Sweetest Sin: Bad Boy Bundle

by Delilah Wilde

  “It looks awesome,” gushed Savannah. She was right.

  I payed for both of our tattoos and left a generous tip. Chad said goodbye and Savannah and I left the studio, holding hands as we walked.

  “I'll pay you back soon for this, you know,” she said.

  “It was nothing, really I don't mind,” I said, but Savannah was insistent.

  “No, I'm paying you back within the next month,” she said. I wondered if she'd stay at my house for the month. It wasn't an unappealing idea, which scared me. I really was falling for the girl if spending that much time with her didn't disgust me.

  “How are you going to do that? With blow jobs?” I asked hopefully. Savannah gave me a playful shove.

  “No, you idiot. With money!” she said.

  “Oh yeah? And where will you get that?” I asked. She gave me a shy smile.

  “When Chrissy wears my dress at that premiere I'm sure I'll find a way to make something out of it,” she said. Wait, so she was actually going to take me up on the offer? Holy shit, that was progress.

  I couldn't resist lifting her off of the ground and swirling her around until we were both dizzy with laughter.

  “I'm buying you ice cream to celebrate,” I said. She didn't argue. We walked back to the car together like a pair of giddy kids. I'd never felt so happy in my life.

  I was a changed man. I wasn't yet sure if that was a good thing or not.

  Savannah

  Getting a tattoo on a whim was the kind of spontaneous thing that the old, small town me never would have done if my life depended on it. Then again, getting a movie star to wear one of my dresses on the red carpet wasn't exactly something I'd had much experience with either. My life was changing before my eyes, so it was perhaps no wonder that I was changing too. It wasn't a bad change either. I liked the new me.

  I chose a key because it felt like the right symbol for me. It represented the key to success, at least in my mind. I hadn't quite figured out what that was yet, but when I did I might just get a really ornate lock tattooed on my other arm.

  The first nerve wracking thing that I had to do that week was a fitting with Chrissy Jones. If I was going to make her a dress in time for this important premiere, I would need her exact measurements. Generalized sizes just didn't do when it came to making gowns. It had to be perfectly tailored to fit the body or it would like like total garbage.

  Dane couldn't understand why the idea of having a fitting with Chrissy was so stress inducing for me.

  “She said she's up for it. There's no problem,” he said.

  “Yes there is a problem! What if I say something stupid, or what if she just hates what I create? Oh god, I might panic and say something really offensive by accident. I hated her last romantic comedy you know, the one about the pastry chef in Paris who falls in love with a grave digger? It was complete shit. What if I say that?” I said. Dane just laughed.

  “You say mean things to me all the time and you don't care,” he said.

  “Yeah, but you're not Chrissy Jones. You're not exactly what I would call sensitive either. I know you don't take the stuff I say to heart. Anyway, no one cares what you wear on the red carpet. As long as you don't show up naked people will be happy. It's different for women. There's a real double standard,” I said. It was true. Female celebrities got completely lambasted in the magazines for wearing a neckline that went a little too low or a shade of green that didn't compliment her hair. The men just had to throw on a tux and people were falling over themselves to talk about how effortlessly sexy that they looked. It was easy to look effortlessly sexy when you were all ready sexy and you barely made an effort. It was harder for women. Much harder. One wrong stitch and Chrissy would be a laughing stock. Even worse, she might chose to go in someone else's dress instead. That would be a nightmare.

  My inner turmoil seemed to be an endless source of entertainment for Dane. He wasn't a complete dick about it. He helped me find some great fabric stores in the city and even got me a massive discount when one of the store owners recognized him. However, any time I expressed my anxiety about the fitting he just laughed me.

  By the time that fitting day rolled around I was a bundle of nerves and Dane thought it was hilarious to tease me.

  I laid out my selection of fabrics on the coffee table. There was pink silk, red chiffon, soft sea foam green jersey. They were just samples but hopefully she'd like the look of them. It would give me the confidence boost I needed.

