DESIGN FOR LOVE (5 page)

With the gentlest of movements, Gerard reached over through the opening and grabbed the man casually by the shoulder, but Francine could see the strength of his hands squeezing the turbaned driver’s shoulder until the man winced

‘Ouch!”

“Let’s have a little courtesy, please?” was all Gerard said as the man winced in further pain and nodded in approval.

“Fashion Center at Seventh and 28
th
it is,” Gerard smiled. “As a matter of fact that’s where I was heading myself.”

“Really?” Francine was surprised, almost disbelieving. “Are you sure, the show isn’t until the day after tomorrow.”

He smiled. “I can see this is the first time you’ve been to the Big Apple Fashion District. My agent in New York has offices on the second floor,” he put his forefinger to his lips. “Let me guess - you’re going to check out the scene, right?”

Francine blushed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

“Smart move!”

She couldn’t resist her response. “My, my, don’t tell me you actually
approve
of something I’m doing?”

“There goes that hostility again,” he grinned. “I’ll tell you what, how would you like a guided tour of the place. I have some time to spare?”

Her first reaction was to say no, but a sane voice in the back of her head kept saying ‘Hey, girl, you need all the help you can get!
’
and so she accepted his offer. “Well, if you’re sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?”

“No, that’s fine,” Gerard was obviously very comfortable with Manhattan as he tapped the driver on the shoulder that the latter was still rubbing. “Take a left here and it’s a block on the left.”

“I knew that!” the driver managed in broken English, trying to salvage his wounded pride.

Once inside the impressive Fashion Center, Gerard became a courteous, helpful guide. He explained the layout of the place to Francine and showed her the fitting rooms for the models before finally taking her into the auditorium, resplendent with an imposing red-carpeted catwalk surrounded by elegant chairs.

He pointed to one section at the end of the catwalk. “That’s where the ‘vultures’ will be sitting.”

Francine was confused. “Vultures?”

“Yes, the Press. Believe me, Miss Dubois, if you thought you got a bad deal just overhearing my admittedly indelicate remarks in Dallas, brace yourself for the New York Fashion Press!”

“That bad?” was all she could manage, shivers of uncertainty already running down her spine. She was already wishing she had brought her special red dress for the finale with her, but last minute changes and some doubts about cloth availability had caused her to hold it back for Monte Carlo.

Gerard continued warming to his role as guide. “Definitely that bad? If these people like your work, you’ve got it made. If they don’t or you do the least thing to upset them, watch out and brace yourself for written, unbridled venom!”

Francine nodded that she understood. “Well, thank you for your help, Mr. Cinclare. I’m sorry I’ve detained you from your meeting.”

He grinned again and she realized that she really had to brace herself against the effects of that charming smile and the laughing green eyes. “It was my pleasure. You should be able to get a cab easier from here. Just speak to the doorman, he’ll fix you up.”

“Thanks again.” Francine made as if to leave until he put a gentle restraining hand on her arm, once again sending unexpected shock waves all the way up the back of her neck.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, “And do you think I could ask a couple of favors of you?”

She gave him a quick sideways look, a half smile of mistrust on her face. “That depends on what they are?”

He smiled that smile again. “Well, the first is that we bury the hatchet and you call me Gerard.”

“And the second?”

“That you take my offer seriously.”

“Offer?”

“That when any of your creations meet my purchasing criteria, I will place an order with you.”

Francine thought for a moment, a smile touching the corner of her lips. “Well, let me put it this way, had you given me a hatchet in Dallas, the only place I would have buried it would have been in the back of your head! However, and more as a favor to Jeri, who deserves a medal for putting up with you, I am prepared to call you Gerard.”

He grinned. “Well, that’s a start. Now, what about my offer?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Oh, as far as that’s concerned, I’m counting on it. Believe me,” she hesitated a moment before adding. “Gerard, there
will
come a day when you realize that my work has merit, and when that finally hits you, I expect orders from you,
big time
!”

With that she shook hands with him formally, trying not to let the electricity of his touch show on her face before she jauntily moved off towards the front door.

“Goodbye, Gerard and thanks for your help!”

