Arms wrapped tightly around my waist, he set the swing into a gentle sway.
"Hmmm," I sighed, "this is nice."
Though the simple words didn't capture the depth of my contentment—with both the current situation and, for once, myself—they were all we needed.
“Nice,” he said, reaching around to turn my face up, “is not what I was going for.”
It wasn’t what I wanted either. With a wicked grin, I twist my torso and lifted my mouth. He didn’t close the distance, though. Instead, he held back the fraction of an inch from my lips.
He smiled. He did wicked way better that I ever could.
“Did you want something?”
Grrr. “You know what I want.”
Slipping my hand behind his head, I tugged his mouth towards mine. For a second he resisted. Then he relented and his hot lips brushed mine briefly before pressing harder and—
"Muses!" The lyrical call came from within the house.
With an instinctive reaction, I twisted back around and ducked down. My head thumped back against his warm, solid chest behind me. "Maybe he won't find us."
I felt Elliot's chuckle rumble through his chest and mine.
"He doesn't seem like the kind to give up easily." Elliot nipped at my exposed neck with quick kisses. "Maybe we should hide while we still can."
"Have you seen my muses?" I heard Ferrero ask, followed by a negative response from Rhonda.
"No chance," I answered, eyes closed and absorbing the sensation of his lips against my pulse. "The only way out is right past the open kitchen door."
Ferrero forgotten, I sank deeper into Elliot's welcoming warmth. If I closed my ears to the sounds of chirping crickets and televised football announcers, I could almost imagine we were hanging in a hammock over the turquoise blue waters of Tahiti. Cool breeze coming off the lagoon. Wind rustling the palm fronds above. Water lapping at pure white sands. Solar eclipse.
Eclipse?
Blinking out of my reverie, I found Ferrero standing over us, a beaming smile on his tanned face as he blocked out the fading light of the setting sun.
"Here you are," he exclaimed. He grabbed my hands and pulled me up from the swing in one swift motion. "We have much work to do."
Just as quickly, I was unceremoniously nudged aside so Ferrero could tug Elliot up and toward the house. Looking back over his shoulder as Ferrero dragged him inside, Elliot silently pleaded with me to save him.
"Sorry, Sugar Daddy." I didn't even try to hide my grin at his distress. "A muse's work is never done."
How right I was. Except for meals, I scarcely saw Elliot the entire weekend.
After a relaxing weekend in the country—okay, so Westchester isn't exactly rural, but even L.A. feels like farmland compared to the urban density of New York—I found myself full up on inspiration and initiative and short on things to do.
With Dyllie sufficiently passed out after a weekend of squirrel chasing and ball fetching I headed for the workroom and worked on turning my industrious mood into jewelry.
Two hours later the phone rang and, since Fi is usually swamped at work, I figured it must be Bethany.
"Hi Beth," I said as I brushed some eraser crumbs out of my way.
"Hey sugar, what's shakin'?"
"Just working on a new design."
The line was silent for a few seconds.
"On Monday morning? Shouldn't you be at work."
Should was the operative word. I should be making sure KY Kelly was not getting too comfortable with my job. I should be doing my job. But Ferrero, Jawbreaker, and Kelly had seen to it that I stayed far away from my duties. Ferrero's exact words on dropping me off at my apartment Sunday afternoon were, "Channel your creativity. Meditate. Do nothing."
Do nothing? That wasn't in my DNA.
He had this absurd notion that I needed to "clear my creative chakra" before we went to Milan. Five long days of nothing but packing, meditating, and channeling. That was going to get old fast.
"Lydia?" Bethany prodded, reminding me that she had asked a question.
"Work doesn't really need me right now. Kelly's doing my job and Ferrero's focused on finishing up the Fall collection but won't let me do anything 'non-muse-like'. I'm bored."
I doodled absently as I spoke, unconsciously letting my mind wander through my pencil.
"You've never had so much free time to work on the jewelry before. How's that going?"
