Beautiful People - Chapter 33: Chapter 33

A few weeks later, Vera was outside her studio, shifting an armful of overloaded shopping bags to reach for her keys. A ripple of eyelet lace popped out of the top bag to flutter in her face. She blew it away, but the stubborn wind butted it right back into her eyes.
Muttering to herself, she fumbled at the lock until the door sprang open. She toed blindly inside, bags tottering in her arms, and bumped into the worktable, where she let it all tumble, buttons, trims, and yards of colorful fabric spilling out over the worn wood. With a sigh of relief, she stretched her arms over her head.
The studio's bare brick walls stared at her. All the framed photos of Bea's clients that used to hang there leaned now against the left wall, beside Bea's desk and chair. Marina's former stylist had been by earlier in the week to pack up her things, and later today she'd be coming with a van to move the straggling bits to her new writing space, an office in her house. She hadn't asked too many questions about how things were going with Marina, thank goodness. Since her twins had arrived in August she'd had time for little else.
Contemplating the long, narrow room lit softly by the dusty skylights, Vera ran her freshly manicured nails over her chin. The studio was all hers now. She'd told Bea she wanted to keep it because the long-term lease was stupid cheap, but she wasn't going to need this much space all to herself. It looked so big without all the seating and changing space for clients, let alone Bea's office that had lived at the back.
She shook her head. That was a problem for another time. First up, she had shopping to organize.
A haul from the sewing wholesaler always felt like Christmas morning. Fabrics she organized by color, spools of thread went into their little cabinet, interfacing and fasteners and trims each found their respective homes. Finally, the special item she'd gone all the way across town to pick up she now folded carefully into a big fancy box that she tied shut with a pink ribbon.
Another, similar box waited on the lower shelf of the workbench for the most important project of all, the one that was still an orderly heap of yellow fabric and half a shape pinned to her dressform.
Choosing two swathes of this sunshine yellow silk organza, Vera laid them out on the cleared table and grabbed her crocheted-pig pincushion.
The light overhead wore from the muted glow of morning into the blaze of afternoon as Vera worked. Scissors snipped, sewing machine clattered, and the disparate pieces slowly became one, all softness and femininity in its flowing length.
It felt so good to work on her own designs again. She had enjoyed styling other people's pieces, and as she'd sketched these new looks it had been obvious how developing a stylist's eye had changed the way she saw fashion. Still, there was nothing more satisfying than shaping a vision in her mind and then crafting it into being.
Bringing this particular piece to life felt like a revelation. The first shape of it had breathed in her sketchbook months ago, when she'd first moved in with Sharise, but the final version was more beautiful than she'd imagined it could be. With each stitch, she'd thought about Sharise asking her on their first date, her palms skimming nervously over her hips; every seam contained their first kiss on the rooftop under LA's rosy night sky; between one dart and the next dreamed that last sweet moment in Venice between the mountains of pillows. It was the most heartfelt piece she'd ever designed.
Not that she'd ever admit to Ivy that her wedding dress wasn't the pinnacle of her career.
Over her brief lunch break, she thumbed through the coverage from Paris Fashion Week for the hundredth time. Sharise had been there, front row at Fatima Bhatia's show next to a famous French DJ who looked rather taken with her. In the photos she seemed to be having a great time, which made Vera happy in a melancholy way. She was glad that Sharise was using their break to explore what was next for her, too.
She hadn't written any posts about Fashion Week. She was officially on a social media hiatus as she reevaluated her career goals and how her use of social media fit into them. It was an unexpected relief to be able to focus on her life without also thinking at every moment about how to document it to promote herself.
After lunch she tackled the final, finishing touches of the piece: trimming loose threads, handsewing buttons, making sure every piece had actually been attached and wasn't just going to flop to the floor when the garment was put on.
She was just pressing the last seam when a knock at the studio door startled her. The iron let out a hiss of steam as she turned it upright. Before she could move to answer the door, though, Jay strolled in.
"Look at that. You really are working. I'm amazed."
"Oh, shut up," Vera said with a laugh.
"I can't believe I've never actually seen the studio before." He spun around, drinking in the vibes. "This place would make such a cute salon."
She unplugged the iron. Picking up the garment she'd created, she shook it out, then took it to the workbench and began to fold it very gently. "Isn't Bea with you?"
"She's got two babies in that van and I've seen harnesses less complicated than those car seats. I wouldn't even know where to start helping. Is your masterpiece done?" Sinking hands into the pockets of his striped green pants, he eyed the scattered scraps of fabric and rogue pins lying everywhere.
