Ripped at the Seams

by Nancy Krulik

  The others in the room weren’t sure what to think. They glanced from Sami to Bruce and Ted leaving the room and then back to Sami again.

  “You guys believe me, don’t you?” Sami asked her coworkers.

  No one knew what to say to her. It was obvious from the looks on their faces that they knew that Bruce Jamison was capable of almost anything. On the other hand, Bruce was the favorite son now. Sami knew that backing her would be career suicide for them.

  She couldn’t win. So, without even so much as a glance at the other people in the room, Sami stormed out and hurried to the reception area. She went back to her desk and began to pack up the few things she’d placed in her drawer. Her arms seemed to be moving on their own without any direction from her brain. She could no longer think, or feel much of anything. For the moment, her brain was protecting her from a pain that she couldn’t handle right now. She gathered her personal items in her arms and walked toward the elevators. As she stood there waiting for the doors to open, her mind shifted back to that first day when she’d gotten the job. That woman—Roxie—had warned her that Ted Fromme Fashions was hell, and that Bruce Jamison was the devil himself.

  Sami should have heeded the warning.

  “I’m going to kill him!” Rain screeched when Sami arrived home about an hour later and poured out her tale. “How could anybody do that? He stole your work. That’s sick!”

  “He stole a lot more than that,” Sami said sadly. “He stole my heart.”

  Rain reached over and put an arm around her roommate. “You really liked him, huh?”

  Sami nodded. “I can’t believe I was so stupid. He kept telling me to trust him, over and over again. And I did.”

  “There’s no way you could make Ted Fromme believe you?” Rain asked. “I mean, show him some of your other designs?”

  Sami shook her head. “By now, Bruce has him convinced that I belong in a mental hospital and that the company is better off rid of a child like me.”

  Vin had been sitting on the living room couch listening as Rain raved, and Sami spoke in a pained, numbed voice. He hadn’t said a word until now. “You know, Sami, there is something good in all this …,” he began.

  “Not now, Vin.” Rain’s eyes warned him not to gloat over the fact that he’d been right about Bruce Jamison.

  “Not that,” Vin assured her. “What Sami has to realize is that Ted Fromme did like her designs.”

  “But he thinks they’re Bruce’s,” Sami insisted.

  “Yeah, well, that’s another conversation for another day,” Vin said. “What you have to focus on is that obviously you do have what it takes to be a designer. You need to get back to work, Sami. Design something better than those dresses, and get a different design house to look at them.”

  Sami shook her head. “Who’s going to look at my work? That was the problem I had when I first got here.”

  “Vin’s right,” Rain told her. “You have to get right back up on that design horse. Otherwise, Bruce Jamison comes out of this the winner.”

  Sami wasn’t so sure. “So how am I supposed to pay the rent while I’m coming up with a new book of designs?”

  Rain thought for a moment. “Well, you could take a day job. Something to tide you over while you work on your real career.”

  “You mean wait tables or something?” Sami asked her, perking up a bit. “I could do that. I’ve got tons of experience. I did it all the time at my dad’s place. Do they need anyone at Dojo?”

  Rain shook her head. “Not right now, but I’m sure—”

  “Hey, wait a minute, isn’t Lola looking for someone to work in her shop?” Vin interrupted.

  Rain’s eyes flew open. “Yeah! That would be perfect for you, Sami. You’d be around clothing all day, and then you could design at night.”

  “You mean at a boutique?” Sami asked.

  Rain and Vin exchanged glances.

  “Something like that,” they both said at once.

  It was a few weeks later when Sami finally picked up the phone and called Celia. She realized it had been almost a month since she’d spoken to her best friend. Celia had left a few messages, but Sami had been so busy that she’d never gotten to call her back. The thought that she’d been so wrapped up in Bruce that she’d neglected her best friend made her even more angry with him … and disappointed in herself.

  “Hello?” Celia said as she picked up the phone.

