by Nancy Krulik
“Oh, Celia, I’m sorry,” Sami replied earnestly. “I’ve been so selfish.”
“Yeah, you have,” Celia agreed.
“Are you okay?” Sami asked.
“I’m fine now. I can get out of bed in a few more days, now that my blood pressure’s stabilized.”
“That’s good, at least.”
“It is,” Celia agreed. “And I’ll tell you, Al’s been so great about this. He’s waiting on me like I’m a princess.”
“I’m glad,” Sami said. “And the baby?”
“She’s fine,” Celia told her.
“She?”
“See, you’re not the only one with news. We saw her on the sonogram last week, and it’s definitely a girl.”
“Heaven help the girl who has my brother for a father.”
Celia giggled. “I know. You and I are going to have to sedate him when she has her first date.”
Sami laughed. “He’ll be just like your dad. Remember the interrogation he used to give the guys who came to pick you up?”
Celia lowered her voice to sound like her father. “‘And just what plans do you have for your life, young man?’” she said, imitating him. “And that was just the guys I dated in junior high!”
Before long, Celia and Sami were laughing and trading gossip again. Their disagreement had been brushed under the carpet. But Sami knew that didn’t mean it had disappeared completely. Although she didn’t want to admit it, the distance between them was growing wider.
Fifteen
Franklin Beane wasn’t like any photographer Sami had ever encountered—not that Sami had had much contact with professional photographers. In fact, she’d only met two: the guy who had taken the photos at her senior prom, and the one who had taken the pictures at Al and Celia’s wedding. And neither of those had ever leaped around the room like Franklin Beane did.
As Sami spoke to the reporter from Fashionista (Marla Simmons, a nervous girl who had starved herself way past fashionably thin), Franklin hopped up on counters, climbed ladders, and practically swung from the light fixture to take photos of Sami and her designs. From time to time he would run his fingers through his dark brown, shoulder-length hair and consider what part of his photography jungle gym he should climb up on next. But he wasn’t at all intrusive, and after a while Sami barely remembered he was there. Franklin even managed to get a few photos of Lola, who was circling around Sami throughout the interview like a mama lioness protecting her young from a predator known as the media.
“So, what do the folks back home in the hinterland think of your success?” Marla asked Sami in a voice that was part Long Island, part fake British, and completely affected.
Sami bristled slightly at the reporter’s dismissive tone. Lola noted her discomfort and before she could answer the question, the store owner butted in. “That would be Elk Lake,” she told Marla. “I know its tough, being two whole syllables and all, but that’s where Sami’s from. And she’s damned proud of it.”
“Of course she is,” Maria replied quickly, cowering into the high neck of her black leather jacket.
“My brother and sister-in-law are ecstatic!” Sami told her. “They helped me financially when I first arrived, and so they’re sharing in all this.”
“And your parents?” Maria asked.
“Well, my dad has had a hard time letting his little girl go off to New York by herself, but I think he’ll come around,” Sami said.
“What about your mom?”
Sami could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I’m not sure how she feels,” she said simply, hoping Maria wouldn’t read too much into her tone.
“Have you seen Sami’s latest creation?” Lola interrupted, holding up a rich, full-skirted purple-and-gold nightgown with a laced bodice. “It’s a variation on a medieval gown. Incredibly feminine era, the Middle Ages, doncha think?”
Sami glanced up gratefully in Lola’s direction. Lola smiled back.
“Hey, Sami, why don’t you try that one on?” Franklin asked her. “We can take a few shots of you in one of your designs.”
“Oh, I’m not a model,” Sami told him.
“Thank God,” Franklin replied. “The last thing Fashionista needs is more models. I want you to show that your designs are for anybody, not just for models.”
“In that case, why don’t you ask Lola to put it on?” Marla suggested, obviously still smarting from Lola’s Elk Lake comment.
“Oh, that’s not my favorite design in the shop,” Lola told her easily. “And I don’t think you’d want to put the kinds of things I wear to bed in Fashionista.” She pointed over to a display of extremely suggestive black leather panties and matching bras.
