Just Another Damn Love Story (23 page)

Kimberly peered over her shoulder to see where her friends were.  They had resumed painting and decorating their nails.  She was free to express herself however she wanted to.  She peered up toward the ceiling and closed her eyes. 

“Thank you, Sterling,”  she whispered.  Thank you for believing in me, and for giving me the confidence to believe in myself, she thought.   Now, if only her other wish would come true.  She needed God to give her the chance to see him again, the opportunity to make things right.  She was going to have her business, now all she wanted was to get her man back.

Chapter Twenty Nine

BKM Manhattan Couture was a huge success.  The store front in Manhattan’s fashion district had put them right in the thick of things, and their revenue showed it.  They had projected gross revenues of over one million dollars for the fiscal year.    Kimberly’s designs were all the rage, and she was quickly becoming the talk of the town.  She even got the chance to supply Rick Ross, Drake, Jay Z, Lil Wayne, and Jeezy’s outfits to various award shows.  Kimberly was the hot new designer, BKM Manhattan Couture was the hot new design house, and the boutique stayed busy.

Despite the face that the boutique maintained a healthy crowd, Kimberly noticed her as soon as she walked in.  Whereas the boutique’s primary customers were older, wealthy, white socialites, she was different.  Most of her customers came into the store looking as if they had just stepped out of a Mary Kay meets Mikimoto Pearls convention, she had a style that was
way
different.  Her look was off the charts.

That she was Italian was without question.  Her skin was olive in complexion, while her ensemble was something that no one had ever seen before.  She recognized the look, though.  It had to either be Versace, or Vespasian. 

Her olive colored calve length skirt, matched the fitted olive colored suit jacket, as well as her oversized olive colored hat that she wore tilted to the side, and her olive colored high heels.  She even wore titanium framed rimless sunglasses, with olive colored lenses.  Her entire outfit was fierce, and she knew it, because she walked like it.  It wasn’t the walk of a fashion model, nor the walk of a high powered executive.  It was the walk of a woman who owned the world, and who was used to being pampered by it.  And then Kimberly noticed the purse.

It was a Vespasian Mummy Bag, but strangely enough, it wasn’t in the usual camel or dark saddle color.  This one was olive, and it matched her outfit to a tee.  This fact only brought further suspicion to the woman.  Who was this superwoman who could order Vespasian's latest bag, in a special color to match her outfit?  Something like that would entail sending swatches of the material to the Vespasian design firm, who would have to send the sample to the tannery in England, who would have to match the color exactly, create a special dye, and then dye the leather and send it off to the manufacturer to be sewn into the purse.  A regular Mummy Bag was over six thousand dollars.  A custom created Mummy Bag had to be at least twice that much.  A twelve thousand dollar purse, and an outfit that was about the same price, once the three thousand dollar leather heels were calculated.  Who was she?

The diamonds in her ears sparkled like the Christmas Tree at Macy’s.  She wore a five tiered matching diamond tennis bracelet, a diamond covered Piaget, and a diamond ring on her finger that had to have cost at least a couple of million dollars.  And her nails couldn’t have been done in the United States. 

Kimberly watched as the woman browsed, and then chose her Jungle Bag from  BKM's Fifth Avenue Black Collection.  It was a black crocodile and boa skin purse, with gold nomenclature, and a black silk lining in the interior.  The bag was one of her most popular items.  It had been released a week ago, and had sold out three times.  Neiman Marcus and Saks Fifth Avenue representatives had come begging for some of the bags.  She sold them to the stores at regular price.

Without asking for a price, the woman strolled to the counter, placed the bag on top of it, and pulled out a black American Express Card that matched the purse.

“Excuse me, your bag,”  Kim said, clearing her throat.  “Is that a Vespasian Mummy Bag?”

“Yes it is,”  the woman said, in a thick Italian accent.

“I’ve never seen one in that color before,”  Kimberly told her.

“You won’t,”  she said.   “I however, have them in about twenty different colors.”

Kim swallowed hard to clear the lump in her throat.  “Wow.  You must be very fortunate.”

“Not really,”  the woman shrugged.  “I designed them.”

“I thought that you looked familiar!”  Kimberly told her. 

