Pearced (2 page)

Not surprisingly then the door opens smoothly and a whiff of scented air hits me in the face, smells connect pathways in my mind and I begin making memories of the smell, a masculine note, but fresh and young and my belly stirs, nice. It’s unexpected.

As my eyes adjust from the blinding autumn sunshine outside I enter a cavernous warehouse space, easily enough room to park a 747, clean, airy, painted shades of grey and black, even the floor which feels rubbery and non-slip beneath my Isabel Marant boots....well, this
is
an interview.

Ride a 20 metre circle at B.
Circles, can’t get lost there!

Suddenly my carry-on feels heavy and I’m anxious for a place to sit it down. "Hi, come over..." comes a voice from beyond, I can’t see the owner of the deep strong vocal, but I smell his cologne and I make my way towards the sound and ground zero of the gorgeous smell.  My mind begins to wonder, it's not letting these strings of thought go, they are too delicious, if only I had some tea,
that
would calm me...

BM shoulder-in right.
Right?  Which way is that?  Bloody hell, this is supposed focus me.

A huge old desk sits centrally in the back end of the huge room, a low snooker hall light swings gently hovering 6ft above from a very long chain coming down from an anchor in the ceiling, too far away to see in this light its fixed point of origin. It's shafted beam lighting everything on the desktop and giving the effect of putting the whole rest of the space into graduating shadow.  This is definitely the focal point, and I suspect the person it belongs to would be my focus when he finally appears.

The desk is huge and thickly decorated, it looks and probably is an old oak piece salvaged from a shipwreck.  It has fish tailed maidens, mythical sea creatures and waves beautifully carved in its tree trunk legs, winding and mixing like a story.

..."won’t be a second...please take a seat Miss Charles" comes the voice again. Miss Charles? I’m not a geography teacher!

"Thank you" I say to the disconnected voice, where
is
this man? But my brain is taking in all the details, it can’t help it.

His desk is tidy to the point of obsession, control, order, all his pens lay neatly in an old jack Daniels jar, two iPhones lay side by side along with his watch perfectly perpendicular to the desk edge and aligned to each other: a vintage Rolex: black, a Monte Blanc pen and a little round pot of Carex lip balm, I’m too far away to see the words, but he has 4 new message alerts queued up on the screen of one of his phones.

A bashed-up old black leather biker jacket, a real one, not a fashion version, hangs over the back of his chair.  Revealing a hint of the Kevlar elbow linings under the quilting where the leather is worn, and no.3 chunky metal zips at the cuffs and front pockets. No photos anywhere, not personalised at all.  Just a clean space where work is done.

A Mac laptop with an extra huge screen sits atop the desk with a drawing tablet and pen, no mouse...just how I like my own set-up.  A cold half cup of very dark tea, the periodic table on the cup belies a complicated mind and the dark tea suggests, like me Daniel has a builder in his ancestry, but unlike me I won’t let tea to get cold, it's too good. Too useful.  Too calming.

Behind the desk on the wall, where I hear a rustling beyond, are rows and rows of anvil made metal meat hooks forged by a blacksmith not by Wickes, with jeans hanging from their belt loops in all states of development.  I can smell indigo and 32oz Japanese denim.  Selvedge, dark and raw.  Heavy and unyielding.  It's only by wearing and never washing them, these grow to become part of the wearer. I’m in a place I belong,
denim
is my game.

I '
cool hunt'
the trends before they become trends, I notice things other people don’t, that’s my gift. I have a strange aversion to things that aren’t right, I know instinctively what’s coming and can't explain when asked to justify a prediction.  It's a gut feeling like a detective who can tell when someone's lying, he doesn’t know how, just instinct and experience working in a marvellous partnership. Brains, I think to myself, are as mystifying as the universe, ever accelerating and expanding space and knowledge...

Now, I’d
really
like a cup of tea.

