Fiona Love (8 page)

“We’re gonna have to get a few ne
w pairs of shoes too, since you’re incapable of walking without scuffing the shit out of everything.”

S
he sighed irritably. Shopping with Netty was like drowning. Every time she thought she could come up for air, her girl would appear like a horrible cramp to shove her in or out of the next dress. Shoes were the worst. Nothing was too high or too outlandish.

She’d play on Fiona’s love for details mercilessly,
wheedle discounts from the sales people like a Depression Era grandmother, and the way she played on her bosses love for purses was shameless. She’d dangle Coach bags and Fendi clutches from her bosses shoulders and hands like the most beautiful leather bound distractions, all the while racking up outfit after outfit.

“You wanted it,” she’d say when they were home later and Fiona was screeching over the receipts.
“Here,” and she’d hand over one of the more expensive items, a purse.

Fiona would calm down instantly and the offer her stock line:
“Well, I need something to hold my lipstick, Flora’s bottles, and what little money I have left.”

C
hapter five

“You don’t want to know how much they offered.”

“Tell me, Buck.”

“Nope,” his brother teased. “But I will say the contract’s short. They like to do things a season at a time, but the last cat they renewed a few times before they replaced him with you. Paul says it’s like no work.”

“It’s never no work. B
ut I like money.”

“We’re g
onna have to go back to LA soon.”

“I told you in a coupla days.”

“OK, I’m just sayin’. You gotta start fittings, and they wanna see your hair. Paul said he had to tell ‘em you’d cut it. He doesn’t think it’ll be a problem though.” Buck knew it wouldn’t be a problem. His brother looked even better with his hair short. It showed more of his face. “There have been pictures of you and Fiona out and about all over the Internet.”

“What else?”
Dane asked, ignoring that last comment.

“Hugo Boss is considering you for their spring campaign. The Clinique people called again about their men’s fragrance line.”

“What did Paul say?”

“He wants them to pay more.”

Dane chuckled. “I almost feel sorry for the bastards.”

Buck snorted. “Yeah. Almost! Oh, Randy called. He wanted to know if you were doing any of the NY fashion week shows. I told him, of course, and we’ll be home in a few days. He wants to hook up. Apparently, he’s collaborating on a book about fashion week and wa
nts to make sure you’re in it.”

Randy was one of Dane’s oldest friends. A former model, he’d been making a name for himself as a fashion phot
ographer for several years now.

“Tough job, that. Taking pictures of scantily clad women all d
ay and night.”

“Yeah,” Buck agreed, dead pan. “Almost as tough as being scantily dressed with the scantily
dressed women in the pictures.”

Dane laughed. “
OK?”

“Are you at Fiona’s?”

“No stupid, I’m on my way home, but I gotta stop and talk to that one cat about that thing. Fiona’s meeting me in New York.”

“You have a 10:30 flight
to LA in less than a week,” Buck reminded.

When his brother got near Fiona, time ceased to have any meaning. He’d been late for more meetings since they’d hooked up than Buck could even remember. When he mentioned it Dane replied he’d made more money in the past three months than he had in the last six.

The world seemed to love him and Fiona together almost as much as he did, and he’d had a bunch of offers he couldn’t refuse. The only bad part was, their sudden popularity meant they had to spend more time apart working.

When he complained, his agent Paul told him to suck it up
, be responsible, and take the money, which he did. Might as well, though it was bull shit; he was always responsible.

Daney
put his foot down on the pedal so he could get to Fiona faster. Some things were more important than money. Like getting to his baby so he tell everyone to go fuck themselves, hide them away, and fuck her nonstop until he either fell over dead or got tired. He was rooting strongly for tired.

******

“Are you trying to kill me,” Fiona gasped, pretending to wheeze.

“Bitch, would you suck it in?
I told you it’s a real six!”

“Why the fuck you buy it if you know I can’t get in it?” Fiona rasped, panting for her ne
xt breath as she was zipped in.

“That’s why,” Netty said triumphantly turnin
g her friend toward the mirror.

