She's All That (29 page)

Leaving my love life in the dumpster where it belongs, there's the financial woes of late to think about instead. I realize that I owe everyone and their brother money, and I have a business that amounts to little more than—speaking of dumpsters—formerly drenched, now-hopefully-dry-cleaned, canceled-wedding fabric, along with the other fabric purchased on Morgan's credit card. So when I enter my loft's dark hallway, after forcing Max to let me take a cab (he insisted on paying, and I didn't fight him; he got a good dinner), my exhausted mind is back on the work that awaits me.

When I get to the door, it's slightly ajar. None of the seven locks is latched.
Danger, Will Robinson. Danger!
the voice in my head cries. Still, I ignore it and push the door open, only to see a huge flatscreen television playing Spiderman and Nate munching on popcorn, while Kim sews at the table behind him.

“What are you
doing
?” I shriek, looking at my beloved fabric in Kim's hands. “I asked you not to touch anything!” I feel a sense of hysteria rising, and it is definitely not because of Nana's sauce.

“I wanted to save you some time. You've been so busy, and I thought I owed you. Nate got this TV for next to nothing from China. He says we can have it!”

“We cannot have it. Nate, we aren't Goodwill.”
Take your
guilt offering, and shove it!

“Speak for yourself,” Kim says. “I'm
so
Goodwill. No wait, I'm his cheaper cousin, the Dollar Tree.”

I rush to the table to look at the stitching, and my mouth drops in awe. “This is good, Kim.”

“I have more incentive to do a good job for you than I had with Sara. You let me live here, and I still have nowhere else to go, Lilly.”

“What are you doing home?” Nate asks.

“I got called away from the spa.”

“Did you get the wedding gown drawn for Morgan?” Kim asks.

“There's no wedding. Morgan's fiancé died.”

“Dang, I know you said he was old, but dang!”

“He wasn't that old. He had a bad liver.”

“Ah, that's awful, man. Well, at least you can use her fabric. Maybe Robert will want it for his bride.”

“Kim, do you mind? I'm not making a gown for Robert's fiancée. She already got my man.”

“Oh, here we go,” Nate pipes up, without taking his eyes off
Spiderman
. “The
woe is me
story of Robert. Remember in science how there are protons, electrons, and neutrons. Robert was a neutron, completely void of any charge.”

Kim starts to crack up. I mean, she's giggling giddily at this geek humor. What is going on? And then I see the closet, with dresses,
yes, plural, dresses,
hanging in it. I rush to the doorway. “What is this?”

“A few of the gowns you designed. I did all the patterns this morning, and I had some people from Sara Lang come help sew this afternoon. Everyone wants you to make it, Lilly.” She says this like she's shocked. I grab the gowns and study them carefully. They look just like I imagined. Maybe better! I can't believe it.

Kim goes on. “I only took a short break when Nate and I went to get everyone coffee. Otherwise, I've been here all day. We had a great time. People brought their machines, Nate brought in the television and Chinese takeout. It was fun, actually. I forgot how much I really do like to work with clothes. Nate put the designs on the computer and printed out the patterns. He made sure I had the right fabric, and that the thread matched. We were a great pair, weren't we?”

“You bet,” Nate says with a wink.

I pick up one of the dresses in the closet. “Kim, the stitching is perfection.”

“These are your best designs, Lilly.” She picks up the pad. “I think we should put them for sale on eBay, as a couture shop. We can put in the listings that we both worked for Sara Lang for years and that your expertise in gowns is renowned. We can say these gowns would be $5,000 in Saks. Plus, I thought you might go around to some of Sara's boutiques and see if they'd carry them.”

“Kim,” I say breathlessly. I mean, I'm just stunned. Just when you think your life is completely falling apart and there isn't a speck of blue in the cloudy sky, someone surprises you like this. “I could kiss you!” Normally, it takes at least a week for a gown, so I know they're not exactly couture or Sara Lang quality, but they're good. They're really good. Good enough for a show, or even a shop on Geary.

“Nate worked up a business plan for you today, and he just spent the day brainstorming while I sewed. He says we can have Sara completely out of the business in four months, according to his projections.”