Maria blushed. Franklin laughed. “I’ll bet you’ve been photographed plenty in your time,” he teased Lola.
“Sure,” she told him. “But those aren’t for public viewing.” She turned to Sami. “Go ahead, kiddo. You didn’t let Rain put all that paint on your face for nothing.”
Sami blushed. Rain had spent a long time making Sami up for this interview. Not only had she literally spent hours going through her makeup box, finding just the right shades for Sami’s pale skin, she’d also arranged for one of her friends, an up-and-coming hairdresser named Snake, to cut Sami’s long, straight locks into a shoulder-length bob that bounced up and down as she walked.
Now, as Sami headed into the dressing room at the back of the store and looked at herself in the mirror, she was amazed at the transformation. No one in the world would ever believe that she was from Elk Lake, Minnesota. She looked every bit like a sleek, sophisticated New York designer. She seemed comfortable in the look, unlike Marla, who seemed to be trying far too hard to be part of the fashion in-crowd.
Sami laced up the bodice of the nightgown and nervously fluffed her hair. She turned around quickly, making sure that there were no loose hems or open seams. She knew that there was a lot riding on this interview. If Marla and Franklin didn’t like this design, it could mean the end of everything. Fashionista was the bible of the up-and-coming fashion world—a weekly introduction into what was sure to be the next new thing.
But as Sami emerged from the dressing room, she knew instinctively that, at least from Franklin’s point of view, the design had worked its magic. She could see it in his deep-set chocolate brown eyes, which lit up as she entered the room. His face took on an excited hue, and he leaped up onto the cashier’s counter, camera in hand. “Okay, Cinderella,” he greeted her as he began snapping away. “Welcome to the fashion ball.”
Lola and Marla stood off to the side as Franklin worked, urging Sami to swirl around, making her laugh and smile for the camera despite herself. All of her nervousness seemed to disappear in his enthusiastic presence. Only once did she blanch—at his suggestion that she give the camera her most sexy look. The thought of herself as some sex symbol was too funny for Sami even to imagine, and she burst into hysterics, which were dutifully recorded by Franklin’s camera.
“Okay, that should do it,” Franklin said finally. “Do you have everything you need, Marla?”
Marla nodded. “Got it. Should I wait for you?”
Franklin shook his head. “Nah. I’ve got to take these lights down and load them back into my van. Tell Gen I’ll have these zapped onto her computer by the end of the day.” Franklin held up his camera. “Digital cameras. You gotta love ’em.”
Sami held out her hand to Marla. “Thank you so much for coming down here to see everything,” she said sincerely.
“That’s my job,” Marla said. “It was nice meeting you, Sami.”
Sami tried to study her face, searching for some clue as to how she had reacted to Sami’s designs. But Marla’s face was a blank slate, revealing nothing.
As Franklin packed up his lights, Sami went back into the dressing room and put on the black pants and magenta turtleneck Rain had picked out for her to wear that morning. She walked back into the main room of the store just as Franklin was preparing to return to
the Fashionista offices. She walked over and reached out her hand. “Thank you,” she told him. “It was fun.”
“What, that’s all I get?” Franklin asked her.
Sami was caught off balance. Just what was Franklin Beane expecting from her? Was she supposed to pay him for the photos? Sami wasn’t experienced with the media, and she wasn’t quite sure how this all worked. A wave of panic came over her. She could never afford to pay a famous photographer like him.
Franklin laughed at her reaction. “Well, Cinderella, even the prince got a glass slipper when the ball ended. I was hoping I could at least get your phone number.”
Sami bit her lower lip. She’d sworn off men. She’d told that to Celia, Lola, Rain, Vin, and just about anyone else who would listen. Still, looking into Franklin’s brown eyes, she softened slightly. He seemed so happy and full of life. He’d be fun to hang around with. This time, she’d just be smarter. “Okay,” she said quietly, scribbling her home number on a piece of paper.
