Blake Morgan’s Gay Mafia Know-How
“A sex party?” Excitement surged through Lex, dreaming about the wonderful things which may come from the night. “What’s the ambiance?”
“It’s a charity event with silent auctions for the outrageous artwork.”
Boring. “I thought you raved it as—”
“Upstairs is art, my darling, no? Downstairs is a special club with several hidden rooms. It’s my favorite event from this season. They have dance floors and secret alcoves for lovers. The music will be trance-like, a DJ they’ll bring in from Ibiza. Summer cocktail attire revealing your boobies, legs and back.”
“What are you wearing?” Sheer joy bubbled through her.
“Another gown I created, accentuating the diamonds Luigi gave me for Christmas, and you?”
“No clue.” Lex realized she didn’t have anything revealing boobies, legs, or back.
“For you, my darling, I have an idea. A dress I designed but can’t wear because, as you know, it’s poor fashion etiquette to dress in your own creations.”
“I’ve never heard—”
“A designer must always wear another designer’s clothing.”
“Why?” Lex didn’t think a motto as such would fly in New York.
“It shows they are fearless when it comes to competition.”
“Really?”
“Nah.” Jemma exhaled. “But Luigi requested I wear the diamonds he gave me in public. My other dress will not work.”
“Gotcha.”
“Luigi’s gifts are like an extension of his penis. Significant and bold, I must have it on me at all times.” She snorted and went into a laughing fit. When she finished, she said, “The dress I created clashes with them, due to its high neckline. Whatever Luigi wants, Luigi gets. So diamonds tonight it is, and a dress with a plunging neckline.” Heading for the door, she said, “It’s my original creation.”
“Meaning?”
“A nude hue, smothered in rhinestones, cut in the right places, and by right, I mean wrong. I have it in my office. Let me go get it.”
Once Jemma left, Lex opened the laptop on her desk, setting Jemma’s modeling memorabilia to the side. She fired off emails to the apparel mass market buyers at Kmart, Walmart, JC Penney and Target, showing them the first image they’d put together. She’d have the lookbooks done later that day, and Massimo’s graphic artist would tweak them for a proper presentation. Right then, she needed to get their immediate feedback. She included two images, a description on the Girasoli brand, and the suggested wholesale prices.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Jemma emerged, holding with pride the gown she’d created.
“Wow! Jemma, I’m speechless. The gems are ice rocks sewn to skin-identical fabric.” She felt brave. “Can I try it on?”
“Sì, my darling.” Jemma held up the dress to her body and danced around the showroom.
Lex stripped off her jeans and button-down shirt and put on the slinky cocktail cover. “You’d have to let it out an inch or two. My hips are wider than yours.”
Jemma ran her hands over Lex’s back, smoothing out the shape. “Suck it in, darling.” She zipped up the back.
“And you’d have to take it in at the bust.” Staring in jealousy, she admired Jemma’s breasts. “Lord knows I don’t have your set.”
“Sì, sì, sì.” Jemma stepped back, giving Lex a once-over similar to the look she gave her that morning when she was on Massimo’s bed. “My design is stunning on you. With your blonde hair and tan skin, it’s gorgeous. Come to the mirror.”
She stood facing the full-length, tri-fold mirror next to a showroom mannequin. “I, ah, it’s beautiful. But I don’t have the confidence to pull this off. It’s not me. I don’t show my body and…” Lex was naked.
“Show your hot body, my darling. Show it, show it, show it,” Jemma sang. She raised her hands to the showroom’s fluorescent lights and circled the workspace, dancing. “Honey, this is the largest art show in Italia. You have to stand out as the face for Easton Essentials.”
Lex shook her head to disagree.
Jemma pressed on. “Shame on you, darling. Shame on you. You must have your photo taken.”
“It’s not me, Jemma, and for the last time, no photos.”
“The prince will drop dead when he sees you. You’re wearing this. I won’t have any arguments.” Jemma looked up at Lex with such hope in her eyes. Lex had made a friend on this trip. One with a great commonality to her interests—fashion. She thought how she’d react, being rejected by a friend’s disinterest to wear an Easton garment. Devastated.
“Okay, okay, I’ll do this for you.”