I look through the papers, and I'm completely stunned silent.

“Lilly, you're an excellent designer. We just have to find a place to sell these things,” Nate says. Truthfully, I don't know what to think. Once, I played this game called
Fact or Crap?
This is like that, and I can't tell which one this is.

“You mean you're going to help?” I ask Kim. Wasn't she just yelling at me to leave her alone? I know all of this is probably only a guilt offering on Kim's part, but I'm in no position to look a gift horse in the mouth, now am I? Besides, it's really good to see her energy going into something positive, rather than deciding on where her next tattoo should be.

“Everything's a perfect size eight. We can take things in or out depending on the customer, or better yet, custom-make copies and sizes to order.” Kim pushes her hair back, revealing the small ladybug tattoo on her forehead next to the hairline. “Nate, I'm going to go up to your place for a minute and get Charley. I'm done for the day, and the poor dog needs some company. I finished his new bed today too.” She holds up the doggie bed I'd started.

“Yeah, yeah, you go,” Nate says.

Suddenly, I feel as if they're trying to leave me alone with Nate, and I'm not exactly comfortable with the notion. I've never been kissed like that. Not once in my poor twenty-nine—okay, almost thirty—years of existence, and I don't want to know why he was with another woman less than a day later. I don't want to know why he'd give Kim a $3,000 television set. Regardless of what it costs in China. Ignorance is really bliss here.

Kim leaves and shuts the door. Nate stands up and stares at me, rubbing his hands together nervously.

“Is there something wrong?”

He scratches the side of his neck. “Sit down, Lilly. There's something I need to tell you.”

I don't like the sound of this. I am suddenly inexorably weary from riding the day's emotional rollercoaster (not to mention the physical effort exerted climbing in and out of dumpsters); I don't think I can face any more. “No, no more today. I've heard more than you can possibly imagine today. Please, no more.” My whole brain just shuts down at the thought of more bad news.

Nate just nods. “Fair enough. We'll talk about it another day,” he says anxiously.

I look into his eyes, and I wonder what he's thinking. Does he think I'm in love with him? Because my kiss
had
to make him believe that. Well, it at least had to make him think I was desperate. It had been so long since anyone kissed me, and I guess there was pent-up emotion. Plus, I did have Stuart's gorgeous baritone accent in the back of my mind. Didn't I?

I mean, the fact is, I barely see straight men in the realm of my existence. What I am used to are clean-cut, well-dressed, good-looking men with exceptional manners who have absolutely no interest in women.
Sigh! Of course
my feelers are off when it comes to heterosexuals. Gay men do tend to have more charm, with the exception of Shane Wesley. Okay, I can face up to it. I was a little overzealous with my Nate kiss. What of it? I am a straight, Christian woman, living in San Francisco, working in the fashion industry. Does that not tell you I'm a little desperate?

“If this is about us, I know that the kiss was a fluke, Nate. Okay? Enough said?”

Nate nods. “Good. Enough said.” We both look at the expansive television screen where Kirsten Dunst has just removed a hanging Spiderman mask and is kissing Tobey Maguire hard under a rain-drenched night.

This is uncomfortable.

“I'm going to take a shower,” I announce, hoping Nate will get the hint and make himself scarce.

“Yeah. I'll let Kim know when she comes in.” He flicks off the television. “I might just check on her and Charley.”

“That would be good.”
Don't let the door hit you on the way
out.

I run into the bathroom and slam the door, banging my head against the back of it.
That was so humiliating.
“Okay, you know, Lord, I'm good with the fact that I am not a prom queen. I'm okay with the fact that I never even got asked to the prom. I'm even okay with the fact that I'm still dateless after being asked out twice this week. But must You bring me face-to-face with each of my latest mistakes continuously?”
Maybe that's the point. Maybe I need to learn from these mistakes
before I can move on and not have to face them again.
I slide down the door to the bathroom floor and find a lone can of Lysol disinfectant. I spray at will, and soon the manufactured scent of apples washes over me and my new Juicy sweatsuit. Life is good when it's freshly disinfected.

chapter 25

M
en come in threes. Like bad luck. God never sends a man with a big red arrow pointing down on him, as if to say, “This is him. He's the one.” No, instead, you get mass confusion, where it's raining men in buckets, or total silence, where the dating scene is as dry as a creek bed in the Mojave. Those are the choices. Feast or famine.