Franklin placed the paper in the inside pocket of his leather jacket and tapped it lightly. “I’ll guard this with my life,” he vowed. “Wouldn’t want your number to get into the wrong hands.”
“Who would that be?” Sami asked him.
“Anyone who could be considered my competition,” Franklin said with a grin.
One week later, Sami sat behind the counter at Beneath the Sheets with her hands over her eyes. “I can’t look,” she told Nico and Lola. “What if its awful?”
Lola picked up the latest issue of Fashionista and carefully scanned the pages until she came to the article she was searching for. “Here it is,” she told Sami. “You want me to read it?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean … oh, I don’t know!”
Nico peered over Lola’s shoulder. “Ooo, Sami, you look gorgeous. Like a princess.”
Still, Sami didn’t uncover her eyes.
“I’m just going to read it,” Lola said finally. “The headline reads, ‘Dress Up on Halloween Night.’”
Sami gasped. “Oh, no! Marla thought my outfits were so awful, they looked like Halloween costumes?”
Lola kept reading:
“Sami Granger’s new lingerie line is a real Halloween treat. Her long lines and soft fabrics will trick your honey into thinking he’s seeing a lot more than is actually being revealed. She’s managed to combine her northern Minnesota roots (she hails from a small, small, small town called Elk Lake) with an East Village sex appeal, obviously developed under the tutelage of Lola (no last name needed), owner of the downtown boutique Beneath the Sheets.”
Lola stopped reading long enough to chuckle. “Whaddaya know? We’re a boutique now.”
“Keep reading,” Nico urged her.
Sami was pretty sure she’d stopped breathing.
“Granger’s collection is small, and her customer base is limited to just a few in-the-know customers. For the moment, Granger personally consults, designs, and sews the garments. But that won’t last long. As soon as word gets out about Sami Granger’s lingerie line, she’ll have to expand into a full-fledged design business. This reporter only hopes that when that happens, the lingerie won’t lose the warm personal touch the current line embodies.”
Lola put the paper down on the counter. “Well, that sucks,” she groaned.
Nico looked at her strangely. “Are you kidding? That was unbelievably great!”
Lola shook her head. “After people read that, we’re going to be swamped by all those snooty Upper East Side trophy wives whose only job is to keep their hubbies hot. Not to mention trendy models, and, if I’m not mistaken, phony fashion writers like Marla Simmons.” She sighed. “Ah, well. There goes the neighborhood.”
Throughout this entire exchange, Sami sat speechless behind the counter. She’d gone from being a wronged receptionist, to being the subject of a positive—make that really positive—review in Fashionista. She sat back and let the realization of what had just happened sink in. But that moment of self-satisfaction didn’t last long. The phone began to ring.
“I’ll get it,” Nico said, leaping up to answer the call. “Hello. How may I help you? Beneath the Sheets.”
Lola rolled her eyes. “She’s never going to get the hang of that.”
Nico blushed, realizing what she’d just said. Then she returned to the caller. “Yes, she’s here. One second, please.” She held the phone out to Sami. “It’s for you.”
Sami took the phone, expecting to hear the voice of one of her customers on the other end. Instead, a man’s deep voice said, “Hello, Sami?”
“Yes?” Sami said, not recognizing the voice.
“What, have you forgotten all the little people already?”
“Vin!” Sami exclaimed. “You don’t sound like you.”
“I just woke up,” Vin replied. “This is how I sound when I haven’t spoken in eight hours. But Rain just pushed a copy of Fashionista under the door. I wanted to congratulate you. We need to celebrate tonight.”
“Sure … I …” Just then, there was a beep on the phone. “Hold on, Vin, that’s the call-waiting.” She pressed the button on the receiver. “Hello?”
“Cinderella! Howyadoin’?” Franklin Beane’s unmistakable voice rang out from the other end.
“Amazing,” Sami told him. “Thanks to you … and Marla. The article was great. And your pictures … I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Aw shucks, ma’am, t’weren’t nothin’,” Franklin laughed, taking on an old-time Western voice.
