The Knockoff by Lucy Sykes, Jo Piazza Page A

finished a half-marathon in Montauk. Doctors would later say that he might have been slightly disoriented and dehydrated from the race because instead of diving into the deep end of his pool, he plunged headfirst into the shallow end, clipping his chin on the bottom and shattering his C4 vertebrae. He was floating facedown when his partner, Scott, found him less than a minute later. They managed to revive him on the scene and helicoptered him to Manhattan, but after eighteen hours of surgery the doctors told the assembled crowd, including Imogen, then massively pregnant with Johnny, that Massimo would never walk again. They warned that he might not even regain use of his arms. Massimo didn’t speak to anyone for days. Scott worried he would do something drastic to harm himself. Four days later Massimo invited everyone back to his hospital room.
    He was propped up in bed, a bandage around the top of his skull, his head completely shaven. Imogen bit her bottom lip so that the pain would keep her from crying.
    “I’ll walk again,” Massimo said smoothly, without any doubt in his voice. “I’ll walk again.” That was that. From that day on Imogen never felt sad for him when they were together. He wouldn’t allow it. He was just too much fun. She left their frequent dinner and shopping dates feeling renewed and inspired. His nervous system was impaired in a way that made it difficult for him to sweat. With Scott’s help, he developed a line of organic salves to soothe and moisturizehis damaged skin. It turned out there was a market for exactly that. His products soon graced the shelves of Barneys and Fred Segal. Massimo was still in a wheelchair, but through grit, determination and reconstructive nerve surgery he regained the use of his arms and wrists. Last year he began feeling sensation in his stomach and his lower back. The day Imogen went in for her own surgery he told her he was starting to feel the difference between hot and cold in his upper legs.
    Massimo was right beside Alex in that drab cancer ward when she opened her eyes after her own procedure. He was the one who taped a photograph of her dancing on the beach with the kids to the hard plastic footboard of the bed. It kept falling off no matter how many pieces of Scotch tape she stuck to its back. He didn’t allow her even a minute to feel sorry for herself.
    “Alex, let me have a peek beneath the sheets. This set of boobs is definitely an upgrade,” he said with his typical humor, reaching for her bandages with a well-manicured hand. Selfishly, Imogen often thought of him as a gift. Massimo was the reason she could never let her own fears for her health allow her to wallow too long in the shallow pool of self-pity.
    Riding in the cab, she recounted her first day back to her friend. He grew silent for a beat.
    “You know what I love about you as an editor, Im?”
    “How my legs look in Manolos?”
    “That too. I love that you’re always willing to step outside the box. You’ve never shied away from a challenge. Now might be the time that you decide to take on something new. Something really hard and really different that could totally change your life.”
    He always said the right thing, the thing that coming from anyone else would read like a saying from a stale fortune cookie, but from him worked wonders on a wounded soul.
    “When will I see you, my dear? First day of Fashion Week?” he asked her.
    Massimo had stayed on as a contributing editor to
Moda
after his accident and would often joke that the wheelchair was the best thing that had ever happened to him because it got him front-row.
    “You will, darling. I simply can’t wait to get back to something I know! Do you need me for anything? Will Priscilla be with you?” Massimo loved beautiful women, as evidenced by Priscilla, his assistant and nurse, who was a dead ringer for a young Naomi Watts with the shiniest hair Imogen had ever seen.
    “She will. We need to find her a good man, or a