“I’ve always loved soft things,” Daniela said. “Colors like these are calming. They bring me a sense of peace when the world around me feels like chaos.”
“And then she adds something like this,” Risa said, holding up a matte black shackle.
“I mean…” Daniela said, a glint in her eyes. “Who doesn’t like a little calm with a hefty side of S&M?”
Risa nodded with a level of sincerity I wasn’t prepared for.
“I am into it,” she said.
I kept my mouth shut. To say anything would most likely bring us back to the subject of Oliver Manning, and that mediocre worm needed to be shoved back into his can, sealed, and tossed in a river. I’d never forgive myself for being so stupid.
“Okay,” Daniela said, getting down to business and turning to me. “I have your measurements, but I’d like to do my own while I have you here, and then I’ll have you try on the finished pieces so we can see how those fit. After that, I’ll drape a few things on you and pin them. There are a couple designs I wanted to wait to sew until I saw how the fabric fell across your body, and I also just wanted to see the material hanging off you to see what it inspires. I have my mannequins but they don’t move and sometimes what I thought was a good idea becomes an even better one when I see movement. Sound good?”
“Let’s go,” I said and pulled off my sweatshirt.
We spent the next several hours talking, laughing, and watching Daniela work her magic as she pulled straight pins from a pin cushion attached to a piece of elastic on her wrist and twisted fabrics, pinned them, re-pinned them, considered, and re-pinned again. All this while grabbing pieces of faux leather, latex, chains and more, and placing them carefully at my neck, waist, and wrists.
Risa ordered in food, as well as champagne, and what began as a fitting became an impromptu party. The usually buttoned-up, top-tier Vogue employee soon let her hair down – both literally and figuratively – her auburn waves now flowing down her back, blazer thrown haphazardly on the head of a mannequin, lipstick rubbed off. And while Daniela and I took minimalist sips from our glasses, Risa was on her second glass and barely picking at her plate of food. She’d become louder and more talkative as the day went on.
“Turn this way,” Daniela said to me.
I was standing on a round, white riser in the corner of the room in front of a three-way mirror, a swath of iridescent white fabric folded and tucked around me, held in place at my neck by the large shackle Risa had found earlier, and at my wrists by two smaller versions.
“I’ll take two of those,” Risa said, taking a large gulp of champagne and then popping a bit of cheese in her mouth.
I caught Daniela’s eye in the mirror, a move that wasn’t missed by Vogue’s creative director.
“I’m getting a divorce,” she said. “He doesn’t know it yet.”
“Oh.” My mouth formed a small circle as my brain raced to find something appropriate to say, Daniela furiously pinning, her lips pressed together as she worked. I prayed I didn’t get poked in the midst of her frenzied avoidance tactic.
“I found out last night he’s cheating on me,” Risa continued.
“Oh Risa,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
Daniela quit pinning, a look of defeat on her face. I assumed not because the gown didn’t look divine – it was stunning – but because she now had to participate in this uncomfortable conversation.
“So if you could make me a shackle dress too,” Risa said to Daniela. “Preferably with less material… maybe just a couple of strips here and here?” She gestured across her breasts and then her crotch.
Daniela’s eyes again met mine in the mirror. This time we all laughed.
“What a dick,” Daniela said, reaching for her glass. She downed the liquid and speared a ball of mozzarella. “Just tell me when your first date with someone good is and I’ll make you something amazing.”
I wasn’t sure if Risa would remember our conversation that day and regret it, or be glad for it. We weren’t her people, but sometimes those kinds of people were the best kind to have around when you needed to let loose. Maybe new friendships would form because of it. Maybe she’d get home later and bury her head in a pillow and scream, and then send Daniela and I gift baskets tomorrow with cards thanking us for being so discreet. To which we would read between the not-written lines “Say a fucking word and I’ll end your career”. Who knew? But for now, she was in a safe place and seemed to know it, and maybe that was good enough.
“My ex-husband and I had one of those rooms like in Fifty Shades,” Daniela said, helping me out of the dress.
The room went still as both Risa and I stared at the petite blonde with her wide-set green eyes and faintly freckled nose.
“Well,” Risa said. “That explains a lot.”
She and I stared around the room at the designer’s work.
“I suppose an outfit just doesn’t feel complete to me without a touch of a bondage element,” Daniela said.
“How come he’s your ex?” Risa asked. “Sounds like a match made in heaven.”
“Or in the Pleasure Chest,” I said, naming the well-known Manhattan adult store.
