Chapter Nine
FRANKIE
From her seatat the table next to me, Vivi got up and peered over my shoulder. “Hey, you haven’t even started the pleating. What’s wrong?”
My mind was a hundred miles away today. It wasn’t here where the talk of new fall colors dominated our discussions. It didn’t matter if we called it eggplant, aubergine, or plain purple.
From that night a few weeks earlier when my parents decided to let Aaron and me renovate my grandmother’s house, I’d been toying with the idea of investing in stocks and real estate and spent my commute time studying theFinancial Timesand reading up on the hottest new stock-market trends. Last week I decided to do a little online trading. This afternoon at the close of the market, I’d made almost fifteen hundred dollars. I’d almost peed myself with excitement.
“I dunno. Sometimes I think I’m spinnin’ my wheels here. Like, what’s the point?”
Her eyebrows scrunched together. “What do you mean? Your designs are great.”
“No,yourdesigns are. They’re unique and refreshing. I haven’t seen anything like them. But I don’t know.” I propped my chin in my hand. “I’m not feeling it. I haven’t been for a while now.” I sighed and pushed the swath of fabric away from me. “I’m not excited about designing anymore. I’ve lost my passion, and I can’t do anything without being passionate about it.”
“But you’re so talented,” Vivi cried out. “I use the bag you made for me every day.” To prove her point she pulled it off the back of her chair and shook it in front of me. But I knew the truth.
“Honey, I might have a small talent, but it ends here, in this room. I’m never going to challenge Marc Jacobs or Zac Posen for Queen of the New York style scene.”
“But why do you have to?” Vivi dropped into the unoccupied seat next to me. “You have your style, and they have theirs.”
“It’s not only that. Like with dancing—I love it, it’s a part of me, but I can’t make a living at it forever either. I’m raking in great tips now, but there’s only so long I can shake it until I get too old.”
“I need to come to your club and see you.”
“I want you to.”
Women comprised almost forty percent of Man Up’s clientele. It was becoming a more popular club destination for them. Maybe they believed all the men there were gay and wouldn’t hit on them, so they felt safe. Or maybe they liked seeing half-naked men dance. Either way was fine with me if they tipped well.
“And as far as the clothes?” I tipped my chair on its back legs precariously, then landed with athumpand picked up the lightweight silk I was supposed to be working with. “I enjoy it. I like creating, but it don’t make me excited. It don’t give me that high.”
“Oh, I know what you’re talking about. I said to Margo last night, it’s almost orgasmic when I finish a design.”
“Yeah…no. I don’t feel like that.” Only Aaron made the blood rush to my head, although seeing all that money in my brokerage account made me pretty fucking crazy.
“So what’re you gonna do?” Her dark eyes searched my face.
“I think I’m not going to continue in the fall and instead take online classes in business and investing. Even Stanton—my professor—said to me a while ago that I was doing better at the business end than the fashion-design part.”
Speaking the words out loud to Vivi made it real and scary. But with my heart racing fast and my face hurting from smiling, ultimately it was what I wanted.
“I’m going to miss you. You’re my sewing buddy.” Vivi slumped in her seat, her posture the picture of dejection.
“Girlfriend, I’m not going anywhere. I’m simply redirecting myself.” I hugged her. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”
After class was over, Aaron texted me:Going out with the guys. They’ve been asking, and I don’t want to be unfriendly. Be home late.
I texted back:Have fun. See you later.
Four thirty found me sipping a margarita at Closing Bell, a bar downtown right by the stock exchange. I figured, what better way to find out the talk on the street than to go there myself? I’d have a drink, listen to the gossip, and hopefully pick up some tips. I heard plenty of people talk at Man Up about the market, but I was working. It wouldn’t be fair to James to take time away from my work for him to question his patrons.
I twirled around on the barstool and perused the array of suits pouring in.Damn.This was crazier than the crowd at Man Up. These men—and a few women sprinkled in with them—were serious about celebrating the end of the day, and from their smiling faces, it had been a good day.
“’Scuse me.” A cute, dark-haired man with a beard and a diamond earring in one ear squeezed in next to me.
“No problem.” I smiled at the bartender. “Can I have a glass of water, please?”
“Teddy, get me a Grey Goose and soda.” The bearded cutie leaned his hip on the bar and handed me my water when the bartender set it down. “I’m Gordon, Gordie to my friends.”