  I left out my new fabric scissors and some pins but my measuring tape was nowhere to be seen. I was sure I'd put it next to everything else. I must have done.

  “Dane,” I said, when I couldn't find the measuring tape on the floor, “Did you move my measuring tape?”

  He was sitting in the armchair and eating a bowl of cereal. He glanced at me. “Measuring tape? What measuring tape?”

  “What do you mean what measuring tape?” I snapped, “The one I put right here! The one I measure things with! Did you take it?”

  “Why would I take it?” he said, through a mouthful of cereal. I glanced at the clock and my heart nearly stopped. It was three thirty. Chrissy had promised to be here at four. We didn't even have time to go to the store and pick up another tape measure before she got here. That was the whole point of the fitting, to take measurements. It would be impossible to do without it. I'd fucked up royally and she hadn't even gotten here yet. I wasn't cut out to be a designer. I wasn't even cut out to be a seamstress.

  Before I knew it I could feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. Dane looked alarmed. “What's wrong?” he said, “Why are you crying?”

  It was funny how a woman's tears could cause the most suave men to panic. Dane certainly hated seeing me cry.

  “I'm fucked without that tape.”

  He gave a sigh of relief and pulled the tape out of his pocket. “No you're not,” he said, handing it to me. I looked at it in shock. “So you did have it?” I sniffled.

  “Of course I did. I was just trying to tease you a little bit. I didn't want to make you cry or anything. Jesus, I wish I hadn't done it now,” he said.

  “Asshole,” I said, but I smiled at him. He was an idiot but he was trying to lighten my mood. Sometimes it was the thought that counted in situations like this. Especially situations that involved men like Dane, who'd never taken much care for womens' feelings before. He was trying and that was all that mattered.

  “There's that pretty smile,” he said.

  Chrissy arrived five minutes late, dressed in yoga pants and a crop top. She apologized profoundly to me the moment I opened the door.

  “I'm so sorry Savannah. I'm normally never late but my trainer was being really tough on me today and then traffic was a bitch. I'm all sweaty too, which is terrible. I've never been so embarrassed in my life,” she said, “God, you probably think I'm a total diva.”

  “Not at all,” I said. It felt so surreal to have a huge celebrity begging for my forgiveness over something so minor. Most of my old clients threw hissy fits at the drop of the hat. I had seen diva behavior and this wasn't it.

  “You're a real sweetheart, aren't you? I'm so excited to see what you come up with for me!” she said.

  “I just hope you'll like it,” I said. Chrissy gave me her signature dazzling smile. “Oh, I know I will.”

  I invited her inside and lead her into the living room where all of my equipment was laid out. Dane was reading a book in his armchair but he looked up when he saw us come in.

  “Hey Chrissy. Glad you showed up eventually,” he remarked, looking at the clock. I was mortified. “Dane! Don't talk to her like that!” I said, but Chrissy just laughed it off.

  “Shut up, Savannah's way less high maintenance than you. She's cool with it, aren't you Savannah?” she said and I nodded.

  “It's really no trouble,” I said, then I turned to Dane, “Maybe you should get out of the way so that we can work in peace?”

  Dane raised one eyebrow at me.

  “
Um, whose house is this?” he asked, “I can do what I want and I want to stay here.”

  “He's just being nosy,” said Chrissy, giving me a knowing look, “He wants to see your creative process. Well Dane, you can at least get us a drink.”

  Dane grumbled about it but agreed that since it was his house that he would be the one to get the drinks. I asked for chamomile tea to calm my nerves, though I didn't say why I wanted it in front of Chrissy. She thought it sounded great and asked Dane to get her one too.

  “Oh, and bring me cookies if you have them!” she said. Dane rolled his eyes. “Yes, your majesty.”