"Actually, it's going really well. In fact," shifting the phone to my other ear, I elaborated on the tangle of vines that appeared in my doodle, adding strategically placed red M&Ms, "I'm having a lot of fun. I have about a dozen sketches for the Spring Ferrero collection and the makings of some spectacular designs of my own. I feel like I have time to actually flesh out a design. To work it out until it's right instead of just good enough."
"Sounds like you're having fun." She paused, her hesitation reclaiming my full attention. "You've never gotten this excited about work."
"Bethany, I—"
"Listen, sugar. I know I keep saying I want you to go into design full time because I want your pieces in my shop, but that's only a very small part of the reason. I want this for you because you're talented and you are wasted in that number-crunching job. The only time I hear you really, truly happy is when you're talking about your jewelry."
We'd had this conversation several times. Even though she said it was for purely selfish reasons, I had always known that there was deeper meaning in her urging. Bethany didn't have a selfish bone in her polite, Southern-raised body.
"I—"
"You need to quit your job."
I dropped my pencil and held the phone away, staring at the receiver. She never was one to beat around the bush much, but Sweet Saltwater Taffy this was more frankness than I was prepared to hear.
If for no other reason than I had been thinking the very same thing.
When I woke up this morning I bounded out of bed, took a leisurely shower, and made myself an indulgent breakfast of sparkling orange juice and a chocolate croissant. I sat at the breakfast counter in my candy-hearts jammies and let myself enjoy the unhurried peace.
For the first time in a long, long time, there was no weight of worry in the pit of my stomach. No dread over what might happen at work, if today would be the day Jawbreaker gave her position to Kelly. Or the day she found a way to have me fired for not really enjoying my work.
And the number-crunching? Calculating sales data, projecting sales, evaluating advertising expenditures. Maybe this was what I should expect with an econ major from Columbia, but that hadn't been my dream.
As an idealistic college student, I had dreamed of getting my degree in economics and pairing it with my jewelry design and starting my own business. But when graduation came around, the panic of not having a steady job with benefits struck and I bit the corporate bullet and took the job at Ferrero.
Steady. Benefits. Opportunity for advancement. And the prestige and cool factor of working at a couture fashion house.
I enjoyed the company and my coworkers—for the most part—and I let the idea of my own jewelry business melt away, like cotton candy in the rain.
Several years and a master plan later, the dream was but a distant memory.
But memories tend to flood back in when you have some free time. It started as a tickle at the back of my mind after filing the sketches for Ferrero into a portfolio and turning to my own designs. As I sketched out a necklace made from ceramic peppermint beads, the first teasing thought of what a good central piece that would be to a collection wiggled its way into my head.
Inspiration bombarded me and I now had plans for two dozen candy-themed pieces.
I could almost picture them on the "Must-Haves" pages of Lucky Magazine.
When the tinny sounds of my name repeated over and over reached my ears, dragging my wandering brain out of the land of daydreams, I held the phone back up to my ear.
"Lydia?" Bethany sounded almost desper
ate. "Lydia!"
"Yeah, I'm here."
"For goodness sake, why didn't you—"
"I think you're right."
"—say so...." Silence. "You do?"
Preparing for the biggest risk in my life, I held my hand over my eyes and said, "I need to quit my job."
Bethany's scream of joy was so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear for the safety of my eardrum. Thunk. Sudden silence from the other end and I listened closely, barely hearing a muffled, "No ma'am, not the lottery. A friend just made a very good decision."
After a few scuffling sounds, Bethany came back on the line. "Oh sugar, I am so proud of you. This will be the best decision you ever made."
My heart beat a sugar-high pace and adrenaline dashed through my veins, leaving my arms and legs feeling like Jell-O Jigglers.
"I hope you’re right," I said in a terror-weakened voice.
Why were the most important decisions always the most nerve-wracking?
