?”

  “Well,” she says as she pulls the pins out to take the pants off the dress form, “that was before you inspired me last week.”

  “I inspired you?”

  “Yep. You did. I have seen more sides of you this week than I can remember. You’ve been in the papers twice, one of those times involved in a kiss that made women everywhere apply the lip gloss.”

  “You are so crass,” I scold. “Where do you come up with these terms?”

  “I’m in the know,” she shrugs. “Now, try these on.” She hands me the pants.

  I drape my sundress over her couch and pull on the pants, careful to make sure I don’t stick myself with a pin. Jules walks around me and makes some adjustments. “Squat for me,” she directs, and I do.

  I stand back up, and she runs her hand over my backside placing a couple of pins under the bottom curve. “As I was saying,” she says, removing a pin from between her teeth, “I’ve never seen you so affected by a man, like I have this week.” She pauses looking me in the eye. Circling me again, she continues. “It inspired me to make you look as hot as you can for Casino Night. There will be lots of press. Now that you are being touted as Blaine’s ‘it girl’, someone is bound to ask you who you are wearing, and I don’t want it to be because of a dress that anyone could have made. I want it to be something that will have people talking the next day.”

  “Would you mind taking off your underwear and then putting the pants back on?”

  Not sure if I’m confused by the actual question itself or the way she so nonchalantly asked it. “Are you serious? How is that me?”

  “A week ago, it wasn’t. Today, it is.” She looks at me like I’m slow catching up. “You’re different. Now trust me.” She removes the pin that’s holding the pants closed.

  I slide the pants off, remove my underwear and slide them back on. She walks around me, marking a few places with a white fabric pencil.

  “This is perfect. Just the way you should wear them that night.” She guides me to the mirror. I’m standing there in my bra and the pants she has sewn for me. I have to give it to her. They are amazing. The base fabric is sheer with lace and beading placed strategically to cover all my girl bits.

  “Jules. These are stunning! I’m not sure I’m the right person for them, though. They’re very daring. Why don’t you wear them?”

  “Because I don’t have your silhouette. That’s what makes the pants.” She turns me to the side. “Most people don’t have the pronation here that you do.” She points to the bottom curve of my behind. “Because yours is so pronounced, it makes the pants sexier than they wo
uld be on the average person. These are not made for ‘hanger’ girls as you call them. They’re made for a thick girl like you.”

  “But they also need someone who has the attitude to pull this look off.”

  “That’s totally you, Mags. Trust me.” She exits for a minute. I turn from one side to the other. Maybe she’s right. I would see these on a runway and wish I could wear them. They are hot without being vulgar. Tastefully sheer.

  “Look, babe.” Jules is back in the studio with Adam trailing behind her.

  “Hey, Mags.” Adam lifts his chin to me. “Nice bra.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “What do you think?” I ask him as I turn around. He has his hands in his front jean pockets and studies my look. He’s used to seeing me half-dressed trying on clothes for Jules.

  “Put these on.” Jules kneels in front of me, tapping my foot. “Heels are going to lift your behind. I need to adjust for that.” I am standing four inches taller now. Jules continues, “I think they would look better as a pencil tuxedo-cut pant. The top will be a sheer…t-shirt, if you will, with beading around the neck and wrist, and lace and beading that crosses over your breast and back down towards your stomach.”

  “Damn. Smoking hot! No one will be looking at anyone else. Good job, babe.” He kisses Jules with a look of pride—one that says even with an almost naked woman in the room she is the only one he could ever want.

  “Thanks, sweetheart.” Jules smiles back at him, giving me one more look over.

  “I think a little more coverage here would be good,” Adam points and Jules marks. They move around me. “Make sure you visit the salon that day.”

  Oh my God. It takes a lot for me to blush, but that did it. He throws his head back and laughs, and for the first time I see a resemblance between him and Graham.