Temporary (Indelibly Marked #2) (13 page)

“We have a meeting and Ivan has a tattoo later.” She smiled
turning to both Shane and Lindsay as if to demonstrate her happiness.

Secrets. Somehow their close-knit group had too many
secrets. Errands, tattoos, lawsuits, relationships. Relationships?

“I remember when she was a baby.” Shane reached forward and
pinched his sister’s cheek.

Emily shook her head.

“We all need to be calm. We’re going to have another baby
soon and we can’t be obnoxious.” Shane laughed. “Well, I can’t be obnoxious.”

Shane may need to curb his obnoxious factor, but Ivan needed
to figure out which button to push. Emily couldn’t handle any more drama and he
needed to get serious, no matter what floor he decided to get off on.

~~*~~

“Wow.” Emily stopped and took in the California Market
Center, the Mecca for all things fashion in Los Angeles. The raised runway
spanned the length of the huge white exhibition hall with rows of chair set up
on either side while a multitude of people scurried around with last minute
adjustments before the audience arrived.

“I always wonder how the models walk this without tripping.”
She pointed at the runway.

“They’re not real.” With her makeup case in tow, Dillon
bumped into her. “They are more like robots and that’s why they don’t fall flat
on their faces. I’m glad you’re not like that. Thank heavens for small favors.”

She glanced back at her oldest brother, deciding not to tell
him his ex reminded her of one of the models. Out of nowhere, she had her
Dillon back. Maybe if he would tell her what happened to the money, or more
importantly why, she would cut the wood to mend some fences.

“What?” He wrinkled his nose.

“You came with me.” Nerves got the best of her after her
whole emotional scene at Shane’s. With no one else informed of her whereabouts,
she’d called Dillon. He never hesitated, only asked what time to pick her up.

“Consider it double points for getting back into your good
graces.” He shook his head. “What do we have to do now?”

“I have to start the makeup in the back, but will you do me
a favor?” She took out her phone.

He looked around. “Coming to a fashion show and watching you
do makeup isn’t favor enough?” For the first time in a long time, he graced her
with one of his smiles. Where Shane was fun loving and charming, and Carson a
quiet dreamer, Dillon was always a bit sad, left of center and out of place but
he never compromised.

“Will you take pictures of me doing the makeup?” She handed
him her phone.

He shrugged and motioned for them to get moving. “At least
I’ll have a purpose.”

“Will you also check in case James, Ivan, or Shane calls?”
She walked alongside him.

“Okay, fine, you’re pushing the brother penance. What do I
do if one of them calls?” He slid her phone into his suit breast pocket.

They neared the preparation area. Mark walked by the
entrance and waved to her.

A tremble vibrated her entire body and the floor seemed to
ripple beneath her feet. She stepped back and grabbed Dillon’s arm.

“Emily, are you okay?”

She closed her eyes and inhaled. Her own dream laid ahead,
just a few steps away. No matter what, she needed to get in there and do her
job. “If Shane calls, get me no matter what. If James calls answer, we’re
waiting for a date on the mediation. If Ivan calls…”

“Which one are you dating?”

“Come on my pink princess,” Mark called from the entryway.
“I have models in need of faces.”

“We need to go.” She tugged her big brother.

“Tell me first.”

“You tell me why you took off with the money, and I’ll tell
you who I’m dating.” She let go of him and walked toward the light. Maybe death
felt like walking into the unknown.

“You were so young, does it really matter? I will spend my
life paying it back if I have to.”

She stopped and spun to face him. “Well now I’m old enough
to run a business and be an artist, and do a lot of things all on my own. That
makes me old enough to know what you did with my money, and old enough to
demand an answer from the one person I looked up to my whole life.”

Unwilling to get into it with him, she stomped into the
preparation room where a blast of chaos hit her. Models scurried around in
various states of undress, clothes, hairdressers, complete disarray, a far cry
from makeovers and bridal parties.

“One of the artists cancelled.” Mark grabbed her arm. “We
just need to get to work, you brought help, good.” He pointed directly into the
disaster zone and walked away.