“Yes, Kimberly, we met in Las Vegas last year,”  Gianna told her.

“Wow, you look fantastic!”  Kimberly said, examining her. “What are you doing now?”

“Your job,”  Gianna told her.

“Excuse me?”

Gianna waved her hand around the store.  “You should be running the women’s line at Vespasian.  It is a job that is perfect for you.”

Kimberly shook her head.  “No, I have my work cut out for me here.”

“Vespasian Women would buy BKM Manhattan of course, and roll it into our women’s line, and you would run Vespasian Women,”  Gianna told her.  “You could keep an eye on BKM Manhattan, while running the whole show.  Vespasian would pay you handsomely for your company of course.”

Kim was stunned.

“Your designs need to be seen by the world,”  Gianna told her.  “You’re doing well here in your tiny boutique in New York, but all of America, and all of the world should be able to enjoy your work.  Vespasian would take your clothes world wide.”

“Wow, that’s very flattering, but…”

“But nothing.  You are very talented.  With Vespasian’s efficiency, marketing power, connections, and money, you would quickly become a household name.”  Gianna lifted the Jungle Bag.  “This is very nice, very creative, very well put together.  The world would love this bag.  They would go crazy over this bag in Paris and Milan.”

“I can’t,”  Kimberly told her, shaking her head.

“Well, I’ve talked to you about running the women’s line at Vespasian, I’ve purchased my Jungle Bag, and now for my last piece of business.  I love Sterling.  He is like an older brother to me.  He loves you, and you need to go to him and make things right between the two of you.”

“Wait a minute,”  Kim said, holding up her palm.  “Did Sterling send you here?”

“Of course not!”  Gianna said offended.  “Sterling is not that type of man.  It is about time you realized that Sterling is good man.”

“Of course you think so, he’s your boss.  And judging by that jewelry, he’s paying you pretty damn good to run Vespasian Woman.” 

Gianna burst into laughter.  “You think this come from company’s petty salary?  I am Gianna DeMontolo Ferrari Guigaro.  I work for Sterling, because I
want
to work, because I love designing.  Designing is in my blood.  My grandfathers designed beautiful Italian cars.  Both the Guigaros and the Ferraris blood runs through my veins.  And both the Guigaros and the Ferraris money fills my bank account.  No, I am here because I love Sterling, and because he is a great man, who gave a little girl a chance to follow her heart.  That is the thing about Sterling.  He is a man who gives chances, and who believes in people.  Are you worthy of such a man?”

“Of course I am!”  Kimberly said indignantly.  “It is very presumptive of you to come here and lecture me…”

Gianna waved her hand dismissing Kimberly’s statement.  “Go to him.”

“What?”

“He has flown to Milan, Italy for the young designers conference and fashion show.  It is the place where new and unheard of designers go to have their work seen, and to be discovered.  It is the place where Sterling discovered me, and gave me my chance.  Take your designs with you, and enter them into the show.  But most of all, go and find Sterling.  Go and find true love.”

“What?”  Kimberly asked.  Things were moving too fast for her.

“You already have the designing eye of an Italian, now I will help you to have the heart and the passion of an Italian woman.”  Gianna told her.  “But to do that, you must give your heart to love.”

“I can’t just pick up and fly to Italy!”  Kimberly told her.

“You can do anything you put your mind to,”  Gianna said with a smile.

Kimberly smiled.  She knew that it was Sterling’s favorite saying.  “What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“Trust me, he wants to see you,”  Gianna said flatly.

“How do you know?  Did he say something?”

“No.”

“Well then, how do you know?”

“Because I know Sterling.  I know this man’s heart.”

Kimberly shook her head.  “I don’t know.  What if he’s already met someone else?”

“Your insecurity boars me,”  Gianna told her.  “It was cute in the beginning, but now it is tiresome, my dear.”

Kimberly recoiled.

Gianna tossed an envelope onto the counter.  “Your ticket to Italy, and your pass to get into the show.”

“Gianna, I can’t!”

“You can and you will,”  Gianna said turning, and heading for the exit.

“Your receipt!”  Kim shouted.

Gianna waved her off.  “Keep it, I don’t return things.  I don’t like anymore, I throw away!”

