Jordan lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, I bet she did. She probably went into excruciating detail about how horrible I am at it.”
Embarrassed for her, I glance down at the floor before I comment, “There was a little bit of that going on, I won’t lie. This is just a hunch — but I wonder if Mishka was so critical of you because she is jealous of your talent. At least, that’s what it sounded like to me.”
Jordan smirks as she says, “I suppose it’s possible — but I doubt it. Mishka is pretty confident in her own skills.”
“I guess the question of the day is how confident are you in yours?”
“Depends on what you’re talking about,” she counters with a smirk.
“Well, I find myself without a designer for a designer ball. So…I’d like to know if you could work with me.”
“You want me to design something for you? Aren’t you contracted with Mishka? I don’t remember everything in my employment contract when I was hired, but I do know stealing clients from Mishka would get me into a world of trouble. She would have her lawyers on me like attack dogs.”
I shrug as I say, “Not an issue. I fired Ms. Silk.”
Jordan’s eyebrows lift. “Seriously? No one ever fires the great, infamous Mishka. I wish I could’ve been there to see it. It must’ve been hysterical.”
“Well, let’s just say that you’re not the only person she has threatened to ruin today.”
“At this point, I’m just over the whole thing. I’m ready to move on with my life. I’m moving to Oregon in a couple of weeks and put this whole coast and everything associated with it behind me.”
“Well, that will make things a little more difficult,” I respond with a frown.
“Make what more difficult?”
“I was serious. I have to do this charity gig for my company. According to my executive producer, this event will put us on the map. He also told me I’m not allowed to show up wearing shorts and a T-shirt. So, I need some designer clothes.”
“How do you know you’ll like my style? Do you even know what I do?”
“I guess I don’t. You had the good sense to quit your job this week. You are at least a little bit sane.”
“I don’t know, the jury is still out. We’ll see what happens when I get to Oregon.”
“Of all the states, why Oregon?”
“My family is there. I was all alone here in New York City. Now, I am returning home feeling like a colossal failure.”
“Look, I know I was only a casual bystander, but it seems to me you were faced with an untenable situation and had to make hard choices. Based on what I saw the other day, I don’t disagree with the choice you made. If I were in your shoes, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”
Jordan lets out a short laugh. “That’s nice…but you have no idea what chaos this has started in my life.”
“I can imagine it probably opened up some soul-searching opportunities. All big risks do.”
“Big risk? Don’t you mean harebrained and impulsive?”
“Sometimes, we do things for self-preservation. I’ve had to go down that road before. It’s scary, but not impossible.”
“I appreciate the pep talk, but there’s no way around the fact that my life sucks right now.”
“I’m sorry things are so rough. I have a plan which might help both of us. I really do want to hire you to make my clothes for this event. I don’t want to embarrass my boss or look like I don’t fit in.”
Jordan looks up at me and says, “I hate to break it to you, but there isn’t much I can do to make you fit in. You are the kind of guy who is made to stand out.”
My disappointment must have shown on my face because she quickly adds, “Don’t worry. I can make you something which will fit you better than anything you’ve ever bought off the rack.”
“Good luck,” I reply. “I don’t think there is a truly comfortable suit on the planet — especially not for me.”
“Are you issuing me a challenge?” Jordan asks as she narrows her gaze and studies me carefully.
“I guess I am. Are you willing to take it on?” I try not to sound too eager. I don’t think it would help my cause if she knew I have no other options. The truth is, given her former supervisor’s attitude toward other people, I would personally like to see Jordan get all the attention.
Jordan sinks her teeth into her bottom lip as she says, “I don’t know your deadline. Honestly, my life is going to be crazy over the next couple of months. Are you sure you’re up to this? You’d have to travel to Oregon. There will be multiple fittings.”
I just shrug. “I’m flexible. I’m used to traveling. Whatever you need, I’ve got it.”