“Yeah!” Jemma squealed and hugged Lex.
“Where does your self-confidence come from, Jemma?” Lex turned to her side, trying to get comfortable with her silhouette.
“Haven’t you ever noticed? All Italiani women have it.”
“For sure,” Lex put her hands on her hips, wishing she could be more like Jemma in that regard.
“No matter how tall or short, fat or thin, rich or poor, we’re confident. It’s about our sexual desirability and how we are on the inside.”
“Why do you suppose Italians are like that?”
“We know we are worthy. Look at Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. The lady—how do you say in English—is an ugly duckling.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But there’s something appealing about her, no? It’s in Mona’s eyes.” Jemma posed to the west to impersonate the oil painting.
“I hear ya.” She exhaled. “Can you bottle up some Mona Lisa self-confidence? I’ll bathe in it tonight.”
“I’ll teach you a few tricks for assurance, darling. We’ll also do some red carpet rehearsals so you can pose for the camera,” Jemma responded.
“Thank you.” Lex beamed. Tonight will be fun, and better dancing than last night. “Let’s get these patterns done. And if we have time, we’ll alter the dress.” She turned her back to Jemma to get unzipped.
She discussed her ideas for Jemma to have her own couture line for Girasoli, an upscale black label. Jemma loved the idea and was already at work on putting several gowns together for her own collection.
“Prego.” Jemma assisted Lex with the dress, placing it back on the hanger. “Tonight, on the red carpet, will you say it’s a Jemma Fereti gown for Girasoli?”
“I’d be happy to.”
“The party is going to be enchanting.” Jemma started to hum some Italian song.
Lex reminded herself to tell Massimo about the plant in Asia and the fabric treatment that night. She knew the buyers would eat up this more affordable brand. They’d been after her to do one with them, but she didn’t have the resources or the time.
They worked through lunch and finished the designs, the samples coming out better than she’d ever expected. She taught Jemma how to estimate cost per garment based on Girasoli’s textile fees and calculated the margins for a good markup to turn a hefty profit.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Lex’s laptop signaled an email, followed by a second beep and a third. “It’s about nine in the morning in New York. Everybody’s starting their day, apparently,” she explained to Jemma, turning her attention to the laptop. Her inbox contained three new emails with responses from the buyers.
The first email read:
Dear Miss Easton,
I enjoyed watching you on TV last night at The Fashion Ball. It’s nice to see you putting yourself out there. We are flattered you have reached out to us with your new brand. We’d love to have you create a flanker label using the Easton Essentials name, as it has high awareness and demand with our consumers. Girasoli is a textile manufacturer and has no consumer equity with our savvy shoppers. Our female customers know who Prince Massimo Tittoni is, but his name is not on the label—Girasoli is. We wish you the best success with your endeavors.
Sincerely,
Kimberly McDonald, Executive Vice President Women’s Apparel
Another alarm s
hadowed across her screen as she clicked on the second and third emails to read similar responses.
“Shit.” Stunned, Lex held on to the laptop with both hands. A quick and disturbing thought came to mind—failure. Their strategy backfired. She didn’t think about Girasoli brand equity in North America.
“What is it?” Jemma stepped around, putting her hand on Lex’s shoulder.
Lex tilted her laptop screen in Jemma’s direction.
Jemma leaned forward over the table and read the email aloud. Halfway through reading it, she screamed in Lex’s ear, “Argh, Lex! What are we going to do?”
Think, Lex, think. “My head is wrapped up in the designs. I didn’t foresee this about the branding. It’s different in the prestige market, because you can build something special. In the mass market, you have to fly off the shelf the minute you hit the retail floor.”
Hoping these fears to be premature, she said, “Let me see if we can Skype in Blake Morgan at Brill, Inc. who manages the Easton account, and see what he thinks.” She moved the cursor over Skype, logged in and bit her thumbnail. Blake, please be online. You’re a habitual online cock-surfer, but not this early in the day. At least, I hope you aren’t, Blakie.
His sandy-brown hair and bright-blue eyes with his Hollywood grin lit up the screen. “Lexalicous! You have some serious dish to spill with me, girl.” Blake sucked in his cheeks and grunted at the computer screen.
