She sighed. “Let’s go to the back, I have a new cold bottle of water for you, and your charger is in my locker in the employee lounge.”
“Perhaps after I tell you the last thing on my list you’ll want to go revisit the locker room after all this and thank me properly.” With his riddle out, he switched things up and slipped his fingers into his shirt pocket. He handed her two folded papers and guided her toward the set up area in the back. “Tonight is going to be a night of change and revolution on multiple levels."
She unfolded the papers and read the first one. "My resignation letter from the club?"
"I didn't know if the club required such formalities, but I didn't want you to have to worry about any of that with all you have to do." He gave her a squeeze and pulled back one of the black curtains separating the makeshift backstage area from the main club.
The chaos of models, men and mayhem that met her matched the thoughts in her head as she went to the next page. It started with the words she had longed to hear since she started writing in elementary school. "Congratulations?" Caught in some weird state between disbelief and confusion, she looked up at Blake.
"Remember when I told you that the world needed greeting card writers?" A proud grin overtook his face.
Somewhere she recalled the conversation and nodded.
"I love your poems, your voice needs to be heard. I took them and submitted them to Eventide Greetings and Sentiments. You were accepted. They want more and they want you to be part of their custom poetry division." He tapped the paper. "With that job and the work you have with me, you don't need to be a waitress here anymore. You can work right in my studio."
Yes, she understood his words, but didn't understand what happened.
As if her whole body was shot with Novocain, she walked over to a cooler and took out a cold bottle of water, then reached in her tote bag and rooted around until she found Blake's phone charger.
"Maybe I shouldn't have overwhelmed you." He came up behind her and put his hands on her hips. "I was going to wait to tell you until after the show, but I couldn't hold it in any longer. Plus, I may have one or two more surprises up my sleeve before the night is over."
"You took my work and submitted it without asking me?" She spun toward him.
"If Id asked, that would have ruined the surprise." He pulled her in closer.
The only sensation she had left was her heart aching. "I don't want to be a greeting card writer."
"It's a stepping stone on the way to being anything you want. At least it's writing. Not serving." Right as he leaned down to kiss her, the room was overtaken with even more ruckus as a slew of models entered.
"Blake, I need you!" Sam waved his hand.
"Stay right here, I want to make a tiny micro adjustment to your dress." He plucked the bottle of water out of her hand, gave her his cell phone and dashed away.
Her mouth half open, she watched Blake and the rest of the design teamwork. Some models were ushered to the hair station she set up earlier, some to makeup, and others were being put in the outfits.
Still, she just stood at the sidelines of the action.
A jolt ran through her at her realization.
Her entire life was spent in pursuit of the experience and in her quest, she got pushed aside from others or from herself, it didn't really matter, down to the day she finally got an acceptance.
She wanted a perfect family and ended up with a fractured mess where parents left for greener pastures.
She wanted to go to college and study literature, but instead quit to find herself.
She wanted to get published by a literary journal, but only a churn-it-out poetry company would accept her.
The space seemed to close in on her. How could the man who fought to be with her, relished in her quirks and supposedly designed an entire line of clothes around his inspiration drawn from her not know that taking her work and doing anything with it was a violation in every possible way?
"Nelson!" Blake's bark pierced through her eardrums.
The intern shot across the room, skidding to a stop in front of his boss.
Blake guided the young man to the rack of clothes. "We needed everything steamed before the models arrived. The look is stick straight hair and moisture will cause frizz. I also asked you to cut every stray thread." He pointed out each of the errors.
"Let me get right to it." The intern reached for the clothes. "I'll go outside."
"You can't go outside with my clothes. Guests will be arriving soon they can't see us scrambling. This should have been done hours ago."
Nelson looked at him.
Luna winced, willing the intern to do anything, take action.
"I think we have everything covered here. I don't need your help any longer." Blake doled out his ultimate rejection. He didn't need that person's help any longer. She had heard him utter the words before and each time he dealt that hand, the person receiving the news knew exactly what it meant.
“Blake.” Nelson shook his head.
“I really don’t have time for this. I’ve watched you scramble for weeks, this wasn’t the place to fall.”
Without a word Nelson left, and without skipping a beat Blake returned to fitting the clothes. If someone wasn't helpful in Blake's life, the person was eliminated, something Luna noticed the first time she walked into his studio.
Even with Nelson leaving, nothing stopped. As the minutes ticked by, the space took on an electric charge all its own and under the expertise of one up and coming designer, they morphed from merely beautiful women to showpieces. Works of art displaying Blake's creations.
What the hell was she doing here?
"Excuse me." One of the models approached her, blonde, about five-foot and one million inches all legs and in a model-sized pants suit Luna wore the night Blake took her out. The original version hung in her closet at Blake's hotel. The pants would be too short and too big for this living willow branch, she wouldn't even think about the jacket. This model was truly made for the clothes.
"Yes." Out of the corner of her eye Blake put a gorgeous brunette into a dress and put his hands on her waist. She swore his fingers almost touched, he would never be able to do that with her.
