“What? That he’d pull his head out of his ass and be normal?” Spencer snapped out, the words bitter on his tongue. “This is one of the biggest nights of my life. I discovered this designer and got him exclusively for our store. All my bosses are here, as well as magazines. It may not be as important as what he does, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. My mother…” He stopped, his throat too tight to speak. Goddamn, he wasn’t going to lose it before the night even started. Certainly not because Wolf didn’t think he was important enough.
Elliot pulled him into his arms. “It’s going to be an incredible night. Whether or not Wolf shows up.”
Embarrassed at getting caught out, Spencer detached himself from Elliot’s embrace and rubbed his face. “I’m fine. He can fuck off. You guys, follow me.” He walked his four friends inside and found their seats. Wolf’s empty chair stared at him as if a spotlight shone on it, but he ignored it. “I have to go backstage to check on Todd and his models, but I’ll be back.”
Catching the excitement, he bounded away and wove through the crowd to the rear of the catwalk. He caught sight of the sour face of Donald, one of Maximillian’s newer associates, who’d begged to work on the show, but Spencer had said no. His gut instinct was not to trust the man, and when he’d heard him bad-mouthing coworkers in the break room, Spencer knew he’d been right to follow his sixth sense.
The music boomed, the lights flashed, and he spotted Todd coolly checking the tuck of a model’s T-shirt. A year in the making, Spencer couldn’t believe it was finally time.
“Todd. Looks fabulous.”
The tall, lanky young man’s eyes lit up, and he broke out in a huge smile. “Spencer. Thank God you’re here. I was afraid you’d gotten stuck somewhere.” His platinum-blond hair stuck up in artful peaks, and the roving beams picked up the twinkle of a row of diamond studs in his left ear.
“Not a chance.” They hugged, and he strolled past the lineup of models waiting to walk. “Everything looks great.”
He straightened the collar on one model, who gave him a saucy wink and said, “No touching the merchandise unless you pay for it.”
Spencer let his fingers trail over the line of stubble along the man’s jaw. “Everything has a price. Or everyone.”
Then the announcement was made, and the models started their walk. It wasn’t his first time watching a show from behind the curtain, but it was his first time so intimately wrapped up in the development of a talent like Todd’s, and Spencer began to sweat. He was staking his career on promoting Todd, and had other hopefuls waiting, but if this night fell through, it would be not only a disaster for the designer, but he’d be looking for another job. In his business, memories were as short as a 1960s hemline—you were only as good as your last success.
Todd squeezed his hand, eyes locked on the bodies moving with precision down the narrow catwalk. “I can’t believe this. Fashion Week. All my life I’ve dreamed of this.”
He laced his fingers with Todd’s. “I know how you feel.”
“Thank you, Spencer. I’ve never had anyone believe in me like this.”
From his position, he had a bird’s-eye view of the major players of the fashion scene. And while his store, Maximillian, had an exclusive on Todd for this line, he wanted the designer to get all the accolades, so inwardly he gloated when he watched the editors of the major men’s magazines write furiously in their notebooks. Spencer knew he’d be getting calls from them in the coming week.
“I think that’s about to change. Make sure you don’t get sucked into the life. None of it is real. Keep your head straight and your feet on the ground.”
“I will. But don’t leave me. I need you.”
At what point had he become the teacher, not the student? He was in no position to protect someone, yet he cringed at the thought of Todd being thrown to the wolves.
“You don’t. But lucky you, I’m not planning on going anywhere. Now look out there. When you walk out for the finale, you’ll have them in the palm of your hand.”
The finale piece—a gorgeous raw silk black tuxedo, paired with a black brocade vest with silver threads woven throughout and tapered silk pants with matching silver brocade up the side seams—glimmered in the overhead lights. Spencer tweaked the bow tie and straightened the shoulders.
“You’re ready,” he told the model, and then to Todd, “Follow him and enjoy.”
“I will.” Todd watched as the model began sashaying to the growing applause as the audience sensed his arrival. “And so will you.”
To Spencer’s complete surprise, Todd grabbed his hand and pulled him out with him for the final walk. The clapping grew louder, and even in the bright spotlight, Spencer saw his friends in the front row, standing and cheering. André had his camera out and video going.
Spencer glanced upward to the billowy tent roof, as if he could see up to the stars.We did it, Mom. Look at us.
He and Todd walked out to the end of the runway, and he immersed himself in the moment, waving and pointing to people he knew in the crowd from his years working his way up in the industry. He spied the chairman of his store, Rory Maximillian, sitting with his direct boss, Christo, both sporting ear-to-ear grins. Matty was bouncing with excitement, and behind him, Donald sulked in the shadows. An assistant pushed microphones in his and Todd’s hands, but Spencer spoke first.
“Wasn’t this wonderful? Can you believe this is his first collection?”
Thunderous applause again.
“Todd Christianson is going to be a major force in the fashion world. Maximillian is lucky to have him exclusively for this line, so get all your little fingers clicking on those orders, because I guarantee they will be sold out in a minute. When I first saw Todd’s work in a local Brooklyn store window, I stopped and stared for a good five minutes. I went in, bought every piece they had, and hunted him down. I knew I had to have him—get your minds out of the gutter, you dirty people. I mean fashion-wise. Now let me present to you our star, Todd Christianson.”
Todd nervously played with his mic, and Spencer could see his hands shaking. “Thank you, Spencer. Since I was a young child, it was always my dream to be here, in New York City, at Fashion Week, but I never thought dreams could become reality for a gay kid from the Deep South. Tonight I was proved wrong. I might not have gotten the support from my parents, but to the small, independent stores, thank you for taking the chance and buying my clothes when I was making them by hand in my apartment with a sewing machine I got at Goodwill for five dollars. Thank you to Maximillian for your incredible support and encouragement and amazing chance to be one of their exclusive designers. I hope I do you proud.
“To my boyfriend, Patrick, who’s put up with me all these years for the late nights away from him, I love you, babe. I promise you won’t have to fall asleep anymore listening to the sound of me cursing the sewing machine for breaking down.” Laughter sounded from the audience, and he turned to Spencer and grabbed his hand, squeezing his fingers tight for a moment. “But the biggest thanks goes to Spencer Hawkins, who you all know is larger than life, but to me, he’s been a mentor, a constant source of encouragement, someone I can call with questions or just to talk if I’m feeling discouraged. Best of all, I can call Spencer my friend. I love you, and thank you for believing in me and taking a chance. Every morning I wake up and hope it’s real and not a mistake. That I’m really here, getting to do what I love most—making beautiful clothes for men. Thank you all.”
