The Claiming of Sadie Graves (5 page)

We enter my doors, and the afternoon light is soft. I stop to light two little candles, to give the room heat (something it’s lacking) and some ambiance. Peter sits down in front of my desk
, in a knockoff Eames plywood chair. He looks pensive.

“Tell me, Mr. Emery, what brings you here?” I ask seriously.

He looks at me, lovely in the soft light. “I have a proposition for you. I know a certain group of people who are looking for highly specialized lingerie designs. They don’t want to be singled out or known, But they want certain…um…features that they will pay highly for.”

“Features like…?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Um. Features like completely bound arms, for example. Or sheer items with open crotches or breast areas. I could get you a list…” he trails off. I’m not sure if I want to take him seriously. But I press forward. “Are you saying you’d deliver measurements for custom lingerie? Or you’d like us to create a line of fetish items? I just want to be sure I understand.”

He pauses, embarrassed. I don’t think I’m handling this well. But he gets right back on track.

“Sadie, there’s a whole segment of the New York population that engages in fetish and bondage play. And domination, of course. I don’t expect you to know a lot about it, but I think if you had a privately accessible line of lingerie to accommodate their needs, you’d go far.”  

“D
o you know much about the potential market?” I ask, really trying to gauge his seriousness.  I try to not seem over-curious. But I’m intrigued,
and a little turned on
. Damn. I scare myself.

“More than I should, Miss Graves”, he laughs. I infer right away that he’s up to his balls in the group, and that he’s their spokesman. I wonder if Violet, or anyone else I’ve met, is part of it.
What about Lucas? Is he a sexual freak, too? Does he sense my past, just from a random meeting? Does he know I’m damaged goods? Has he been tying Violet up, and fucking her?
Jesus. There are too many weird questions.

I try to keep my face neutral.

“I appreciate your coming here, Peter. If you’ll give me a concrete list of ‘wants’, I could design a small line for your friends. They will have to give me true measurements, place their orders and pay prior to anything being sewn. I hope you understand? These designs will be too specialized to be sold to the general public.”

He sig
hs heavily, relieved. “Sadie, they’ll be thrilled. Would you consider meeting some of them for dinner one night? So everyone can chime in on their wish lists? I know they’re an unconventional bunch, but you’ll be a celebrity to them.” He smiles, handsome to the core. 

“I would. But can I ask you one question first, Peter?” I tilt my head to one side. He nods. “How did you know to approach me, and not Anna?” I wait silently for his response.

“Oh, that’s easy, Sadie. Lucas Sutton told me about your line. I Googled it right away, and then sent links to several associates. Collectively, they asked me to approach you.”

So, Lucas didn’t ask you to come here?” I ask softly.

“No”, he replies with gravity. “But he does know about our group, and has ties to it. Our network includes many powerful people. Lucas and I have been friends our entire lives. He does manage Violet, of course, but more as a favor to our family than any other reason. I know she’s got her cap set for him, but Lucas has never felt that way about her. He’s a good friend, Sadie. A
great
friend. He is so impressed with your work. The laces, the trimmings – everything is literally perfect.”

“Okay, thanks for explaining. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but this group is not something I’m interested in joining. I want you to understand that from the get-go. Are we clear?”

He nods. “I understand, Sadie. It’s not for everybody. But you’re going to meet these people in other venues. Selling them something this personal is going to guarantee your future financial success. And your lingerie…” He trails off. I take it that he likes the designs. He must, to have such a potentially embarrassing conversation.

“I guess you think I can satisfy their demands
? Okay, Peter. Let’s do dinner on Monday of next week, if you can work it out with your friends? I’ll bring sketch pads and they should bring ideas. I can help them learn to take their own measurements, accurately. ”

He agrees, takes one of my cards, and shakes my hand with
an almost religious fervor. I give him my cell phone number as an aside. We decide to set the venue on the day of the dinner, and he moves to leave.

