Nobody's Girl (7 page)

“He all right,” she said, smiling.

–Tweet, “Enough”

 

Award season was right around the corner, which meant that the Glam Squad would be bombarded with meetings, fittings, trips to showrooms, and more. Before any of that happened, the girls had to pack up and head to France for Paris Fashion Week. New York Fashion Week had been amazing, so Farrah was excited to see what London had to offer.

She was determinded to find the sickest gowns for her clients for award season. That year they were dressing Jennifer Lawrence, Naomi Watts, Halle Berry, J Hud, Cameron Diaz, and the red-carpet queen herself, the one and only Nicole Kidman. She was new on their client list and the girls were determined to give her the red-carpet moment she so desperately needed. It was Farrah and London's busiest time of the year, but Farrah thrived on the hustle and bustle, jet-setting and long days.

This was the reason she got into the business, because in the end—after no sleep and numerous headaches—to see their clients look like works of living art, made it all worth it. On that particular afternoon, Farrah sat at her desk, going over past years' lookbooks. Her desk was swamped with lookbooks from designers like Tom Ford, Rocha, and Vivienne Westwood.

Farrah was in gown heaven and she didn't want to come down. Since her wedding, she'd submurged herself in her work. Doing so seemed to work, because it took her mind off the bouts of doubt and anxiety that plagued her about Mills. He'd been nothing but loving and understanding when it came to her feelings, but that still didn't shake the looming dark cloud that hovered over her. Everyday the feeling of her entire world crashing down intensified. It was just a matter of time before it happened.

She'd tried praying it away and pushing the negative thoughts out of her mind, but they never stayed gone too long. Farrah was driving herself mad. On the outside she seemed to have it all together, but on the inside she was a hot and utter mess. She couldn't even fully enjoy her time being a newlywed.

She loved her husband so much it hurt. To think that everything she thought to be true could potentially come to an immediate halt terrified the shit outta her. Farrah couldn't focus on any of that. She had work that needed to be done. As she immersed herself in the old lookbooks, Camden softly knocked on her door.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Mills, but these just came for you,” Farrah's assistant said, handing her a vase filled with a dozen pink roses.

“Ooh, Farrah who got you those?” London asked, trying to grab the card that was attached.

“You better not!” Farrah smacked her hand away. “I don't know who they're from.”

Sliding the card out of the tiny envelope, she anxiously read the card. It said:

“That li'l nigga we met at the Rustic Goat.”

“Who?” London died to know.

“J.R.”

“Girl, you trippin'. J.R. is a cutie-pie. He so cute every time I look at him I have an orgasm.”

“He cool, London, but he ain't all that,” Farrah disagreed.

“Quit frontin'—you know you think he sexy as hell.”

“No, I don't.” Farrah tried to downplay her true feelings.

“Okay, well, he obviously likes you,” London countered.

“He
thinks
he likes me,” Farrah corrected.

“Oh, he likes you all right.”

“No, I'm not his type. He just doesn't know it yet,” Farrah replied sarcastically.

“Okay, then what did the card say?”

“That he was thinking about me and wants to go out to lunch.”

“You not gon' go?”

“No, why should I? I'ma a married woman, remember?”

“'Cause he tryin' to see you, that's why,” London tried to convince her. “You better go for it. J.R. is doing the damn thing. He's one of the hottest rappers out right now. He's on the
Forbes
one hundred richest entertainers list—”

“I know, I know,” Farrah stopped her. “Damn, you ain't gotta run down the man's résumé to me. And why are you talking to me like I'm not a married woman? In case your ass forgot, I have a husband and I'm doing just fine, thank you very much.” Farrah said, turning in her chair to face the window.

“Farrah, I know you're still hurting over this thing with Mills, so don't even try to feed me your bullshit story of how everything is hunky-dory,” London stated with her hand on her hips. “I'm your best friend and I know you ain't happy about what's going on between you and Mills and this so-called paternity test that never seems to come in.”

Here we go with this shit again
, Farrah thought, shaking her head. “London, I really don't feel like hearing about your theory that Mills is lying about the paternity test. Everybody knows you didn't like him from jump,” Farrah said, still facing the window.

As London started to reply back, Farrah gazed out of the window, pondering whether or not she should give J.R. a chance. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something about him that was very intriguing to her. Whatever it was, though, it definitely had Farrah wanting to see him again.
It's not gon' hurt to have lunch with him. I'll just treat it like a business lunch, get him to pay for the bill, and leave him alone,
she concluded.

“Farrah? Farrah? I know you hear me!” London called out.

“My bad. What did you say?” Farrah faced her.

“You weren't listening to me? Oh, hell naw. I ain't gon' be wasting my breath talkin' to you!” London yelled, grabbing her swatches and preparing to leave.

“Where you going?” Teddy stopped her as she opened the door.

“Back to my office. What you doing here?” London asked, surprised to see his face.