They both stared at her reflection in the strapless brown and gold tapestry dress with its A-line skirt and wide satin belt. Fiona stroked the skirt, enjoying the plush, warm feel of the textured fabric. “Damn, girl. I can’t believe this only cost
me – how much did it cost me?”

“Twenty-five bones. You
r run around day gear gon’ be super fly. Yo soy una bargain hunter supreme!”

Fiona laughed. “And bi
lingual too. What else you got?”

“I got this,” Netty said. “And before you turn your nose up, it’s see through. You can wear that straw cowboy hat with it and
your green suede cowboy boots.”

Somehow the long, old-fashioned dress with its lace scalloped hem and
low, off-the-shoulder neckline managed to look extremely sexy on. Plus, “I got this dope ass belt that matches the flowers.”

“How much?”

“Red tag, $22.”

Fiona shook
her head. “You’re a gangster.”

Netty could sew her ass off, and her soft spot for Bloomingdales and Nordstrom was well known. But she seemed to get some spe
cial thrill from unearthing clothes from cluttered bargain racks at Marshalls or T J Maxx’s. Her motto was, “When you look good in anything, wear cheap, chic and unusual, and wait for big occasions to really knock their eyes out with the designer stuff.”

Plus, Netty enjoyed getting one over on those snotty, perpetually shopping hos/stylists who were always sending Fiona overpriced shit. If she didn’t wear the stuff
– and she rarely did since it was Netty’s job to dress her – Netty would return it. She always used the sender’s FedEx account number to do so.

“You’re not fuckin’ dressed yet? The car’ll be here any minute. That’s se
e-through, you need underwear.”

“I know that, Cleo. Instead of stating the obvious why don’t you remind me what this is
about?”

The plane
would be landing at LaGuardia with just enough time to get them to the meeting, if they rushed, which was annoying, since Fiona had planned to sit on her ass with one of Sugar’s face packs on.

“We’re just sitting down with some of the writers of the show to ki
ck around ideas for your spot.”

“Is Mr. Look-alike gon’ be there?” Netty smirked and pointed at Sugar. “Where you been? We gotta go.
Cleo, where’s that straw hat?”

Sugar held up a plastic bottle. “Had to mix up
some more of my special brew.”

“Gimme,” sai
d Fiona. “My hands are prunes.”

Sugar handed the homemade moisturizer to her boss. “I need to tweeze your brows a lil’ bit.” Fiona wasn’t allowed to touch her own zits or eyebrows, Cleo’s standing orders following an incident hours before the Late Show a few years earlier. “We’re not gon’ nee
d much makeup with that dress.”

“Cleo, go get
that straw hat.”

“
Huh?”

“
The one you had on your head before we arrived?”

“Righ
t! It’s in my room. Did you think of any ideas for us to pitch?”

Fiona ran down a short sketch called Bad Influence. She’d have a bad girl rep and would roll in with her entourage and meet his at a party. They’d eventually slip off and sleep together, and Tino’s boys would start their perennial campaign to get her d
ismissed, only to find out she was already out the door! Their boy, however, would catch feelings, and hijinks would ensue as he tried to pin her down. His boys, once they realized he really liked her, would try, ridiculously, to help him. She planned to suggest they play Usher’s Bad Girl during her entrance.

“I like it,” said Sugar.

“Any more?” Cleo asked.

“Just the one.”

“Well, it’s good at least. Bigger,” she told Netty who was holding a pair of thin, delicate gold hoops to Fiona’s dainty ears. “No, you know what? The corkscrews. The ones that dangle.” Her phone rang. “Peace.” Cleo listened for a second. “Thank you. The car’s here.”

“Go get the hat!” Netty cried. “I still got
ta get these naps to lie down.”

“Do it right, Netty. Sugar, help her. She may take the
hat off at some point.”

“That bitch irks me,” Nett
y said to no one in particular.

Somehow 15
minutes later Fiona was ready.

Delicious, the driver thought, eying her lush brown bosom from beneath his limo hat brim. He held open the back door to the Lincoln and watched her long, curvy legs ease safely into the car. He went back t
o the driver’s seat whistling.