  I got Chrissy to stand up straight so that I could take her measurements for the dress. I tried my best to keep the conversation to neutral, inoffensive topics. I didn't want her to know what a massive fan I was in case it creeped her out. I also didn't want to ask her too many questions about life as the world's most beautiful actress, though I was dying to know everything. Normal people usually didn't enjoy talking about work during their free time. Why should an actress be any different? Politics and religion were also out of the question. My own political knowledge was muddy at best and Dane had frightened me by talking about all the weird sects that some of his co-stars had joined over the years. Yeah, I'd just to have to keep things safe.

  “It's so sunny today, isn't it?” I said as I took her waist measurement. 22 inches. I knew she would be tiny just by looking at her, but that was minuscule. Some women had all the luck.

  “Yeah, it always is at this time of year,” she said. I wasn't sure if she was humoring me or not, “Anyway, how are things with Dane?”

  “Dane is fine. He's taking a little break from filming anything now, though he's gotten so many offered lately. I think he just wants to relax for a bit. I don't blame him,” I said. Chrissy laughed. “That's not what I meant. I meant how are things between the two of you? I hope he's not being a complete dick bag to you. You shouldn't put up with that,” she said. I scribbled down her waist measurement in my notepad and moved on to her hips, trying not to get flustered at her comments. I'd never known someone to be so direct.

  “Things are fine,” I said, “Gosh Chrissy, you have to tell me what trainer you go to. I'd kill to have your measurements.”

  I wasn't lying. I would have loved to look like her. However, we both knew that this was just my way of changing the subject before things got too personal. The idea of being able to afford a trainer would have been insane a few weeks ago. If things went well with this dress I would be able to afford one very soon. It boggled my mind to even think of it.

  “Sure, I'll give you his number. So Dane is being nice to you then?” she asked. Jesus, I was starting to feel like I was the celebrity and she was the adoring fan. These questions were far too probing for my liking.

  “Dane is always nice,” I said and Chrissy snorted, “All right, he's not always nice. But neither am I.

  And he tries very hard.”

  “That's good. I never thought I'd see the day when he had a live in girlfriend, but I guess people change,” she said.

  “I guess they do,” I said, though neither of us had ever used the word 'girlfriend' to describe my relationship with Dane. I wasn't living with him either. I was staying with him. That was a big difference. The fact that I'd started sub letting my old apartment to new tenants didn't mean anything. I was still independent and going forward with my career. Once I got my start I could move out.

  I could move out, but I wasn't sure that I wanted to. I wasn't sure that Dane wanted me to either. It was a conversation we would have to have someday, but for now we were both actively avoiding it. Just then he returned with two steaming cups of chamomile tea and a bottle of beer for himself. He put the cups down on the table and opened the bottle by hitting it off of the side.

  “Here's your tea ladies. If you don't mind, I'm gonna skip that hippy crap and have a cold one. There are more beers in the kitchen if you change your mind. But you can get them yourselves this time!” he said, before flopping back into his armchair.

  “That's OK, I'm driving. But you enjoy your beer, Dane. After all you've been working so hard,” said Chrissy sarcastically. Dane took a swig, not caring.

  “I'm entitled to vacation time just like anyone else,” he said.

  “Yeah, but when your vacation time happens in the middle of a re shoot it kind of throws things off. Mark is going crazy trying to edit what he has into something salvageable. He thinks that the movie's going to tank,” said Chrissy. She didn't seem annoyed. She was just stating facts. Even so, the mention of Mark's name made me uncomfortable. He'd been trying to contact me ever since I'd left his house and not come back. I'd given him a quick text so that he knew I was still alive and told him that I would see him around (though I desperately hoped that I wouldn't). Hopefully that pathetic fairy film we made together wouldn't see the light of day. If there was any good left in the world it would be left to rot in a drawer forever.

  “Yeah well, Mark should have been less of an annoying prick if he wanted to keep me,” said Dane, “He's lucky I didn't knock out all of his teeth.”

  “Dane, can you please stop talking? You're distracting me from my work,” I said. It was true. My hands had begun to shake and I couldn't hold the tape measure in place. I had thought that it would be Chrissy would would unnerve me, but I worked all right when it was just the two of us. I felt like Dane was watching me, waiting for me to slip up. It made me anxious.