Chapter Thirty

The Bvlgari Hotel Milano was named after the famous Italian designer, and bore his unique touch throughout.  The famed hotel was a precious jewel on the Italian landscape; as precious as any created by Bvlgari himself.  The hotel’s original building dated back to the 18th century, while the private gardens that surrounded the hotel, sat next to a lush botanical garden that dated back to 1774.  It was a rarity to find such a lush tropical retreat in the center of any major metropolitan area, and this was part of what made the Bvlgari Hotel Milano magical.

The Hotel sat within Milan’s most stylish area.  It bordered Via della Spiga on one side, and Via Montenapoleone on another.  This gave its patrons access to Milan’s finest restaurants and entertainment venues, although it was not as if they would be rushing to leave the comforts of the hotel.

Black Zimbabwe marble ran through the hotel’s common areas, while Vicenza stone and Turkish Aphyon could be found throughout the spa.  Solid teak and durmast filled the bedrooms.  In each of the suites, special meditation corners complete with Tatami floors were nestled in the corners.  The suites also boasted walk-in closets, plasma TV systems, wireless conference telephone systems, high speed internet, and complimentary wireless laptops.  And the hotel’s main spa was equipped with a gold mosaic swimming pool.  The Bvlgari was for the movers and shakers of the world.

The hotel’s services were only to be dreamed about.  The hotel offered everything from in-room check-in, to complementary luggage packing and unpacking, to in-room dining services, and twenty four hour valet and concierge services.  Personal trainers were available, as were personal shoppers in case the well to do patrons were too busy to shop on their own.  The hotel even offered image consulting services for their patrons hair and makeup.  Luxury car rentals were only a phone call away, as were private planes, helicopters, yachts, and limousines to explore the city’s finest escapes.  The hotel even offered private tours of gourmet food and wine producers in Northern Italy.  Of course all of these services and amenities came at a steep price.  A very steep price.

Of course price was no object to Sterling.  He stayed in the Bvlgari Suite on the hotel’s top floor.  It was a suite that offered a view over the historic part of Milan, and of the hotel’s gardens.  It was a suite that had Brera stone fireplaces, and bathtubs carved from a single block of Bihara Stone that had been imported from Turkey.  It was a suite that had been decorated and furnished by none other than Bvlgari himself.

The botanical gardens were where Sterling found refuge away from the hustle and bustle and lights and glamor and glitz of the fashion show.  Here, there were no paparazzi.  Here, there was only peace and quiet and tranquility.  This evening, he shared the gardens with only a few red robins and humming birds.  Even the traffic from the surrounding city seemed miles away, as the chirps and whistles and fluttering wings dominated the evening air.

Today’s events had been particularly trying.  All the paparazzi wanted to know about was his personal life, and when was the Mummy Bag going to be available in other colors besides brown and black.  They had been particularly vicious about Kimberly, and whether her new Jungle Bag was the new ‘it’ bag.  They wanted to know how he felt about her launching her clothing line, and how he felt about the The Jungle Bag competing with his Mummy Bag.  They had been relentless, shameless even.  All he wanted to do now was relax.

“Some hotel,”  the voice said from behind. 

Sterling turned.  It was her.

“Kim!”  he said shocked.  “What are you doing here?”

“I’m in the show,”  she told him.

“Wow, that’s fantastic,”  Sterling said, stumbling through his words.  “Congratulations.  I mean on everything.  On being in the show, and on your new company.”

“Thank you, Sterling,”  she said with a smile.

“I always knew you could do it.”

Kimberly nodded.  “I know.  And that’s the only reason that I could.”

“Huh?”  Sterling asked.  He didn’t understand.

“The only reason that I could do even a fraction of the things that I’ve done, is because of you.  You believed in me, Sterling.  You gave me the confidence to step out and grab life by the horns.”

Sterling shook his head.  “You give me too much credit.  It was always inside of you.”

“It took a good man to bring it out.”

Sterling shifted his gaze toward the ground.  He didn’t know what to say, or how to reply.  He didn’t know how much of his feelings he should reveal at that point.  Was she still upset, was she open to his apology?  He didn’t know where to take the conversation.

“Thank you, Sterling,”  Kim said softly.  She too, was nervous and unsure of herself, and she was also unsure of his feelings toward her.