Fatshionista (21 page)

Interesting. I
knew I was right about him being rich. “Yeah, I saw the pictures of Kareena,
Deepika, and Ash. So his family is rich? What does his father do?”

“Hmmm, I can’t remember
exactly how he made his money—maybe import/export. I know they didn’t
come from money, but his dad made most of it in the nineties when they opened
India up to outside companies. That might be why Daniel claims middle class
instead of upper class—because his dad didn’t come from money but earned
it in trade. You know us Indians; we can be so British at times.”

“Absolutely. Did
he work out of Mumbai or Delhi? ‘Cause I didn’t see a lot about him the social
pages of
The Times
or any of the Bollywood magazines. I figured
The
Times
would cover him in Delhi and the rest when he was in Mumbai.”

“You know, now
that you mention it, I think he spent most of his time in Delhi. He would come
to Mumbai for any shows, and of course he was here for the Filmfare Awards if
he was dressing one of the nominated actresses. What exactly are you trying to
find out about the guy?”

“Well…he’s
projecting a certain image here in New York, but there is a part of me that
thinks it might be an act, but I don’t have any concrete proof—just a gut
feeling.”

“My dear friend,
you’re going to have be a little more specific than that. What exactly is he
selling that you aren’t buying?”

“Ummm, well, I
guess in a nutshell it’s…look, he’s acting like he’s gay, and I don’t know if I
believe him.”

“What do you mean
acting? Is he throwing men down in front of you and having his way with them?”
Upasna could barely get that last part out, she was laughing so hard.

“Hardy har har.
No, he’s just…God, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud, but he’s
dressing gay and hanging out at gay bars and just kind of acting gay, you
know?”

“Well, have you
asked him point blank, ‘Are you gay?’”

“No, I don’t want
to be rude.”

Again, I was
treated to gales of laughter from halfway around the world. “Millie, my dear
friend, what did you always tell me about the quickest distance between two
points? Just ask the man.
Bhai
, are you gay or not?”

“I can’t just ask
him; it’s none of my business. It in no way affects our working relationship,
so I have no reason to ask him this, in the same way he has no reason to ask if
I’m heterosexual.” Obviously there was no gossip to be had about this man
because if anyone had the goods, it was always Upasna.

“Tell me, my
friend. Why do you want to know if this man is gay? What possible reason could
you have for caring one way or the other? You don’t have a problem with
homosexuality.”

I did when I
wanted to throw one down and have my way with him. “My problem is I want to
tackle him and rip all his clothes off. I’m not real keen on showing off those
particular moves if I think he bats for the other team.”

“Oh! You should
have said earlier this was about your dismal love life! I would have cancelled
my appointment and given you my whole evening.” Again, she barely got the words
out, she was laughing so hard.

“I am so glad
that I’m paying international long-distance rates to give you so much
amusement. I don’t want to make a fool of myself, Upasna. I have feelings for
this guy, and I keep having these extremely vivid fantasies about him, and he
even admitted to having one about me where I was naked. Of course, now that I
think about it, I never really got the full description of that dream. Hopefully
I wasn’t teaching a class or climbing a mountain naked. Anyway, I don’t want to
look like a complete ass by throwing myself at him and him looking at me like,
‘Hello? I’m gay; can’t you see that?’”

“My friend, I
have always said that there’s nothing gained in life by sitting on the
sidelines. Make your move. If he’s gay, he’s gay; laugh it off and move on with
your life. There is no sense in you wringing your hands over this. If you feel
chemistry, if you feel a connection with this man, chances are he does, too. So
what are you waiting for? Grab that Punjabi and show him what an American woman
can do to a man.”

She was right.
After the show I would throw caution to wind and see what happened. The worse
would be some awkward groping and some embarrassed apologies, and then I would
never have to see him again.

“You are
absolutely right, my friend. I will get through this show, and then I will show
him some good old American hospitality.” I smiled at the images that ran
through my smutty mind.

“He would
probably like it more if you showed him some good old American pie.” Ohhh, she cracked
herself up.

“Again, so glad I
could bring you some comic relief tonight; I’ll send you the bill for the call,
smart ass.”

“If you want the
wisdom, you have to put up with the insults. I love you, my friend; let me know
what happens with your Punjabi man.”

“Will do; love
you, too.”

As I hung up and
stared at my spreadsheet, I felt like at least I had accomplished something. I
felt lighter in spirit, having decided what to do about the Daniel situation.
Maybe getting that off my mind would help me with my next decision. Of course,
now my mind was filled with images of me jumping on him and ripping his clothes
off so…yeah, might need to do a little more than change fonts on the
spreadsheet to keep focused.

Brace
yourselves, my peaches, my doves. Fashion week is just around the corner. Now
of course your mama doesn’t get tres excited for any old resort wear
collection, but with the spring weather seeping into these sexy ass bones, some
shi shi shi swimsuits and some flowy island wear is just the ticket your mama
needs.

Look for the
monochromatic theme of fall to seep into our resort wear. Your mama prays that
there will be some C-O-L-O-R this season and not just white and beige. Ugh,
those seasons are like falling headfirst into a steaming pile of boring. So
grab a fruity drink and put on your sunnies, my babies; resort wear has landed.

--April 20th
“It’s just fashion, bitches” blog--

Marta was kind
enough to let me get through resort week before asking for my final decision. She
also said she would make sure Scarlett backed off. Marta was slowly becoming my
new hero.

The delay gave me
one last chance to really do this job and see if this was where my heart was,
or if writing was the next step in my journey. One thing I added twice to the
list was steady income. I had spent my early years living paycheck to paycheck,
and one good thing about working for Marta was I had no time for a social life
or vacations or shopping. My biggest splurge was a new Kindle download about
once a month, which meant the bank account was quite healthy.

