Fatshionista (9 page)

The contrast of
his warm hands where the cold metal had been almost made me come up off the
pillows. I was drowning in desire at this point, aching for him to remove the
final section of garment. The precise cuts he made created something akin to a
bikini bottom, everything revealed except that one secret place. He pulled the
straps off my shoulders and down my arms.

I felt like I was
one of those surfers who comes out of the water and peels off their wetsuit,
only I was burning up with heat and only wet in one particular place.

“Beautiful. Such
a shame to cover all this beauty with that horrid fabric. Whatever were you
thinking, Millie?” He smiled as he shifted to lay down beside me, curling me
into his chest.

“Well, I can only
assume I have some deep-seated body issues that are culminating in my
subconscious need to cover myself, even in a fantasy environment. I can only
assume that you being gay is still not safe enough for my subconscious and
these layers of stable, formidable undergarments are my way of continuing to
keep someone whom I have an interest in at bay, even within the confines of a
private fantasy.”

“You think that’s
really it?” he asked as he lowered his head down to the nearest nipple. “Maybe
you just like to make it harder on me. You’re making things quite hard right
now, my dear.” He closed his lips around my nipple, slowly pulling it into his
hot mouth.

“Who cares?
Just…yes…keep…yes…right there…doing that…yes.” How was that for intellectual?

“Millie, Millie.
Take off the rest. I’m a little busy here with your friends.”

“Yes, yes, let me
help.” I reached down to push the rest of the girdle off my hips. The only part
left was a section from my hip to my navel, almost like a pair of panties, but
it wouldn’t budge. I mean not at all, like it was super-glued to my skin.

“Um, Daniel, we
seem to have a problem here.”

“Mmmmm, and what
would that be, dear? I am finding nothing wrong with my current environment.
You have the most splendid breasts, my dear.”

“Well, thank you
for that, but I really feel like we need to get some scissors involved again.
Mission undergarment removal seems to have stalled in regards to my…lower half.”

He raised his
head and looked at me, then looked down at the super-glued fabric. “Ah, yes,
that would be a problem, as I am most interested in continuing this little
exploratory mission of mine to parts south. Now where did those scissors get
to?”

He looked around
us, felt under the pillows, rolled me over to the side, all while I was still
struggling to try and wrench the fabric down my hips.

“Hmmmm, we seem
to have misplaced them,” he said as he continued to pull up one pillow after
another.

“You’ve got to be
kidding! They were right here! What, did they sprout legs and run off?”

“You tell me; you’re
the one authoring this particular fantasy. I’m simply at the mercy of your
deranged imagination.”

“Deranged?” Of
all the nerve! He was the craftsman and it was my fault he couldn’t get the job
done? “You’re the one that stopped when the job was only half done! If you had
just gotten it all cut off at once, we wouldn’t be having this argument right
now!”

“Yes, you are
correct; I’m sure this is all my fault. I would just like to point out,
however, that if this were my fantasy, we would both have started out naked,
and at this point I would already be deep inside of you,” he yelled.

Um…yes,
please.

“Stop talking and
start pulling or cutting or something. This can’t be happening again; it just
can’t. What is wrong with me? I can’t even have fantasy sex right…I am a
complete freak.”

He was responding
with what I could only imagine was another smartass comment, but I couldn’t
hear what he said; his mouth was moving but no words were coming out.

I woke up panting
and sweating with the covers flung off the bed. And I had a death grip on my panties.

“Son of a bitch,”
I moaned as I curled into a ball and tried to quiet all the various body parts
that had come out to play tonight.

I was losing my
mind.

Well, my dear
fashion fiends, your mama hopes you are taking a moment to catch your
collective couture breaths before resort season starts up. Your mama hears many
houses are opting for a full-on runway show, so don’t put those roller skates
up just yet. Come May, you will be skating from one show to another all over
again. Can I get a fashion hallelujah? If you are a true someone in this
fashionating world, you will be sitting ringside with your mama to watch them
all bring the goods. If not, keep your bat channels tuned to this blog and your
mama will bring you all the latest bat updates.

--
February
24th “It’s just fashion, bitches” blog--

I was trying to
muddle through the backlog of emails that had piled up during the last few
weeks. With the crazed pace of show after show, I relied more on text messaging
and wasn’t as diligent in checking email. And now I was paying the price for
it.

Ryan poked his
head in my door and thankfully saved me from the drudgery of my task.

“So I heard we
might be heading out today to do some preshow photo-shooting and scouting?
Please say yes; I’ve been stuck in the office for the last two days organizing the
storage room to Scarlett’s specifications.” Ryan plopped down in my spare chair,
which for once was clean, as I had tackled everything in my office before I
finally gave in and strapped myself down to answer emails.

“Why is Scarlett
changing things in the storage room, and an even better question, why are you
helping her?” I had thought it had been a little too quiet around here for the
last few days. Ever since her arrival, Scarlett had been popping by almost
daily to ask if we had any new clients (we didn’t), if there were any new write-ups
about the company or our clients (there were not), or if I had some time to
meet with her to discuss her new marketing strategies (I did not).

“Well, apparently
she hasn’t had time to hire her own interns, and Marta told her since you had
two, one of us could help her out. I drew the short straw, so Lizzie stayed
with you and I had to go to Scarlett.” Ryan tried to look pathetic and sad, but
the huge grin on his face ruined the whole look.

“I’m sure you
were just devastated to have to run around after a sweet young thing with a
rich daddy and a tight ass. It must be hell for you, poor thing. I’m sure that
one day while you’re fulfilling some menial and degrading task for her, your
eyes will meet and she’ll decide to chuck it all for a penniless intern with
laughing blue eyes.” Ryan was a sweet kid; I wished I was the kind of woman who
had no problem with cradle robbing, but alas, I preferred a man who had at
least been born by the time I was reading
Teen Bop Magazine
, and at the
ripe old age of nineteen, Ryan was just shy of that.