  “Hi, Celia,” Sami said, quickly adding, “I’m so sorry I haven’t called. It’s been crazy, and I—”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, kiddo. I know you’ve been busy. How’s life at Ted Fromme?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Sami replied calmly.

  “What are you talking about?” Celia asked.

  “It turned out my boss was a real snake,” Sami began. “He stole my designs.” The words burned like bile as Sami relayed the whole bitter story of her romance with Bruce, and the deception she had endured at his hands. She finished her tale by telling Celia not to worry, that she had a new job at a shop in the East Village, so she would be able to pay her rent.

  Celia listened quietly, managing to croon a “you poor baby” from time to time as Sami spoke. When she was certain that her best friend had said all she’d needed to, Celia took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry that your first love turned out to be a jerk,” she said.

  “He said I should trust him,” Sami moaned.

  “They all say that,” Celia commiserated.

  “Yeah, well, I’m never going to fall for that line again,” Sami declared. “I’m never going to trust another man as long as I live. From now on, my nights are going to be spent at my drawing table. Did I tell you my friend Vin made me a drawing table? It’s really gorgeous, dark wood and—”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Celia said. “You’ve got to talk this thing out. It’s the only way you’re going to be able to move on.”

  “Uh-uh. No moving on. No more men, ever!”

  “I know you feel that way now, Sami, but you’ll get over him, I promise.”

  “No, I won’t,” Sami insisted. “From now on, I’m flying solo.”

  “You’re willing to give designing another try, but not love?” Celia asked her. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense,” Sami replied. “My designs are all mine. They don’t depend on anyone else. And I will never depend on anyone else again.”

  “But Sami, your designs can’t keep you warm at night, they can’t give you children—”

  “Not everyone wants children, Celia,” Sami snapped back. She stopped, surprised at the vehemence in her own voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say having children was a bad thing.”

  “I know,” Celia answered gently. “You’re still raw. I don’t blame you. But Sami, someday—”

  “No buts about it. I’ve learned my lesson. Anyway, enough about me.” She struggled to change the subject, not wanting to argue with Celia any longer. “How are you, and my brother’s future progeny, doing?”

  “Oh, we’re okay.”

  Something in Celia’s voice alarmed Sami. “Just okay?”

  “You know me too well.” Celia sighed. “It’s no big deal, and I don’t want you to worry. It’s just that my blood pressure was up a little this visit, and the doctor wants me to take it easy.”

  “Are you on bed rest?” Sami asked anxiously.

  “No, nothing like that,” Celia said. “But no more working out, not even pregnancy classes. And that means I’m going to be as big as a horse when this baby comes out.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Sami assured her, relieved that it was nothing more serious.

  “Easy for you to say,” Celia said. “You’re walking around in little sundresses while I’ll be in muumuus for the rest of the summer.”

  Sami giggled. “I think we can come up with something a little more stylish. I’ll make you something. I just picked up a secondhand sewing machine really cheap.”

&nb
sp; “You’ll need a lot of fabric.”

  “Celia, cut it out,” Sami scolded her. “The important thing is that you take care of yourself and the baby. Weight’s easy. You’ll take it off quick.”

  “I know,” Celia agreed. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Must be the hormones. Anyway, can we talk about something else, please?”

  “We can’t talk about the baby, and I don’t want to hear another word about men,” Sami mused. “What’s left?”

  “Oh, there must be something,” Celia told her. “How about telling me about your work. You said your friends helped you get a job in a store. What kind of place is it?”

  “It’s a lingerie shop here in the Village.”

  “Ooo. I love lingerie,” Celia cooed. “Is it like Victoria’s Secret?”

  “Something like that,” Sami replied slowly.

  “What’s the name of the place?”

  “Beneath the Sheets.”

  Twelve

  Sami hadn’t been exactly honest with Celia about Beneath the Sheets. At least not in the tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth sense of the word. Yes, Beneath the Sheets did sell lingerie, but that was where the comparisons with places like Victoria’s Secret ended. Beneath the Sheets also sold other items that were meant for the boudoir—things Sami had never seen before.

