by KL Hughes
A moment later, her phone rang.
“Elena?” she asked as she clicked to accept the call.
Amusement adorned every note of Elena’s voice. “Yes, dear, that is my driver. He is trustworthy. Get in the car.”
Allison rolled her eyes. “Stop laughing at me, woman.” She didn’t wait for an answer before she ended the call.
“Thanks Rick,” she said as she slid onto the seat, and the driver closed the door.
Slim, calloused fingers drummed against the leather seat as Rick drove Allison through the teeming traffic of Manhattan. After a while, she couldn’t handle the silence any longer.
“So, Rick. You got a second job, or are you just a driver?”
“This is my only job, ma’am,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s Allison or Alli, and, well, your suit looks hella expensive. I didn’t figure drivers made quite enough to afford those brands.”
Rick glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “You would be right, Alli. However, there are certain perks to being a loyal driver of those in the fashion industry. I’ve been with Miss Vega’s company for many years, long before she even took over.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Allison said, eyes widening. “Fashion industry? Elena works in fashion?”
“You didn’t know? We are headed for the fashion district as we speak.”
“Wow. I figured she was a CEO of one of those big Fortune 500 companies or something, but I thought it was just business, you know?” Allison sat up a little straighter. “Wait. Did you say that we’re headed for the fashion district? Are we going to her office or something?”
“She didn’t tell you anything, did she?”
“Not a damn thing.” Allison craned her neck as she stared out at the buildings now swooping by and the enormous sewing needle and button sculpture in the heart of the district.
“Then I had better keep my lips sealed, hadn’t I?”
“Nah, come on, Rick.” Allison tilted her head and smiled in the rearview mirror. “You can tell me.”
“Not a chance, kid. Besides, we are nearly there, and you can find out for yourself.”
When Rick pulled up to the curb outside of a massive building, Allison’s breath caught roughly in her chest. The concrete building towered high above them, casting an enormous shadow over the street, and there were more windows than Allison could count. She opened the door and stepped out of the car just as Rick was about to grab the door for her.
“Well, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Alli,” he said as Allison stood by the car and continued to stare up at the building. “Perhaps I will be seeing you again soon.”
“Yeah.” Allison’s jaw hung slack. She then shook her head and refocused on the man beside her. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s just a huge building. Um, thanks for the ride, Rick.” She stuck her hand out, and the man shook it. “You wouldn’t happen to know what I’m supposed to do now, would you?”
“I would wager that going inside might be a good first step.” He winked and then headed back around the car. A moment later, he pulled away and left Allison standing at the curb, still staring up at the building with her heart hammering in her chest.
It took her a few moments to work up the nerve to go inside, but she finally forced her feet to move. She walked a little timidly toward the front desk, where a pale, red-headed woman whose face seemed to be frozen in a pinched sort of scowl while she repeated the same two lines over and over pressed various buttons on a call board. “Yes, I can transfer you. Please hold.”
Allison stood in front of the desk for several minutes, but the woman refused to even acknowledge her. Finally, Allison rolled her eyes and cleared her throat loudly. “Excuse me.”
The receptionist looked up then, arching a brow as her gaze scanned down Allison’s body and back up. It was as if Allison’s attire completely offended her. “Yes?” Her voice dripped with her disapproval and annoyance.
Allison flushed red with her irritation.
“I’m here to see Elena,” she snapped. “Can you tell me where to go?”
“You have an appointment with Miss Vega?”
“I don’t need an appointment, lady,” Allison bit out. “She’s expecting me.”
The receptionist laughed mockingly and shook her head. “I’m sure,” she said.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Mm.” The woman hummed disbelievingly, rolling her eyes and ignoring Allison’s question. “Name?”
“Allison Sawyer.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened, brows disappearing into her ginger hairline. “You’re Allison Sawyer?”
Allison took a deep breath to keep herself from outright hissing at the woman before answering through gritted teeth. “Did I stutter?”
The woman pursed her lips almost to the point that the damned things nearly disappeared, but she didn’t respond to Allison’s comment. Instead, she glared at Allison and said “Miss Vega is currently in shoot. Fifteenth floor.”
Allison huffed and stalked off toward the elevators.
* * *
On the fifteenth floor, she stood slack-jawed, taking in the busy scene before her. The room she found herself in was quite large, and the majority of it was covered in intensely white sheets. The sheets blanketed the floor, the walls in places, and provided a massive backdrop behind a gorgeous woman that Allison could only assume was a model. A man flitted around her with a large camera, the rapid clicking sound of the device’s shutter like a swarm of birds all taking off for flight at the same time.
Several people hovered around the edges of the shoot—makeup artists wearing aprons splotched with color stains and sporting cosmetic tools in hand. Other makeup artists were off to the side in a somewhat separate portion of the room, applying face and body touches to other, mostly nude, models. The models were then shuffled over to have their hair picked at by stylists. Some were slipping carefully into various clothing items.
The entire scene was much busier than Allison had ever imagined a photo-shoot to be.
“Are you lost?”
