Never Tell. Karen Young

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      Six

      Erica cocked her head and studied the look of a jacket she was designing for a client. “No…no…no…” she mumbled, reaching for an eraser. She carefully removed the neckline she’d sketched in a minute ago. Third try and it was still wrong, totally wrong, she thought with disgust. She sat for a minute, then took up her pencil again and drew a few more lines to see if a mandarin collar would work. She knew before she’d made half-a-dozen lines that it was wrong, too. With a muttered curse, she flung the pencil in a nearby tray, ripped the sheet from her sketch pad and crumpled it in both hands. It hit Jason in the chest, dead center, when he appeared at the door.

      “What is the matter with you?” he demanded, wading through a sea of balled-up paper on the floor. “You’ve been in here scribbling and muttering to yourself all morning. Take a break. Make yourself a cup of tea. Chill out.”

      “Tea won’t help,” she growled, and shoved back off her stool. Looking around, she found the photographs of the client whose jacket she was designing. “Look at her,” she said, thrusting the prints at him. “I’ve tried boxy, I’ve tried slightly nipped at the waist, I’ve tried classic blazer, but nothing seems right. She’s expecting something nice, something flattering, and everything I’ve dreamed up looks like something she could have found on Harwin Street.”

      “Natalie Rodrigue,” Jason said, studying a photo. “It’s not the jacket, sugar, it’s the client. Coco Chanel couldn’t design a jacket to make the woman look good.” He sat on her stool and crossed his legs. “It doesn’t matter what you come up with, she’s gonna be so proud to wear an original Erica Stewart that she’ll think it’s gorgeous. She’ll think she’s gorgeous.”

      Erica studied another photo. “Maybe no collar at all…” Then, with a curse, she flung it away. “I hate the fabric she chose, anyway. I wanted her to pick the flat black silk, but she wants brocade. It’ll make her look as big as…as—”

      “As she is?”

      She gave a short laugh. “I guess that’s the problem.” She bent down and began gathering up wads of paper. “One of these days, I’m going to be brutally honest with a client and just say flat out, ‘Spend your money on a piece of jewelry instead of a jacket that will do nothing to flatter you. At least you can pass diamonds on to your grandchildren.’”

      “Okay, sugar, spit it out. What is wrong with you? And don’t bother telling me it’s nothing. I haven’t seen you so agitated since we were negotiating for this building and the landlord forced a five-year lease on us.”

      “Because there was no guarantee we’d be in business that long and we’d both mortgaged most of our assets.”

      “Considerable for you, but peanuts for me.”

      “Which you had to borrow from your mother, God bless her.”

      “Off the subject, Erica. What’s bugging you today? And don’t give me that garbage about the creative process being stressful. You usually turn out jackets and quilts at the same pace as a rabbit giving birth. For which I’m thankful, as it’s the source of our bread and butter, but you don’t usually have a face like a thundercloud and you don’t usually have any difficulty making a client look elegant.”

      She chose to interpret that as an insult. “Well, if my work is the next thing to assembly-line trash,” she muttered, “maybe I should look for another line of work.”

      He actually turned pale. “My God, don’t even joke like that, Erica. And you know that’s not what I meant.” Leaving the stool, he caught her by the arm and led her to a small couch set against the wall. After urging her down, he took a seat facing her. “Now, tell Daddy Jason all about it. When I left the shop last night, you were in a huddle with Michael Carlton.” He stopped abruptly. “Oh, Jesus. Have you lost all your money? Is that it? Has that goof-ball blown your nest egg and you’re penniless?”

      “No, but that reminds me, Jason. Did you realize you failed to lock up when you left the shop last night?”

      He frowned. “Did I? Let me think…Oh, now I remember. When I was closing out the register, I had another one of those crazy calls from the idiot who lives in the apartment next door to mine complaining again about my dog barking. I guess I forgot. Shit!” He smacked himself on the forehead. “I’m the idiot, aren’t I? Why, did something happen? Is that what’s wrong?”

      “Michael hasn’t mismanaged anything, and fortunately nothing happened when you left the door unlocked…unless—”

      “Unless what?” As his eyebrows went up, the telephone rang. “Wait, hold that thought.” Rising, he moved across the room and, with his back to her, answered the phone, then stood listening. After a minute, he turned with a gleam in his eye, raised his hand and pointed his index finger at Erica as if it were a gun barrel. “Yeah, good to hear from you, Hunter. Sure, she’s right here.”

      Erica sprang off the couch as soon as she realized it was Hunter on the phone. Shaking her head СКАЧАТЬ