Vera grinned. "It's done. And! I have some good news."
He wrinkled his nose. "Good for me or you?"
"Both. I'll be off your couch next week."
Jay's jaw dropped. "You found an apartment?"
She spread her hands by her hips and dipped her knees in a little curtsy. "I'm a miracle worker."
"Oh my god." He pretended to swoon. "I can go on dates again. Just in time for cuffing season." Propping his elbows on the worktable, he tilted his head thoughtfully. "What about Sharise?"
"That situation was supposed to be temporary. I promised her I'd find my own place. So, now I have." She lined the second of the huge boxes with a soft white muslin, then laid the completed piece carefully into it. "If- No, when we move in together again, it won't be because I can't find anywhere else. It will be intentional."
"How romantic."
Vera threw her pincushion at him. She missed. He didn't even bother trying to dodge.
"Alright, drop what you're doing." A double-wide stroller preceded Bea into the studio. Two squashy brown babies blinked out from under chic printed cotton sun hats. "The infants have arrived and demand adoration."
Normally Vera wasn't fascinated by babies, but today she found herself wondering if Ivy's child would have such cute chubby cheeks and curious eyes. Stretching out a cautious finger to touch one tiny fingernail, she giggled when itty-bitty fingers curled tight around hers with surprising strength.
"Are they identical?" she asked, studying each tiny wrinkled face in turn.
"Even I can't tell them apart yet. We're color-coding until I figure it out." Bea laughed.
While Jay helped Bea load her things into the van, Vera kept the twins occupied by making funny faces and singing silly songs. Her repertoire of children's songs was lacking, she realized. Was knowing all the words to Baby Shark a prerequisite to being an aunt? Maybe she should brush up. Surely it wasn't just do-do-do-do all the way through.
When the last picture frame was loaded, Bea slammed the van doors. Pressing her fists into her spine, she let out a groan of relief. "Thanks for the help." She nodded at the sewing detritus that still littered the workspace. "Making something new? Are you showing at the charity fundraiser?"
"The what?"
"You haven't heard?" Bea ran a palm over her short tight curls. "Marina and Carmen have partnered with Fatima Bhatia to host a fundraiser for their period products charity."
Vera blinked. Marina and Carmen... and the charity that had spawned the Red Carpet Incident and caused so much drama for them? "How is Fatima Bhatia involved?"
"It's a fashion show. A showcase of local amateur designers. I thought you'd be part of it for sure, since you already work with the organizers."
Vera's face heated. Before Venice she would have expected an invitation to such an event, but the fact she knew nothing about it was confirmation Carmen hadn't been exaggerating when she said she never wanted to see her again. Or maybe just that she hadn't been spending every free minute online in the last few weeks. "Well, you know. I'm not really local. So I might not fit their profile."
Jay pulled at his bottom lip, probably to avoid laughing.
"Maybe that's it," Bea said doubtfully, giving Vera a sideways look. "Anyway, I should head out. I'll see you around."
They helped her load the kids back into the car seats. As Vera puzzled over which buckle plugged in where, Jay said, "Are you sure you don't need help unloading on the other end?"
Bea waved this away. "Oh, no, we're good. We're heading to a caregiver-and-me class now. My partner will get it when we're home."
They wished her luck, and she climbed into the driver's seat. The van engine coughed before spluttering into life, and when she had pulled away Jay and Vera went back into the studio.
Jay gave her a look. "You hadn't heard about the fundraiser, huh. I guess you really are on the shit list."
"Of course I am." Vera sighed and grabbed a hand brush to sweep her workspace clean of debris.
"You're not gonna let that stop you from getting in to that fashion show, are you?"
"Jay," she said wearily.
"Girl. Did you miss the part where Fatima Bhatia is running this show?"
"Did you miss the part where Carmen and Marina are, too?" Vera shook her head. "Look, Jay, six months ago the chance to show my work at this fundraiser would've basically given me an orgasm. But the me of six months ago is the same me who fucked everything up. I've got a plan to fix everything, and some kind of-" She waved her arms vaguely, bits of lint flying from the bristles of the brush. "-exclusive fashion show isn't part of it."
He pressed his lips into a flat line. "If showing off your design chops in front of your idol isn't part of the plan, what is?"
"Fatima Bhatia told me that I need to learn more about the basics. And she's right. Designing a dress isn't the same as running a fashion house. So I'm gonna try to get an internship."