  “What’s this used for?” Sami asked Lola as she draped a feathery boa on a hook during her first week of work.

  “Don’t worry about that, hon,” Lola had said in her gruff, smoke-tinged voice. “If a customer asks you for it, shell know what to do with it.”

  Sami had blushed and gone over and rearranged the lace panties (some complete, some not so much), and had tried to make a display of teddies and baby doll pajamas that was both “pleasin’ and teasin’,” as Lola liked to say.

  Sami had deliberately left out the more sordid side of Beneath the Sheets during her conversation with Celia. She’d had a feeling that her best friend wouldn’t approve of her working in a place that sold the kind of merchandise that Lola made available for her customers. And if Al had found out—well, he’d have been on the next plane to New York, ready to drag Sami back to Elk Lake. Al and Celia weren’t prudes, by any means, but Sami knew this wasn’t the kind of shop either of them would ever step foot in. And that was just Al and Celia. Sami didn’t even want to think about her father’s reaction to all this.

  In fact, Sami herself had been shocked when she’d first arrived to apply for a job at Beneath the Sheets. But after a couple of days, Sami had actually grown accustomed to the place. She consoled herself with the knowledge that at least she was able to be around clothing, even if it was just lingerie. And Lola gave Sami a lot of artistic freedom, asking her to design the window treatments for the shop, and to create displays inside the store. Sami spent hours at her new drafting table, laying out ideas for the displays. There was a certain creative excitement in being able to do that. And Lola’s enthusiastic encouragement for her projects was a welcome salve for her bruised emotional well-being.

  Sami loved working with Lola. She was what Sami’s dad would call “a tough old broad.” Lola was a genuine native of Greenwich Village, born in the 1950s and raised there during the height of the wild ’60s hippie era. Lola was one of the last holdouts of a time gone by. She had a peace sign tattooed on her shoulder, and a yin-yang on her back. She liked to play old Janis Joplin albums in the store, and still wore her long, gray frizzy hair in pigtails. Lola also took great pride in the fact that her bell-bottom jeans were totally vintage—and right from her own closet.

  Lola told great tales about Greenwich Village, back when there were no McDonald’s or Burger Kings on Bleecker Street, and musicians like Bob Dylan and Joan Baez used to hang out in Washington Square Park. Sami was convinced that the customers at Beneath the Sheets stopped in as much to listen to Lola tell stories of affairs she’d had with old folk stars as they did to buy lingerie. As Sami’s dad would say, “Lola could sure spin a good story.” Just like Mac Granger was known to do.

  Lola wasn’t all that different from Sami’s dad, a fact that, once Sami really thought about it, could explain why she felt so comfortable and relaxed around Lola. Sure, Sami’s dad was a lot more provincial than Lola—he certainly wouldn’t have approved of her business. But, like Lola, Mac Granger was happiest right where he’d grown up. They were both sort of legends in their own small worlds. It was just that Lola’s world was a section of New York City, and Mac’s neighborhood was a small town in Minnesota. Sami could sense neither one of them felt comfortable when they ventured too far from home.

  There were other similarities, as well. Mac was pretty tough, but he always listened to the troubles of the patrons who came into his coffee shop. He always said he was part shrink, part coffee pourer. And like Mac, Lola wasn’t so tough that she couldn’t provide a shoulder to cry on when a client had a romance gone wrong. She always knew just what to say about men who did their women wrong. “You know what it is about men,” she’d say. “They all share a single brain. And if one of them is using it, the rest of them are just plain stupid until it’s their turn.”

  It was amazing just how much the customers opened up to Lola about their romantic problems. They had no problem talking about their most intimate details with her. Sami remembered having been completely shocked the first day she’d worked there. A tall, well-dressed woman in a tan summer suit and carrying a briefcase had wandered into the shop. In a firm, calm, completely unembarrassed voice, she’d asked Lola, “Did you get the black teddie with the red hearts on it in yet?”