“What’s in this for you?” Jordan’s gaze is intense as she studies me. “You have the kind of body designers love. Designers like me make the covers of magazines when people like you wear our clothes. So, why aren’t you going with someone with a bigger name?”
I take a seat in her living room. “I met your big-time fashion designer, and I didn’t like her much. I would rather work with someone who respects other people. So, if I can support the little guy in the fight between good and evil, I’m all about that.”
“So, when is this event?” Jordan asks me as she grabs a pad of paper and pen from a little container by her phone. She holds her pen up as if she’s poised to write.
“The weekend after the Fourth of July.”
Jordan looks up at me in surprise as she asks, “Not asking for much, are you? Do you realize the event is only eight weeks away? When you factor in travel time, we wouldn’t have much wiggle room. It would take a lot to juggle fittings around both of our schedules — especially since I’m moving. I hate to say this, but I may not be the designer for you. Maybe I’ve just got too much stuff going on in my life to give you my undivided attention.”
“I guess I’ll take my chances,” I assert, surprising even myself. “I don’t want anyone else to work with me. Either you dress me, or I show up at the event wearing boxer shorts.”
“Boxer shorts? Why not a Speedo?” she asks with a chuckle. “Then again, those events are so boring, they could use some spice.”
“I’d totally stand out on the red carpet, wouldn’t I?”
“Trust me, Cristiano, my way is better. Obvious publicity stunts are like a flash in the pan. If we can dress you to match the pictures in my mind, you'll to make a stir without saying a word — as long as you let me do exactly what I want to.”
“Am I supposed to be feeling as scared as I am?” I ask. “I’m not used to giving up this much control.”
“Well, there’s one thing I insist on. I will give you a chance to give all the feedback on the planet, but you have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”
“That sounds reasonable to me. I wouldn’t want to work with someone who wasn’t open to communication going both ways. It’s like in a race, your spotter needs to know where you are.”
As I watch, Jordan goes over to her coat closet and retrieves a sewing basket. I vaguely remember the contents of all of this from my Home Economics class in junior high school. It’s been a while. When Jordan turns around, she has a measuring tape in her hand. It’s all I can do not to flinch. My shoulder still hurts from holding my arm up for Mishka.
I try to lift my arm up again and grimace as a white-hot ball of pain hits me.
“Frozen shoulder?” she asks with concern on her face.
I nod as I let my arms fall to my side. “It’s not quite frozen yet, but I do have a torn rotator cuff. It hurts like a son of a —” I break off. “That’s what I get for messing around with my friends and missing a pro set.”
“A what?” Jordan asks as she holds a tape measure up to my arm, writes down the number, and repeats the process as she measures the circumference of my wrist.
“It’s a jump in BMX. I was messing around on an old bike with some of my friends. I misjudged the jump.”
“Big boys with little toys?”
I smirk as I say, “
Pretty much—at least these days. Unfortunately, I keep forgetting I messed up my body to the point where I shouldn’t be doing stupid stuff on my bike anymore.”
She walks behind me, and I feel her cool hands moving around on my neck as she arranges the measuring tape and writes down some more numbers. “Hmm, no wonder you find off-the-rack clothes so confining,” she comments as she places the tape on the top of my shoulders.
“What? Am I freakishly out of proportion?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know there is no such thing as a typical body type. Everyone is different.”
“So, you’re telling me you won’t have any trouble making clothes to fit me?”
“I can design clothes for your body, I don’t know if you’ll like them, but I can design them.”
“Okay, let’s do it How much do these things usually cost?”
Her eyes widen at my question. “You know the old saying? If you have to ask —”
I smile at her snappy retort. “I didn’t need a new bike anyway. The moral victory in this will be enough.”
“Are you sure?” Jordan asks. “If you’d rather not spend money on an untested designer, I understand.”
“No, I’m all the way in. Sometimes, all you need to win the race is a break. Maybe this event will be the break we both could use.”
DEDICATION
To the people who find the strength to get up and fight their own personal demons every day and win.