“Now, I’ve told them that you’re still not talking yet, so it’s okay for you to
be silent until you run down Bad Influence and then again after.”

Good, Fiona mouthed. She didn’t know what to say anyway. She’d done four movies. They had all done well. The last had been a major hit, but she
was still a novice. Singing she knew. Dancing she could do in her sleep. Modeling was time-consuming and frequently physically demanding work, but still easy. Acting, she was still finding her feet.

Fiona lit a
pinner as soon as the car pulled out of the drive. “Nice of Boomer to let us use his crib,” she said, exhaling a perfect smoke ring. She watched it wiggle its way out the sun roof. “His neighborhood feels like home. I sent him a basket from all of us in case he says anything about it.”

“It should feel like home since you’ve stayed there the last three times you were in town. And what he gon’ say? Nothin’. He ai
n’t never there, and when he get there, he’ll probably too busy eatin’ the basket,” Netty joked, opening the sunroof wider.

Fiona grinned.

“I see another hair,” Sugar announced. She plucked tweezers and a tiny brush from one of her many pockets, went down on her knees and pushed her way between Fiona’s legs. “You got the funniest grade of hair, girl. I’on know what to say about these renegade ass eyebrows.”

“Hello gorgeous,” Tino grinned, strolling into the meeting as they were wrapping things up. He kissed Fiona’s hand and executed a remarkably courtly bow. “This is my future wife, guys. Make sure you write her into at least three episodes. I want lots of on-screen kissing time while
we get to know each other.”

The two writers present laughed and began to talk at once, bubbling over with
excitement about Fiona’s idea. They were even willing to shoot earlier than expected to accommodate her schedule.

“What did you do?” he asked her, when they’d said their
goodbyes and were heading to the car.

“She pitched an idea,” Cleo informed him. “Fiona, do you want to stop an
d do that thing while we’re out? That call will be coming in soon.”

From Daney, but Fiona appreciated Cleo making it sound important. Now, Fiona mouthed. She poi
nted at Tino and waved goodbye.

“Can I come with?” He beg
ged. “I got a present for you.”

Fiona rolled her eyes
and motioned him into the car.

His gift was a
cute little brown bear wearing an ‘I love New York’ t-shirt with a fat green bud tucked in it. Fiona laughed and kissed the bear on the lips, ignoring Tino when he puckered his lips for his turn.

“I know I shouldn’t say it, but I hope your throat doesn’t heal fast. I love the way it sounds. I already told
‘em to write it into a script.”

Fiona laughed, a deep barely there sound that she knew was going straight to his groin. “I’m just glad there’s gon’ be some Black p
eople on your show with lines.”

He burst
out laughing. “Listen to you.”

“You are.”

He sounded delighted. “This is gonna be fun! I’m getting the house ready for you.”

“Dude,
you don’t really think I’m stayin’ witchu’, do you?”

There was a telling pause. “At l
east one night you will. Where are we going?” he asked.

“Gotta pick up a few things
, and have a quick sit down with the DJ who’s spinning at Fiona’s birthday party,” Cleo told him.

“Your birthday’s coming up?”

Fiona nodded, smiling at his excitement.

“You have t
o throw the party at my place.”

“Thanks, but we’ve already
got the venue picked out and –”

Tino waved his hand impatiently.
“Cancel it. I’ll pay the fee.”

“We got catering coming and the par
ty planner with the gift bags.”

“Just give ‘em my address instead. We can have it at my house, and your DJ can still spin.”

Cleo turned to Fiona. It was her show.

Fiona shrugged. “Cleo
and Andrea will check it out. If they say yeah, don’t have my shit be wack,” she rasped. “We doin’ it way big on my three-five, feel me?”

Tino laughed, his big gr
een eyes sparkling. “No doubt.”

Fiona
was soon too blowed to be seen in public, and she’d managed to leave her sunglasses behind at the meeting. One of the writers called to say he’d have the Chanel frames messengered to the house. He ended up bringing them himself and staying for dinner when he saw Sugar.