"Blakey said you would help me and get me a bottle of water. " The woman smiled a perfectly proportional smile. "Do you mind, dear?"
Blakey? Help? She tried to abate a shudder to little success and without a word got the model her water.
"Aren't the clothes beautiful?" The model did a little twirl for her.
"Incredible." Luna's voice scraped against her throat, every word seemed painful.
"He said his muse was here, I can hardly wait to see her." The woman took a polite little sip of her bottle of water. "I better go practice my walk, he said he just wanted a walk, no strutting…"
"Stomping or marching." Luna finished the sentence for her.
"That's right." The woman fluttered away and joined the others of her kind.
Well, she wanted to be a model, but even though she was in the same makeup and hair as the rest of them, she didn't belong. Chalk that one up to experience. She ended up serving no matter if it was her formal title or one given to her by her new boss. Strange, since she never remembered taking the job.
"Baby, can you help me?" In keeping on trend with the evening, Blake seemed to sneak up on her and asked his magic words.
She faced him. Muses weren't indefinite. They were only around to help inspire creativity and then they were sent on their way.
"I'm starving, and I still need to work on three more models before you. I really need to find out where Nelson put the tackle box with all the emergency supplies inside, and I wanted you to hold up the pictures as I fit every girl." As if running his mental check list, he nodded. "Also, you are still holding my phone, would you plug it in?"
Every warning siren went off in her head. The man she loved steamrolled over her, killed her dream and only wanted help. She fell in love with him knowing
she needed to keep her distance. The second she wasn't of help, the second she didn't serve a purpose, the second she didn't inspire, she would be gone. Led to the trash like a cheap knock off.
Being someone's helper wasn't in her future, neither was writing greeting cards.
Deep down, neither was Blake.
Not bothering to acknowledge he spoke, she bent down, shoved the plug into the wall as she picked up her bag, straightened up and walked away.
"Luna, where are you going?" Blake yelled after her.
"This way." Without looking back, she headed for the exit. She wanted to love him, have him love her, but alas, she was a one-time muse with her time running short and she’d had enough of this experience.
Chapter Thirteen
“SHE PROBABLY JUST WENT to get me something to eat.” Blake nodded and stared in the direction Luna left. “She knows I don’t care for the protein bars she brought.”
“Blake.” Sam bolted over to him. “What are you doing? Where’s Luna going?”
“I’m sure she’ll be right back.” The world around him skidded to a stop. “She knows I need help.”
“Well, our guests will be arriving soon, you need to get to work.” Sam elbowed him. “Also, where is the tackle box with the emergency supplies?”
“I have three models to dress before Luna.” Everything was planned down to the last minute. He would micro adjust Luna and then finish with the rest of the outfits. As the show started, he would prep for look two and after the models cycled through once more it would be time to get her into the finale look. Until she walked out on the runway with him, he didn’t want her to see the dress. To pull off everything he required help.
“Why are you just standing here? You need to help us. It’s your show.”
He turned to the man who was like a brother to him.
His finger raised, his jaw jutted, Sam shook his head. “I’m not helping, you are.”
He needed to help? Wait. Something was most definitely wrong with that picture. Grinding his teeth, he forced himself forward, charging toward the curtains and following in the direction he saw his girlfriend take.
No, his muse wasn’t there hurrying back toward him with a bowl of nuts and pretzels from the bar and possibly a shot of vodka to calm his nerves. Instead, he was met with nothing, an abyss that looked like the end of the world. Only a few workers from the club completing some last minute set up. He swore the room around him began to spin. What would he do without his Luna? “La Luna.” Did she really just leave him in the middle of all this?
“Blake!” Sam yelled.
Then in the beacon of darkness and despair, two forms entered his field of vision. He waved to his fathers.
Their parental genes kicked in and both men jogged toward him. “What’s the matter?” They asked in unison.
“We are very busy and I need help. I’m starving. My phone is barely holding a charge.” He pulled them both back behind the curtains and off to the side. “Luna walked out and is nowhere to be found. Who is going to help me make sure the models are in the right order? Who is going help me ensure the VIPs get seated in the front row? Who is going to help me talk to the buyers?”
“Is this how you spoke to Luna?” Henry crossed his arms and pursed his lips.
“This is your fault.” Joshua rolled his eyes. “You once told him no one would be able to refuse him if he asked for help. Not that I’m not guilty of running to his beck and call.”
“Asking for help is a basic sales technique.” Now Henry faced his partner. “It easily gets people to do what you need without it feeling like a demand.”
“Well, this is the result. The woman who may be carrying our grandchild is walking around the streets of downtown Los Angeles and our son is a disaster.” Joshua motioned toward Blake. “Look at him. He even has a button missing off his shirt.”
“I told Luna I needed help with my shirt. She said she didn’t sew.” Blake grabbed both his fathers and pulled them in closer. Bricks upon bricks of obligation fell down upon him and he had no support system. “No one’s muse is supposed to leave. They are supposed to help.”
