Lost in Luna, he barely heard the door close. They stood in the middle of his studio simply kissing, their hands lightly skimming against the other slowly stoking the fire that always seemed to roar to such a frenzy so they needed to make love wherever they happened to land. Eventually, he would like to get her to his apartment and wake up with her in his arms. Somehow that eluded him as well.
He needed to try harder with her than he ever did before, and he pulled back and took her face into his hands.
“I’m very proud of you.” Color stained her cheeks. “The collection is amazing. I knew you could do it.”
Rather than speak, he tilted his head.
She licked her lips. “You didn’t have to name your work after me.”
“Why shouldn’t I name my work after my muse and my girlfriend?” There, he slipped it in again. This time he wouldn’t be ignored and when she went to pull him toward her lips, he gathered all his strength to resist. “Luna, did you hear what I said?”
She averted her eyes. “That’s a lot of labels to be putting on someone.”
No way would he allow her to skirt the issue and he sidestepped into her field of vision. “I’m a fashion designer, I’m all about the labels.”
“How about you help me change into my non-designer clothes?”
Though her attempt to change the subject was admirable, he wouldn’t fall for her tricks. “Don’t you want this?”
“Define this.” She exhaled.
“Me, you, us.”
“We already have that. Did you ever think that in the apocalypse there would be no need for labels? Everyone will be too concerned with trying to survive?”
He paused, took in her words. Was she trying to survive? Maybe scared the label might harm her, expose her in some way? “Since you already walk around with my name emblazoned on you most of the time, I would like to make our relationship more official than merely muse and designer, and after the world rises up in anarchy, you and I can be the ones to keep a little bit of the modern world and know our labels.”
She pursed her lips and glanced around the room. “Just know that if I find out you’re some cheap knock off, I will take no pity in ripping all the labels out of my clothes, and elsewhere.” Her gaze traveled down to the front of his pants.
With a bit of an arrogant smile, he hooked his fingers under her chin and made her face him. “I swear to you I’m nothing if not authentic.” Now it was his turn to kiss her. “How about you skip work and I’ll take you to dinner and we can head back to my place to celebrate?”
She pushed him back and unfastened her dress. The grey fabric pooled at her feet. “How about we celebrate right here?”
“You wouldn’t prefer my apartment?” He took her in. His woman wore nothing but a black bra and matching thong.
“I need to break you in a little more first.” She turned around and leaned over on his desk.
He had no doubt.
Chapter Nine
I try and I try so hard to resist,
But my strength weakened since the first time we kissed.
I wanted this to be not much more than a tryst
But if he left my life he would surely be missed.
LUNA SHUT HER JOURNAL, tossed her journal into her bag and looked up at the time.
With a scowl she lifted her phone, first double-checking the time and then checking if Blake texted or called and she somehow missed it.
He said seven, right? She scrolled up in her text messages and her stomach fluttered, rereading this morning's exchange.
A month today. I think we need to celebrate. How about a light dinner and we'll take the dessert back to my place. I'll pick you up at seven and you’re mine until Monday morning, bring nothing but you and your words, that's all I want.
Once she spent the night with Blake, slept in his arms, woke up with him and made meals with him, their relationship would be real. What he took in stride, she struggled with. The comfort zone could also be a dead end. Right when it seemed as if everything was fine and happy, people disappeared.
Of course, she couldn't keep them in this limbo forever. The man named his collection after her, he pushed for them to define their relationship, hell, he custom-made her clothes. As she spent the better part of the morning rearranging her shifts at the club, she convinced herself she chose to move forward as part of the ultimate experience.
After texting that she would bring a toothbrush, she spent the rest of her day smiling and writing fluff not suitable for a cheesy greeting card.
However, now it was ten after seven, and Blake was always on time. Actually, he was usually early. Though at its best, LA traffic was unpredictable, more than once she caught him waiting in the car several minutes before he was due to pick her up.
Before she became unnecessarily upset, she decided to simply call him. If they were in the relationship he claimed they were in, there would be no restrictions on the phone. Something she never had with anyone else.
She hit his number and before his phone even rang it went right to voice mail. He must be on the phone. Wrinkling her nose, she hung up and sent him a text.
Everything okay?
The message sent and she waited. Blake left the read receipts on his phone and she had taken to noting the time he read her texts. For the writer of the two of them her texts were usually only a few words long. Normally he responded right away.
Within a minute her phone indicated he read the message and she stared at the screen awaiting the little dots indicating he was typing back.
After five minutes there was nothing.
In an attempt to alleviate some of the tension that sprouted up in her neck, she tilted her head left and right and called again to the same results. Her phone clutched firmly, she stomped into the front room. “Ciro?”
"What's wrong?" Her brother didn't even glance in her direction, instead choosing to work on tuning his acoustic guitar.
"If someone's voicemail comes on before the phone rings that means they're talking on it, right?" In the back of her mind, she sort of thought by the time she did the clutching and stomping thing, Blake would have appeared out of breath from running to get her and the nagging feeling something was off in her world would go away and she bit her lip.
