The Claiming of Sadie Graves (4 page)

We wander back into the office, and
I give the check to Natalia, whose eyes involuntarily tear up. I know they need the business. And I, for one, am delighted to give it to them. The price is fair, and the fabric is a dream. I shake hands with Sal and hug Natalia, and we talk and play with the baby for a while. He’s getting to that crazy cute stage, and he’s so funny.  Sal looks relaxed and comfortable with his life. I envy them, and I say so. But of course they tut-tut me and ask me what I’m doing tonight.

“I’m ha
ving dinner with Emma and Teddy on Thursday!” I exclaim. “They invited me to some trendy place; but I care more about seeing them than the food. Do you want me to say anything to them for you?”

Sal belly laughs.
“You tell Teddy it’s time he played racquetball with me again; I totally enjoyed kicking his ass three weeks ago!” I laugh, and promise to pass on the message. Natalia follows me to the door, and sweetly whispers – “We needed that, Sadie. Will you tell other houses that we’re looking for business? I don’t want to beg…but…” 

“Oh, Natalia, you know I will. In fact, I have someone I want to introduce to you and Sal. She works for Chanel, and I met her at a trade luncheon a few weeks ago. 
Her name’s Susan Aaronson. She manages a lot of their couture, and ready-to-wear suits. I think you guys might be a good fit, and I know having a supplier she can trust would be appealing.”  Natalia nods, and clasps my hand before I leave. “Sal and I are so lucky to have you as a friend. Thank you, Sadie. I hope Anna will be pleased.”

Ooh. Anna.
I need to call her, so I pause on the way to the subway and lean against a building, out of the December breeze. I pull out my smartphone and locate her cell in my contacts. I push the dial button, and wait for a connection. After four or five rings, she answers. I can tell she’s relieved to hear from me. “How did it go?” she rasps, the beginning of her annual winter cold apparent.

“Anna, I could kick myself right now. We should have been buying our suiting – hell- probably everything in our whole ready-to-wear line – from Sal from the beginning. He met the price we got from China, and the material looks and feels so much better. You’re going to freak when you see how wonderful it is. I know you had your heart set on that Chinese stuff, but we’re going to look better, fit better
and have built-in profit after all
with what he already has in stock. He suggested we tout “American Made” in our advertising, and I know he’s probably right. I just need to get everything to the sewing team no later than Tuesday of next week, and we’re good to go. Can we refuse the Chinese shipment now, and just move on?”

Anna sighs, and for just a moment I know she closes her eyes. “Sadie, you really saved the day on this one. Yes, we’ll kill the Chinese deal.
And of course, we can move forward with Salvatore – you know I like and trust him – I just had no idea he would meet those prices. This is a huge win for us today.  I’m so pleased with how it turned out, and extra pleased that you have such a good connection. Thank you.”

Praise from Anna Rosenstein is better than any other thing in my life. I love this smart and
lively woman. I literally bask in her approval, and she closes with one last sentence. “Sadie, one last thing. That Lucas Sutton? Who was in the atelier today? He asked me for your cell phone number.”

A small huff of air leaves my lips. I feel bewildered, completely out of sorts.

“Violet Emery’s boyfriend? Anna, why would he want my number? And,
did you give
it to him? Surely not?” My lips feel dry, and my heart starts beating like I’ve just run three miles.

“Sadie, I think Violet overstated their relationship. He pulled me aside and asked me very pointedly if I would b
e willing to share your number. I don’t like to withhold information from clients, or their associates, and I think he might benefit the company. So, I did give it to him. Is that a problem?”

“Um, no, Anna.
She said something derogatory toward me when they were headed back into the couture bay, and I think it embarrassed him. I’m sure he just wants to distance himself from what she said; that’s all.” Anna is silent for a few seconds. I can tell she is processing this information. “What did she say? I’d like to know. Verbatim, please.”

Ugh. Sharing this makes me want to sink into the pavement.
  My voice gets small. “She said that Mr. Sutton has a dog named Sadie, and it made her laugh. She apparently thinks we look alike. ”

Anna is quiet for
a long pause, and then she speaks. “I don’t think Mr. Sutton was embarrassed by Miss Emery, Sadie. I think he wants to replace her!” She laughs now, and tells me she must go; family obligations are pressing. I smile at her tone, and we hang up after a quick goodbye.