“They are supposed to inspire.” Henry’s voice took on that fatherly tone he only used when there were dire situations.
He froze, staring at the space between his parents.
“Asking for help is one thing. Cloaking commands and control behind the word help is a totally different thing.” Joshua exhaled.
“You’re not understanding. I asked for one thing.” He held up one finger. “One thing, for her to walk in my show. Be the face of the Luna collection. In return, I submitted her work and she finally got published and then said she didn’t want to be a greeting card writer!” Let’s see what they did with that information.
Henry put his hand over his mouth.
“Did she ask you for help?” Joshua patted Henry as if trying to calm him down.
Deciding not to answer, he continued. “You should see what I have for the finale. She has to be here. I need her. My show depends on her.”
“Do you need an assistant or do you need her?” Henry asked.
His chest seized and his mind flashed two scenarios, one where she helped but the passion was gone, where she became a greeting card writer but her fire was out. In the other vision she gave of her heart, because she felt the passion for his craft and in turn, he supported her writing even if she never got published. When he had wanted to hide away and wallow in rejection, she pulled him through and put this entire event together. No matter what, through his entire process of creating this line, she stood by him, his biggest fan.
"Blake!" Sam barged over to them.
Luna always stressed he could do anything. By taking her work and submitting it without her knowledge, he basically told her he didn’t believe in her the same way. All he did was pawn off everything he didn’t want to do on the love of his life in order for him to create. In the process, he took over her art in the most convenient way for him.
Some partnership.
"Is this or is this not your show?" Sam snapped at him.
At the moment, his options were limited. He couldn’t run after Luna and disappoint her further by not going on with the show, but there was one thing he could do to prove himself. “Yes. This is my show and I got this.” With the bold statement out, he turned on his heel and headed into the eye of the storm.
"Blakey." The model wearing the same pantsuit Luna wore the night of their first official date flagged him down. "Something is poking me, right here." She put her hand to the waistband of the pants.
Before joining her, he moved aside one of the dress racks and found the emergency tackle box. “Someone go get Nelson back here.” He couldn’t just discard people because they didn’t do his bidding. Tackle box in tow, he went to the model's side and opened it. Though he checked the pants only a few minutes before and knew they were fine, sometimes certain models liked extra attention. Figuring he needed to understand that, he opened the box found a strip of double-sided fashion tape and fixed the woman's non-existent problem.
"Oh, thank you Blakey." She squeezed his arm and pushed her breasts out, at least what she had of them. "Is everything else to your liking?" As a finish, she did a little twirl.
And this was why Luna did not like the models. He wished she were here so he could tell her she looked much better in the outfit designed with her in mind than the model. The look was designed for someone with curves. "You are fine, and its Blakeney, Mr. Blakeney."
His model returned to the line and he helped two other models get into the proper order, leaving a space for Luna. No doubt she would return anytime now.
With his stomach rumbling, he found one of the protein bars Luna put in the cooler with the bottles of water. After unwrapping the horrid little piece of cardboard and stuffing it in his mouth, he retrieved a needle and thread. As he chewed, he fixed the button on his shirt. Once his love returned, she would see how he could take care of things and her faith in
him would be renewed.
"Son, what can I do?" Henry joined him.
"I can do it." Somehow he managed to swallow down the bar, finished off his button and took a swig from a water bottle. He glanced at his dad wondering where the other one went off to, probably to explore the club or get his intern.
"There’s a difference between allowing someone to help you and taking it." His father patted him on the back.
"It would really be great if you could make sure the VIPs are seated in the right place. Their name badges are lined in black, everyone else is lined in grey." He rubbed his hand over his face. Luna thought of that little trick. Where was she? She better hurry.
"Consider it done." His father saluted and left.
The backstage continued to be a whirlwind of activity and he returned to his task at hand. With the minutes counting down to the beginning of the show, he went on with his finishing touches and got the girls in position.
"Mr. Blake!" Another model raised her hand and pointed down to one of the undone buckles on her skirt. "I wasn't sure if it needed to be fastened or not."
"Good catch." He rushed over to her, got down on his knees and fixed the issue. Once straightening up, he looked down the line of models. All the looks told a story, but at the moment some pages were missing.
The rumblings of people entering the club grew, and he took a breath. Luna had to return. There was no way she would miss the show. Not after everything she put into it. No, she just needed a little time alone to collect herself. After all, she was an artist.
Again, he looked at the time and not wanting to admit defeat he glanced over at his team. Without him barking orders and sitting back to ensure they were followed, everyone took on their own jobs, making sure everything was completed.
With only minutes to spare, he backed up toward the runway and took a quick peek out of at the audience.
As Luna predicted, the place was packed. He spied some media and even some familiar faces including the woman they met at the poetry reading. Luna wanted to do readings, she deserved to do them. She also deserved to see what she created. His chest constricted. If only she would show herself, he would plan her a reading like no one ever experienced…with her permission, of course.
Come Undone: Romance Stories Inspired by the Music of Duran Duran Page 11