Unsteady and confused she turned back to her brother. Three
artists down to two, she would have to really speed up to make it.

“You better get going, I’m right behind you.”

Her walk reminded her of walking into the ocean during high
tide. Somehow she found her way to the makeup tables and her first model
dressed in Mark Markson’s version of a little black dress, deconstructed but
futuristic. Dillon rolled her case next to her.

With no time to waste she gave a nod to the other artist, a
smile to her model and began. In her peripheral vision she spied a sea of
models all in need of makeup. Her shaking amplified and her stomach burned. Her
only saving grace was the fact she’d already reviewed the looks Mark wanted for
each outfit and created a cheat sheet.

She put her little laminated paper on top of her case and
glanced over at Dillon. As he promised, he attempted to stand out of any lines
of fire and took pictures.

“It’s okay, it’s always chaos.” The brunette model gave her
a thumb up. “Once we’re walking the runway all you have to do is worry about
touching us up.”

“Thanks.” Her hands seemed to move by themselves as she
completed the first model.

Like an assembly line, the woman stood and another model in
only a bra and panties instantly took her place. Emily peeked to capture
Dillon’s expression, but he had vanished.

“I’m in this outfit.” She handed Emily a picture of a short
green tartan with black leather panels on the elbows.

Emily nodded and located the outfit on her notes. “Got it.”
She glanced around in search of her brother, but there was no sign of him.

Though she forced her attention back to her job, her mind
wandered. Where was Dillon? He promised to stay right there, yet he
disappeared. His personal modus operandi.

She blended her foundation and took a breath. Wait. It
wasn’t like he left for New York. Maybe he went to the bathroom or to get some
air, but he could have told her.

One more time she looked around for him.

At last she saw him making his way back through the crowd.
Even with the distance between them, she made out the lines of worry marring
his face. Something happened. “One second.”

He finally reached her. “Go do your thing.”

“Where did you go?” Her throat dried out.

“I just took a phone call.” He pointed back to the model and
raised his eyebrows. “I’ll resume my job as site photographer.”

She didn’t instruct him about what to do if Ivan called, and
she told him to get her if it was Shane. That left her with only one other
option. “What did James need?” Prickly heat overtook her.

“Emily, worry about you right now, okay?”

“Don’t do that, Dillon, tell me or I won’t be able to
finish.” She exhaled. “Why can’t people just be straight with each other? Why
is everything always hidden?”

He shut his eyes and took a breath before looking at her.
“Give me some time and I’ll tell you everything that happened with me. I
promise. I just want to be your big brother again for a little while.”

“Tell me about the phone call.”

“Gary Lipson is in the hospital for his infection from the
tattoo.” He rushed the words out.

Though she tried to take a breath, the air thickened and
wouldn’t reach her lungs. “Explain.”

“Listen to me.” He knelt down and took her shoulders. “He
got sick, he’s in the hospital. He’s going to be there for a bit so the
decision on the mediation is postponed.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Sick adrenaline pumped through her
and she pounded her fist into her leg. “We should go talk to him. Maybe he’ll
be real with us. We should see how he’s doing.”

“No, James specifically said no contact. He’s in the hospital,
and you need to finish your job.”

“Excuse me, I need to get in my clothes,” the model called
to her.

“We have some late models, damn these shows,” one of the
dressers called and ran by carrying several pairs of shoes.

“Is he going to be okay?” She asked the question again.

Dillon answered by not answering. The guy was sick, really
sick, no matter from whom or what, he was in the hospital, could die. Emily
broke into a sweat, the same kind as when she had the flu or ate something bad.

“Focus on the makeup.” Dillon rubbed her back.

Following her brother’s instructions, she reached for her
applicators and only succeeded in knocking her mascara brushes, concealer, and
mirror to the floor.

“Oh God, did I break it?” She pressed her hand to her
forehead. They didn’t need more bad luck. What next? Fire? Pestilence? The
baby? “I can’t even think.”

“It’s fine.” Dillon showed her the mirror was intact. “Take
a breath, you are doing fine.”