  Lola had shaken her head. “Not yet. They’re still on order.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” the woman had replied. “I thought it would be a fun surprise tonight. My husband and I need to spice things up a bit.”

  “Oh, if spice is what you want, try this,” Lola had replied, handing the woman a container of cinnamon-flavored massage oil. “If it doesn’t work, you can always pour it in your coffee. Ever had coffee with cinnamon in it? Delicious.”

  At the time, Sami had been surprised at how easily these two women had joked about men. But now, several weeks later, as she stacked the various bras on the shelves, she barely noticed what Lola and her current customer were chatting about.

  “Hey, Sami, can you get Marisol here one of those blue teddies in an extra large?” Lola called out to her.

  Sami looked curiously at Marisol. She was a big woman, with wide hips (well earned after having delivered four babies, as Marisol often joked) and several rolls in her midsection. Sami wasn’t sure that a teddy would have the effect Marisol desired. She thought she might look sexier in a long, silky nightgown with plenty of lace across the chest, bringing the attention up to her considerable and remarkable cleavage. But the customer wanted a teddy, and it wasn’t up to Sami to tell her otherwise.

  Still, that didn’t mean Sami couldn’t make a suggestion—tactfully, of course. So when she came back from the stockroom, she was carrying both a blue teddy and a long, silky cream-colored nightgown with a very low-cut top.

  “Here’s the teddy,” Sami told Marisol, “and I also brought out this.” She held up the nightgown. “We just got them in. I love it. Leaves just enough to the imagination. I thought you might want to try it on too.”

  Completely agreeable, Marisol took both into the dressing room. Sami waited impatiently, trying to see if her subtle suggestion had hit its mark. A few minutes later, Marisol came out, clutching both pieces of lingerie. “I think I’ll try both,” Marisol said, placing the nightgown and the teddy on the counter. “Keep him guessing.”

  Lola rang up the sale and sent Marisol on her way. As the door closed behind Marisol, Lola turned to Sami. “That was slick,” she said. “You’re a real natural. I think you were meant to work in lingerie.”

  Sami giggled. “I prefer working in jeans and a T-shirt.”

  Lola laughed. “Yeah. You might get arrested if you decided to work in some of the t
hings we’ve got lyin’ around here.” She held up a pair of pink fur-trimmed panties and a matching bra.

  “That’s not really me,” Sami told her.

  “These aren’t really anybody, kiddo,” Lola explained. “They’re just for dress up. They give people permission to be someone in the bedroom that they’re not anywhere else. Think back to when you were a kid. Didn’t you ever dress up?”

  Sami nodded. “But I dressed up like a bride—in my mother’s dress and veil.”

  “Okay, so you dressed for the wedding. These are for the honeymoon.”

  As time went on, the customers at Beneath the Sheets came to think of Sami as a confidante as well. After she’d been working there for a few weeks, they gradually began to include her in their conversations and even ask her advice. Not that Sami could offer much in the way of personal advice. Bruce hadn’t been much of a teacher.

  The customers didn’t only ask for advice or a shoulder to cry on. They were also a pretty supportive bunch. And that came in handy the morning Sami noticed a little blurb in the Page Six column of the New York Courier that made her blood boil:

  It was a who’s who in haute couture last night at the Ted Fromme Fashions bash to celebrate the design house’s new line: Young and Powerful. The fashions, designed by up-and-coming soon-to-be-superstar Bruce Jamison, are targeted for young professionals. It’s pretty much a given that Young and Powerful will be the hottest line from Fromme yet!

  As she read the article, Sami could feel her face turn beet red. A blue vein popped out in her neck.

  “Whoa, Sami, take a chill pill,” Lola said, coming over to see what was wrong. “You’ll have a stroke. What is it?”

  Sami could only point to the news article.

  “Son of a … ,” Lola muttered as she read it. “He’s still fakin’ it.”

  Jenny, a quiet, mousy girl who was one of Lola’s regular customers—and who surprisingly favored black leather bustiers—read the article over Lola’s shoulder.