Love in Lingerie(15)

“It’s good.” She sounds irritated, and I look up to see her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “I know it’s a different style than your last few years, but—”

“I agree. I love it.” I set down the page and sit back in my chair. “Sit down, please. You’re stressing me out.”

For the first time in months, she doesn’t talk back. She obeys. Something in the submission stirs at me, my mind losing focus for a brief moment. I close my eyes and return to the issue at hand. “It’s a big investment. Right now … it’s a tough swing.”

“It will be even harder next quarter,” she says quietly. “We need to fix things now. Immediately.”

She’s right, and I know it. My fear is that her fix, these pieces … if I invest in them, if I take that leap, it will be Marks Lingerie’s last. After this, there are no more favors to beg or pockets to pick.

“Let me show it to the sales team.” I meet her eyes. “If they like it, then let’s do it.”

“Do what? The fourteen pieces?” She stands and steps forward.

“Whatever you want, as long as you can back the product up with cost margins and deliverability.” I reach out and touch her hand, stopping her from picking up the presentations. She looks at me, and I choose my next words carefully. “I’m wagering everything on this. On you. I need you to understand how important it is for this to succeed.”

She nods, and in her eyes I see the confidence I once had. The reckless belief that, no matter what, I would succeed. When did I lose that fire? When did I become convinced I would fail?

She turns to leave, and without her, the room feels dead.





Her

Black strips of latex cut across spandex. A collar with a front ring, back buckle. Hidden underwire that makes the sample-sized model look magnificently large-breasted. In any other setting, it should be trashy. But with the right lines, cuts, and support, it is sophisticatedly beautiful.

Six months into this job, and I fight the urge to jump up and down like a school girl.

“It’s uncomfortable.” The model punctures my elation with two simple words.

“How uncomfortable?” I glance down at Vern, the technical designer, who looks at the model.

“Pretty bad.” She tilts her head, then turns it. “The worst is the collar-thing. It’s itchy.”

“On the edges or the backing?” Vern stands and moves behind her.

“The edges.”

“What else is uncomfortable?” I look down at the fitting schedule, cursing to myself. We are behind schedule, not just for today, but for this month. I shot for twenty-two new pieces, and I’m kicking myself in the ass for it. Something that seemed possible two months ago turned difficult one month ago, and now appears to be pretty-fucking-impossible. I glance back at the model and fight the urge to scream at her to hurry up. Maybe this is why Claudia was such a bitch. I am just six months into this role, and I can already feel the fraying of human qualities.

“It feels like it’s cutting into my rib cage. The boning.”

“Okay. Move around for me and tell me when the pain increases or decreases.”

“Pain?” I interrupt Vern. “Or discomfort?”

The model stiffens, her lips parting, eyes widening, and I growl without looking over my shoulder. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

From behind me, he chuckles. “You didn’t think I’d let you have all of the fun, did you?”

I turn, and, from my place on the stool, we are eye level. “Fittings aren’t fun. No one thinks fittings are fun.”

“I like fittings,” the model breathes, and she suddenly doesn’t look uncomfortable at all. Trey’s eyes don’t move to her; they stay on me. I thought he was beautiful from my spot on the ground. At this elevated level, he’s even more devastating.

I hop down from the stool before I lose all intelligence. “What do you think?” I nod to the woman.

“It’s gorgeous.” He walks around her slowly.

“Right. It looks great, but she’s saying it’s uncomfortable.”

“I can manage. It’s not that bad,” she offers.

Vern mumbles something under his breath, and Trey chuckles in response. “Uh-uh.” I shake my head at them. “Stop that shit.” I push at Trey’s shoulder, then point to the door. “And you, go crunch numbers somewhere. I’ve got a dozen more of these to work through.” I flip over the page. “Vern, you got this? I’m going to move on to Cecile’s model.”

“I’ll leave in a minute. Let me borrow you for a second.”

I look up from the page. “Now?” I shake my head. “No. I’m going to keep these guys here ’til midnight at this rate. Whatever it is, shoot me an email or show me in the morning.” I can’t deal with any more problems, or decisions, or his need for an opinion on the interior pages of the spring catalog.

“I’m borrowing Kate,” he calls out. “Everyone, take five.”

“No one take five,” I yell. “Everyone keep working.” He pulls at my arm and successfully manages to drag me toward the door. I half-heartedly struggle until we are in the hall, the door closed. “What?” I beg. “I’ve seriously got so much to do.”