Ripped at the Seams (17 page)

“In that case, why don't you ask Lola to put it on?” Marla suggested, obviously still smarting from Lola's Elk Lake comment.

“Oh, that's not my favorite design in the shop,” Lola told her easily. “And I don't think you'd want to put the kinds of things I wear to bed in
Fashionista
.” She pointed over to a display of extremely suggestive black leather panties and matching bras.

Maria blushed. Franklin laughed. “I'll bet you've been photographed plenty in your time,” he teased Lola.

“Sure,” she told him. “But those aren't for public viewing.” She turned to Sami. “Go ahead, kiddo. You didn't let Rain put all that paint on your face for nothing.”

Sami blushed. Rain had spent a long time making Sami up for this interview. Not only had she literally spent hours going through her makeup box, finding just the right shades for Sami's pale skin, she'd also arranged for one of her friends, an up-and-coming hairdresser named Snake, to cut Sami's long, straight locks into a shoulder-length
bob that bounced up and down as she walked.

Now, as Sami headed into the dressing room at the back of the store and looked at herself in the mirror, she was amazed at the transformation. No one in the world would ever believe that she was from Elk Lake, Minnesota. She looked every bit like a sleek, sophisticated New York designer. She seemed comfortable in the look, unlike Marla, who seemed to be trying far too hard to be part of the fashion in-crowd.

Sami laced up the bodice of the nightgown and nervously fluffed her hair. She turned around quickly, making sure that there were no loose hems or open seams. She knew that there was a lot riding on this interview. If Marla and Franklin didn't like this design, it could mean the end of everything.
Fashionista
was the bible of the up-and-coming fashion world—a weekly introduction into what was sure to be the next new thing.

But as Sami emerged from the dressing room, she knew instinctively that, at least from Franklin's point of view, the design had worked its magic. She could see it in
his deep-set chocolate brown eyes, which lit up as she entered the room. His face took on an excited hue, and he leaped up onto the cashier's counter, camera in hand. “Okay, Cinderella,” he greeted her as he began snapping away. “Welcome to the fashion ball.”

Lola and Marla stood off to the side as Franklin worked, urging Sami to swirl around, making her laugh and smile for the camera despite herself. All of her nervousness seemed to disappear in his enthusiastic presence. Only once did she blanch—at his suggestion that she give the camera her most sexy look. The thought of herself as some sex symbol was too funny for Sami even to imagine, and she burst into hysterics, which were dutifully recorded by Franklin's camera.

“Okay, that should do it,” Franklin said finally. “Do you have everything you need, Marla?”

Marla nodded. “Got it. Should I wait for you?”

Franklin shook his head. “Nah. I've got to take these lights down and load them back into my van. Tell Gen I'll have these
zapped onto her computer by the end of the day.” Franklin held up his camera. “Digital cameras. You gotta love 'em.”

Sami held out her hand to Marla. “Thank you so much for coming down here to see everything,” she said sincerely.

“That's my job,” Marla said. “It was nice meeting you, Sami.”

Sami tried to study her face, searching for some clue as to how she had reacted to Sami's designs. But Marla's face was a blank slate, revealing nothing.

As Franklin packed up his lights, Sami went back into the dressing room and put on the black pants and magenta turtleneck Rain had picked out for her to wear that morning. She walked back into the main room of the store just as Franklin was preparing to return to the
Fashionista
offices. She walked over and reached out her hand. “Thank you,” she told him. “It was fun.”

“What, that's all I get?” Franklin asked her.

Sami was caught off balance. Just what was Franklin Beane expecting from her? Was she supposed to pay him for the
photos? Sami wasn't experienced with the media, and she wasn't quite sure how this all worked. A wave of panic came over her. She could never afford to pay a famous photographer like him.

Franklin laughed at her reaction. “Well, Cinderella, even the prince got a glass slipper when the ball ended. I was hoping I could at least get your phone number.”