"I promise," she replied, uncontrolled joy lifting her voice to a squeal, "you will be happier than ever. When are you giving your notice?"
The sooner the better, I almost said. Best get it over with before I lost my nerve.
But I had Milan to consider. And the Spring collection. I owed it to Ferrero—and myself—to finish what I'd already promised. Both Fashion Week and designing the collection accessories would be excellent experiences that I couldn't buy.
The sooner the better resonated in my mind. After so many years of delaying my dreams, I wanted to put them into motion as quickly as possible.
"After Milan," I decided out loud. "I'll still do the accessories collection, but I'll resign my executive position as soon as we get back."
"I couldn't be happier—" Beep-beep. "—you."
"I've got another call."
"Okay, call me—" Beep-beep. "—night. Bye."
"Bye." Click. "Hello?"
"Lydia?" the hair-raisingly sweet voice asked. "It's Kelly. Can we meet?"
17
Q: Why couldn't the shoes go out and play?
A: They were all tied up.
— Laffy Taffy Joke #126
"Um," I stalled, wishing I had any plausible excuse for saying no, "sure."
"Great, I'll be there in ten minutes." Kelly hung up before I could protest. Or disagree. Or agree, even.
As the dial tone buzzed in my ear I felt my head begin to drop. Mere millimeters from slamming my forehead to the table in hopes of knocking myself unconscious, or at the very least necessitating stitches—either instance would result in an undeniable reason for sending Kelly away—I caught sight of the field of fuzzy pastel hearts covering my pajamas.
"Dubble Bubble damn!"
Lurching off the stool, I dashed into the bedroom to change into something moderately more presentable. I was just slipping my pantyhose-clad feet into my Ferragamos when the doorbell buzzed.
Two and a half minutes later, I opened the door, tasteful makeup hastily applied and hair twisted up into a butterfly clip to hide the fact that I couldn't find my brush.
"Wow, you look fabulous," Kelly exclaimed as she burst into my apartment like an overfilled balloon. "You'd never catch me looking so glam on a home day."
Ha, I snorted—unintentionally out loud—and earned a scowl from Kelly.
"No, really," she asserted. "It's sweats and slippers for me. Every day, if I could."
One glance at her head-to-toe designerwear and I knew this KY had never seen the pilly side of a sweatshirt. Since the day they started at Ferrero, all three KYs dressed impeccably. The only exception was the night Kathryn showed up in emotional distress, but that was a definite once-an-eon occurrence.
"Yeah, I'm sure you snuggle up in your DKNY workout suit on chilly nights." My tone came out a lot snippier than I intended. Rather than apologize, I got to the point. "What’s so urgent?"
She looked taken aback by my abrupt change of subject. But, like any determined KY, she refused to be deterred.
"I think you have the wrong idea about me, Lydia."
What idea was that? That she was a career- and social-climbing siren set on stealing my job and my fiancé?
Whoa! That came out of nowhere.
Well, not nowhere exactly. The woman did currently have my job. In a manner of speaking. But the second part? First of all, Gavin was no longer my fiancé. In any manner. And second of all, what did I care if she stole him—not that someone can steal something that doesn't belong to you.
"I'm sorry Kelly, I'm just a little strung out at the moment."
Leading the way into the living area, I headed for the buffet cabinet and plucked the lid off the antique soup tureen that had belonged to great-great-great-great-grandma Vanderwalk. A sea of gummy bears smiled up at me.
"Gummy bear?" I offered, ladling out a handful into my palm.
"No... thank you." Kelly looked a little frightened.
As I glanced down at my fistful, I was a little frightened, too. Just to prove I was not some insane candy freak—accuracy aside—I poured half of the gummies back into the tureen. And slammed the lid back on before I could retrieve them.
For a second, I thought I heard the tiny, high-pitched screams of a hundred little voices.
Was hallucination one of the signs of addiction?
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the addiction checklist from that recovery book Mom gave me last Christmas. One was denial and there was concealment. Oooh, yeah, personification was number seven.