Special recognition to those people who still get up and fight after they’ve been knocked down more times than they can count.
We support you in your battle.
CHAPTER 1
DONDA
“MOM, DO YOU REALIZE I’M a sophomore in high school? You don’t have to drop me off at basketball camp every morning like I’m a kindergartner. I can take the bus like my friends. You’re embarrassing me.”
Gabriel’s words twist deep in my soul. There is still a part of me that sees him as I did the first day I dropped him off at preschool even though he towers over me. I know he’s right. He is a much better child than I ever deserve, given the upheaval he’s been through in his life and the role model I’ve been for him.
Gabriel’s attention is focused on something outside his window so I take a few moments to study my child. It’s amazing how much he changes every day. Although people tell me he is the spitting image of me, I just don’t see it. I hope he’s not. I’m just a tenuous collection of hopes and dreams held together with a few should’ves, could’ves and really-wished-I-hadn’ts. When I look at my son, I see a wonderful mix of my brother and my dad. He has the razor-sharp methodical, curious intellect of my brother. There’s nothing that Gabriel can’t conquer. He’s a spectacular athlete, a National Honor Roll Student and a magnificently creative artist. Although my dad died when I was young, I still remember his quick smile and offbeat sense of humor. I remember standing still by his side as he would struggle to frame the perfect picture or waiting with him as the sun went down so we would have the perfect lighting to capture a drop of rain on a rose petal in my grandma’s garden. Gabriel has that same sort of mix of humor and intensity. It’s heartbreaking that my dad didn’t live long enough to see his grandson grow up. Sometimes, when I like to mentally torture myself, I ponder how my life might have been different if my dad had never died. As fun as it is to think about my dad being around to see Gabriel grow up, the rest of it’s just too painful to consider.
As the traffic in front of me slows down for a passing train, I lick my thumb and wipe a smudge of paint off of his face.
“Mom, that’s disgusting! Stop it,” Gabriel insists, batting my hand away.
“How late did you stay up working on the storyboard for your comic book? You’ve got paint all over yourself again.”
“Mom, newsflash: you’ve got as much paint on you as I’ve got on me.”
“It’s my job, and unlike you, I don’t really have anyone to impress today. I told you to get plenty of sleep. Your coach said he doesn’t take very many sophomores to play on the varsity team.”
“Relax. I’ll either make it or I won’t. Mindy and I have been practicing an insane amount. That girl is like a drill sergeant if she sets her mind to something. I don’t think I’ve ever thrown so many free throws in my life. I can make them in my sleep now.”
“That’s good because your coach is a stickler for those —”
Gabriel interrupts me, “Mom, I know you said you aren’t trying to impress anybody but, have you noticed that same Beemer follows us to basketball camp every day? I think he’s into you.”
“How do you know it’s the same one? They all look alike.”
“For one thing, he has a bumper sticker that says, ‘Sarcasm is my closest friend.’ I noticed it a while back and I thought it was funny. Secondly, he looks like us. That’s uncommon around here, so it kind of stands out.”
“I suppose it would, the Willamette Valley is not well known for its racial diversity, especially the small towns. How do you know he isn’t just checking out this cool car Denny fixed up? Why do you think he’s checking me out?”
“Mom, I’m a guy. I can pretty much tell when people are checking out cars. He was not scoping out the car, he was looking at you.”
I shake my head at him as I respond with a laugh, “Just when I thought you were coping well with the stress of basketball camp, now I find that you’re just delusional. Perhaps I should cut back on your workouts, I think they’re getting to you. You seem to have lost your ability to think reasonably.”
Gabriel turns and grins. “Go ahead, laugh, but the next time we stop at a stop sign, I want you to look over and see if he’s looking at you. I bet his eyes are glued to you. If I win, you have to take me to the art store to get more paint, deal?”