The later bit before chapter one, last Thursday
: 17thoctober2013, 4.12pm, Daniel Pearce

A tall elegant man emerges from beyond the curtain of jeans, I judge to be about 6ft3, he comes out from a door behind the denim, they swing like a curtain and mess up his hair.  It's short, shaved at the sides and back but long and floppy on the top and his tattooed fingers adjust it back into a Matt Smith quiff with a motion which makes me think he has to do this a lot.  He looks at me, he has the most beautiful face and clear greyed green eyes, the colour of gooseberries, and a wonderful warm inviting smile. I feel oddly attracted to him, his gaze has a pull to it, I fight the feeling and lose.

MC collected trot.
  Much Better.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, I feel it’s insistence for my attention, but my brain is busy with something else, caller, please leave a message.

His look lasts a little too long to be considered usual for a first business meeting as if he's sizing me up for more than my design skills, we lock eyes, we could be in a bar, the body temperature of my Jack Daniels making a warm trail inside me, but it's not the Jack that’s stirring me, this is an extraordinary man, I can't take my eyes of him.  But I force myself to. Mum would be proud, though she'd be staring too!

"
Tharie
, I’m hoping," he walks over to his desk and his fingers run through the front of his hair again. "Sorry there was no-one to let you in, I'm on my own today.” He tames his quiff once more, looking at something on his desk, “I try not letting anyone in here it's my personal workspace.” He puts his watch back on, what's behind that door? “But my team are all out this afternoon and the offices upstairs are closed and empty.” He snaps the closure shut around his wrist, “we're preparing for the launch of the new RANDom range, Milk&Honey, our new denim for women." Nice, and I don’t just mean the jeans.

If I was supposed to feel a little nervous he's just made it perfectly clear we are alone in this large building, I’m not, I can
handle myself. No one is more dangerous armed with a hoof-pick than me. Did I remember to bring a hoof-pick by the way?

He looks at my 'are you kidding me' face, I remain silent, he'll work it out for himself...and adds: “of course you know all about Milk&Honey?" There you go, at least he has the decency to look a little embarrassed, I think to myself. Looking away and down, "it's of course top secret, nobody's supposed to know about the launch except those already trading and buying the RANDom menswear."  He takes a seat behind his desk, I am glad for the forced space between us, this man is getting to me, I feel a little intoxicated and swoony. Swoony? Is that even a real word?  Brain, be quiet, it disobeys.

CHS medium walk. Doesn't work this time. Bloody hell. Stop using dressage to concentrate your mind you berk! All it does is remind yourself how rubbish you are at it.

Note to self, bloody concentrate.

I look down at my phone just for something else to focus on, have a missed message from work.  Nope, don't care about that. Gaining  my resolve, I'm proud of my self-control  at not jumping over the desk and kissing his incredibly beautiful face, I don't usually get feelings this strong for complete strangers, a quite unexpected feeling of gathering warmth starts to crawl its way up inside me.

S turn on the haunches 180 de
grees, does that sound like yoga to anyone?

I shift in my seat as if uncomfortable, but I’m trying to halt the effect the growing attraction is having on me. Focus on something else, why am I here? It's not for the tea that's for certain.

Where
is t
he tea?

"I am she," I try to sound calm and professional, which I don’t feel, my heart is beating, thumping in my chest and my temperature elevated, those soft full beautiful lips, slightly curved into a smile. I'm wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, stop it!

Proceed in medium walk.

I take a deep breath and I raise my hand to shake his, I notice a large silver skull ring, tattoos creeping down his hand from under the cuff of his shirt, and along the inside of his middle left finger. Nice, I’m thinking, very nice indeed, and he smells of man
and exotic earthy Tom Ford cologne. His tattoos are intricate and fine, a study in themselves, I ask my mind to stop wandering and it obeys, but for how long I can't tell.  He re-snaps the strap on his watch, it doesn't close true.

Proceed to medium walk. Did I do that already? Bloody hell he's gorgeous. Stop looking, stop looking, stop talking to yourself.