That added an
item to the other side of the list: I had enough saved up that I could start a
new career in writing and see where it took me. I wouldn’t lose the skills I
had gained in production, and if writing didn’t work out, I wouldn’t have to
crawl back to Marta. I could work for any one of the dozens of competitors who
had tried to lure me away for years.

It seemed like
every time I added a pro, there was a con right behind it. The list was evenly
stacked on both sides. I kept hearing Avis’s voice in my head reminding me that
not making a decision was making a decision: the decision not to act.
Thankfully we had today’s dress rehearsal, a day off, then the show. After that
I could devote 100% of my time to making a decision.

Or I could spend
100% of that time making sweet, sweet love to the stunning man who was at this
moment walking down the catwalk toward me. I quickly shuffled his set list to
the top of my clipboard, covering up the pros and cons list.

“Well hello there,
my dear Millie. You were frowning quite intently at your clipboard. I can only
hope you haven’t found some fault with my oh-so-well-thought-out set list?” He
flashed that sexy smile at me while trying to see what was on my clipboard.

“No faults, just
making sure we have everything lined up for the dress rehearsal. This is a very
critical time for you; any changes you would like to make, I need to know about
today. For everything to run smoothly on the day of the show, I will not allow
any lineup changes unless it’s due to models not showing up or clothes not
being presentable.”

My words were all
business, but I couldn’t stop taking in every aspect of his appearance. I didn’t
want to sound politically incorrect, but today he appeared…how should I put it?
Less gay. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part, but those faded Levi’s
stretched in just the right way and a simple black t-shirt (and not the Simon
Cowell, stretched-within-an-inch-of-its-life t-shirt) that I imagined smelled
like fabric softener, soap, and exotic man.

He jumped down
next to me and startled me out of my olfactory fantasy, causing me to drop the
clipboard and the contents. I quickly stooped to try and cram it all back onto
the board, but since the entire universe typically tried to conspire against me,
he came up with the pros and cons list. He started reading the first few on the
pro side before I snatched it out of his hand.

“That is private,
thank you very much.”

“Whoa, calm down.
I was trying to help gather your papers, as it was my fault you dropped them in
the first place. Millie, Millie,” he put his hand over both of mine, which were
still trying to shove the list under the other papers and get them all under
the safety of the clip. I stopped and stared at his hand over mine. The long,
well-manicured fingers; the black hairs on the back of his hand; the contrast
between his buttery brown skin and my pale pink skin. Was all his skin this
brown? Was it also covered in this soft-looking hair?

“Millie, please
look at me. I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you, but I barely saw your
papers. I apologize…Millie, why are your eyes squeezed shut? Are you crying?”

Of course I wasn’t
crying, jackass! I was using every last fiber of my self-restraint to not push him
onto the floor and have my way with him, audience, show, and pros and cons list
be damned!

I took a deep
breath, then looked up and met his golden brown eyes. And just like that, I was
lost again.

“Millie?” he
questioned me while squeezing my hand. I looked in his eyes. I had all the
words in my head, all the words that would get us back on track, back to our
client/vendor relationship…but nothing came out. I squeezed his hand back.

His gaze drifted
down to my lips, and I felt the air snap between us. I had waited long enough.
I was going to remind myself what this man tasted like, damn the work.

I let the
clipboard fall from my lap as I reached up to cup his cheek. He lowered his
head toward mine and my eyes drifted closed. I felt his breath on my lips, but
he held there for a beat—just enough for me to get use to the feel of him
in my space. “Please”…that was the only word running through my head.

“BALLE BALLE
BALLE BALLE BALLEEEEE!!!!!!”

We jerked apart
and sprang to our feet when the opening music cue for his show screamed through
the near empty hall.

“Sorry, folks, we’re
adjusting the levels. Sorry, sorry!” Mike, the sound guy’s voice came out of
the heavens, or more precisely the back sound booth. I quickly looked around to
see who might have noticed our almost inappropriate moment, but other than Mike
in the booth (who I had totally forgotten about—smooth move, Ace) and a
few lighting guys, the coast was clear.

“Millie, I—”

“I have to go
check the levels; obviously that was ridiculously loud. Sorry, be right back”

And with that, I
stormed up the aisle like the retreating coward I was. Apparently I was to
forever
almost
have a moment with this man. There was nothing he could
say, nothing I could say. It was completely and utterly awkward, and I for one
was having nothing to do with it.

“Get everyone
lined up backstage when they get here; models should be here in twenty. We’ll
start in forty-five minutes. Thanks!” I called out as I looked back over my
shoulder. He was just standing there, right where I left him. He looked…I don’t
know how he looked. Mad, frustrated, sad, gorgeous…sexy.
Shake it off,
Millie. You have a show to run. You can throw him on the floor later.

One hour later,
we were ready to start the dress rehearsal.

“When are you
going to tell him you’re in love with him?”

I spun around and
practically tackled Lizzie back into the dark recesses of the stage. “Keep your
voice down,” I hissed. Daniel stood three feet away, intently watching the
procession of models down the runway while I was checking things off on my
clipboard.

“And what the
hell are you talking about, anyway?” I asked when I finally had Lizzie far
enough away from everyone.

She rolled her
eyes at me and peeled off the hand I hadn’t even realized I’d plastered over
her mouth. “Millie, I saw you. Before, when you were out in the audience. And
I’ve watched you for weeks. You’re obviously head over heels for this man, and
it is ridiculous that you’re not doing anything about it.”