Which I could completely handle if I was having a feast, but all I have is three men who have filled me with deep and utter confusion. This only adds another pitiful dimension to the girl with bad hair and an unprofitable business. On the one hand, there's Stuart, who drives me crazy with his accent and the way he looks at me. Although he asked me out, he really just wants a friend.
Can't he just go to the pound, like Nate
did?

On the other hand, there's Nate, whom I never would have looked at twice until he kissed me like Bond. James Bond. The result of which is that he now cannot stand to be alone in my presence for longer than ten minutes.

And on the third hand (yes, the
third
hand; see the problem?), there's Max. This ridiculous hotel heir, TV reporter who lives in the Marina on his parents' money, watches television like it's a sport, and flirts like the high school jock who never grew up. And, I have to admit, was there for me when I needed someone—and who looks like a balding Tim McGraw. So I have to ask: which is worse—feast or famine? Or more appropriately feast that still feels like a famine?

It's Saturday morning, and I'm feeling like I wish I was in Napa with the Spa Girls, but I am so grateful that I have gowns for an actual collection that I could jump up and down. I call Morgan on her cell, anxious to tell her about my mother, and how anticlimactic it really was.
I waited my whole
life for that?

“Hey, Lilly, it's Poppy. Morgan went for a run.”

“Of course she did. Why didn't you go with her?”

“I'm having a sloth day. I already watched
Pirates of the
Caribbean
.”

“That's my girl!”

“Well, what was she like?”

“Blond, buxom, and bored.”

“With life, or what?”

“With me, I think. She didn't give me more than a passing glance. There was no ‘I carried you in my womb for nine months' emotion or anything.”

“Were you expecting that?”

“I was a little hopeful, I guess. I thought maybe I'd endured all those years of ridicule because…ah, I don't know. I thought I'd find some answers, but I'm just as ignorant today as I was yesterday. Oh wait, that's not true. Now I have a definite beef with God about my hair.”

Poppy laughs, and I have so much more I want to tell her. I want to ask her about Stuart and Nate and even Max. But there isn't time. There's an anxious Sara Lang at the start of my week, and I don't want to keep her waiting.

“They called from downstairs. Your fabric is cleaned. It actually looks pretty good. We're bringing it home. Oh, and Morgan is over most of her crying jags. Just a few sniffles once in a while.”

“Great news on both fronts. I know just what I'm going to do with that fabric now. See ya soon.” We hang up, and I look at my fabulously clean apartment, and all the beautiful creations surrounding it. This is how I imagined my future. Only, now it's here!

I start fingering the gowns that Kim and crew made from my designs, and I have to say, I didn't know she had it in her to do such careful work. The stitching is impeccable, and it truly looks like a labor of love. It makes me feel like I'm actually in business.

“Do you like them? Are they as good as you imagined?” Kim comes out from behind her screen.

“They're perfect, Kim. I don't know what to say.”

“I know you told me not to touch anything, but I knew there was no way you could have done these gowns by yourself, and Sara would have had your head. I knew we could do it, and I wanted you to come home to something tangible. You've been so worried about money, and I was afraid you might go back into the money business. I couldn't bear it.”

I look her in the eye. Somehow I have a hard time with the concept that Kim is suddenly so worried about my going back into finance. It was a guilt offering, and I know this, but I'm cool with the charade. It makes us both happy.

I hold up a pale green chiffon gown, with a small cashmere half-sweater to match. “I imagined it looking just like this, but there's something so strange about holding something you created. Not for Sara Lang, but for a customer I don't even know yet. She could be out there ready to buy, needing the perfect gown for the Oscars or the Grammies, and I have it right here.” I look around my loft. “Right here, in this scummy apartment.”