Shana
Monday evening, Stephen and I walk out of Saks and onto busy Fifth Avenue as the traffic picks up its pace. In New York City that means the volume increases as the speed decreases. Across the street, tourists as well as employees buzz in and out of Rockefeller Center. The city is filled with electricity, yet the traffic and iconic buildings are merely blips on my already-full radar. I’m thinking, instead, about the ongoing discussions I’ve been having most of the day up on the tenth floor of this famous store.
According to Vicky and others in our meetings, the sales from the fashion show were even better than the earlier emails indicated. Nevertheless, fashion headlines are still mentioning the change in models. What I’d hoped would go virtually unnoticed is trending with the following hashtags: #mysterymodelmayhemwhoisthatgirl #sakssexysub and #sakssecretmysterymodel.
It wasn’t mayhem. It was orchestrated and constructed. That’s what I spent a better part of today reminding myself—and others.
“Don’t let her get to you,” Stephen says as we take a moment to enjoy the warm breeze.
I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’ve been the good and strong salesperson through it all. Now with just the two of us, the emotion that has been building all day is boiling just below the surface and if I talk about it, I may break down. “I’d say that it’s probably too late for that advice.”
“Nine more days,” Stephen reminds me. “We have nine more working days here before the final decision is set to be made. I say we make the most of it. I say we enjoy the city.”
“I’m sorry…I thought I told you that I have plans for tonight.”
He waves his hand. “Oh, boss lady, you did. And even though I could get my feelings hurt that you’re leaving me again…”
“What if I told you that there’s a very good reason?”
“I’d say that I met him and I know!”
I force a laugh, and then as my mind moves from Saks Fifth Avenue to Trevor, the laughter flows, no longer forced. I shrug. “It’s simple. I find myself famished for Italian pastries.”
“I love that Kimbra remembered that. Personally, I’m a cannoli man myself and when I move into that apartment in the East Village, I plan on indulging.”
I arch my brows.
“Veniero’s are truly the best.” He laughs at himself. “Maybe I should call Kimbra to hang out. She’s hilarious.”
I shake my head as we both slide into the taxi taking us back to the hotel. “I can’t believe she did that at her dinner party. What made it even funnier was that neither Trevor nor Duncan had a clue.”
“Doesn’t your man need to work?”
“He is working today. The engineering firm he works for is here in the city. Yesterday, he said something about following up on some bids for a few new projects and proposing others. I guess it is a merry-go-round of stages when it comes to what he does.” I shrug. “Not a lot different from us.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, we work on next season’s fashions while figuring out how to sell this season’s. It sounds the same with him. They find projects, bid projects, and then, if accepted, the next step is construction.
“There’s a lot more to it, but right now, he’s in the bidding part of one he’s particularly interested in.” I shrug. “He’s very smart.”
“I’m sure that’s only one of his good qualities,” Stephen says with a sly smile.
I shrug. “I mean, I learned about most of this when we used to talk on the phone. It amazes me how he can look at a space and see what isn’t there.”
“Maybe he can also see what is?”
“Like?” I ask.
“Like a woman who I think has one of the best minds in fashion yet is genuinely interested in boring things like bridges and roads.”
I tilt my head toward the window. “Think about it. They aren’t boring. They’re simply taken for granted. Whether here or in London or in some small town, roads and bridges have to withstand the stress and tension of tons of pounds of force. Think of the Brooklyn Bridge or the Queensboro.”
“Will it hurt your feelings if I tell you that I don’t want to think about a bridge?”
“Trust me. It’s more exciting when Trevor talks about it.”
Stephen pats my knee. “I’m sure it is. But really, don’t worry about me. I’m meeting up with some old friends tonight. We’re headed to dinner and drinks in the village.”
Though I can’t say how happy I am to hear that, I wouldn’t be surprised if the relief shows. After all, I’m the one who dragged Stephen here to New York. It’s because of me that he ran into Max. I hate the idea of him sitting in his hotel room all alone while I’m out with Trevor.
“I guess with the last two weeks being so consumed with the show, I forgot that you’re from here too.”
He looks out the window as we pull up to the hotel. “I am, originally from upstate. My parents want me to go up there over the weekend. I was hesitant, not wanting to leave my boss lady alone in this big old bad city.” He winks. “I don’t think I need to worry any longer.”