  He looked at me.

  “Are you serious? I'm not even allowed in my own living room now?” he said. He wasn't angry as much as he was mildly irritated. I knew that asking him to leave was a bit much but if I was going to do this to my normal standards, he had to go.

  “Oh come on Dane, be a sport. It's hard to concentrate when you're sulking in a corner. Go play video games or something and leave us in peace,” said Chrissy. She spoke to him like a bossy older sister. I was shocked that she was able to get away with it.

  Dane drained the last of his beer and shrugged.

  “Fine, I'll leave you two alone if that's what you really want,” he said, but he was looking directly at me. “If anyone needs me I'll be upstairs.”

  Chrissy giggled when he left the room.

  “Jesus, men can be such children sometimes can't they? You think they've outgrown their sulking phase and they go ahead and prove you wrong. It's hilarious,” she said.

  I didn't want to linger on the topic of men. Though I liked Chrissy a lot, I didn't quite trust her fully yet. If I said something negative or personal about Dane it might get back to him and he'd boot me out. That was not what I needed right now. I finished her measurements and the two of us sat down for a consultation.

  I asked Chrissy questions about what she wanted and scribbled furiously in my notebook as she sipped her tea. A lot of it I knew already from seeing her red carpet pictures in magazines. Her lipstick was always a deep matte wine color and her hair was always in some variation of beachy waves. She didn't do fussy, loud dresses with prissy patterns. Her style was simple elegance with a twist. It suited my own aesthetic perfectly.

  I asked her more questions to get my idea straight in my head. She was very helpful and rather knowledgeable about design terms. She certainly knew a hell of a lot more than my previous clients had. Most of these people didn't know the difference between cotton and silk for Christ's sake. Chrissy's knowledge automatically placed her miles ahead of the old clientele. Maybe it wasn't a fair comparison. She had worn more designer gowns in her lifetime than most people could wear in their wildest fantasies. It would be difficult not to pick up a fashion tip or two along the way.

  She started by telling me her dislikes. Chrissy hated bare midriffs, tulle and anything that sparkled too much. There were other dislikes, she said, but these three would make any dress into a complete deal breaker for her.

  “Right,” I said, “No bare midriffs, no tulle, no sparkles. Got it.” “Great,” she said, “Now we can move onto w
hat I do like.”

  When designing a custom piece it was always better to have a client with more likes than dislikes. In the rare occasions since college that I'd gotten to design from scratch, my clients had been persnickety old ladies with mile long lists of what they didn't want. Being left with so few options made things a lot more difficult.

  Chrissy turned out to be very open minded. She liked all the fabrics I'd chosen and stroked each one of them appreciatively.

  “They're gorgeous. I'm glad you decided to go for something colorful,” she said. All I could do was breathe a sigh of relief. Picking them out had been positively agonizing for me. I'd been so terrified that she'd hate them all so much that she would never want to work with me again. It wasn't likely, but it was a possibility. Celebrities were volatile creatures. It was best to give them what they wanted.

  I asked Chrissy to choose which fabric she liked the best. This took longer than expected. She hovered over all of them, debating the pros and cons of each. Finally, just when I was starting to feel like giving up on ever getting an answer, she made a choice. She went with the pink silk. “It's just so beautiful and glamorous,” she said. I nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah, it really is.”

  That was true, but I felt the knot in my stomach tighten. I was a great designer, there was no doubt about that. My technical skills were out of this world and I had the creativity and imagination to back them up. Of course I could create something beautiful for Chrissy with such special material. Even so, I'd only sewn silk a handful of times. It was expensive and notorious for being difficult to work with. One mistake would be too many if I was going to work with this.

  Despite my reservations I forced myself to smile. I'd chosen this fabric, after all. A part of me must have believed that I could do something amazing with it, or I wouldn't have bought it in the first place.