by Piper Lawson
“What’s the verdict?”
“Jesus, Lex.” He sounded exhausted. “That was like Christmas and a new Corvette and a giant chocolate cake all wrapped into one.”
I grinned. “That’s what all the virgins say,” I teased.
Something shifted in Dylan’s face. “No,” he said firmly. He looked like he was grasping for words. “Don’t make light of this. You keep saying there isn’t anything between us, but there’s something here. I may not be experienced, but I’m not stupid.”
It was hard to admit, but he was right.
Telling him no, telling me no, was about as fun and productive as banging my head against a brick wall. Eventually it might leave a dent. I realized I’d been grappling with it for weeks. He was growing on me, in a way that was definitely more than friendly. Even besides the sex I cared about him. Wanted to see where that went. Would deal with the fallout later.
“OK,” I said finally.
His smile beamed back at me. The dimple that only seemed to surface on special occasions, probably because it would ruin his bad-boy image if he used it too often, was back. “OK you’ll be my girlfriend?”
Something like panic flared in the back of my mind. “Easy, tiger. I’ll … do whatever this is again sometime. And maybe watch a movie with you. But we can’t tell anyone.”
Confusion mixed with the triumph. “Why not?”
“Because whatever is going on between us, I don’t want to bring other people into it. People like Ava. Who might not understand.” Who might not understand that this is just a crazy phase. I didn’t say it.
Dylan started to argue with me and I cut him off.
“Those are my terms, Cameron. Take ’em or leave ’em.”
He watched me with those sinful brown eyes for a few moments. Apparently he concluded correctly that my mind was made up. Dylan decided not to complain.
Instead he took advantage of the element of surprise to flip me onto my back and initiate round three, which started slow and sweet on the bed but grew urgent and ended with both of us, and a pile of blankets, tangled on the floor.
He snuck out of the house late afternoon before the girls got back, kissing me on the forehead on his way out the door. “Thanks for the study session. Watch a movie with me tomorrow?”
I smiled. “OK. But I get to pick.”
Dylan grinned the biggest smile I’d ever seen. “You got it.”
Something had definitely shifted between us. But I was tired of fighting it. So for now, that was fine with me.
Chapter 21
We saw each other nearly every day for almost two weeks, and texted on the days we didn’t. We avoided spending time together at my house at my insistence. Sometimes Dylan met me at my study room in the library—to study, or to do other things. We’d spend time at his place, keeping it casual around his roommates. Though I’m sure they suspected something, they didn’t let on, and I never stayed over. On the days he drove me and Ava to school our eyes would meet in the rearview mirror. I’d look away before Ava could get suspicious.
Now that I’d given up the internal war I’d been waging over my emerging feelings for Dylan, it freed up lots of new energy. I made great progress in my classes and on the business plan. I was on fire and it suddenly felt like everything was going my way. The business plan suggested we might be in a position to launch a first collection before the end of next year. My focus had turned to scoping out potential contacts and competitors.
The worry I had initially felt about being distracted subsided as I realized I could handle school, Travesty, and Dylan. Unlike Jake, who’d been supportive but hands-off, Dylan actually wanted to know what I was working on. He’d ask questions and offer ideas. I’d sometimes catch him flipping through my finance text. We could have actual conversations about anything from foreign policy—a favorite of his that was admittedly new to me—to pop culture.
He found it perennially fascinating, and frustrating, that I needed to have every second of the day planned out. I told him he could get over it if I could live with the fact that he was a Green Day fan.
Wednesday was usually a day our paths didn’t cross. After school I arrived home and turned on the Fashion TV we’d pre-recorded. It was half indulgence and half imperative. It helped to be informed about the goings on, and I loved to hear updates from the industry as well as see new lines and designers I knew.
I’d clicked on the screen a few minutes late and an interview was already in progress. The byline read “Jaime White designs out of business?” A stunning young woman with a punky pixie cut was getting ready to respond to the host’s question. “It’s been a tough few seasons in ready-to-wear,” she was saying. “More competition from Europe is on the U.S. market than ever before. Lots of the mainstream retailers are bringing in new voices in fashion, and they can draw on low-cost suppliers we can’t—or won’t—go to.”
Ava and I had worshipped Jaime White since we were in high school. Jaime was the youngest of five children and grew up in a blue collar Wisconsin family. It was about as far from fashion pedigree as you could get. Still, she’d followed her passion and made smart decisions along the way. Jaime was a huge inspiration and one of the people who first affirmed I might actually make something of this dream.
At twenty-nine, she had a line of boutiques across the U.S. and A-listers everywhere wore her designs.
I’d had the chance to meet Jaime in New York this summer at one of our magazine parties at the Met. I had approached her thanks to some liquid courage, and we’d exchanged a few emails when I had questions about the business side of things.
“What does this mean for your stores?” the host was asking.
“Ava,” I called. “Come watch.”
“Unfortunately,” Jaime was responding, “we are going to be closing a number of locations in the south and mid-west. We’ll still be coming out with new lines for next season, but it’s a tough environment.”