I’m satisfied now. The House of Rosenstein is back on track; its spring ready-to-wear collection secured. Sal and Natalia have more business prospects. Anna will be featured on the cover of a major magazine. Lottie got to spend this afternoon with her mother. Jenny will be back on Thursday, and I have Emma and Teddy’s dinner to look forward to. It’s all good.

But the fact that Lucas Sutton has my private cell number?
That’s a little disconcerting.

“
You’re Getting to Be a Habit With Me”

Diana Krall,
Love Scenes

Work on Wednesday is daunting. I have meetings with the lingerie
fabric reps, who seem pretty excited about the way the line is going. There’s a problem with one item; the snaps on a teddy are too stiff, and can’t be undone. Customers are complaining.

I have to laugh a little on this one. But we soldier on, trying to find a snap that will be ideal for both our wearer and her victim. By lunch, we have a winner. I trudge a few blocks over to
Ess-a Bagel for a curried chicken salad bagel (with tomato), and chips.
Lord. I love New York!
I’m coming back to Anna’s studio when I see Lucas Sutton ahead of me, entering the front door. It’s close to one in the afternoon. He has on black pants and a deep blue woven shirt. His back is unmistakable. I wonder what he’s doing at the atelier again,
and where is his coat?
But I keep moving until I’m inside. I resolve to go directly to my office and avoid him, at all costs.

I move
down the main hall and to my office and close the door, but not before I notice the huge arrangement on my desk. Every white flower is represented – roses, daisies, lilies, hollyhocks, even orchids. Sprays of greenery spew out both sides of the vase. It’s gorgeous, and must have cost a fortune. A sound escapes my throat. No one sends me flowers. Ever. 

I approach my desk gingerly and open the
attached card, which is wired to a stick inserted in the flowers. The seal is glued shut, so I have to pry the paper apart to read the message. The card inside says:

HELLO, BEAUTIFUL SADIE.

YOU REMIND ME OF A WHITE FLOWER.

THINKING OF YOU, NOW, ALWAYS.
          LUCAS

Oh shit.
Thinking of me how?

He’s inside the building.
I feel disembodied, almost. I’m flushed with embarrassment. I’m confused, incredulous. But mostly, I’m doubtful.
This has got to be another joke.
Ugh. I wonder if I’ll be able to keep my bagel down.

 
There’s a small sound at my door, and a knock. I panic. There’s a back door that leads to a storage closet behind my office; it’s shared by several workplaces on this floor. I duck into it, leaving my space unattended. I hold my breath, and scoot into the hallway. I hear someone enter my room. “Sadie?” It’s Lucas. I recognize his voice. He sounds hesitant; unsure.

I don’t answer.

He stays there for several minutes. I can hear him pick up the card I’ve opened. He knows I’ve seen it. He walks around in the space, looking at whatever’s tacked on the walls and left on my desktop. I hear him on the far side of the room, where my family photos are, and pictures of dear friends. He exclaims over something. I finally hear him mutter and walk out, hesitating when he passes the flowers.

His footfalls echo
until they reach the front door and a bell tinkles when he exits.

I sag against the storage room wall, breathing softly. I’m not sure, suddenly, why I’m hiding. I just know that Lucas Sutton is too much for me. He’ll blow me over.
He’ll make fun of me, most likely to some model or other fashion designer. And that’s just for starters.

I can’t face that. The best thing to do is
just to ignore this nonsense.

But, the flowers?
They’re lovely. Really lovely.

I smile when I look at them, and take them out into the atelier for everyone to enjoy. I hide the card in my
handbag. It’s my secret; no one has to know.

Walking back in my office, I go over to the wall where my photos are hanging. There’s a picture of me and my dad at
the beach, jumping in the surf at sunset. There’s Teddy and Emma and me, hugging en masse at their wedding. There’s Jenny and me at Bleeker Street Pizza, and Anna is with us, waving a piece of pie and a domestic beer. I laugh when I look at it. There’s a picture of me with all the dishwashers at my dad’s diner. One of me with Emma’s brother, Jason, who let me use him as a model for several school projects. He was a peach.  And one of me by myself, holding my graduation certificate from design school. I’m beaming.  