Allison jerked out of her daze and focused on the woman standing in front of her. She was tall and thin, clad in a skin-tight black dress. Her blonde hair fell in neat waves around over her shoulders, and she stared at Allison through her black-rimmed glasses like every second she had to wait for an answer was a year off her life. “What?” Allison asked.
“You. Are you lost, or do you always look like you just landed on another planet?”
“Uh, n-no, no. Sorry. I’ve just never been to one of these before.”
The woman’s eyes scanned down Allison’s body. “Clearly. And you aren’t actually allowed to be in here unless you have business. No Starbucks, so you’re not the coffee girl. No messages, so you’re not the mail girl. No style, so you’re clearly not a model. I’m thinking a call to security is in order.”
Allison took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “Seriously?” She groaned. “This shit again? Look, lady, my name is Allison Sawyer. I was invited here by Elena Vega, and I—”
“Sawyer.” Recognition painted the woman’s features. “Right, yes. My apologies.”
Without another word, she scurried away, and Allison was left staring after her, half-stunned, half-pissed. Did anyone in this building have an ounce of decency in them, a modicum of respect? She felt raw and vulnerable, and she couldn’t help but be defensive. These people looked at her like she was a cockroach, and it made her skin crawl. It was a harsh reminder of the two very different worlds she and Elena lived in, and that made Allison feel a little sick to her stomach. She did her best, though, to swallow down the feeling and shake those people off.
As Allison took a moment to collect herself, a voice drifted her way that instantly had a wave of tingles rolling down her spine and pooling at its base. Elena.
Allison’s eyes followed the sound and saw the stunning woman just across the room, her back to Allison, and heatedly discussing s
omething with a man in an olive-toned tweed suit. A smile began to creep onto Allison’s face as she made her way quietly over, ignoring the stares she could feel picking her apart. As she approached, she overheard the conversation Elena was having; well, it was more like a lecture.
“I honestly don’t care about the reason, Monroe,” Elena said. “I have absolutely no time or patience for anyone’s incompetence. We have precisely this one chance to get this right; thus, I want what I asked for, and I want it yesterday. Is that understood?”
The man swallowed thickly before nodding and muttering, “I will call again, and if I have to, I will go over there myself.”
“See that you do.” Elena waved a hand to dismiss him.
He scurried off, and Allison had to force herself not to chuckle at the loud, dramatic sigh Elena let out once the man had disappeared.
“Man.” Allison cleared her throat. “Remind me to always give you whatever it is you want.” Elena’s body stiffened before the woman whirled on the spot and their gazes locked.
“Allison.” A smile touched Elena’s lips. “You made it.”
“Yup,” Allison said. “Big fashion head, huh?”
“I suppose so, yes.” Elena propped a hand on her hip with a smirk and tilted her head toward a small room a few feet away from them. Allison followed her into what she discovered was a massive closet. It was packed with various pieces of clothing. A few women lingered in the room, but Elena dismissed them as well.
“We’re in a closet, Elena.” Allison laughed once the others were gone. “Insert lesbian joke here.”
Elena smiled even as she rolled her eyes. “I’m glad you are here, Allison.”
“Me too, though some of the people here are really hard to like.” She shrugged and shook her head. “Just sayin’, babe. That receptionist lady downstairs is a real bitch.”
“What happened?” Elena asked, stepping closer and running a hand down Allison’s arm. “Did she give you trouble?”
“Only if you call her judgmental face and voice and body language ‘trouble’.” A spark of anger flashed through Elena’s eyes. “And then I got up here, and some lady asked me if I was lost and said I had no style. She threatened to call security on me.”
Elena fumed. “I will have them both fired.”
Allison nearly choked.
“Uh, no, that’s okay,” she said with an awkward laugh. “They’re probably just not used to people coming in here in clothes from the Goodwill and asking to see you.” She chuckled again as she scratched at the back of her neck. “It’s okay. I mean, it sucked, but it is what it is. No need to fire anyone. Thanks though.”
Elena didn’t appear even remotely convinced. In fact, Allison thought she looked downright murderous, so before the woman could go on a firing spree, Allison cleared her throat and nudged Elena’s arm. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“It’s not.” She let out a long sigh. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you are, in any way, lesser than me or that you somehow do not fit into my life. So, no, it isn’t okay for anyone to make you feel that way.”
“I’m okay, Elena.”
Elena nodded. “You are now,” she said. “But you weren’t. I saw it in your eyes.”
Allison sighed and relented with a nod. “Yeah,” she admitted, “it got under my skin, but only for like a second, okay? I’m good now.”
“And you know I …” She trailed off, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“You what?” Allison asked. “Do I know that you don’t give a damn about where I buy my clothes or how much money I’ve got in my pocket?”
Elena nodded, glancing to the floor.
“Yeah,” Allison whispered, stepping even closer to kiss the line of Elena’s jaw. “I know, Elena. I just don’t want you to ever feel, you know, embarrassed or something by me.”
Wrapping her arms around Allison, Elena nuzzled her nose against her ear. “Never,” she whispered. “I promise you that, Allison.”