Turning off my inner voices, I lifted the lid once more and dropped the rest of the bears back inside.
When I turned back around, Kelly was eying me like you eye the crazy person walking down the street talking to himself. A little wary and a lot concerned.
I crossed to the chofa and sat as if nothing bizarre had just happened.
Kelly snapped out of her deer-in-headlights stare and lowered herself onto the couch, perching on the edge of the cushion and clearly ready to get back to business.
"I know we never have gotten on real well." She set her briefcase on the floor and leaned forward, forcing a conversational intimacy I had no interest in sharing. "I just want to tell you that I—"
"Can we just get on with what you came for?" I cut in.
What was wrong with me? It couldn’t be just gummy bear withdrawal. And it couldn’t be about the job, because I’d already decided to quit. That only left—
No. It must be gummy withdrawal.
I was so not jealous of her relationship with Gavin.
She looked taken aback, but quickly recovered her composure. "Yes. Of course. I had a few questions about the numbers from the Bay Area campaign."
As I looked over the papers she handed to me, I realized that she had caught a couple of errors. Not significant, career-breaking errors, but errors nonetheless.
My heart broke.
Why I was so concerned about a job I had already decided to shuck anyway I don't know. Maybe it was just the failure factor. I knew that everyone makes mistakes, especially in such a high stakes, high pressure, fast-paced world. But it still bit that I had screwed up and Kelly had been the one to catch it.
Sitting up straighter in my seat, I knew I had to do the right thing.
"You're right. I miscalculated the overhead. You have a real head for this business," I said, handing the papers back to her. Hard as it was for me to form the words, I made myself add, "You should be doing my job."
And I even did it without cringing.
Her eyes brightened and for a second she looked like she might cry. "That," she gasped, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her fingers, "was the kindest thing you have ever said to me."
Now it was my turn to be taken aback. Kelly was not the sort of girl who made it through life without being praised at every turn. She was beautiful, stylish, obviously intelligent, and must be regularly swamped with compliments. She didn’t need mine on top of all that.
"Well, I'm sure—"
"No." She stopped me, refocusing her attention and pinning me with an earnest look. "Let me say this. I have not had the easiest life, and I know I don't relate very well with other women. But I've always wanted to be a fashion executive. And from the moment I came on board at Ferrero, you were my role model. I wanted to do everything as smoothly and gracefully as you. And what you just said—well, that's just the greatest thing that you could ever say."
Before I could react, she was out of her seat and next to me on the chofa. Her arms wound around me in what felt alarmingly like a hug.
"Of course, I would never ever want to take your job away from you. Then again, everyone knows you're going to be pro—"
She slapped a hand over her mouth, apparently realizing she was about to say too much. Her eyes widened comically.
"—Oh no! I wasn't supposed to say a word. Not to anyone."
She fell silent.
Funny, but an hour ago that news would have made me the happiest woman in the world. To realize that I was about to achieve the Year Six goal from the master plan. To know that I had overcome the adversity of Jawbreaker's Barnard-bias and the KYs' conniving.
But an hour can make a huge different in a person.
In an hour I had decided to quit the job I had no love for. I had learned that maybe the KYs are more than what they seem. And I had learned that maybe, just maybe, my obsession with candy was more than a harmless fascination.
How could a person's life change so quickly?
"It's okay, Kelly," I soothed, trying to calm that horrified look off her face. "It doesn't matter anyway. When we get back from Milan, I'm quitting."
"No, no, no. You can't quit. Why would you quit?"
"To finally do something I love." It sounded like the simplest answer in the world. Maybe it was. "I've never loved the business side of fashion the way you do. I want to design full-time."
Though there was a tinge of sadness in her voice, she congratulated me. "Everyone should get the chance to do something they really love." Her whole person brightened. "And I'm sure Ferrero will use your pieces in every collection. He just raves about your work."