I look at these short stories of my life and I’m filled with calm. This is who I am. I can’t get away from it.

Anna comes in later in the afternoon to talk about the ready-to-wear line. She’s been by Sal’s warehouse and seen the material I chose on her behalf. Like me, she’s impressed.

“Sadie, I want you to see if Salvatore can help us prep the next series of designs by providing fabric samples.  I want the exclusive on his best materials, but he clearly needs help moving his inventory. Let’s help him by calling a few other houses. I think
it’s good business to spread his name around.”

I smile. “Yes, Anna. I’m glad he’s proved valuable. I was thinking about calling that lady at Chanel? Who else did you have in mind?” She wracks her brain for a few minutes and then pulls out a battered paper rolodex. Anna has never embraced technology. I grin at her, and offer to move all her contacts to her email software. She laughs, and agrees that might be a good idea.

We go back to the kitchen, get a cup of tea, and plot who would benefit most from an introduction to Salvatore Fekkai…and who isn’t yet worthy of one. I import Anna’s contacts into Outlook, to her glee. We laugh, and the afternoon whiles away into evening.

On my way back to Queens, I get a text on my cell phone.

SADIE, DID YOU GET THE FLOWERS? I CAME BY YOUR OFFICE TO SEE YOU. SORRY I MISSED YOU.   LUCAS

I sit quietly on the subway, wondering what to say in response. M
y father taught me to have manners. And so, I reply.

LUCAS, THE FLOWERS WERE BEAUTIFUL. THANK YOU. BUT IF I’M N
OT MISTAKEN, YOU ARE ALREADY IN A RELATIONSHIP. PLEASE, DON’T CONTINUE TO CONTACT ME.   SADIE

I hit “send”, and put the phone away. Feeling desired was really nice, if only for a moment.
Hell, even if it
was
a joke.

I g
o back to my apartment, eat a plate of leftover spaghetti that I made on Sunday, and wind down the day getting ready for bed. I check my messages one last time before I turn in, thinking I’ll hear from either Jenny or Emma. Instead, there’s a parting shot from the Greek God.

SADIE, I’M NOT IN A RELATIONSHIP RIGHT NOW. BUT SEEING YOU ON YOUR KNEES MADE ME WANT TO BE IN ONE. I’D LIKE TO TAKE YOU OUT TOMORROW.
SAY YES.               LUCAS

I look at the screen for a long time, but I don’t respond.
Sexual innuendo. That’s new to me.
Probably his idea of being funny. I think about the last time I was on my knees in front of a man, and I fall into a fitful sleep.

I don’t dream about Lucas Sutton.
I wish I did. But I do dream.

“Secrets and Lies”

Johnatha
Brooke, Ten Cent Wings

I spend most of
my workday on Thursday waiting on customers. The Christmas rush is on, and there are shoppers all over the place. Most of them are coming in because of the write-ups we’ve received on the lingerie line.

A little after three, an extremely handsome man comes through the door, and makes his way confidently toward me. H
e’s blonde, and probably between twenty-eight and thirty. His clothes are effortlessly worn, like a model. He looks at everything we have on offer, and then sidles toward me. “You’re Sadie Graves, are you not?” has asks, with a decidedly arch tone in his voice. “I am”, I reply. I smile. “And you are…?”

He smiles. “I’m Peter Emery. My sister is modeling your boss’ work in the next Cosmo magazine. Don’t say anything – I know you’v
e already met. Ugh. Sorry.” He grimaces comically, then laughs.

That makes me laugh, too. “So I see you’ve heard about me!” I make a sound like a bark, wondering if he’ll get it. He literally roars with laughter. 
“Oh, my God. You have a sublime sense of humor, Sadie. You’ve literally made my day.” He calms his laughter and asks me quietly, “Could we speak alone; with no interruptions?” I acquiesce, and take him in the direction of my private office.