Page 46 of Love Redesigned
“Are they all LeFranc?” It was an impressive collection.
“The girl had a homing beacon to help her find them. Every thrift store, pawnshop, garage sale, whatever. If there was a LeFranc bag on the premises, she’d find it. But seriously. He’s legit related to Reggie Fletcher?TheReggie Fletcher?”
“By marriage, I think? On his mother’s side? But yes. I remember we were at Chase and Darius’s apartment watching a movie once and he stopped by on his way to London to give Darius the keys to his car. Did sheonlycollect LeFranc?” I repeated. “No other designers?”
Isaac’s eyes were wide. “Don’t change the subject. You were actually in the same room with Reggie Fletcher? Did you talk to him?”
I dropped the handbag back into the box and pushed my hands into my pockets, suddenly surprised that Dani had never mentioned the encounter to Isaac. She had to know how much Isaac idolized him. “Just introductions. Nothing monumental.”
He shook his head, leading me out of the garage. “Anythingwould be monumental. Dani was there, too? I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. Or take a selfie with him. Or get his autograph.” He turned around, excitement in his eyes. “Do you think she could still get me his autograph? Seriously. I’m going to kill her for not mentioning this. I could send her my albums, except, no, I’d never risk putting them in the mail. Maybe we could drive them up there. Are you up for a road trip?”
Huh. Maybe Ididunderstand why Dani hadn’t mentioned it. Fortunately, the contractor showed up in the kitchen to go over his estimates with Isaac, so I never had to actually commit to a road trip. I knew Isaac well enough to know he wouldn’t forget about the possibility of the plan, but his mind was busy enough he likely wouldn’t get around to bringing it up again for at least a week or more. That was plenty of time for me to text Dani and warn her.
I could also text Darius, but we hadn’t chatted in a while. In the breakup, Dani had kept our closest friends.
I thought back on the collection of LeFranc bags sitting out in the garage. Dani had always spoken highly of LeFranc and had been open with me about her desire to design for the company, but clearly, the dream had roots.
Deep ones.
Chapter Seventeen
Dani
$14.23. That’s all I had left over after a one-way flight from La Guardia to Charleston, twenty-five dollars to check my baggage, and a bagel—the only food I’d eaten in thirty-six hours—on my way out of the airport. Which was tricky. Because the cab ride to my brother’s front door totaled $23.50.
I dug through my purse, banking on the fifty-dollar bill I kept tucked away in the side zipper pocket. I hated to spend it. The bill was symbolic for me in a lot of ways, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
The cash wasn’t there. I checked the opposite pocket, the one without a zipper where my sunglasses lived, then every other pocket in my purse. It didn’t make any sense. I hadhopedthe cab ride would come in under fourteen dollars, but I’d climbed into the cab knowing that if it didn’t, I’d still be covered. Because my fifty-dollar-bill was always in my purse, an ever-stalwart symbol of my survival, a talisman I’d grown to equate with my success in the city. My father had given it to me the morning I’d left for New York to attend design school.In case there’s an emergency,he’d told me.
I still didn’t know what kind of an emergency could ever be solved with fifty dollars alone, though I guessed the mess I was sitting in probably qualified. Only, the cash wasn’t there. For years I’d hung onto it with a certain religious zeal. I lived paycheck to paycheck. I budgeted. I paid my bills and scraped together the extra to buy fabric or lace-covered buttons or a new pair of Gingher knife-edged sewing shears. But I always took comfort in knowing that I had that fifty dollars socked away. Ready to feed me or buy off a criminal or pay cab fare if I ever wound up in a not-so-safe part of town and didn’t want to walk to the subway.
I sank back onto the faded upholstery of the cab’s back seat. Fitting that now, in the middle of my abject humiliation, the very moment most defined by my failure as a New York designer, my talisman was gone.
“I’m sure I’ve got something,” I said to the driver.
“You got a credit card? I take them all. VISA, Mastercard, American Express...”
Of course I had a credit card. But living in the city wasn’t cheap. Especially when all your friends made more money than you did and constantly invited you to go to this restaurant or that club. My credit limit wasn’t that high—intentional self-preservation—but I still managed to keep the balance hovering right around the maxed-out mark. When I’d tried to use it at the airport to buy something better than a bagel, it had been declined.
Verifying one last time that my purse wasn’t hiding anything but a coupon for a free manicure and a receipt for Chinese take-out, I resigned myself to my inevitable fate, willing myself to accept how much pride I would have to swallow in the next five minutes.
“Give me a minute, okay? I can get the cash inside.”
The driver shot me a look over his shoulder, then pulled out his cell phone. “Fine, but I’m leaving the meter running.”
I paused on the sidewalk and stared up at Isaac’s house. Suddenly I wished I’d given more credence to Paige’s advice. She’d told me I should have called first, but in the end, I’d opted not to. Maybe there was a tiny smidgen of avoidance in my reasoning, but mostly, I just knew my brother. He’d have a harder time refusing me if I was literally stranded on his doorstep.
A light, drizzly rain started to fall so I hurried across the sidewalk, pausing outside the hospitality door that led onto Isaac’s front porch. As a kid, I’d taken numerous walking tours through downtown Charleston, mostly with classes from school, to study the architecture and history of the city. I’d loved the crazy huge porches of the single houses. The porches didn’t face the street but sat perpendicular to the sidewalk. So the home’s front door—the hospitality door—actually just led onto the porch. When people felt like company, they could open up the door and welcome people onto their porch. When they didn’t, the door stayed closed and locked.
I braced myself, fully expecting the hospitality door to be locked, but to my relief, the door swung open. I ducked onto the porch—the rain was falling heavier—and crossed to the main entrance.
It wasn’t hard to remember what the internet had told me Isaac’s house was worth. With less than twenty bucks to my name, even just standing outside the front door was a burn to my ego.
I glanced back down the driveway to the cab still idling on the street. It was maybe a better option than going inside. Isaac was inside. Even worse, Alex was probably inside too. Frustratingly enough, he’d taken up more than his fair share of my thoughts over the past twelve hours. Nothing like powering through the biggest failure of your work life by facing down rejection in your personal life.
Paige’s voice echoed in my head.Buck up,she would tell me. I squared my shoulders and before I could lose my nerve, pounded my fist on the front door. Before I’d even sounded a third knock, the door swung open.
Alex.