Allison held Elena tightly, breathing in the scent of whatever perfume the woman was wearing. It was rich but not overwhelming, and Allison inhaled it eagerly. She kept her face buried in Elena’s neck as she mumbled, “So, for our second date, you decided to bring me to work with you?”
A light scratch of Elena’s nails along Allison’s scalp made Allison purr. “For our second date, I wanted to share something with you that I am passionate about, which just so happened to entail bringing you to work with me, yes.”
Allison pulled back, smiling as her stomach flipped and her heart stuttered in her chest.
“Stop,” Elena said, blushing.
“Stop what?” Allison asked, her smile only growing.
“Smiling like that.” She chuckled.
“Why?” Allison poked at her ribs. “Is it creepy? Is my smile like totally eating my face right now?”
“Yes.” Elena squirmed under the tickling touch. “You’ve nothing left but eyes and teeth.”
“Oh good! I always wanted to be a living, breathing emoticon. Thanks for that.”
Elena caught Allison’s hands to still the tickling pokes. “It isn’t my fault.”
“It so is. You’re over there being all cute and wanting to share important things with me. Totally worthy of a giant, creepy smile.”
Elena rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she stepped over to the door and motioned for Allison to follow. “Come along, dear. I’ve much to show you.”
Allison followed her out, feeling on top of the world again.
* * *
“That was pretty incredible,” Allison said as she stuck her fork into the small white box of lo mein. She spun the fork several times until it was basically a noodle popsicle and then shoved it into her mouth, moaning at the taste.
She hung out with Elena throughout the entire photo-shoot, learning about the process and Elena’s role in it. It had been incredibly intriguing, entertaining, and also rather arousing to see Elena in her element. The woman was a powerhouse—intelligent and cunning and a force of nature. She knew exactly what she wanted, and people genuinely respected and damn near idolized her opinion. It was pretty amazing to witness.
Once the shoot was over, Elena had taken Allison up to her office on the thirtieth floor where they ordered Chinese delivery for lunch.
“Have you always been into fashion?” Allison asked.
Elena chewed her chicken and swallowed. “My job lands more on the business aspects of the industry, but you really must have a passion for the intricacies in order to appreciate it fully.”
“Like what?”
“Many things, honestly. It is much more complex, more layered than most people realize. It isn’t only a group of size zeroes and twos prancing around in heels and name brands. That is merely what you see on the surface. The process behind it, though, is intricate, and, when you know that process, you come to appreciate the art of fashion. It isn’t merely about clothing, Allison. It’s about creating an image from the ground up or, rather, from the page up. It’s about creating a medium through which people can truly express themselves.”
Allison swore she could listen to Elena Vega talk about fashion all day long every day for the rest of her damned life. The way the woman’s eyes lit up was enough, but it was more than that; it was the way she dug into it. Elena was passionate about the entirety of fashion, not just the finished product. She was invested in it. Her heart was in it, and that was beautiful to witness and to hear her openly express.
“What many don’t realize is that a great portion of fashion lies not with the designs but with those wearing the designs,” Elena said. “For shows and shoots, we bring in people to complement the designs, true, but the designs are created to complement people. That’s what fashion is all about—people. Individuals. It is about finding what makes you you and adorning yourself with the outward expression of it. It is about confidence and self.”
“Confidence?” Allison asked, intrigued. “I always just kind of though
t it was about brand. If you’ve got the right brands, people assume you’re fashionable, right?”
“Some people, yes,” Elena answered, taking a sip of her tea. “But frankly, few people know as much about fashion as they like to think they do. Certain labels will gain respect in this industry, that is true, but a label means nothing without the confidence to support it. You must wear the outfit. You mustn’t let the outfit wear you. You can walk down the street in the most ridiculous attire, but if you carry your confidence in your stride, it resonates. That ridiculous outfit becomes fashionable because of you, not because of the design.”
Allison chuckled. “Yeah,” she said, a little in awe of the woman across from her. “Yeah, totally. I’ve never even thought of it that way, but that is so true.”
Elena grinned as she popped a bite of steamed vegetables into her mouth. “I’m sure you have seen some of the positively ludicrous or even horrid designs on the red carpet deemed fashionable or positively to-die-for by the media. Those designs do not, could not, sell themselves. It is the wearer selling the design, not the other way around. That, of course, isn’t to say that some pieces aren’t truly stunning, because the majority of them are, but anyone who believes high-waist shorts and pants are gorgeous designs is severely misguided. Those designs never should have been revived; however, they work. They work because of the confidence carrying them down the runway or down the city street. One can often learn much about another person by his or her attire—the colors, the material, the angling, the patterns, the fit, the style. That, to me, is fashion, Allison. Fashion isn’t clothing. It is people.”
“Fashion is people,” Allison said with a smile.
“Indeed. And people matter; thus, fashion matters as well. It is more important than many ever realize.”
Allison stared at her as if she was some sort of revelation. Elena’s passion for her work was awe inspiring and beautiful to witness.