"Yeah, or the phone is off."
"Well, what if you know he read his text message? Then the phone couldn't be off." Extra energy ran through her, and she tapped her foot.
"Stalking much?" Finally, Ciro turned to her. "Is Prince Charming late?"
Not wanting to answer, she shrugged.
"Maybe now that he got you, he's done. Guys are weird like that." He broke out in laughter.
His words may as well have slapped her. She didn’t have time to care about this. Well, in truth, she had nothing but time, but be that as it may, she refused to care about this.
Maybe Blake was done. Much better he be done now. Once she accepted his weekend invitation, he won and therefore the thrill of the chase was over. “You’re probably right.” Even in her one of a kind skirt ensemble, she plopped down on the couch.
“Hey, I was just kidding.” Ciro strummed a little tune on his guitar.
“No, you weren’t, that’s what all guys think. That’s why they all leave.” She stared up at the popcorn ceiling. Sometimes she wondered if their mother left them this run down rent-control apartment as some sort of punishment. Yes, they owned a building, but they barely took in enough money to cover the mortgage let alone fix up the place a little.
“I’m here.” He tilted his head back and grinned.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” She glared at the popcorn willing Blake to show or call and give her the opportunity to break up with him first. “Doesn’t matter, I was just about done with the experience anyway.”
“Why don’t you call him again? I’m sure there’s a good explanation for this.”
“You know, with all the various ways to communicate with someone, you would think he could have the common cou
rtesy of just telling me, or making up a good lie. The stand up is so high school.” The pressure built behind her eyes, she needed to stop staring into the popcorn and she looked down at her phone once more. “Strange.”
“What’s strange?”
Ciro’s tone told her he was more interested in studying her as an exhibit of the human condition rather than out of concern for her. Still, she wanted to voice her revelation. “You know only in a quote, unquote relationship are you not allowed to call and voice concern, ask what happened. If you were late and didn’t answer your phone, I would call Steve or Tiny or whoever and try to find you.”
“Then call the equivalent of his band members. Who said you can’t do that? Some strange social rule? You always want to defy convention, so defy it.” He punctuated his sentence with a strum of his guitar.
“Maybe I need to be revolutionary.” A bitter taste took over her mouth at using Blake’s word. Only a few hours ago, she was ready to fight a war for him.
“If you don’t care then don’t call.” He sat back in the chair.
Well, she cared about the reason and scrolled through her phone numbers. “Then if he gets pissed, then I guess I’ll know.” If he welcomed her next action or not, she would have her answer and hit call on her phone.
This time the phone rang, once, twice, then success. “Luna?” Sam whispered into the phone.
“I’m sorry to bother you.” Before continuing, she tried to figure out what to say without sounding like a fool or desperate.
“I’m so glad you called.” As if he were trying to hide, he spoke in a low tone.
“What’s wrong?” The sick twisting anxiety that took over her stomach morphed into a ball of concern. “Is Blake okay?” She asked the first thing that came to her mind though she hated the first thing that came to her mind.
“If you can get down here that would be good, he could use you. He just keeps saying he failed you.”
She strained to hear Sam. “Failed me? What does that mean?”
“Just get down here.” After delivering the cryptic explanation, Sam hung up.
“Blake said he failed me.” What did that mean? Did he find someone else at a club and had sex with her up against a wall then called her his girlfriend? She wondered how many other women pictured their lover with another at the first sign of trouble. None of this was worth the anxiety.
“That’s a weird thing to say.” Ciro shook his head.
Yes, it was a weird thing to say and very out of character for Blake. Everything about him said he would have at least called if he couldn’t make it. Something had to be desperately wrong. Maybe for once it wasn’t what all women pictured. “I have to get to Blake.” She rushed back to her room and grabbed her bag.
“What?” Ciro followed her.
“I don’t know, something is off, Blake needs me. I can feel it.” Shaking, she dropped her bag.
“Someone hurt you, but that same someone needs help and you’re going to go to him?” Ciro retrieved her bag.
Again, her instinct spoke before her mind. “I have to.”
“Come on, I’ll take you.” Her brother grabbed her arm.
They both rushed to Ciro’s car. The entire ride to Blake’s studio she tried to run the scenarios on what could have happened to cause him to say he failed her. Everything from him impaling his most private parts on a sewing machine needle, to simply having cold feet that she actually accepted his invitation went through her mind. She wouldn’t beg him. At her thought, she balled her hand in a fist.
Maybe for the first time it wasn’t about her.
Or maybe that’s just what she wanted to believe.
By the time they drove up to Blake’s studio, she turned herself into a metronome of worry. Ciro barely stopped the car before she opened the door.
“Hey, be careful.” He slammed on his brakes. “Do you want me to come up with you?”
“No, I need to do this alone.” She stepped out of the car and looked up at the brick building.
“I’ll hang for a few, call if you need me.”
