“Five minutes until go time!” Sam announced.
His head pounded along with his heart and he rushed back to the models. Luna would have to show herself now if he had any hopes of getting her in her first look. Not only were her pieces critical to the flow of the show, but he couldn’t believe she would miss experiencing the clothing she inspired come to life. How could she do this to him?
Still, for himself and for her, he had to continue. “All right. Ladies are you ready for the revolution?"
As if thinking with one collective mind, the models nodded and clapped.
He turned to his crew. "Are you ready for their second looks?" Thumbs-up and nods answered him.
The music started, a deep beat vibrating through him.
If Luna would have showed, he would have walked the final look of the show with her. It would have been a life changing moment he wasn’t sure would happen now.
Yes, he loved her. He loved how she cheered him on, how she always said he could achieve his goals, he even loved her self-centered nature, but her absence took it too far. Walking out in a huff was one thing, but staying away only confirmed she thought only of herself and her wants.
Deep down he understood her actions, but as he got ready to send the Luna collection down the runway for its debut to the world, he didn’t know if they could overcome her absence at this critical time.
Maybe it was better they never walked the third look at all.
Hopefully, no one would detect the holes in his story. In this case, they represented his heart. "Let's do this." He went to the beginning of the line and checked the first model once more. Though his dream was about to come to life, it meant nothing without Luna.
Chapter Fourteen
LUNA WALKED AWAY, the conviction in her steps evident, echoing around her every time her stiletto heel met the sidewalk.
She had no destination in mind. In fact, she didn’t need one, she was free. Free of the obligation, free of the constant needs of another, free of the worry. She simply walked and watched the sun lower in the sky.
After a pause at a corner vendor for a bowl of fresh fruit, she continued her trek. This was the experience that made up Los Angeles and her life. She would write about sunsets and perfect weather and the way the light breeze tickled her face.
“The wind is my only company, that and my phone. Besides that bit of technology I am utterly alone.” The pound of music seemed to match the beat of her greeting card rhyme and she gazed up to find her feet had taken her right back to the scene of the crime. She sighed. Apparently she was unable to even leave correctly. Like a homing pigeon, she’d returned.
Her heart didn’t stall or speed, it actually seized. Music meant the show started or was about to, and here she was outside the building, not inside with the clothes she helped inspire and the man she loved.
Selfish.
“I walked out on Henry once,” Joshua Owen called to her.
She turned to find him dressed in one of his son’s suits and looking as dapper as ever.
With his hands in his pockets, he sauntered up to her. “Yeah, it was silly because it always is, it’s hard when two people are so much alike, but they don’t think they are.”
She opened her mouth to protest.
He held up his finger. “The help he needs and your…shall we say self-centeredness are two sides of the same coin.”
Rather than argue, she frowned.
“We wanted him so bad, I think we may have helped a little too much.” Joshua let out a chuckle. “It’s my guess with your parents leaving and such, your brother may have encouraged you to explore the world without caring about anyone else cause you are all you have.”
“Maybe a little.” The Santa Ana winds kicked up and she shivered. Another stanza forming in her mind, she shook her head and let out a sick laugh.
“Tell me.” Joshua looked at the building with her.
“The breeze kisses me but it’s a sad substitute. Sometimes in life there is no absolute.” She wrinkled her nose. All she needed to add was an ‘I miss you’ or ‘I’m sorry’ and she would have greeting card perfection.
“Do you even like literature?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she peeked at Blake’s father. “I’m a poet.”
“That’s not what I asked. I have ears, I can hear you, and Blake has shown me some of your work. I know what you are.”
“I like rhyming.” At saying the first thing that came to her mind she put her hand over her mouth. Truth be told, she would probably love the job at the greeting card company.
“Well, you are very talented at it.” He put his arm around her. “Sometimes it’s hard to admit what we are and even harder to admit what we’re not.”
“I’m not a poet laureate.” For the first time she said the words she knew deep down inside. Blake finding her another opportunity only made her admit it faster.
“More people read greeting cards anyway. Sometimes they express what nothing else can.”
The music seemed to grow louder, and she turned to the building. “Tonight is the night, I pray all goes as planned. I know I should be there holding your hand.” How could she miss this? How could she do this to Blake?
“Then what are you doing standing out here with my son’s fruit rather than walking the runway?” He gave her a gentle hug.
“I love him.” She bit the inside of her mouth.
“Love is terrifying. Go ask Blake, last I saw he was getting the models in order all by himself.”
“I’m going to miss my debut.” Before second-guessing her next move, she took off running toward the back.
She snuck through the doors, right into the small backstage.
At the front of the line of models, Blake stood giving each model a check before letting her down the runway.
Knowing the show by heart, it only took a quick glance to find her spot, and without trying to create too much ruckus, she scurried into her position in front of the model in her pantsuit.
“Hey.” The woman leaned forward. “I thought you were the water lady.”