“Any time.” he smiled enigmatically at the back of this beautiful, independent woman who really knew how to upstage him with her exit lines.

As Francine sat back in the taxi later on her way back to the hotel, she closed her eyes and tried to get things into focus. She was beginning to think it was fate, karma or something similar that kept bringing her inexorably into contact with the handsome businessman.

Her pulse rate still seemed elevated and as she sat back contemplating Gerard’s kind help, she was finding it a little harder each day to stay totally mad at him. Visions of his strong smile and that scary vibrant electricity in his touch were already starting to cloud her focus and she didn’t like it one little bit.

CHAPTER 8

When she got back to the hotel, Vince was already in animated conversation in the lobby with Verna, their material supplier. The big, black-haired Italian lady was sitting patiently listening to Vince’s latest tirade.

“Look, I don’t care who screwed up,” he was on a roll. “It damned near ruined the show for us!”

Verna looked up, a look of relief in her eyes when she saw Francine. “Francine, thank goodness it’s you! Please call off your pit bull here!”

Francine grinned. “Well, Verna, if it wasn’t Vince chewing on your hide, it would be me!”

“I know, darling,” Verna tried to sound placating. “I almost killed my fabric guy when I heard and I’m glad we got it to you in time.”

Francine patted her arm reassuringly. “Well, that’s okay. But where’s the material for my red dress, I’m going to need it badly within the week if I’m to have it ready for Monte Carlo.”

Verna squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry, love, it will be ready if I have to kill Sorrenstein Brothers to get it!”

she added admiringly. “That’s one
spectacular
red, believe me!”

‘It had better be ready in time!
’
Francine mused to herself before she added. “Well, just as long as you know I’m counting on you, Verna.”

“I do, Francine, and don’t you worry, love,” Verna rubbed Vince’s shiny head affectionately. “If anything goes wrong, your pit bull here will be after my ass, right?”

Vince looked skywards. “In your dreams, girl, in your dreams!” they all laughed.

* * * *

After a heavy day of rehearsals when things should have gone better but could also have been considerably worse, Francine arrived back at the hotel feeling a little more relaxed than she was when she left.

Having seen the bigger fashion houses close up with their string of nationally famous models, gave Francine mixed feelings. That of being the underdog and also the feeling of at least seeing some of the loftier heights that she may be able to reach once her big break came along.

The New York models seemed a different breed from the local girls in Texas. They were all thin, pale and willowy, whereas the girls from the Lone Star State, perhaps the state with the prettiest girls in the USA, all seemed healthy, vibrant and at least had some color in their cheeks.

The New York models were all well drilled, dedicated and exorbitantly paid professionals and she felt sure that the models in Monte Carlo would be even more ‘off the wall’, ultra-professional and an even bigger contrast to her girls.

‘Well, I suppose different isn’t always better
.’ s
he told herself as she showered and prepared for a quiet evening. She put on a her best pair of black slacks and a light blue silk blouse, checked out her appearance in the mirror, wondered for a fleeting moment if she would look cute if the proverbial bad penny, one Gerard Cinclare should bump into her again.

‘Down girl
!’
she admonished herself before heading for the elevator to go down for a bite to eat in the hotel coffee shop. Vince had relatives living in town and tonight was the typical ‘return of the prodigal night’ as his Italian relatives had planned some lavish ‘pasta blow-out’ in his honor, or at least that was what he had told her.

When they had arrived at the hotel earlier in the taxi from the airport, she had noticed a nice little night club about half a block from the hotel. After her brief snack in the coffee shop and checking her e-mails in her room, she decided to spend the last hour in ‘Mandolins’, the little night club with a warmly-lit glow coming from the red neon on the outside.

She settled in at a small table near the back of the small seating and dancing area. The place was half empty with a few solitary drinkers at the bar and at the odd table. After ordering a Perrier water, she started to take in her surroundings, once her eyes became accustomed to the darkened room.

