Page 1 of Out of the Gold

Melody

His damn thighsare so thick.

Squinting, I focus on each individual stitch I sew. Who thought this was a good idea? Oh crap, I did. His inner thigh twitches and I maneuver so my needle doesn’t nick him. Or his stupid black boxer briefs.

He clears his throat. “If you want to touch my junk, you could ask nicely. I’d let you, you know.”

A chuckle from his personal assistant, Thomas Berg, approves his inappropriate remark.

From my position on my knees, I pull the needle through the thick material and bite back the retort dying to spill from my mouth. Ignoring the broad shoulders and six-pack abs on full display, I redouble my efforts to sew him into the spandex as fast as possible with this tricky stitch.

Actors are an entitled lot. And the man I’m sewing into the costume, Chase Wright, is the typical Hollywood pretty boy who happened to grow up in my Chicago neighborhood. Even though he’s five years older than me and we never attended school together or met before now, I know his real name. And his sister. Any relation to her isnofriend of mine.

He wiggles his knees. “At least we shot the rest of the movie in regular clothes already. But it looks like this freaking superhero part is going to take forever.” His complaint lodges above my head. “Longer than filming the last two movies combined.”

Closing my eyes, I ignore his words and let him settle down before continuing my painstaking work. It wasn’t my idea to change the costume. Judith Harris, my boss on our HBO TV show, took over the lead costume designer position for the movie when the original designer was in a fatal car accident a few months before filming was to start. Judith wanted to make her own mark on the trilogy, so she created this ingenious—although not fast and easy—new design for this costume. Since filming was to take place during our show’s hiatus, Judith invited both me and my coworker, Helene Parker, to join her here. My first movie. And I’ll be damned if some over-entitledmovie starruins this for me.

My gaze skims over the work I just did. A functional and decorative DNA stitch was a design touch bandied about during our creative process, but was discarded as too difficult. On my own time, I took it upon myself to research and develop what I call the “Manipul8 Stitch,” which looks like a stylized infinity symbol filled with horizontal lines. It was included in my prototype for the costume I submitted to become the lead’s dresser. Helene also tried out, but she used a simple running stitch in her design. My creativity was rewarded, even if the “reward” comes with Chase attached. Whatever. Now my résumé boasts my addition to the costume.

I earned this all on my own. It’smywork. My lungs expand to their fullest. No one can claim I got this job because of my parents.

“So, Chase, once we wrap here in a couple of weeks, you need to get back to the States to jump on the publicity forI Was Made for Her. The red carpet for it is in a month, and we need to get you a new tux. Who do you want to wear?” The PA consults his clipboard, clicking his pen.

The clicks pound like nails on a chalkboard. I inhale.

“I wore Tom Ford last time. How about Versace? I’m feeling more traditional. Must be all this Italian air.”

I roll my eyes and abandon the tricky Manipul8 Stitches in favor of a running stitch since his boots will cover this bottom part. How fucking tall is this guy anyway? It’s like his legs go on forever. Deftly, I tie off the thread. Before I can start on his other leg, though, I need to check that everything fits this one without any problems.

I pose my instruction to the movie star. “Can you bend your left leg, please?”

His leg bends and flexes a few times. The unsewn material on the interior of his right leg flaps with the movement, but the left one looks good moving with him. My hands skim over his leg, double-checking the costume—ignoring his hard muscles—all the while his conversation with Thomas continues. Names of hairstylists and jewelers roll off his tongue.

When we wrap,I’mgoing back to my condo in New York City to begin prepping for the upcoming season ofLadies of the Abbey. I’ve walked the Emmy red carpet a couple of times, and we won last year. A small smile plays over my face. Our costumes have improved over the three years I’ve been working there, and I feel confident we’ll get another nod again this year. And win.

Chase does a deep knee bend. “Can you tell me again why I have to actually besewninto these leggings rather than put them on like pants?”

My eyes trace the intricate helixes embossed on the outside of his spandex-covered leg—the look I imitated on his inner thigh. The design is fantastic. His question, not. “Because Judith created this new design so it wouldn’t be too hot for you, and so you’ll be able to use the restroom without having to make it a big production.”

He rakes his hand over his perfectly ruffled almost black hair, rubbing the undercut at the nape of his neck. “Guess I can’t argue those reasons,” he grouses.

Finished checking my handiwork, I haul myself upright and stretch—I’mthe one who’s been laboring over it for the past hour, nothim. On stiff legs, I shake them as I traverse the trailer to grab a bottle of spring water. “This first time should be the longest it takes.” I cross my fingers while downing the water.

“Hope you’re right.”

No matter what, it isn’t easy to sew someoneinto a garment—he’s not a mannequin. But the result will givemeprops.Eyes on the prize, Melody. Taking one last swallow of water, I toss the empty bottle into the recycle bin and return to Chase. Shaking out my hands, I ask, “Ready for your right leg?”

Chase kicks, and the material flutters again. “Yeah.”

I wait a fraction of a minute for Judith to appear, but when she doesn’t, I get down on the pillow at his knees. Stretching the spandex around his upper right thigh, I begin the process all over again. Concentrating so as to avoid hisjunk.

The phone rings and Thomas addresses Chase. “It’s Sam.”

“Great.” He takes the phone from his PA and greets Sam Kirkland, his legendary agent. Even though I focus on my needlework, it’s impossible for me not to eavesdrop on his conversation. I am, after all, right below his cell phone, and the conversation is on speaker.

“There’s a new movie I just heard about. A rom-com. Set to start filming late next year.”

Chase’s leg tightens. What’s that about? I wait for him to relax before continuing my task.

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