“Don’t get me
wrong, I love to watch her bend and squat and shimmy around the storage room in
those tight little skirts, but I think she’s more concerned with crawling up
Marta’s ass than crawling into my bed. Although I do think that I caught her
staring the other day when I forgot my belt and almost dropped trou while
carrying a load of boxes into her office.”

“How classy. What
boxes did she want moved into her office?” And the better question, why.
Scarlett, as far as I could tell, was brought in because of the people she knew
and the people her daddy knew. Those connections could keep business flowing
during the down months. There were always private parties, events, local boutique
shows that we were asked to do, but they were for a select few clients, and
Marta was always saying that was the way to build the business. But unless
Marta decided to give her a little more to do than I had first anticipated, she
had no business with anything that had previously been living in the storage
room.

“She wanted to
see the print books for the last four years. She said that print was easier for
her to examine. How anyone under the age of thirty could choose a book over a
digital record is beyond me.” I didn’t think Ryan even knew where the New York
Public Library was. The only thing I had ever seen him read were texts and
Facebook updates.

“Did she say
why?” And did she say how this was going to ruin my day, week, life, because
somehow the idea of Scarlett delving into the archives of this company didn’t
feel like a good thing. And it was very suspicious that she came on board at
the same time Marta was out of the country for her holiday.

“Nope, I just
fetch and carry. I follow directions well.”

I snorted and
rolled my eyes. “Apparently I lack the proper motivation for you; I can’t seem
to recall you ever following directions. I’m so glad she has somehow reformed
you. Does this mean if you’re with me today, you’ll also follow directions well?
Or will you revert to the toddlerish photographer I know and love who questions
every shot I ask him to get—even though he’s really not a photographer
and just an intern?” I smiled sweetly.

Ryan rolled his
eyes right back at me. How did I lose all authority with my staff? Oh right, I
wasn’t a tyrant. “Put your claws away, Millie; what has your panties in a wad
today?”

Oh, Ryan and his
spot-on choice of phrases. I had been in a foul mood for the last week, since I
woke up feverish and trying to shuck my own panties down to my ankles. If the
overworked, anxiety-ridden side of my brain hadn’t already convinced me I
needed to slow down and take a break, the sex-starved, delusional, in-lust-for-a-gay-man
side put me over the top.

“I’m sorry, I
just don’t seem to bounce back from fashion week like I used to, and now Marta
has sprung Scarlett on all of us and I still can’t figure out exactly what her
angle is or her agenda, so it’s making me grumpy and ill. And, as you well know,
my able-bodied assistant, none of us have had a minute for even a tiny piece of
what might resemble a social life, so all that being said, I’m just a little on
edge. Forgiven?”

“Sure, but you’re
buying lunch on the way to the client’s place. Who are we shooting today?” Ryan
insisted on always making guns with his hands and firing imaginary bullets at
me. On a really good day, he would blow the smoke off the tips of his fingers
and holster his imaginary side arms, a la John Wayne.

“We’re going to
Daniel Singh’s to look over and shoot” (bang, bang) “the sample pieces that
have come in for his resort collection. If we’re able to do a good job on this,
I have a feeling we might also get his fall show.” Resort wear was like an
appetizer. I always wanted to be the main course, and pleasing a designer and
becoming their production house of choice, landing the spring and fall
collections, was how we stayed in business. Parties and charity events were great,
but the fashion shows were where the big money was at.

“Get your gear
and I’ll meet you downstairs; we can pick a restaurant on the way.” Preferably
one with no soup.

This was the
first time I was going to see Daniel since my Marrakech fantasy and the tomato
soup incident. I wanted to present a professional, fashionable, well-put-together
woman who was not sexually frustrated. At least I had the right outfit for the
job. I was wearing a power-red Michael Kors dress and black, patent-leather,
peep-toe platform heels. I loved that Michael designed clothes for real-size
women and he really knew how to show off curves. I felt downright sexified in
this dress. Now I just had to manage to not break a heel, spill food on myself,
or throw him down on his worktable and have my way with him. The odds were not
in my favor, but I was nothing if not an optimist.

****

Oh my God, I was
in love with this man. Not because he was sexy, not because of the British
accent with just a hint of Delhi in it. No, nope, none of those reasons.

I was in love
with this man because his dress forms and design ideas were based on a
size-twelve woman!

While that still
left me a little out in the cold fashion-wise, it was a heck of a lot closer
than the size zero most designers used. My eyes nearly popped out of my head
when I saw the dress form. It was hilarious that my first thought was,
My
God, that thing is huge
, when in actuality it was two sizes smaller than I was.
But I had become so used to teeny, tiny dress forms and sample pants that
wouldn’t even fit my arm that it just shocked me.

Thankfully Daniel
was busy with someone in the corner, so he didn’t notice my shock-and-awe
performance when we walked in. How quickly I had forgotten the cool, calm, and
collected woman who was supposed to be showing up today. Country bumpkin Millie
hee-hawed her way in here with her mouth hanging wide open, catching flies. But
the fates were with me today, and he was too occupied to notice. Whew.

“Where do you
want me to set up?” Lucky for me, Ryan was still coming in behind me with his
equipment and had also missed my display. Another blessing. I best remember
that I was now at my limit for the day.

“Um, why don’t
you try that empty corner over there with the worktable? We can lay the
clothing out flat or hang them, whichever gives us the best sense of color and
proportion.” Sample photos were just for me to use for planning purposes and
when discussing the show with the client, so they didn’t have to be perfectly lit,
and the clothes didn’t have to be on models.