At five after nine, the live group kicked off with their opening number being lit by the spotlight for the first time. It was at this precise moment that Francine almost fell off her chair in shock. She started by idly scanning the group, who were playing quite passable music, only to freeze her gaze, open-mouthed, when she came to the lead guitarist. There, as large as life, was her ex-husband Steve! He was already eyeing up a cute blonde on the front row!

At this stage he had not spotted Francine who was about to make a discreet exit just as fate struck an unexpected blow. As she stood up to leave, she found herself yet again bumping into Gerard Cinclare - this time physically as he almost knocked her off her feet.

His instincts to stop her from falling were very fast. “Oh, excuse me, I’m so sorry!” he gasped until he realized who he had just bumped into. He smiled. “Oh, no! Not
again!
”

Francine had gathered her wits together. “Well, if it isn’t the bad penny himself!” she then focused on Jeri, following Gerard down the aisle between the tables.

Gerard turned and grinned at the equally surprised Jeri. “Don’t ask how it happened, Jeri,” he began. “But I had a feeling that we hadn’t seen the last of Miss Dubois!”

Francine made as if to leave. “Hello, Jeri, can’t you keep him locked up, just for a day?”

Jeri smiled. “Now, that would be some feat, believe me!”

What Francine had not realized, however, was that their little altercation near the back of the room had caught the attention of a certain lead guitarist on stage and even in the semi-darkness, Steve had recognized Francine, just as his number came to an end.

To polite applause, he whispered to his colleagues in the Group, jumped down from the stage and headed towards Francine who was just about to leave Gerard yet again.

“Francine!” Steve called out as she turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Feigning surprise, she tried to sound pleased to see him, but even at a quick glance she could see that he was half-stoned.

“Steve, what a surprise!” was all she could manage.

Gerard and Jeri looked on at the bizarre meeting as Francine could already sense the color rising in her cheeks. Should she introduce her ex-husband to them or ignore them, but her dilemma was solved by Steve himself, half slurring his words. “Well, aren’t you gonna introduce me to your smart friends?”

Francine looked deeply embarrassed while Gerard in turn was watching her very closely, Jeri’s grip tightening on his arm.

“Is everything all right, Miss Dubois?” Gerard asked slowly and with authority, taking a deep breath and flexing his hands casually.

Steve looked at Gerard, the false courage of an addict causing him to be unintimidated and unimpressed. “Oh, its
Miss
Dubois
now, is it? My name wasn’t good enough for you, I suppose?”

Francine started to edge away, dying of embarrassment. “Look, can we talk about this some other time, please?”

Steve spun her back around. “What the hell’s the problem with right now?” he rasped.

Francine tried to move away again, head down to hide her embarrassment. Steve by this time was getting visibly angrier and as he reached out to grab her again, Gerard reached out and with those huge, strong hands effortlessly lifted the emaciated musician off his feet bringing a look of surprise to those semi-glazed eyes.

“I think the lady prefers to be left alone, don’t you?” he mentioned casually, slowly increasing the grip on Steve’s arms causing the latter to wince in pain.

Steve focused on his tormentor. “And who the hell are you?” he snarled.

Gerard moved his face a little closer, the warm green eyes now almost a flinty grey. “Let’s just say I’m a friend, shall we?” he squeezed a little harder causing Steve to wince.

“Ouch!”

“Exactly! Now, do we see eye to eye, sir?” was all Gerard said.

“All right, all right,” Steve mumbled. “But you and I need to talk, Francie!”

Gerard dusted off Steve’s jacket like he were a flea. “I would say that’s up to the lady, sir,” then, ignoring Steve, he turned back to Francine, the warm green back in his eyes. “Can we escort you back to your hotel, Miss Dubois?”

Francine was still wide-eyed, shaken, but managed a weak reply. “Yes, thank you.” before she, Gerard and Jeri made their way to the exit. When she reached the door, she looked back to see Steve, a shadow of his former self, rubbing his arm self-consciously, trying to look nonchalant in front of the patrons of the club.

“This ain’t over, Francie!” was all he could manage before she slipped out of sight.

Outside, on the way back to the hotel, neither Gerard nor Jeri asked any questions about Steve which made Francine seem somehow even more mortified, so much so that she felt that she owed them an explanation.