“Quite a week.”
Sandy stepped back a bit to look at him. “Thanks for . . . last night.”
“When do I get to see you again?”
“Call me.”
“Sandy . . . What did you decide?”
“About?”
“Dating exclusively.”
“After last night?” Sandy smiled. “Oh yeah.”
~~~~~~~~
“I’m Frederic,” a young man said in heavily accented English.
“Nice to meet you, Frederic. I’m Mike.”
“Yes. I need you to take your clothing off.”
“Why?” Mike asked.
“I have to see what your body looks like in order to make sure we get something that looks right . . .um . . . right for you.” The man touched his arm. “I can’t tell with this on.”
“But . . .” Mike said.
The young man cocked his head and laughed. He said something in French and they all laughed.
“Why don’t you hit the shower?” Alex asked. She pointed to his unbuttoned 501s.
“He’s not coming into my shower,” Mike said.
“You’re such a homophobe,” Alex said. “Chill out. I’ve had to take my clothes off in front of everyone too. Scared them with my scars. Frederic? You want him in underwear.”
The young man said something in French. Everyone laughed.
“Do you have any briefs?” Alex said. “He won’t like your boxers.”
Mike looked at Alex and nodded.
“Great. Wear those,” Alex said. She whispered to him, “They’re very particular about undergarments. They usually just buy mine but they know my sizes and stuff.”
Mike nodded to Alex and started walking toward the kitchen. When he turned into the stairwell, he found Valerie peeking around a corner. Valerie was dressed with full make-up and her hair was curled. She looked every bit the movie star.
“Do you know who that is?” Valerie whispered. “That’s Claire Martins. She’s a world-famous designer. Designs for the Queen and . . . No one in Hollywood has worn her dresses . . . and they’ve tried. I . . .”
Mike shrugged.
“I mean, real A-list stars have begged to wear her gowns. Remember the vintage Dior gown Reese wore? Her stylist camped out in Paris for a week to see if he could get a Martins gown. He found the other gown while he was killing time between begging. He thought that beautiful dress was a good second. A second to a Claire Martins gown! And . . .”
“She wants to talk to you, Val.”
“Where are you going?” Valerie asked.
“Alex said shower. Just following orders.” Mike shrugged. “Honey, just go talk to them.”
He gave her a little push toward the living room.
Valerie stood in the doorway to the main Castle living room watching Mike’s guests. Alex and Max were clearly a part of this little group. Claire Martins had a long, black braid down her back and was carrying a Baby Bjorn across her chest. There was a young man stretched out on the couch. They seemed so happy together . . .and so French. Val’s heart raced with panic.
“Hey, Val.”
Max saw her from across the room. She couldn’t escape now. She raised her hand to say hello.
“This is my dear friend, Claire,” Alex said. She came over to give Valerie a hug. Leaning in, she said, “She speaks English but she’s impossible to understand when she’s excited. Do you speak French?”
Valerie shook her head.
“No problem, I’ll translate,” Alex said. “Claire brought a few dresses for you to look at. I guess you’re having a party next week?”
Valerie nodded her head.
Alex puzzled at Val’s timidity and shrugged. “Claire has a line of clothing coming out in the fall. She wanted to know if you might take a look. She thinks the clothing will look great on you.”
Valerie nodded. Smoothing her hair, Valerie glanced at Claire just as Claire’s baby peeked over at her. Val’s heart melted. Her anxiety slipped away in the dark eyes of the six-month-old baby.
“Meet Gerard,” Claire said. “Would you like to hold him?”
“I . . . I’m a little baby crazy right now,” Valerie said.
“I’ve always been baby crazy,” Claire said. “Why don’t you hold Gerard and I will take some measurements? Okay?”
Valerie nodded. She took the baby from Claire. Enraptured by the warm bundle in her arms, she didn’t notice Claire buzzing around her.
When Mike returned to the Castle living room, Valerie was singing to the baby. His heart stood still at the sight. She looked up at him and smiled.