“Blake! Thank God. I’m in Milan at the Girasoli factory.”
“Umm, the whole world knows where Lex Easton is. Jesus.” He held up the New York Times style section to his computer screen. “Dahhhhh. You’re in all the fucking newspapers, on all the fashion blogs and all over TV. Last night’s red carpet appearance has the industry talking about you.”
Ohhhh, no. “And what are they saying?” Please nothing bad, please God, please.
“Well, let’s see. The Times says you’re the next Brangelina super-couple. They’ve portmanteau AKA blended your names as ‘Massilex’. Not sure if I luv Massilex. Sounds like Mucinex—you know, for mucus. Yuk.” He flipped to another paper. “This is a printout from Kiki’s office in Taddy’s PR department. It states E! Entertainment hated your vintage Valentino. Too conservative! They want to see cleavage. Inside Edition gave you a good review on your hair and makeup. They want to know who did it. What shall I tell them?”
“Umm…Jemma and me.”
“Giiirl, I can’t pitch a potential princess doing her own hair. I’m gonna say Ken Paves did the ‘do. He’s the best. Okay, boo? Now, if you’re worried about the tabloids saying you’re bankrupt. Or Eddie overdosed. Or Birdie is a compulsive sex addict who pops oxycodone as her multivitamin…” He held his breath.
“Yes?” Lord Almighty, Blake!!!
“No, honey. The press didn’t write anything negative.”
“Thanks, Blake,” she fumed and wanted to die. “They don’t call you ‘No Filter Morgan’ for nothing.” With hesitation, she glanced up at Jemma who stood there with a gasp.
Jemma’s eyes appeared as if they’d bug from her head at any second. But she must’ve seen the despair on Lex’s face as she held her long red-nailed thumb up in the air to say it was okay. Her lips curled into smile.
Lex thought transparency was overrated and would be happy living with her designs and no gossipmongers in the woods.
“Ya need a self-esteem booster shot. You’re gorg! And we’re not kids anymore.” Blake snapped his fingers at the screen and whistled. “Now, Vive over at Debauchery demands an exclusive the second your twat gets off the plane. She confirmed you two were chatting about princey poo already.”
“Why does Vive keep calling him ‘princey poo’? I hate when she gives celebs nicknames.”
Debauchery circulated to over four million readers each week. When Viveca Farnworth gave a famous person a pet name, it stuck for life. Becoming the butt of all jokes on David Letterman, sketched into The Simpsons cartoon, and laughed into skits on Saturday Night Live. The last thing Lex wanted was Vive slamming Massimo.
“Vive mentioned she won’t run the article called ‘Prince of Poo’ since you two are falling in love and having his baby.”
“What?” Lex shrieked.
“Ahhh, ma.” Jemma slapped her hand over her own mouth and stood behind Lex. She watched Blake on the computer screen. “Blake is cute, no?”
Blake explained, “TMZ started this rumor. It’s on their website.” On the screen, Blake instant messaged Lex a link. The headline read, “Reclusive Fashion Designer Knocked-Up by Italian Playboy.”
Jemma and Lex leaned forward and read the article.
“Oh, Dio mio,” Jemma prayed.
This is insane. I haven’t even seen the man orgasm and TMZ says I’m already knocked-up. “Oh, brother. This is a crazy train speeding up and won’t stop.”
“Honey, we’re just gettin’ started. It’s all good press. Easton Essentials is going to implode into fabulosity. Vive, Taddy and I are all happy for you. You deserve this. Please ride your PR wave.”
“I’ll try.” This publicity isn’t me.
He nodded with enthusiasm, something Lex hadn’t seen her friend show for her in a long time. “Taddy rang from St. Barth’s and wants to change your communication message, putting you front and center. No arguing with her, but I don’t have to tell you what you already know.”
Lex feared Brill, Inc. might do that, but they’d worked so hard to create Easton with her and would be fun for them. She owed it to Brill, Inc. to stop naysaying all profile publicity and go with it.
Blake leaned closer to the screen, his handsome face magnified. “I have one final ‘q’ for you.”