Blake let another woman go and looked up.
Her breath caught.
“The designer is sort of a sourpuss, he told me to call him Mr. Blakeney rather than Blakey.” The woman sighed.
Luna sort of heard the woman, but kept her focus on the man she loved.
Rather than acknowledging her, he turned his attention to the next model, adjusting a strap, checking the zipper and giving her a nod.
The line moved up and her trembling amplified as only one model separated her from Blake. Did he still even want her to walk?
He only touched the model’s buckle before sending her down.
She held her breath and moved up in line.
At last, he looked at her. “Luna.” His eyes drifted toward the curtain. They didn’t have much time. Hell, they didn’t have any time.
“I ran away. It’s how I cope, but until I’m back, I’ll hold out hope.” Suddenly, her whole life was one smarmy rhyme. Instead of hope in her hands, she only had fruit and thrust it into his hand.
“You’re giving me cantaloupe?” He fixed her collar.
“I think I am a greeting card writer.” In her own way she tried to tell him. “I have to show your line.” Only after she straightened up and stepped in front of the curtain did she realize she’d walked onto the runway voluntarily.
Flashes burst around her. Literal flashes from cameras and smart phones and any other photography device. She blinked away the stars in her eyes to find every available seat filled, some guests even stood along the walls. The event worked. By sheer turnout alone, the event was a success, with buyers and media and a veritable who’s who of Los Angeles fashion.
At her own thought, she froze and listened to her own words echo around her above the music.
Wait. She froze. Her own words?
Sometimes life hands you the unexpected,
but it is just then that you feel connected
.
Rather than singing, her brother spoke lines from her poems while she stood on the runway of a fashion show for the man she loved in front of a standing room only crowd, and she wasn’t a model.
Every cell in her body screamed for her to go back the way she came. Both she and Blake were out of their minds thinking she could be a model. She was a poet. One who wrote greeting cards. Beyond her conscious control, she turned, longingly glancing back at the safety of the exit.
The selfish part of her, the one she allowed to fester and grow into a monster would love for her to stomp away, away from fear, away from Blake and away from love. “No.” She already traveled down that path today, time for something new.
As fast as she looked at her escape route was as fast as she spun back and faced her demons in the form of the runway, the long narrow black runway surrounded in a sea of black and an ocean of eyes staring at her.
Don’t march, don’t stomp, don’t strut. Blake’s words echoed in her mind. After what seemed like a pause that lasted two and a half years, she took her first step.
A revolution is what we want to fight,
somehow with him everything just seems right.
Before she realized it, her feet walked in time to her own words, carrying her halfway down the treacherous path.
The photography flashes continued, taking images of the dress Blake first made her with the promise it would fit. Somehow, only by sheer will, she made it to the end of the runway and didn’t fall flat on her face. Without bothering to pause, she turned and made her way back into the chaos of models changing into their second look.
“Luna!” Holding up the black dress with the buckles, Sam called to her, Nelson by his side.
Though relieved to see the intern, she thought Blake would have come over himself. However, he barely gave her a glance. Instead, he still facilitated getting the girls down the runway.
Maybe she should have continued walking. No doubt he watched her on the runway, and probably decided to think twice about his muse. Well, selfish or not, she wasn’t going to quit. At the end she would at least be able to hold her head up high that she kept her end of the bargain.
Her mind cluttered with thoughts of Blake, she barely paid attention to the fact that Sam helped her out of her first dress until he spoke.
“Luna step inside.” He held the dress open.
Simply going through the motions, she did as he requested. As if this whole experience were happening to someone else, she allowed him to fasten the dress and adjust it.
“Get back in line and walk like you own the place, because you do.” Sam gave her a pat on the back. “Then we’ll get you into the finale ensemble.”
As if her body didn’t belong to her, she felt herself returning to her position and inching her way up in line, toward the runway and toward Blake.
The woman before her went on her way in a slinky skirt ensemble and once more she found herself eye to eye with him.
“Do you have any more poetry for me?” He adjusted a couple of buckles.
Her stomach actually knotted. In fact, she would call it a double knot even the most skilled fingers couldn’t unravel. “No, but I heard what you did with mine out on the runway.”
“Well, people are talking about the words as well as the clothes.” His tone came out flat, devoid of the usual joy it possessed. “Are you ready?”
Before she returned to the runway, she had to ask a question. “Do you still want me to walk the finale with you?”
“Is that what you want?” For the first time since she returned, he looked into her eyes. “Or, are you going to leave on me?”
The surprise outfit, her poetry booming through the space, the fact she was the only one even walking a third look, the way everyone continued to mention it, her gut told her his question meant more than merely walking down a runway hand in hand. She took him all in and as always her heart melted. Damn, why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be anyone? The fact of the matter was if it weren’t him, she didn’t care about anyone else. Call her selfish, she was guilty as charged.