She glanced over her shoulder at her brother. He didn’t have to race her here and he certainly didn’t have to wait. “Next week I’ll help you with that song, I promise.”
Ciro gave her a thumbs-up and parked the car.
Taking a deep breath, she walked inside and made her way up the two flights of stairs to Blake Design. She let herself in the front office and was greeted by Sam and a young man she recognized as Nelson, one of the interns.
“What’s going on?” She approached the men.
Before Sam could utter a word, Nelson stood. “He started yelling and told Gerry we didn’t need him anymore because he couldn’t help.”
At Nelson’s tale, she pursed her lips. She had heard more than once about Blake getting rid of people on the fly. Gerry was another intern. She had to wonder if that was Blake’s modus operandi, once someone was no longer helpful in the land of Blake, he moved on. Maybe she was past her expiration date. Unable to offer any advice, she averted her attention to Sam. “What did he do to fail me?” Forewarned was forearmed.
“I’m transferring ownership to you.” Sam pointed to the door to Blake’s studio.
With no choice left, she tiptoed over to the door and took care to open it as silently as possible.
His back facing her, he stood in the far corner staring out the window. “Sam, I said get out of here, I don’t want to see anyone.”
Though she should announce her presence, she remained quiet to see if he would reveal anything more. The place was sort of a disaster, with a couple of bolts of fabric thrown on the floor along with some papers. Normally he was more of a neat mess, the creativity running through him didn’t allow for perfect piles of papers and file folders.
“I said get out of here, I have to go get Luna and figure out a way to tell her I failed her.” He pressed his forehead to the glass.
Unsure of what to do in this position, she swallowed. “Why don’t you let me be the judge on if you failed me or not.”
“Luna.” He shook his head but didn’t face her. “What are you doing here?”
“Strange, that was my question.” She shut the door and stepped into the room.
“I can’t even look at you.”
“It must be bad then if you can’t stand the sight of me.” The mixture of anger and anxiety definitely curdled her blood.
“That’s not what I said.”
She tiptoed over to his desk strewn with papers and almost laughed at what she saw. Almost. Honestly, it wasn’t funny. “It’s no wonder you can’t look at me with all there is to look at right here.”
“What?”
When he finally turned, she held up a couple of the 8 x 10’s of models on his desk.
“Is that what you think?” Keeping his focus on her, he stomped over to the door and opened it. “I thought we had more than that, but if I’m wrong let me know.”
Trapped, she didn’t move. Did she tear up the pictures and walk out? Did she listen to his explanation? Did she maybe do the right thing and be there for the man who had done nothing but treat her like a princess? He was a designer. Whether he was with her or not, he would have to have models.
She stared at him, looking past his own model good looks. If she actually took the time to see him, she would have noticed that misery draped over him like a suit he didn’t design to perfection. When he needed her most, she only made things worse.
Maybe one of her experiences could be not to always assume the worst. “I’m sorry.” In a total girly girl move she despised, she dropped the pictures and her bag and ran to him.
Without hesitation he opened his arms as she collided with him. “I’m sorry.” Doing what she should have done earlier, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
He barely returned her kiss before lowering his face to her neck and pulling her in tight.
At the moment, all she could do was hold on and hope he would reveal how he fa
iled her and what had happened in his own time.
“I should have called you.” He ran his hands over her back “Actually, I should have come and gotten you. I feel better just holding you.”
“What happened?” She ran her hand through his hair and breathed in the cologne or aftershave he always wore.
He exhaled. “They turned me down for LA Fashion week.”
“What?” The same nauseating blow hit her as if she received a rejection letter from a literary magazine. “What?” She leaned back and waited for the punch line to the joke.
“You heard me.” He shrugged.
“You know that’s insane, right?” She looked down at her Blake couture and around the room. “They turned you down?”
She didn’t wait for his answer before pushing away from him and crossing her arms. “Did they even look at the designs? Who are they anyway?”
In an effort to understand a blatantly poor decision, she turned and scanned all the designs. The pants outfit she wore to the poetry reading, the very first dress, the now repaired ball gown Blake tore apart as they had sex on the couch in this studio. The clothes spoke for themselves, there was nothing like them on the market. “You know, too much of this world is controlled by people, the infamous ‘they’, who have no purpose in life other than to keep others out of their playground.” No matter if one wrote, painted, made films, or designed clothes the game was the same and the losers were always those with vision.
“Luna.” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “You always believe in me, I’m sorry I failed you.”
“You hardly failed me. The ubiquitous ‘they’ failed the fashion world.” Over and over again he spoke about the importance of this event. As a new designer it was critical to get his collection in front of the public, in front of the buyers and the press. LA Fashion Week was also a stepping-stone to the big time, New York Fashion Week. While he could have a line without showing at this critical event, his brand would suffer. “We are not waiting another year to show.” She tilted her head back at him.
Come Undone: Romance Stories Inspired by the Music of Duran Duran Page 8