“Let’s evaluate that risk, shall we?” I tease with a wide grin. “You spend most of your time lost in your computer, drawing or playing basketball. I don’t think you have much time to observe the world around you. I think the risk that you’re right is pretty low. Most days, I look like some reject from those ‘People of Walmart’ websites. If, by some off chance, he looked at me on the first day, the likelihood he would ever take a second glance is slim. Given all of those factors, I highly doubt he’ll be scoping me out today.”
Gabriel’s smirks at me before he replies, “We’ll see. I’ve got a whole list of new colors I want to get. This will be epic.”
I chuckle as I answer, “I’ll take that as the compliment I’m sure you meant it to be instead of a smart-aleck remark.”
Gabriel rolls his eyes at me as he insists, “I totally meant it as a compliment, Mom. Don’t you speak teenager by now?” Gabriel sticks his headphones in and starts to read. His latest obsession is reading books on the art of drawing. We’ve been scouring secondhand stores across the state to try to find old tomes for him to read. It’s been quite an adventure to find books. It’s not exactly a popular genre.
As we drive down the freeway, I think about the last time someone was really attracted to me. To say I’ve gone through a bit of a dry spell is the understatement of the century. Strictly speaking, my whole life has been one big dry spell. My relationship with Gabriel’s dad was a huge mistake. The only good thing that came out of that relationship was Gabriel. Ricky had it all on paper; he seemed wonderful. He was everything I thought I needed in a guy. He looked stable. He had lots of money to flash around and he made all sorts of promises about how he would be the perfect guy. For a while, he was. He took me out to dinner and to concerts and never forgot my birthday or our anniversary. I mean, the guy was good. He celebrated our one week anniversary together and every month thereafter. He was kind and thoughtful to my dog. Heck, he even bought him presents.
On the surface, it all seemed very stable, but what I didn’t realize was that it was all built on marbles. I don’t know why I didn’t see it all coming apart. If anyone should’ve seen it, it should have been me. After all, I
’m my own alphabet soup of disorders. I have a history of eating disorders, alcoholism, drug addiction and I’m a survivor of incest. You might’ve thought I would have been the first one to recognize I had a drug dealer living right under my roof. Yet, somehow I wasn’t. I guess I wanted things to work out for Gabriel so much that I overlooked the signs. Eventually, I ended up like every other single mom with a deadbeat dad in the picture — only Gabriel’s deadbeat dad ended up going to prison and dying there in a gang fight. I have been unwilling, or unable to trust my judgment since then. Sure, I go out and have a little discrete fun every once in a while, but it’s not as often as anyone thinks and it’s not nearly as wild as people believe. I can’t really blame people though because when you have a past like mine, it’s easy to jump to conclusions, even if they are unfair.
I’m still lost in my inner musings when Gabriel taps me on the knee and instructs, “Mom, don’t freak out, but he’s right beside us.”
Instinctively, I whip my head around to look at him.
Gabriel releases a horrified gasp as he slinks down in his seat. “Mom,” he chastises. “I told you to play it cool — not act like Grandpa at an antique car show. This guy doesn’t need to know you’re checking him out. That’s just rude. Do you even remember how to be a playa’? The game isn’t supposed to be visible — at least not at the beginning.” I don’t even have to be looking at Gabriel to know he’s rolling his eyes in total exasperation.
I glance over at my son and I wonder once again how it’s possible he’s giving me dating advice. It seems like just the other day I was bringing him home from the hospital. Where is the child who cuddled with me while we watched Disney movies or the little boy who needed me to blow on his ouchies before I put a Band-Aid on them? Where is the curious young man who wanted me to read him one hundred and one bedtime stories? I barely recognize this child — the one who once needed me — when I look at my tall, handsome young man who seems to have all the answers.
The sad thing is he’s probably spot on. I’ve completely lost any finesse I once had with guys. I can’t even flirt in the produce aisle anymore. I used to have a little something, but the most action I see these days is from the romance novels Madison throws in my direction.
Jude’s Song Page 25