Before Peter walks out, his cell phone rings. He checks it, mouths, “Violet”, and smiles ruefully as he exits the building. I can hear her harridan-like voice emanate from his cell. She’s loud.
Really loud.

Ugh. How can a brother and sister be so different?
I marvel at how he got involved in bondage and domination. I want to know little to nothing about that. And who knows, maybe she’s part of that ‘powerful crowd’ too. I always thought that women have no power at all in those situations. That’s certainly my experience. But I know so little, I decide to reserve judgment.

I don’t hear from Lucas at all, which I consider strange. He did ask to take me out tonight.

I take this as a sign that he was only joking, and carry on.

“Miss Independent”

Kelly Clarkson,
Breakaway

Thursday
night arrives. Going to have dinner with my friends is a pleasant diversion. We’re meeting at Beauty and Essex on the lower East Side. I take the subway to East Houston, and walk the rest of the way. In addition to my wrap, I have a small bag of clothes to change into along the way. I dip into a public restroom and emerge in a black pencil skirt, black opaque tights and a turquoise angora wrap sweater. Suede peep-toe booties adorn my feet. They’re comfortable, which has become more important than image, these days. I let my hair down, feeling my scalp relax from the pull of a day-long updo.  It settles around my shoulders, still curly but not wild or out of control. I brush my teeth in the sink, slick on a little lip gloss, and pronounce myself ‘as good as it gets.’

By the time
I arrive at the restaurant there’s a long line. There are models waiting with super-handsome guys, and businessmen and their dates queued up for tables. The two hostesses are trying to make everyone feel important, without being overtly preferential. Everyone is dressed to the nines, and it’s barely six in the evening. Music leaks out of the doors, enticing everyone to inch forward. Because of the strict no-reservations policy, customers are milking their contacts like crazy for the chance to be seated first. I tell the hostess Emma’s last name, and the seas part for me like a biblical passage. I should have known they would.

Leave it to Emma
to be connected. When we were design school roommates, the paparazzi would go through our trash and post hilarious stories (mostly untrue) about our exploits. Emma took every opportunity to create a space where her celebrity would not affect me, but she couldn’t protect me from the daily hazards of her own life – reporters, rumors, famous connections, unreasonable expectations – you name it. Emma’s dad is the lead singer of an iconic rock band. He and her mom have long since split, but her dad is still in the spotlight and it spills over, uncomfortably, to her as well.  Before she met Teddy, I wondered who could possibly withstand the scrutiny of living with her, but Teddy turned out to be a perfect match. He’s a release valve for tension, and so precious.

I round the corner and see him first.
Teddy’s blonde, bearded and a little chubby, and the nicest person I’ve ever known. He met Emma at a fundraiser and pursued her with a determination that defied logic. Her long legs, dark hair and black eyes captivated him. Within weeks, they announced their engagement and were planning a wedding. The Thomas clan wasn’t so sure they wanted a rock goddess in their midst. The family specializes in imported diamonds and they were honestly worried that their reputation would be tarnished with Emma’s addition. But time (and Teddy’s protestations of undying love) secured her position in the family. They’ve been married for two years now, and I’m inspired how well they’ve meshed celebrity and their own deep affection. I admire their courage.

I follow the hostess dutifully, mesmerized at the beauty of the restaurant. It’s all cozy booths and air-kissing socialites. I revel in my good fortune to be invited to such a gorgeous place.
As I approach the table, I watch them together – so matched and loving. Teddy’s arm is around Emma as they sit, waiting for me. Her whole body leans toward him, in silent deference to his wishes. His face is turned toward hers. He’s looking into her eyes, asking for her opinion about something they’re discussing. Both of them nurse martinis. They don’t look up as I approach, and I’m grateful for the chance to look at them unobserved. They look happy; truly comfortable with each other. But mostly, they look attached. Without taking anything away from them, I’m reminded of my own solitude – of how lonely and bare New York can make a person feel. Can make
me
feel. Sure, I have work and my friends; even a good roommate. But love has eluded me, and I see it in them.