"You want to be an intern?" Jay said incredulously.
"Do you think I can't do it?"
"I honestly cannot picture you getting coffee and being polite to senior designers when they have stupid ideas. Besides," he said, slowly, like he was explaining things to Bea's eight-week-old babies, "if you want an internship, this fashion show is basically a job application."
Huffing out a frustrated breath, Vera threw up her hands. "You're right. Okay? I know you're right. But I wasn't invited, and that's because the organizers don't trust me. I let them down. I need to fix that before I ask for more favors." She forced her tense shoulders to lower.
Draping himself backwards over the chair at the sewing machine, Jay grabbed a pin off the table and began to use it like a toothpick. He grinned over the spark of metal. "Relax, babe. Y'all still have like a quarter-million followers. You'll be fine. If you think you need an internship, get an internship."
Crossing her arms, Vera tapped her heel rapidly against the floor. "Can I ask you to do something for me?"
He arched one eyebrow, the one he'd shaved into gradually narrowing stripes. The pin poked cringingly close to his gumline. "Thought you weren't asking for more favors."
His tone was light, not annoyed, and Vera laughed. "Jay, have I told you how much I appreciate you? You were my first real friend here in LA. I wouldn't have got as far as I did without you."
"That's the truth."
"I just need you to try something on. I snuck into your closet, but your clothes are a mess and I had to guess at your measurements."
"You snuck into my closet?" He held a palm to his chest, looking deeply offended.
Vera reached under the table for the folded pieces of fabric still full of pins. "I was thinking about what you said about finding pants that fit, and what I didn't learn in school about designing for different body shapes... Anyway, I've been working on something for you."
He leaned forward at the sight of the long, high-collared jacket in a rich orange brocade fabric. "Are you making me a Vera Kwan special? Why didn't you just say so?"
Rolling her eyes, she pushed it into his hands. "Put it on so I can fix it. Watch the pins."
The jacket came with tapered cream-coloured pants, and he carefully stepped into both. She'd spent a few late nights working out how to craft both masculine lines and a perfect fit for Jay's wider hips, and while she was pleased with the results, seeing it on him immediately revealed where it needed adjustment.
As Vera folded up hems and marked adjustments to seams with tailor's chalk, they mused on what the joint effort on the fundraiser could mean for Carmen and Marina's status as friends or more. She talked about her new career direction, and Jay caught her up on the happenings of the clients they used to share. When her work was done and he had changed back into his own clothes, he headed out to meet a client. Before he left, though, he pulled her into a quick, one-armed hug.
"I can't wait to see what you do next," he said, his voice a little gruff. Then he left Vera alone in her quiet, too-big studio.
Digging up a pen and some fancy cardstock she'd found discounted on her shopping trip, she angled her desk lamp at the heavy, creamy paper. In a careful hand, she wrote out a set of instructions on how to care for a handmade silk organza garment. She tucked the card into the box with the yellow ensemble and settled the lid.
Hesitating, she frowned, then lifted the lid off again. She re-read the terse care instructions and fingered the sunshine-soft fabric. It would be weird to receive such a gift without an explanation. She sat down again with a second piece of cardstock.
Dear Sharise, she wrote.
Her pen hovered over the paper. She let out a soft breath and raised her eyes to look out over the silent studio. How could she say in words what had already been said by the piece itself? Finally, she set the pen down again.
A gift for a night when the stars are trapped beneath your skin.
With all my love,
Vera
She tucked the card into the box and tied it shut with a yellow silk ribbon. Then she called a ride and gathered up both garment boxes.
At the first stop, the elevator was broken, as usual. She took the steep stairs, yellow-ribboned box in hand. By the time she reached the sixth floor, she was winded and wishing she'd added start swimming again to her to-do list when she'd been planning out her next steps.
At the apartment door, she hesitated. Music shimmied out from behind it. A moment later, Sharise's voice tumbled into rhythm with the music as she sang along. Vera's chest squeezed.
Suddenly it felt like agony to be so close. All she had to do was knock, and then she could see that smile again, figure out if they still had a future.
But she had a plan, and the plan was to sort out the small things first. She would talk to Sharise as a woman who had her shit together, and not before.
Those small things included apologizing to clients she had walked out on. She was running late for her next appointment where she was supposed to do just that. This was not chickening out, it was a plan. So she set the box outside the door and hurried back down the stairs to her waiting car.
When they arrived at the second stop, she manhandled the pink-ribboned box out of the car and wandered around until she found the right gate.