His Val.
He jerked back to the present when the young man touched him. Frederic was holding a couple pieces of fabric up to him.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked.
“I need to know what colors work on you and get your measurements,” Frederic said. “Don’t worry, man, you’re not my type.”
“You’re not gay? I mean, I don’t care if you’re gay, I just don’t want . . .”
“My girlfriend would hate it if I were gay,” Frederic said.
“How come you do this?” Mike asked.
“We don’t choose our gifts,” Frederic laughed. “My mother is a great designer. You’ll see when your wife tries the off-the-rack. Maman also brought a couple of her original gowns.”
Mike nodded his head as if he understood. He mostly hoped the young man would stop touching him. Mike didn’t like to be touched very much. In fact, outside of a quick hug from people close to him, the only person who touched him was Val.
“What are you comfortable wearing?” Frederic asked.
“Jeans, T-shirts.”
“Your legs are too big for these Levis,” Frederic said. “They can’t fit well.”
“They don’t. But I like them.”
Frederic shook his head. “Bring me what you have.”
Mike went off to the apartment for his jeans. When he returned, Valerie was wearing a brown pencil skirt with a jacket. The brown was just a shade lighter than her dark hair. She was so beautiful that he had to stop to catch his breath.
“Wow.”
“Wait until you see the gowns,” Frederic said. “This is our first attempt at an off-the-rack line. It’s nice, yes?”
“Yes,” Mike said. “What does that mean, off-the-rack?”
“It’s a line that can be sold off a rack in a store,” Frederic said. “My father retired and needed something to do. This was his idea. So, we’re trying women’s clothing in the fall and men’s in the spring. Maman wants to create children’s clothing as well.”
Mike nodded again as if he understood.
“These are the jeans?” Frederic asked. “Can you put them on?”
One after another Mike put on his jeans while Frederic watched. Finally, he shook his head. He said something in French and Max came over.
“He wants to know if we can get you some other jeans,” Max said to Mike. “Where did you get these?”
Mike shrugged. “What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re too small,” Max said.
“They fit the waist,” Mike said. “I just deal with the leg thing.”
“That’s why they rip right here.” Max pointed to rips near the crotch of Mike’s jeans. “I’ll keep a list. We already have undergarments. Jeans are easy. Levis?”
“Yeah. But they can’t be too big. They fall off me.”
Speaking very slowly, Max said, “Frederic will tailor them. That’s what he does.”
“Oh,” Mike said. “Sorry, this is all . . .”
Mike stopped talking when Valerie turned around in the gown. He put his hand over his heart certain it had stopped beating. Valerie caught his look and smiled.
Max tapped his arm.
“Frederic brought a tux for you. He had to guess at the size. He thinks it’s too small. Do you have a tux you wear when you drive?”
Mike nodded. Frederic m
ade a motion with his hand.
“We’d go back there, but you were . . .” He said a word in French.
“Frightened,” Max translated.
“Oh, come on,” he said.
One by one, Mike tried on his clothing while Frederic shook his head and spoke in French to Max. To Mike’s surprise, Frederic liked some of his favorite shirts and pants. Before he could figure a pattern, they had exhausted his closet.
When they returned to the living room, Valerie wore a pant suit. Claire spoke in very rapid French while Alex translated. Valerie looked over at him in desperation. He slipped his arm over her shoulder.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Claire just asked Val to be her exclusive media representative,” Alex said.
“Exclusive . . . What?” Mike asked.
“That’s spokesmodel to you! I think Val’s a little overwhelmed. She looks great in the clothing. But there’s a Ramon . . .?”
“You look so much better than in anything he’s put you in,” Mike said. “Let’s ask Jen. She’s still in town right?”
Valerie nodded, “She’s setting up Oprah.”
“Oprah?” Claire said. She nodded. “That would be very good for us. This line is not expensive but well made. For the everyday woman who wants to look . . .”
“Classy,” Alex finished Claire’s sentence. “Where’s Jill? Claire thought Jill would be perfect too, but she disappeared.”