“What advice would you give to new designers?”
“Honestly? I worry about trying to enter the market right now. It’s more competitive than ever. Margins in ready-to-wear are tighter and it’s truly a global market.”
They wrapped up the interview by thanking Jaime and citing some statistics on failure rates of new business ventures, but I’d already tuned out. A hint of panic was crawling up my throat. What were we getting ourselves into?
Ava knew it and tried to brush it off. “Forget the market, Lex. Our clothes will practically sell themselves.” Her cavalier attitude normally glanced off me, but today it was irritating rather than endearing.
While Ava and Jaime shared a fierce ability to design street-savvy clothes, the similarities ended there. Jaime was a shrewd business woman, while Ava always figured she’d land on her feet.
“It doesn’t work like that, A. We need the clothes, but we have to hit the market with the right connections, the right promoters, and the right price point at the right time.” If Jaime couldn’t get it right … I didn’t want to think about the repercussions for us. Two college students with zero experience? We needed all the help we could possibly get.
“We’ll get the money to start, don’t worry so much. Once people see the line the rest will be easy!” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why are you so down on this all of a sudden? You sound like my parents lately.”
“I’m not, it’s just—” Something went off in the back of my head. “What do you mean like your parents?”
“Well, they haven’t come right out and said it, but Mom asked me if I wouldn’t want to also get a diploma in something more ‘mainstream.’ That it would give me more ‘options.’ You know I don’t do subtle, but if that’s not a hint, I don’t know what is.”
This was news to me. The Camerons had always seemed completely supportive of Ava’s ambitions, and her siblings before that. I hoped this was just Ava blowing things out of proportion—otherwise I wasn’t sure what to do with that piece of information.
---
Fall was starting to get colder—definitely sweater weather. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans as we walked, since I’d been pretty clear about the “no PDA” rule.
“Of course they support Ava,” he was saying. I tried not to be distracted by his dark-green pullover that set off his hair and eyes. It looked soft and I wanted to curl up on it. On him. And then maybe …
“You’re talented, and so is she,” he went on. “But even you have to admit this fashion thing is a long shot, right? I mean, how many businesses actually make it?”
Because I had been busy checking him out, it took me a minute to catch up. “Ours will. It has to.” I said it with more confidence than I felt, thinking I sounded like Ava. But, we would succeed. This was my life. My shot. I had a lot of stake in this and had done my homework. We would make it work.
“OK, but what if it doesn’t? You’ll have your business degree, can do anything else you want to. Ava doesn’t have a fallback.”
Part of my mind said he was being practical, but his words stopped me in my tracks. Because it was the middle of the day and we were in the heart of campus, other students had to change tracks so as not to run me over.
It took him a minute to realize I wasn’t with him and he stopped and turned, a perplexed expression on his handsome face.
“What did I say?”
“You think I’m doing a business degree because I want to be in business? That fashion is just … what … a whim?” I didn’t try to keep the hurt out of my voice.
He opened his mouth but I cut him off. “You think we won’t actually succeed with this thing? That in a year we’ll be a statistic? Another failed small business venture?” I probably sounded more like Ava than me, but this was the one thing that mattered to me more than anything in the world.
“Lex, come on. It’s not that I don’t believe in you. You’re brilliant and amazing. But you have to admit the idea’s a bit crazy—a pair of twenty-two-year-olds starting a profitable business right out of school? In an unpredictable and hyper-competitive industry like fashion? Without connections, or money?” Every word felt like a stake in my heart. How could he say these things? Worse, how long had he been thinking this?
“Wow, Dylan.” I didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. “Just because I’m not building schools for underprivileged children, what I want to do isn’t good enough?” I was twisting his words but didn’t care.
“No,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “What I’m saying is that it’s good to have a backup plan. That’s all.” He spread his hands wide like he was being totally reasonable and didn’t know why I was being so unreasonable.
“Don’t you get it, Dylan? I don’t have a backup plan. This is it for me. I need to make this work. I will make this work.” This was how I’d show my mom I could do something on my own terms.
“Well, maybe you should. Have a backup plan.”
My heart twisted. “Un-fucking-believable.” I turned and walked away.
“Lex, wait!” I heard him call from behind me. I didn’t listen.
Chapter 22
Saturday evening was the fall fashion show. We’d attended the year before and it was all drama and glamour. On top of the student showcase, real working designers presented. Besides being in New York, it was the closest I felt to actually tasting what we were going to achieve.
Ava and I drove the clothes over early afternoon to scope out the competition and the venue. Emily and Jane, Ava’s two other models, were coming later. The music hall was downtown, the opposite side of campus from our house. Another perk of going early: we found parking spots behind the hall. From the filling lot, it looked like others had had the same idea.
The plan for the evening was simple. The student showcase went first, followed by the pros. Everyone participating in the student shows got to watch the later shows for free from the upper level.