No, this time she wouldn’t leave. She would address the problem head on, something she should have done a long time before Blake ever entered her life. “I got scared.”
“Of what?” He swiped her hair off her shoulder.
“Of this, of realizing the kind of poet I am, of being your muse, of what happens after your debut.” She shrugged. “I’m terrified of loving you.” She didn’t mean for her response to rhyme, yet it came out anyway. Unable and unwilling to stand there and wait for him to return the sentiment or wait for him to come up with the next line that may or may not fit the poem, she stepped out onto the runway before Blake gave the signal.
She practically banged into the model making her way back, but the woman managed to turn the mistake into an elegant move when she simply did a little twirl and made her way behind the safety of the curtain.
I must believe I can defy the odds,
I finally found a place where I don’t wear any facades.
Alone again in nothing but a room of strangers, her words and Blake’s clothes, she vowed to give new meaning to the walk of fame.
Who the hell were these people anyway? No doubt they were part of the mysterious “they” who decided others’ fates on the turn of a dime. Well, these people would see this magnificent dress on a regular woman, and it would still be glorious. Defy the odds…damn straight.
Her head held high, she traveled down the runway in time to the music. This time she stopped at the end, paused and posed, once, twice and even a third time. Yes, her heart raced and she trembled, but she wasn’t scared.
She wasn’t scared.
With the same conviction, she turned, making sure the skirt flared out with her movement, and made her way backstage. Third look or not, she didn’t quit.
Behind the curtains once more, she glanced around the organized chaos. Rather than Blake, one of his other tailors now prepped the models at the front of the line.
“Luna.” Again, Sam summoned her.
After all the fuss Blake made over the finale, he was going to have Sam prep her? Fine, she changed her mind. She didn’t need to do the last look after all. What she needed was to bolt out of here. His father was right, she and Blake were too much the same, when things didn’t go exactly to plan they left or quit. Well, hell, she came back and tried.
Her hands on her hips, she stomped over to Sam. She inhaled and opened her mouth to tell him what he could tell the designer.
Before she snarled one word, a hand grabbed her and pulled her behind a small partition.
She stumbled and let out a yelp, tripping right into a set of arms she knew all too well, but still wanted to spend a lifetime exploring. “Blake!”
“No time to talk.” He turned her away from him and seemingly out nowhere a silk blindfold covered her eyes.
“What are you doing?” Only minutes before, she basically told this man she loved him and he had nothing to say? Was he that desperate to have her in the finale?
“This is all part of the last look, you’re going to have to trust me.” As he unfastened her dress, he pressed his body to hers. “Do you hear me Luna? You are going to have to trust me. What’s your answer?”
If nothing else, she had to live this experience to the end. “Fine.”
At her consent, her current dress fell to the floor.
“Lean back into me.” His voice vibrated through her.
If she weren’t ready to lean back and head butt him, she might suggest they bring the blindfold back to his place for later. Still, she did as he requested.
He lifted her, and the rustle of fabric beneath her feet told her the dress she wore was slid out from under her only to be replaced by another one. “I’m going to put you down, don’t move until I say so.”
The fabric slid up her body and more than one set of hands worked to dress her. Without even seeing the outfit, the weight and the amount of time it to
ok fastening the garment to her told her if nothing else this had to be one impressive piece.
A hand reached in the top of the dress and she gasped as it cupped her breast.
“It’s me, it’s okay. I just have to make sure everything is perfect.” Blake adjusted one breast then the other.
Just his touch sent fire through her. No one else could elicit such feelings in her. “Blake.” She didn’t really know what to say after she spoke his name.
“Don’t say anything until I ask you my next question.” He fastened something around her neck and took her hand. “You are a vision. Let’s go.”
She resisted taking a step. “You want me to walk without seeing where I’m going?”
“That’s life sometimes. You don’t take direction very well. I said no talking until I ask you my next question.” He pulled her closer. “Just walk normal and stay by my side. If you trust me, you’ll never fall.”
With no choice other than to do what he said, she tightened her hold on him and allowed him to lead her toward the runway.
The music continued, but the moment they stepped through the curtains and out on the runway, the crowd broke out into an applause that practically shook the building.
Well, they did it. Obviously the show was a major success. Maybe her job as muse was over, but at least she went out on top.
As they walked, he leaned over and spoke into her ear. “When you walked out, I knew no matter what I had to prove to you that I could work my show. You did everything, you were more than a muse, you were my partner. When you returned and kept your promise even after I turned into a raving lunatic, I knew without a doubt you were my life.”
He didn’t have to worry about her speaking, her heart swelled to such a point where she had no words.
“Though some may say I’ve been a raving lunatic since the day I met you.” He chuckled, stopped her and took both her hands.
Needing to say something, anything, she opened her mouth.
Come Undone: Romance Stories Inspired by the Music of Duran Duran Page 12