“Uh-huh?” She didn’t care for Blake downsizing the word “question” with a single letter because usually his “q” meant whopper.
“Seeing as how you coined your vibrator Masi, if I titled my butt plug Andy, will Mr. Cooper be at my doorstep when I get home?”
I’m going to die.
Jemma howled in the background, stomping her Guccis against the concrete floor and trying to catch her breath. “Can we set Blake up with Rocco? I love him, my darling. He is adorable.”
“Mr. Morgan, shut up! Jemma Fereti is with me in the design room. Listen, I’m in a bind and need Brill, Inc.’s branding genius.”
Blake gave her a narrowed, glinting stare. “It’s just me in the office today to help you.”
“We don’t have a lot of time.” She batted her eyes at the screen and brought her palms with her fingers together into the prayer sign. She explained the situation and forwarded email copies from the buyers.
He read them and coughed, clearing his throat before he mouthed, You’re in deep shit. Perhaps hoping Jemma wouldn’t hear. “I’ll pull Kiki over in publicity and get my assistant Duckie to help, too. Give me an hour.”
She breathed relief. “Thank you, Blake. You guys are the best. Hugs to your team for me, please.” And mouthed, I know, I know, I know.
“Bah-bye, Lexalicious. And P.S. I wanna hear all about the prince’s cock when you get home.” Blake fisted his hand to his mouth, air-jacking back and forth, simulating a blowjob. He snickered, waved goodbye and logged off as the screen went white.
Please, please, please come up with something.
One Part Deep Throat, Three Parts Horse Sense
Massimo cursed out loud. Pressing his foot hard on the gas pedal, he shifted the seven-speed roadster’s V12 engine as he picked up speed for Girasoli’s showroom. I do not understand Signorina Easton. How has she kept this from me? He was familiar with conniving divas self-entitled to luxurious gifts, sex and VIP access to his lifestyle, but he’d never experienced this in business.
Lex almost pulled a fast one. The Girasoli warehouse released Easton’s fabrics to New York’s JFK airport. No sooner had they been loaded onto the cargo plane and up in the air when Luigi walked into his home office, informing him of Easton Essentials’ supplemental treatment process engineered in Asia.
T
hrowing the Aventador’s transmission into park, he ran for the showroom. Standing at the doorway, he noticed the room was a mess. Fabric was thrown all over with bits and pieces on the floor and the mannequins dressed in the revised line. It appeared as if a fashion tornado had swept through the office. He noticed Jemma sitting at her desk, rubbing body cream on her hands.
Jemma opened her mouth to speak. “Ma—”
“Shh.” He motioned her to be quiet, placing his pointer finger over his lips.
She nodded an okay.
Massimo’s attention was focused on Lex as he stepped up behind her while she chatted on the phone.
“I love you, Blake. Thank you for doing this for me. A flanker brand, Easton Express for Girasoli, will work with the mass-market buyers. Great!”
What the hell is she talking about? He glanced over at Jemma who gave an elated smile to whatever Signorina Easton carried on about.
He stepped in closer.
Entrenched in the call, she didn’t notice him. “I know, right. Jemma might fly to New York this week to see my show and meet some buyers.” Lex turned, catching Massimo’s eye, and waved.
Astonished how she faked it and sold it at the same time, perhaps Massimo had been right all along. Lex might have had a future as a Hollywood actress. At least he hadn’t made love to her.
Massimo stood next to her, waiting for the call to end. Digging his hands in his side pockets to avoid revealing angry fists, he didn’t share her enthusiasm.
“Blake, I gotta go. Kisses to Kiki and Duckie.” She hung up the phone, moving toward him for a hug.
He kept his hands in his pockets as she wrapped her arms around him.
Jemma coughed and looked down at the paperwork she’d busied herself with.
Lex reared her head, showing confusion. “What—what’s wrong?”
“May I see you in my office?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Jemma, if you will excuse us.”
“Ciao, my darlings.” Jemma nodded.
Leaving the showroom with Lex’s footsteps behind him, he didn’t speak another word. He didn’t turn around and look at her. Afraid he’d get upset, the silent thirty seconds of their walk afforded him time to think what he’d say to her. Massimo prided himself on not being reactive.