“She went back upstairs,” Mike said. “She’s painting and wanted to finish the trim before Mass.”
Alex and Claire spoke in rapid-fire French for a moment.
“Can you get Jill, Mike? We think she would look great, too.”
At the mention of Jill, Valerie lit up.
“We could both be spokesmodels?” Valerie asked.
“Two exclusive media representatives?” Alex frowned.
“Oui,” Claire said as if it was obvious.
While Valerie hesitated to hurt someone’s feelings, in this case Ramon’s tender designer feelings, she loved to spread good fortune. And Valerie loved Jill. Mike smiled at the change in her and kissed her nose.
“Call Jen, and I’ll get Jill.”
Valerie nodded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
How much I need to know
Jill had just finished the last of the bathroom trim when Mike came up the stairs. According to Mike, some people wanted to see her wear some French clothing. Jill washed the paint off her hands and ran a brush through her hair. She was certain she would get down there and they would say something like, “Oh paint-in-your-hair girl? Yeah. We didn’t mean you.”
But Jill would do anything for Mike.
And he had asked, so she followed him down the long stairs from Jacob’s apartment. Sandy knocked on the side door just as she got to the bottom of the stairs.
“I lost track of the time. I’m sorry,” Jill said to Mike. He held her in place so she couldn’t retreat upstairs. “Sandy’s here to pick me up for breakfast.”
Sandy took one look at Jill’s nervous flutter and asked, “What’s going on?”
Mike nudged Jill into the Castle living room.
“We want to see how Jill looks in some clothing,” Alex said. “Claire thinks she’ll be perfect as a spokesmodel with Val.”
“I apologize.” Jill blushed. “I lost track of time. We go to breakfast . . .”
“I’d offer to make breakfast, but you can ask Mike,” Alex said. “You don’t want to eat what I might make.”
“I’ll make it,” Sandy said. “I’d like to.”
“Let’s make breakfast together,” Delphie said from the kitchen door.
“You’re so much prettier than me, Sandy. Why don’t you be the spokesmodel?” Jill asked.
“No way,” Sandy said. “I’ve had enough pictures taken of me to last a lifetime. Plus, they want you.”
“Come on, Sandy,” Delphie said. “Let’s see what we can come up with.”
“We’re doing this early so everyone can get to Mass,” Mike said. “I’ll call Meg. If we eat here, you can try on some stuff and have breakfast and get to Mass.”
“Come on, Jill. It’s pretty fun,” Valerie said.
Valerie took Jill’s hand and led her over to a stack of clothing. Every time Jill looked up there were more people in the Castle living room. Of course, Megan, Tim, and Steve had gone to school with the Hargreaves. And the Hargreaves seemed to multiply in front of her. Alex and Max were joined by their brother, Colin, and sisters, Erin and Samantha. Even Candy knew the Hargreaves. Then the spouses, boyfriends, and children arrived.
The usually silent Castle was filling with noisy, talking-all-at-once, Catholic siblings, spouses, children, and even more people from France.
Jill thought her sanity would be restored when Katy arrived. On the heels of Katy’s arrival, Claire Martins’s husband and other children arrived. It was love at first sight for Katy and Claire’s five year old, Camille. Katy only wanted to be with Camille. The little girls played together in a corner of the room.
And Jill tried on clothing.
Claire would take a measurement or say she liked one thing or another. This woman remained convinced that Jill was going to model for her. But Jill’s high school French only went so far. From what she could make out, they were going to pay her to wear these beautiful clothes.
And pay Katy. Claire Martins wanted Katy to join Camille in modeling their children’s line.
Having had enough of the noise and chaos, Jill made her escape. She set down the last of the outfits, checked on Katy, then slipped through a hidden stairwell to Jacob’s apartment. She was almost to the top of the stairs when she heard someone behind her. Turning, she saw Alex Hargreaves looking up the stairs at her.
“Escaping?” Alex asked.
Jill nodded.