A beefy security guard held up a hand, halting Vera in her tracks. A horrific sound emerged from her throat and she swished something around her mouth for a moment before she spat, her glob of phlegm landing exactly one inch to the left of Vera's platform boots. Then she adjusted her aviator sunglasses, lenses reflecting the light ominously. "Credentials?"
Trying not to look revolted by this display of bodily fluids, Vera managed a friendly smile. "I have a delivery for Marina Taylor." She fumbled her phone out of her pocket and showed the pass Marina's people had sent her.
The guard harrumphed, but snapped the walkie-talkie off her belt and spoke rapidly into it. A moment later, another voice crackled in the speaker, and the guard waved Vera through. "Trailers are down to the left, can't miss 'em. Stay away from the cameras."
Vera stepped past her, onto a busy film set. Everywhere she looked, crew swarmed, preparing to shoot the next scene. She dodged craft services staff manhandling trays of snacks and prop people carrying armfuls of fake weapons. Extras wearing zombie makeup wandered in every direction. A person with a gruesome face prosthetic that made their eyeball look like it was dangling from its socket stepped in front of her, and she squeaked loudly. Laughing, the actor winked their non-dangling eyeball.
She really should have insisted that this meeting be somewhere else, but Marina's filming schedule was tight, and after what she'd done in Venice, Vera had no bargaining power. She was just grateful this meeting could happen at all.
Following the guard's directions, she soon found the row of trailers she was looking for. Taped beside the door of one was a sheet of paper with "Ms. Taylor" written on it in thick black marker, the letter o drawn in the shape of a heart. The door was propped open, so Vera knocked on the wall beside it. Her heart chose that moment to shoot off like a runner leaving the starting blocks of the hundred-yard dash.
An assistant waved her in. The makeup artist was just finishing their magic - Marina looked perfectly tousled, cheeks flushed, like she had just had a romp in the sheets. In movie terms that probably meant she'd almost been eaten by zombies.
Marina spun her chair around, an inscrutable expression on her face. Then she smiled at the assistant and the makeup artist. "Can you give us a minute?"
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," Vera said, as the others slipped out the trailer door.
"My people think I'm wasting my time listening to you."
"Yeah. I get that." She swallowed hard. If she couldn't apologize to easygoing Marina, then her whole plan was going to fail. With a heavy tongue, she said, "I'm sorry for disappearing in Venice. You trusted me with your premiere, and I let you down."
"Yes." Marina adjusted her curly red wig over her shoulders. "You did."
She took a deep breath. "I fucked up. I know that I probably made a bad day more stressful than it needed to be. I can't undo that. But if you'll let me, I want to make it up to you."
When Marina just looked at her, she awkwardly held out the package with both hands, pink ribbon trailing.
"This is for you."
Marina stared at it for a moment before she accepted it. She held it in her lap without opening it.
Vera's heartbeat filled her ears, that hundred yard dash stretching into a mile. "No strings attached, I promise." She laughed too loudly and stopped quickly. She cleared her throat.
Studying her face, Marina slid a palm over the surface of the box. Then, carefully, she lifted the lid half an inch. The curves of a big red bow popped into view. The tiniest hint of a smile bent the corner of her lips. "You found me some bows."
Encouraged, Vera smiled, too. "It's a gift from the designer. I think you'll love their work. It's all super-femme. Lots of bows and ruffles without looking little-girly."
Lifting the dress halfway out of the box, Marina studied its structured shoulders and deep neckline. The stiff set of her jaw softened.
"I owe you some work," Vera said. "If you want me to, I'll style you for free for as many events as we were booked for in Venice. But I understand if you don't feel comfortable having me do that. So I put together a list of lesser-known designers whose style matches your vibe that I think you should check out, and if you want recommendations for a new stylist, I know a few who I think would be a great fit. And if there's anything else I can do for you, I'd be happy to hear it."
Marina closed the box again and rested her hand on the lid.
The assistant leaned in the door and said, "One minute warning. They need you on set."
Finally, Marina said, "I liked working with you, Vera. It's unfortunate it didn't work out." Setting the box aside, she stood up and adjusted her torn and dirt-smeared t-shirt. "Send me your recommendations."
"Great. I will. And... There's one more thing," Vera blurted, before she lost her nerve.
Marina shrugged into a worn denim jacket, sewn all over with patches representing fictional bands. "What's that?"
"I want to support your charity fundraiser. Can you tell me where I could buy tickets?"