Sami bit her lower lip. She'd sworn off men. She'd told that to Celia, Lola, Rain, Vin, and just about anyone else who would listen. Still, looking into Franklin's brown eyes, she softened slightly. He seemed so happy and full of life. He'd be fun to hang around with. This time, she'd just be smarter. “Okay,” she said quietly, scribbling her home number on a piece of paper.

Franklin placed the paper in the inside pocket of his leather jacket and tapped it lightly. “I'll guard this with my life,” he vowed. “Wouldn't want your number to get into the wrong hands.”

“Who would that be?” Sami asked him.

“Anyone who could be considered my competition,” Franklin said with a grin.

One week later, Sami sat behind the counter at Beneath the Sheets with her hands over her eyes. “I can't look,” she told Nico and Lola. “What if its awful?”

Lola picked up the latest issue of
Fashionista
and carefully scanned the pages until she came to the article she was searching for. “Here it is,” she told Sami. “You want me to read it?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean … oh, I don't know!”

Nico peered over Lola's shoulder. “Ooo, Sami, you look gorgeous. Like a princess.”

Still, Sami didn't uncover her eyes.

“I'm just going to read it,” Lola said finally. “The headline reads, ‘Dress Up on Halloween Night.'”

Sami gasped. “Oh, no! Marla thought my outfits were so awful, they looked like Halloween costumes?”

Lola kept reading:

“Sami Granger's new lingerie line is a real Halloween treat. Her long lines and soft fabrics will trick your honey into thinking he's seeing a lot more than is actually being revealed. She's managed to
combine her northern Minnesota roots (she hails from a small, small, small town called Elk Lake) with an East Village sex appeal, obviously developed under the tutelage of Lola (no last name needed), owner of the downtown boutique Beneath the Sheets.”

Lola stopped reading long enough to chuckle. “Whaddaya know? We're a boutique now.”

“Keep reading,” Nico urged her.

Sami was pretty sure she'd stopped breathing.

“Granger's collection is small, and her customer base is limited to just a few in-the-know customers. For the moment, Granger personally consults, designs, and sews the garments. But that won't last long. As soon as word gets out about Sami Granger's lingerie line, she'll have to expand into a full-fledged design business. This reporter only hopes that when that happens, the lingerie won't lose the warm personal touch the current line embodies.”

Lola put the paper down on the counter. “Well, that sucks,” she groaned.

Nico looked at her strangely. “Are you kidding? That was unbelievably great!”

Lola shook her head. “After people read that, we're going to be swamped by all those snooty Upper East Side trophy wives whose only job is to keep their hubbies hot. Not to mention trendy models, and, if I'm not mistaken, phony fashion writers like Marla Simmons.” She sighed. “Ah, well. There goes the neighborhood.”

Throughout this entire exchange, Sami sat speechless behind the counter. She'd gone from being a wronged receptionist, to being the subject of a positive—make that
really
positive—review in
Fashionista
. She sat back and let the realization of what had just happened sink in. But that moment of self-satisfaction didn't last long. The phone began to ring.

“I'll get it,” Nico said, leaping up to answer the call. “Hello. How may I help you? Beneath the Sheets.”

Lola rolled her eyes. “She's never going to get the hang of that.”

Nico blushed, realizing what she'd just said. Then she returned to the caller. “Yes, she's here. One second, please.” She held the phone out to Sami. “It's for you.”

Sami took the phone, expecting to hear
the voice of one of her customers on the other end. Instead, a man's deep voice said, “Hello, Sami?”

“Yes?” Sami said, not recognizing the voice.

“What, have you forgotten all the little people already?”

“Vin!” Sami exclaimed. “You don't sound like you.”

“I just woke up,” Vin replied. “This is how I sound when I haven't spoken in eight hours. But Rain just pushed a copy of
Fashionista
under the door. I wanted to congratulate you. We need to celebrate tonight.”