 “I can’t finish. I need you to take me to the shop.” She
searched his face wanting him to make it better.

“Yes you can finish, and you will.” He straightened and
pushed her back to the model. “I’ll help you.”

Dillon started by simply holding up the sheet and reading
her notes aloud. As if on automatic pilot, she performed her tasks. Concealer,
foundation, eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, blush and lips, on one, two, then
three models. Dillon went from reading the notes, to handing her items and
cleaning as they went, they worked together much like a surgeon and a nurse who
had found their rhythm. Though the clothes and the hair colors blurred, she
managed to get the makeup on the models.

Entrenched in the repetitive task of getting the girls
ready, her mind replayed the news. Images of the guy in the hospital mingled
with the shop in jeopardy. Her only thought was to get to Ivan, then she could
be safe.

As she finished up what appeared to be the last woman, Mark
ran over. “The late models finally arrived, get them done now!”

She faced him.

“You have five minutes.” He clapped and pointed at her. Gone
was the man with the sarcastic smiles and in his place a crazed designer with
an important show. “Don’t make me look like an amateur.”

There was no way she’d be the amateur. She jumped back as if
facing an evil, snarling monster in a horror show. It was only Sissy.

“I had to model for two shows, you have three minutes.” In a
gold gown, Sissy snapped her fingers.

Dillon came up behind her. “She isn’t on the list.”

Emily almost smiled at the way he checked off the models.
She glanced over at the other artist, wondering if they could switch.

“Mark put me in the last second.” Sissy tilted her head. “He
said you are good on the fly. Let’s see if you’re as good as he thinks.”

With the thought of switching behind her, she went to plan
B, do the bitch’s makeup and stay quiet.

“What do you want to do?” Dillon whispered.

She shut her eyes, willing the visions of Sissy, Ivan, the
shop and hospital beds away, and she forced herself to only see the color gold.
Maybe she wasn’t a thug, but she was tough and she wouldn’t go down like a
sniffling fool. “Give me everything gold.”

“What about the spackle part?”

She laughed at what Dillon called foundation. “Gold,
everything gold.”

“First time you came alone, and you have a new man tonight.”
Sissy swung her leg. “Is something wrong in the world of the great and powerful
tattoos?”

Emily poured some base into one of the ink caps and scanned
the gold items Dillon found in her case.

Dillon leaned closer. “What’s going on, and why aren’t you
beating her up?”

“She liked Carson. He didn’t return the feelings.” She
picked up one of the eye shadows and scraped some of the powder into base.
“And, I’m taking a lesson from by oldest brother.”

“I always knew you were smart.” Dillon laughed and stared at
her little mixture.

“Smart?”

“You’re an Elliot.” He winked. “Keep going.”

“Are you going to make the introductions?” Sissy raised her
chin.

Without speaking to the witch, Emily put the custom
foundation on her, turning her skin a matte gold. She followed up with doing
her eyes in the same palate. She glanced at Dillon.

With a complete poker face, he nodded and handed her a
sparkling gold lipstick. “I believe this should give it the final touch.”

“What? Did your hooligan brothers and their long-haired
hangers-on go under? You had to find a new group to hang out with?” The corners
of Sissy’s mouth turned up. “Did someone in the brain trust over there misspell
something on someone and you had to close up shop before you got sued?”

Throughout the years every man in Emily’s life taught her
every perfect comeback. That bomb landed a little too close for comfort, and
without a word she leaned in and applied the lipstick.

“Aw, did I make the tough girl cry?” Sissy cackled. “Or are
you sad that you now have to be with real people instead of those tattoo circus
freaks?”

“The only freak in the show is you.” Dillon shoved her
aside, and moved into Sissy’s face holding up a mirror.

Sissy screamed. “What have you done?” She stood.

Emily put her hand over her mouth. No doubt she accomplished
her goal. If nothing else, the woman was gold.

“I look like an awards statue.” She stomped her foot.
“Mark!”

“With your personality, I wouldn’t want to take you home
with me.” Dillon crossed his arms. “I would think I’d lost.”