After paying the driver, we both pause on the sidewalk outside the hotel. The evening breeze has picked up and the sunshine is obstructed by the tall buildings. I wrap my arm around my midsection as goose bumps appear on my arms. “I’m sorry.”
“For?” Stephen asks.
“For everything. For dragging you here. For what happened Saturday night. For messing up our chance of staying here—close to your family and friends.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious that you want to stay here. You have a deposit on an apartment.”
“I’m thinking you might have a reason you want to move back here too. And it has nothing to do with an apartment.”
I shrug. “I don’t know yet. I’ll admit that it was fun to hang out with Duncan and Kimbra as two couples, and yesterday when it was just the two of us, I had a great time.”
“And...?”
We step aside as people pass us.
“And...I’m nervous. I’ve worked too hard and too long to change my career for a man, one I barely know.”
“How long did you two talk on the phone?”
I look up to the blue sky, wishing the sun were directly overhead as I think about his question. “For a few months, off and on.”
“What did you learn about Mr. Trevor Willis during that time?”
My smile broadens. “You mean besides bridges and roads?”
“Yeah, girl, give me something juicy.”
“Everyday stuff. He likes comedies and action movies. He’s always reading some book or another. His favorites are thrillers, but he also reads boring nonfiction—biographies and stuff like that.” I tilt my head as I recall some of our conversations. “And when he talks about those boring books, they aren’t boring. He even listened when I told him about what I was reading or about the latest trends in prom dresses or midriff tops. Not just nodding—well, because we were on the phone—but actually listening. He remembers what I say and asks questions.”
“Why did the calls stop?”
My shoulders droop as I lean against the building, unsure why we haven’t gone inside. “I blame him for not calling—or I did—but honestly, it was me too. I found myself rearranging my schedule to be home when he called. The time difference was a bitch. I decided I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“So what happened?”
“He called and I didn’t answer.”
“Purposely?” he asks.
“A few times and then I’d forget to return his calls. I’d blame it on the time difference even when that wasn’t the reason.”
“What was the reason?” He leans close and cocks an eyebrow. “It was the bridges and biographies, wasn’t it?”
“No. I think the whole thing scared me. I was growing accustomed to it. I didn’t even notice when men were hitting on me. I mean I would, but later. My mind was too full of Trevor. It felt wrong, like I shouldn’t give up me to be with him. Besides, I wasn’t with him. We were on two separate continents.”
Stephen puts his hands in his pockets and spends a minute digesting my response. “Is that what you think? A relationship means giving up who you are?”
Once again, I shrug.
“It’s not like I’m an expert, and my recent run is pretty shitty, but when I’m in a relationship, I find that the more I think about him, the less I think about me, but it’s not like I become less because when the other person is the right person to be in your life, they’re doing the same thing. Together you’re more than either could be alone. It’s not taking or losing. It’s complementing.”
I feel tears begin to prickle behind my eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because I want so badly what Stephen is describing or if it’s because I have never had that. Then again, maybe the tears are because I want that relationship for Stephen too.
He gives me a hug. “Come on, boss lady. No crying.”
I nod as he leads me to the large revolving door. A few moments later while we’re waiting for the elevator, he says, “I think you’re a lot braver than you think.”
I scoff. “Are you kidding? I just told you that I’m scared.”
“Hell no, I’m not kidding. Admitting fear is actually brave. And I’ll give you another example: you went out on that stage in a white see-through negligee because it was what needed to be done. You walked out there proudly, nipple tape and all.”
By the time he stops talking, my mouth is agape, and we’re getting sideways looks from more than a few people. “It was not see-through.”
“Oh, right.”
My mind fills with the memories of seeing myself in the mirror. There was lace that went down between my breasts that prohibited a bra, but I know for certain that silk was body-glued to my skin. I turn toward Stephen as we wedge into the elevator and whisper, “How did you know I had on nipple tape?”
His laugh is his only answer.
I’m not sure if I should be upset or worried or laugh along with him.
“It was not see-through,” I state matter-of-factly.
My comment does nothing but make him laugh more.
When we finally step out of the elevator, our rooms being on the same floor, I punch his shoulder. “You’re mean.”
Stephen leans in and kisses my cheek. “No, I’m not. Have fun tonight and don’t wait up for me. I could end up spending the night with friends in the village. I promise to be at the office bright and early with two cups of steaming Starbucks.”
With that, he disappears down the hallway toward his room.
“You are mean,” I repeat, but only at a volume that I can hear.