“Sure … I …” Just then, there was a beep on the phone. “Hold on, Vin, that's the call-waiting.” She pressed the button on the receiver. “Hello?”

“Cinderella! Howyadoin'?” Franklin Beane's unmistakable voice rang out from the other end.

“Amazing,” Sami told him. “Thanks to you … and Marla. The article was great. And your pictures … I've never seen anything like them.”

“Aw shucks, ma'am, t'weren't nothin',”
Franklin laughed, taking on an old-time Western voice.

“Yes, they were! They were incredible. I don't know how to thank you.”

“I've got an idea,” Franklin replied, his voice taking on a slightly more seductive tone.

“Franklin, I … I hardly know you,” Sami stammered.

“True. But when you get to know me, you'll adore me.” His voice grew more playful and far less intimidating.

“No doubt.” Sami laughed.

“So how about getting to know me tonight? I have to photograph the Giovanni evening wear show, and then there's a dinner party at Le Cirque.”

“Le Cirque?” Sami gasped. “I've always dreamed of going there!”

“Great. Meet me at the Giovanni showroom at seven. I have to take some preliminary shots there, and then we'll head over to the show.”

“Okay,” Sami said slowly.

“Talk to you later,” Franklin said, hanging up the phone.

“You're going to Le Cirque?” Nico
asked as Sami stood there, holding the phone in her hand.

Sami nodded. “Franklin Beane asked me to go to the Giovanni party.”

“Wow!” Nico exclaimed.

“Excuse me,” Lola interrupted. “But don't you have someone else on the other line?”

“Oh, Vin!” Sami exclaimed, quickly pushing the call-waiting button to bring Vin back onto the phone. “Sorry about that,” she said quickly.

“No problem,” Vin assured her. “I had time to build a table.”

“Very funny,” Sami joked.

“I hear girls love a guy with a sense of humor,” Vin told her. “So about celebrating. I was thinking about maybe going over to SoHo Bar and Grill for a drink and then over to Gold Star Sushi—”

“It sounds great,” Sami said. “But can we do it tomorrow night? Franklin Beane just invited me to the Giovanni show and the party afterward.”

“Sure.” Vin's voice was quiet and disappointed.

“I have to go with him tonight,” Sami
insisted, trying not to hurt her buddy's feelings. “I mean, I owe everything to him.”

“You don't owe anybody anything,” Vin told her loyally. “Your talent is what's going to make you a success.”

“But those pictures—”

“They were nice. You look better in person.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Tomorrow, then.”

“Maybe we could ask Rain to come along. You know, the Three Musketeers out on the town?” Sami suggested cheerfully.

“Sure,” Vin said evenly. “Whatever you want.”

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Sami wished she could savor each moment, but she was so busy that she couldn't take the time to commit all the excitement to memory. She spent all day designing and making lingerie for her ever-expanding client base. Her nights were spent with Franklin, attending fashion parties and high-profile charity events. Once or twice she'd even seen Ted Fromme at a few of the events. And although her former employer had tried to make eye contact with her, Sami had managed to blow him off completely—which brought her far too much joy.

It seemed to Sami that Franklin knew everyone who was anyone in the New York fashion world. Glamorous models flocked to him wherever he went, drawn to him like elegant moths dancing around a flame. But Franklin barely paid them any notice. When Sami was on his arm, he had eyes for no one else.

On the other hand, Sami didn't feel as though she knew him any better now than when she'd first met him. She and Franklin had barely had any time alone together, other than in cabs as they darted from one event to another. Franklin never had time for a quiet private dinner, or a Saturday afternoon in the park. He was always working, or heading off to another industry party. In fact, although they'd been dating for several weeks now, he and Sami hadn't shared more than a quick good night kiss from time to time. Anytime Sami had suggested he stop up at the apartment for a drink, or just to talk, he'd begged off, explaining that he had an early meeting or photo shoot to get to.