“Can we come?”
Max’s identical face appeared over Alex’s shoulder.
Jill laughed. “There’s only cereal up here. I think they’re having breakfast in a minute.”
“Is there coffee?” Alex asked.
Jill nodded. Max pulled the door closed.
“You don’t want to be out there with all of . . .” Jill started.
“We don’t,” the twins responded in unison.
Jill waved, and they followed her up the stairs. Alex set to work on coffee while Jill and Max set up cereal on Jacob’s table. Jill had spent most of her life intimidated by the rich and powerful Hargreaves in general, and independent Alex in particular. In the twin’s funny company, Jill began to feel a little more normal. They even helped her finish painting the apartment. In fact, they insisted on helping her.
Sitting in Sunday Mass, Jill felt as if she was a totally different person than she was last week. Last week, she felt like little mousey, trampled-on Jill. This week, she felt as if she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
She just wasn’t sure where that was.
~~~~~~~~
“You’re not going to Mass,” Sam said.
Valerie was standing in the middle of the Castle living room. Her eyes flitted back and forth from a stack of beautiful clothing to the gorgeous hanging gowns. She was trying to decide what she wanted to try on next when her father came in.
“I’ve avoided it for all these years. I’d hate to break my record.”
“When does Jake wake up?”
“Three or four o’clock. Jill called this morning and he was still out.”
“They’re releasing him today?”
“That’s what the doctor says. We’ll know more when he wakes up.”
Sam nodded. He sat down on one of the couches.
“Wedding today,” he said.
“Why do you bother?” Valerie asked.
Looking over at her, he sighed. He shook his head and picked a chocolate-brown sweater tunic from the pile. Valerie took the sweater from him and pulled it on.
“That’s very nice,” Sam said. “It’s a good c
olor on you.”
Valerie looked at herself in the full-length mirror Mike had brought from their apartment. She rotated back and forth in the mirror, then sneered at herself.
“Since we talked, I’ve debated with myself about how much I need to know about you and your . . . wife.”
“Tiffanie.”
“Her.”
“And?”
When Valerie spun around to him, Sam chuckled to himself. Valerie’s face mirrored Celia’s “you’re in big trouble Mister” face.
“I agreed with your mother’s plan, but I didn’t really think it through,” Sam said.
They said together, “Typical man.” They laughed.
“She was so sick, Val. Not even Jake realized how sick she was. And she was adamant. She wanted out of that pretentious house. She wanted to finally live in central Denver. We’d owned this house for . . .”
“You owned this house?”
“Own. Yes. We bought it right before you graduated from high school,” Sam said. “Celia loved this house and wanted to find a place Delphie could live and walk to work. Delphie never had two pennies to rub together. So we bought it. We were going to move but were afraid it would be too much for you at college and Jake in high school.
“She got so sick so fast. It was like walking off a cliff. After almost a decade, all of a sudden she wasn’t going to survive the year.”
Sam’s eyes welled. He shook his head and looked away. Valerie busied herself with trying on another outfit while he regained his composure.
“I did whatever she wanted. Sell the house. Done. Get a divorce to split up the company. Done. Marry Tiffanie. Done. But leave Celia’s side? Not a chance. We moved in here together. I worked to reformulate the company. She wanted me to transform the company from single-owner to a board of directors, and . . . I worked fourteen or fifteen hour days. Not even Jake knew I was here every night. Then she died, and . . .
“I woke up one day about two years later and . . . Jake was at college. I didn’t remember taking him. You were an actress. And I was married to Tiffanie.”
Valerie sat next to her father. She held out her hand and Sam took it.
“We had this arrangement for Briana. Tiffanie would drop her off at the office almost every night. You’ve met Briana? She’s really a wonderful little girl. I don’t know how I did it but I was Briana’s daddy. Tiffanie and I had lunch three times a week or so. We’d talk about finances. She set up society functions, nights at the country club, stuff like that. Just like when she was my secretary, I did what she told me to do, then returned to the Castle at night.”