put his hand over hers when she slid a little bit, checking the seams, unthreading a particularly tough curve, and making her start over. When the shell was done, he held it up and looked at it in the light, checking for the needle holes.
He held out his hand. “You’re hired. Your pattern was near perfect. You can’t sew worth a shit, but you know how it’s done. You learn fast and take direction. Come in on Monday.” The vision of a lovely long-backed straight-shouldered male specimen turned away, tossed the shirt in the trash, and went into the design room, closing the glass door behind him.
But that was just their first encounter. It had only gotten worse from there.
He smelled good. He patted her on the back when things fit. He never yelled at her or gave her a hard time, because designers, merchandisers, and their ilk were a dime a dozen, while patternmakers were worth their weight in gold. She certainly was neither immune from the anxiety that she was one mistake away from Jeremy jumping down her throat and pulling her lungs out, nor from the fear that she would never express herself creatively. But when offered a full-time position, she took it anyway, because the famous Jeremy St. James had become just ‘Jeremy’ to her, and she couldn’t imagine working without him.
Jeremy was in a foul mood. She felt it through the glass. Not that she could blame him. He wore ridiculous slip-on sneakers and a green work shirt with matching pants. He snapped up the phone. She picked up hers.
“This is absurd,” he said, referring to the phone. “What am I going to do? Strangle you?”
Benito picked up the phone on their side of the booth. “I’d shut up if I were you.”
“Tinto,” Jeremy said, pointing through the glass. “You get me out of here.”
“Bail hearing’s day after tomorrow, JJ, take it easy.”
“You know what? Best thing that ever happened to me is someone taking her out. I’m in jail, but I’m free.”
Benito knocked on the window as to wake Jeremy up. “Didn’t I tell you to can it?”
Laura imagined this unraveling quickly unless she changed the subject. “I need to know what to do at work.”
Jeremy still focused on Benito. “Did anyone else from my company come to you?”
“Not yet.”
Jeremy turned to Laura. “This is what I’m saying. I have one competent person in that office. The rest of them are looking for an excuse to search the want ads all day.”
Laura said, “Jeremy, everyone’s freaked out. They don’t know if they should work like the show is going on, or if they should just go home.”
“Fifteen minutes!” boomed a guard’s voice from the corner of the room.
“Make a list,” he said. “Tell me what’s missing.” Then, he turned to Benito. “Download me,” he said, in full this-is-my-company-don’t-waste-my-time mode.
Laura made a list of what wasn’t prepared for Friday. Seventy percent of the line was in the process of being fit or created. That was normal for the last week before a show. She scribbled him a list with the stubby pencil she’d used to fill in the form on the way in, while Tinto Benito told Jeremy how crappy his life was.
“Your alibi’s in question. Nobody saw you at the factory, and there are no cameras in the building.”
“We had two hundred dresses with hems that looked like snowdrifts. How do you think they got fixed? Magic?”
“Your floor manager says there was nothing wrong with them in the first place.”
Jeremy sat back in his chair and held up his hands. “I left the TOP at reception last night. Where is it?”
Laura stopped writing and looked up at Jeremy, flicking her pencil between her fingers. Before she could wonder if she should speak up, Jeremy addressed her in a brusque way he never had before Sunday morning. “Speak.”
“A detective came to my house last night asking about TOPs. What they were and stuff.”
Benito and Jeremy asked together, “And?”
“And I told him. And he thinks a
He held out his hand. “You’re hired. Your pattern was near perfect. You can’t sew worth a shit, but you know how it’s done. You learn fast and take direction. Come in on Monday.” The vision of a lovely long-backed straight-shouldered male specimen turned away, tossed the shirt in the trash, and went into the design room, closing the glass door behind him.
But that was just their first encounter. It had only gotten worse from there.
He smelled good. He patted her on the back when things fit. He never yelled at her or gave her a hard time, because designers, merchandisers, and their ilk were a dime a dozen, while patternmakers were worth their weight in gold. She certainly was neither immune from the anxiety that she was one mistake away from Jeremy jumping down her throat and pulling her lungs out, nor from the fear that she would never express herself creatively. But when offered a full-time position, she took it anyway, because the famous Jeremy St. James had become just ‘Jeremy’ to her, and she couldn’t imagine working without him.
Jeremy was in a foul mood. She felt it through the glass. Not that she could blame him. He wore ridiculous slip-on sneakers and a green work shirt with matching pants. He snapped up the phone. She picked up hers.
“This is absurd,” he said, referring to the phone. “What am I going to do? Strangle you?”
Benito picked up the phone on their side of the booth. “I’d shut up if I were you.”
“Tinto,” Jeremy said, pointing through the glass. “You get me out of here.”
“Bail hearing’s day after tomorrow, JJ, take it easy.”
“You know what? Best thing that ever happened to me is someone taking her out. I’m in jail, but I’m free.”
Benito knocked on the window as to wake Jeremy up. “Didn’t I tell you to can it?”
Laura imagined this unraveling quickly unless she changed the subject. “I need to know what to do at work.”
Jeremy still focused on Benito. “Did anyone else from my company come to you?”
“Not yet.”
Jeremy turned to Laura. “This is what I’m saying. I have one competent person in that office. The rest of them are looking for an excuse to search the want ads all day.”
Laura said, “Jeremy, everyone’s freaked out. They don’t know if they should work like the show is going on, or if they should just go home.”
“Fifteen minutes!” boomed a guard’s voice from the corner of the room.
“Make a list,” he said. “Tell me what’s missing.” Then, he turned to Benito. “Download me,” he said, in full this-is-my-company-don’t-waste-my-time mode.
Laura made a list of what wasn’t prepared for Friday. Seventy percent of the line was in the process of being fit or created. That was normal for the last week before a show. She scribbled him a list with the stubby pencil she’d used to fill in the form on the way in, while Tinto Benito told Jeremy how crappy his life was.
“Your alibi’s in question. Nobody saw you at the factory, and there are no cameras in the building.”
“We had two hundred dresses with hems that looked like snowdrifts. How do you think they got fixed? Magic?”
“Your floor manager says there was nothing wrong with them in the first place.”
Jeremy sat back in his chair and held up his hands. “I left the TOP at reception last night. Where is it?”
Laura stopped writing and looked up at Jeremy, flicking her pencil between her fingers. Before she could wonder if she should speak up, Jeremy addressed her in a brusque way he never had before Sunday morning. “Speak.”
“A detective came to my house last night asking about TOPs. What they were and stuff.”
Benito and Jeremy asked together, “And?”
“And I told him. And he thinks a
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