You can’t have love if you’re celiba
te, Sadie. Don’t you know that? Damn, sister! You’ve never even kissed a guy.
I try not to listen to my inner voice.
She’s so…honest. Crappy. But, honest.

The hostess draws me to the table, and I plunk myself down across fr
om them in the curved banquette. It’s delightful to see their happy reaction. “Sadie!” Emma cries, halfway jumping out of her chair. She looks lovely in a golden sheath dress, chunky metallic jewelry and tall, spike-heeled natural colored boots. Her hair hangs to her lower back, tucked sweetly behind each ear. Her face is perfectly made-up, and it’s beaming.

“Where in the hell have you been?” Teddy exclaims, looking slightly irritable. He knows that Emma is her most calm and amenable when we’re
together. We haven’t seen each other in weeks because of the aftermath of Fashion Week. That single week in September has kept me under lock and key at work; the busyness has lasted months. Look, here it is – weeks from Christmas – and I’ve been completely overwhelmed with fittings and couture meetings. I realize I’ve put Emma off at least four times, unable to break away from the pressure of orders and alterations. She chimes in immediately. “Now Teddy, you give Sadie a break. She’s been working like a mad thing. We’re together now, so let’s kick back and enjoy tonight.”

I revel in her easy generosity. Just being with my two friends puts me in the happiest of moods. We all relax, peruse the menu, and order an embarrassing number of small plates. Teddy asks the waitress to bring me a glass of Syrah. I feel the stress of long weeks slipping away, and I’m so happy to be in their company. Emma leans forward and clasps her hand around my wrist, after we’ve eaten the first course and Teddy has wandered to the bar for a moment. “Have you met anyone?” she asks expectantly
, her mouth curved into a smile. “Ugh! Emma, you know I haven’t. The last thing on my mind is meeting a man. We both agreed work came first. What gives?”  “Nothing”, she says softly. “I just want you to be as happy as I am with Teddy.” I relax, and try to lower my shoulders. “I know, Em. But meeting your soul mate takes time, right? I just… need time.” My mind wanders, unbidden, to Lucas Sutton. No one has come that close to kissing me in years. I haven’t let myself even consider a romantic relationship, so determined to make it here in New York that I haven’t thought of anything else.
What in the hell was that all about? Is it even possible that he wasn’t making a joke at my expense?

I just don’t see how it could be. Jesus. I n
eed to stop thinking about that, *right now*.

I watch my two gifted, self-assured friends enjoy the rest of their dinner, and I’m proud and happy for how everything turned out for them. I’m out of my element, but blissful after two (or is it three?) glasses of excellent wine. Not having to worry about the tab is a luxury I’m
unused to, but I’m grateful in spades.

And that’s when something in my peripheral makes me swing my head to the right. I
suck in a long breath, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

The hostess approaches the table
next to Teddy, Emma and me, bringing a couple to be seated. I can’t believe it. It’s Lucas Sutton, and another blonde - obviously not Violet. I’m reminded of her certainty when she introduced him; she seemed convinced he was hers.
Which one of them is unclear about the seriousness of their relationship?
I turn my body away from them as quickly as I can, hoping they will be too busy to look anywhere but at each other. Lucas is in mid-conversation with his date, which makes me think his interest in her is solid.

They
both survey the booth and move to claim a spot. He’s wearing jeans and a grey woven shirt, and some kind of slip-on shoes. His date is willowy and gorgeous in a cream sweater dress, black leggings and stiletto heels. I move to angle my face away from them. Hopefully, since my hair is down, he can’t see that I’m nearby. I exhale, knowing he won’t see me.

Sure. The same guy who told me he wanted to take me out tonight. I didn't respond, and he’s now out with the cover of next years’ Sports Illustrated bikini issue. I realize, sickeningly, that not responding was the greatest thing I’ve ever done. I give myself a mental high-five.