I of course know about RANDom Denim. A menswear label, exclusive, small runs, collectors pieces, an under-the-radar cult following.  Traded by e-mail and text alerts and in members-only small trade fairs, that shift location like illegal raves in the 90's used to.  A different site every time, invitation only, back-stage-passes the whole nine beautiful yards of ring spun indigo left hand twill.

CM working trot. It's not working! Trot or otherwise.

But this is a new venture, women of course had been buying RANDom jeans if they could find them.  Some jeans have rumoured to have passed hands for ￡1000 each.  All the dry-processes hand-treated here in London, with laundries in California so the word is.  The denim itself woven on old narrow looms in an undisclosed location, buy an artisan nobody knows, using organic cotton and recycled denim giving the surface of the twill a slubby, open and antiqued appearance that is so gorgeous. 

But women want more.  We want super stretch and lightweight, an antidote to the heavy unyielding menswear.  We want super skinny and sexy, and that is Milk&Honey, or it will be, only one style of jean has ever been released a serial stamped small run of fifteen pairs only,
mine
I recall to myself are no.8.

Bloody phone, it just won’t stop its silent hum, its white noise, I keep my eyes on his, unflinchingly calm, ignore.

This man I’m looking at, easy with his body and relaxed and confident, handsome, but more than handsome, stunning, I feel my chest tightening again.

His smile makes me glad I’m already sitting down. Slim, he is slim, with wide shoulders. His jeans are a RANDom denim dark authentic dark indigo blue, with a red cast, skinny, very skinny with a tiny turned-up twisted hem and sit low, very low on his slim hips, his stomach almost concave where it reaches his waistband.  Kept in place with a worn studded leather wide black belt. 

I guess his black fitted shirt to be Prada judging by the skinny collar with no topstitch and concealed button placket. Open at the top button, black shabby tux jacket, winkle picker boots, old and scuffed. A tattoo inches its way out from his collar up nearly to his right ear, it's a wing from a great bird or mythical winged serpent at a guess, with some intricately worked weird markings, I’d really like to see the rest of that inked piece of his body...there I go again!
Concentrate
Tharie!

His handshake is soft and warm, he smells great. He hasn't shaved today. I’m embarrassed, this man is so beautiful I can't stop staring. He looks at me, I give him a gentle version of my warning smile, the smile my Mum tells me should unnerve anyone.

MV medium trot.

But he just laughs too, such a lovely honest laugh, his face has creases beside his eyes, he lowers his gaze, I get the feeling he doesn’t know what to ask me.   ...Mum was right...  Shut all confrontations down with a smile...the ultimate defence mechanism. If that fails, use humour.

I'm going to need tea quite soon.

"I’ve been recommended by a good friend to talk to you about developing the jeans for Milk&Honey Tharie.” He leans toward me elbows on the desktop.

What friend, I ask myself?

His attention turns to his device.

“A friend who says you're the only one to speak to." He is looking at his phone as if the script were written there, he frowns, and starts to say something...

"I guessed that Daniel." I say with mild sarcasm in my voice, I really don’t like wasting my time and I easily get bored and impatient with people. "This is a very small community, and there aren't that many denim designers out there."

"This isn't an interview Tharie, I am already offering you the job, your work speaks for itself, I just wanted to meet you to see if we could work together”...He looks at me unblinking, “and now we've met," he pauses and his expression changes, it's as if he's seeing me for the first time, he takes in my whole face, I catch a breath as I notice, "I’m certain we can." He says.

Is he going to offer me a cup of
tea
or what!? How rude.

I am attracted to this man, I’m trying my best to conceal it, “OK.” I’m finding it hard to think clearly and sound smart. Instead when I speak I sound snappy and defensive. “Thank you,” what am I defending myself against? Him?   I’m unnerved by the effect he's having on me.  I’m looking at his mouth now, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him.  Those lovely full soft lips, that turn into a great smile as I linger on them, he's caught me staring.  It snaps me out of my head instantly.  I take another deep breath.