I was reminded what a great venue it was as Ava and I walked in the front doors. The building was actually a converted brewery, and the foyer had exposed brick walls though the main concert area had been redone to improve acoustics. The main foyer could hold five hundred comfortably, and metal stairs led up either side to the second floor which allowed access to the balcony level, a catwalk that ran around the top of the space.
The foyer was already set up for the after-party, and as parties went, it would be a doozy. Trim young men and women wearing headsets were setting up pyramids of champagne glasses, touching up luxe decorations, and testing sound systems. A few seemed to be discussing a two-story wall on which a twenty-foot Fashion Falls logo was projected. A girl who looked stylish enough to be a designer herself was setting up gold gift bags to which sponsors had contributed some pretty great swag.
Tearing ourselves away from the decorations and swag bags, we made our way backstage. It was already getting busy with helpers milling about. We didn’t see any other students, and the crew setting up looked professional.
Ava grabbed my hand and squeezed. I could tell the nerves were setting in. I squeezed back and readjusted the garment bag I held by a few fingers over my back.
“Remember when we came to watch this last year? I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” she exclaimed. “I mean, it’s just the student showcase and not the real thing, but still …”
“Ava, it’s huge,” I said firmly. “Don’t put yourself down. This matters. For both of us.”
I found us a spot in one corner where we could drop our things and a garment rack to hang the clothes. Ava brought a bag full of miscellaneous supplies, and Em, Jane, and I were each to bring our own shoes. I pulled over two chairs that had been sitting, unoccupied and unguarded, in front of lighted mirrors.
“What if everyone hates them?”
“They will love your designs. I love them. Emily and Jane love them. Your teachers love them, your friends in your program love them. I want to wear them all the time.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You’re going to be the next Jaime White. Just wait.”
Ava took a deep breath. “Thanks, Lex. I love you.”
“You too, A. You know you can do this. Now let’s see if we can steal a couple of those swag bags.”
An hour later, backstage was starting to fill. The other designers for the student showcase had arrived, and Emily texted to say she’d picked up Jane and would be there soon.
We’d been told there would be a team on hand to do makeup and hair. I figured I’d get it done with now so I didn’t have to line up later. So, I took a seat in one of the five chairs in front of lighted mirrors.
“Are you excited?” My stylist, who introduced herself as Leslie, was cute and perky. “You’re in the student showcase, right?”
“Yeah, my business partner won one of the spots.”
“You have the most unbelievable hair, and bone structure,” Leslie commented as she set my hair in big rollers. “Have you worked?”
I knew she meant worked in modeling and tried not to laugh. “Um, no. A few student gigs is probably as good as it gets for me.” I smiled. “Plus I think I’d need to grow another foot taller to even be considered.”
Leslie’s eyes narrowed, making her resemble a perplexed pixie. “I’m serious. You should talk to Blake Evans. You’re totally his type.” My eyebrows show up. Blake wasn’t nationally known like Jaime White was, but he was a pretty big deal in SoCal. “I’ll introduce you later if you want.”
“Uh, sure,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. “Thanks.”
By the time she and the makeup artist were done with me, even I had to admit I was looking pretty glam. My hair was pinned up in a combination of curls and piecy braids around the crown of my head. My eyes were done in a smoky shadow, my
lips left nude with a sheer gloss.
Ava agreed. “It’s very ‘urban mermaid on coke,’” she decided. It was good to see the excitement was starting to outweigh the nerves. “I love it!”
I said hi to Emily, who was in the next chair over, and Jane, who took my spot when I was done. Ava and I went to find a place to peek out through the curtains.
The venue was setup with a long catwalk and chairs along both sides to seat a few hundred. An upper level had standing room for another few hundred, and I could see college-aged students lined up along the railing. The room was charged, and I glanced up to see the clock tell me what I already knew: we were near starting.
Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me backstage. It was a tall guy wearing black and a mic. “Five minutes to the start of the student showcase,” he told me and Ava.
Ava was practically hyperventilating once again as she fussed with our hems and straps. Looking in the mirror, I swatted her hand away. “A, they’re perfect.”
“But the stitching! Lex, look at this!” I pushed her hands away to peer at the spot to which she’d pointed. Like everything else, it was clean and consistent.
Her look was so agonized I thought I’d need to take matters into my own hands.
I grabbed her and pulled her back toward the hair and makeup area. Sat her down in one of the chairs facing the lit mirrors and stepped in front of her.
“You are the most talented designer I know. In a year everyone is going to be wearing your clothes. In five minutes, you’re about to blow five hundred people’s minds. All the hard work is done. So just calm. The fuck. Down.”
Her eyes were wide but at least she was breathing. “Thanks, Lex. I needed that.”
“I thought so.”
“Now I need to fix your hair.”
“Alright.” I knew she was just fussing, that my hair was still perfect. After we walked back toward the curtain where Jane and Emily were already waiting, I let her “fix” it.
The announcer’s voice sounded in the background. A woman was introducing the student showcase, the sound distorted from being on the other side of the curtains. But I could see her and the runway on a closed-circuit camera mounted by the curtain backstage.