“Yes, they were! They were incredible. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Franklin replied, his voice taking on a slightly more seductive tone.
“Franklin, I … I hardly know you,” Sami stammered.
“True. But when you get to know me, you’ll adore me.” His voice grew more playful and far less intimidating.
“No doubt.” Sami laughed.
“So how about getting to know me tonight? I have to photograph the Giovanni evening wear show, and then there’s a dinner party at Le Cirque.”
“Le Cirque?” Sami gasped. “I’ve always dreamed of going there!”
“Great. Meet me at the Giovanni showroom at seven. I have to take some preliminary shots there, and then we’ll head over to the show.”
“Okay,” Sami said slowly.
“Talk to you later,” Franklin said, hanging up the phone.
“You’re going to Le Cirque?” Nico asked as Sami stood there, holding the phone in her hand.
Sami nodded. “Franklin Beane asked me to go to the Giovanni party.”
“Wow!” Nico exclaimed.
“Excuse me,” Lola interrupted. “But don’t you have someone else on the other line?”
“Oh, Vin!” Sami exclaimed, quickly pushing the call-waiting button to bring Vin back onto the phone. “Sorry about that,” she said quickly.
“No problem,” Vin assured her. “I had time to build a table.”
“Very funny,” Sami joked.
“I hear girls love a guy with a sense of humor,” Vin told her. “So about celebrating. I was thinking about maybe going over to SoHo Bar and Grill for a drink and then over to Gold Star Sushi—”
“It sounds great,” Sami said. “But can we do it tomorrow night? Franklin Beane just invited me to the Giovanni show and the party afterward.”
“Sure.” Vin’s voice was quiet and disappointed.
“I have to go with him tonight,” Sami insisted, trying not to hurt her buddy’s feelings. “I mean, I owe everything to him.”
“You don’t owe anybody anything,” Vin told her loyally. “Your talent is what’s going to make you a success.”
“But those pictures—”
“They were nice. You look better in person.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Tomorrow, then.”
“Maybe we could ask Rain to come along. You know, the Three Musketeers out on the town?” Sami suggested cheerfully.
“Sure,” Vin said evenly.
“Whatever you want.”
Sixteen
The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Sami wished she could savor each moment, but she was so busy that she couldn’t take the time to commit all the excitement to memory. She spent all day designing and making lingerie for her ever-expanding client base. Her nights were spent with Franklin, attending fashion parties and high-profile charity events. Once or twice she’d even seen Ted Fromme at a few of the events. And although her former employer had tried to make eye contact with her, Sami had managed to blow him off completely—which brought her far too much joy.
It seemed to Sami that Franklin knew everyone who was anyone in the New York fashion world. Glamorous models flocked to him wherever he went, drawn to him like elegant moths dancing around a flame. But Franklin barely paid them any notice. When Sami was on his arm, he had eyes for no one else.
On the other hand, Sami didn’t feel as though she knew him any better now than when she’d first met him. She and Franklin had barely had any time alone together, other than in cabs as they darted from one event to another. Franklin never had time for a quiet private dinner, or a Saturday afternoon in the park. He was always working, or heading off to another industry party. In fact, although they’d been dating for several weeks now, he and Sami hadn’t shared more than a quick good night kiss from time to time. Anytime Sami had suggested he stop up at the apartment for a drink, or just to talk, he’d begged off, explaining that he had an early meeting or photo shoot to get to.
Which didn’t mean that Franklin didn’t show his affection in other ways. He was charming, funny, and obviously smitten with her. Unlike Bruce, he seemed to be genuinely impressed with her talent, and he showed his support in the most amazing ways. One of the tokens of his affection was delivered to Beneath the Sheets one morning in mid November.
“What’s that?” Lola asked when a box appeared in the doorway.
“It’s for Sami,” Nico said as she signed for the delivery. “It’s from Franklin.”
Lola looked at the package. “Can’t he just send roses like anyone else?” She turned toward the back office. “Sami,” she called out. “Frankie’s sent over another overpriced gift, I think.”