He hardly ever visited her at the office.

“I came to see you. Is that all right?”

“Of course,” she replied, still shocked.

“Well, come show your man some love, then.” Teddy held out his arms.

Walking into his embrace, London fell in love with him all over again. The year they'd been together had been the best year of her life. Teddy was everything she'd hoped for and more. Maybe his impromptu visit was his way of keeping their relationship interesting and he had something romantic planned for them. London ran her hand through his hair and caressed his locks.“I love you,” he spoke softly into her ear.

“I love you too,” London replied as she lovingly planted her lips on his.

“Will y'all get y'all old lovey-dovey ass up outta my office with that shit,” Farrah teased.

“My bad. What's up, Farrah?” Teddy grinned, wiping his lips.

“Shit,” she responded like a dude.

“Guess what, babe?” London said.

“What?”

“J.R. asked Farrah out to lunch and she won't even go.”

“Why not? That's my man, he cool peoples.”

“How do you know him?” London asked, surprised.

“You know I get around ma,” he said, smirking.

“Yeah, a'ight, don't let me find out yo' ass doing something you ain't got no business doing,” London warned.

“Chill out. But check it, let's go in yo' office for a minute. I need to holla at you.”

“A'ight. Farrah, meet the man for lunch okay?” London pleaded.

“Bye London!” Farrah yelled, slamming the door in her face.

“Are you ready to go over your schedule for the rest of this week and the upcoming week?” Camden asked, walking in.

“I guess,” Farrah said, frowning. “I'm loving you in all black, by the way. You look like Neo from
The Matrix
.”

“Thank you, Farrah,” Camden replied, giggling. “Now, are you ready?” She sat across from Farrah with a tablet in her hand.

“Like seriously, Camden, don't tell me anything that's going to stress me out, 'cause I'm already on ten as it is.”

“So I should just leave then, huh?” Camden joked, standing halfway up.

“Yeah.” Farrah nodded, laughing.

“All right, seriously.” Camden sat back down and crossed her legs. “We have H&M coming up in two days. You're styling their holiday campaign and you're dressing Lana Del Rey—who, by the way, is the shit right now.”

“Yeah, I'm obsessed with her,” Farrah concurred.“I've been brainstorming on what look we want for her and I've narrowed it down to a few designers. Camden, I need you to contact them and have them send us their selection of outfit recommendations.”

“Okay, no problem. You're styling her for H&M's ad campaign and the commercial and . . .” Camden paused and looked down at her tablet . . . “she also wants one outfit for a charity event she's attending in Paris during Fashion Week. Speaking of which, I've got your entire intinerary for your own trip to Paris. I'm going to print out all the details and have them on your desk first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, my god,” Farrah groaned, slouching down in her seat. “I can't deal with this right now.” She ran her fingers through her hair. She knew she had a busy schedule leading up to Paris Fashion week, but hearing it all out loud just put everything into perspective. With everything going on in her personal life and all the things she had to do workwise, her mind went into overdrive just thinking about it all.

“Farrah, darling, you know I die for you, but we can't have this. Ain't nobody got time for you to be having a mini-meltdown right now.”

“You don't get it,” Farrah said, pouting.

“What don't I get?” Camden uncrossed her legs. “Tell Mama why you're upset.”

“New York kicked my ass. I got no sleep and I was away from my husband for a week. Now I have to style this woman for three different events, prepare for Fashion Week, and then get throught that week itself. My schedule is about to fuck me until I bleed. I'm letting the side of my hair that's shaved off grow out and it's making my head look lopsided.” Farrah poked out her bottom lip.

“Okay boo, you gotta pull it together 'cause we have work to do. I have two of the interns organizing the shoes and two of the assistants are out pulling clothes at H&M for that shoot. I will be contacting the designers you're considering for Lana Del Rey, so that's one less thing for you to worry about, and while we're waiting for them to get back to us, you can put your own outfits together and pack for the trip. ”

“Okay, sounds like a plan. That's fine,” Farrah said. She took a deep breath to try and collect herself. As she breathed out, her phone buzzed and she rolled her eyes as she received a text message from London that read:

Tired of texting, Farrah yelled, “Then why you ask me what I want to eat if you already knew what you wanted, li'l dumb-ass girl!”

“'Cause I thought you would want some Kim Van too,” London laughed.

“I do have a taste for some duck and noodles and an order of special fried rice wit' no onions,” Farrah replied.

“Good, 'cause I already placed the order.” London cracked up laughing standing outside Farrah's door.

“Cow!” Farrah threw a book at her.

“Love you,” London dodged the throw.

“Heffa,” Farrah giggled, shaking her head.

“And don't forget to get me some extra packets of cayenne pepper,” Camden reminded her.

“I got you,” London said, leaving out the door.

A half hour later Camden knocked on Farrah's door and said, “Excuse me, Farrah, but there is a woman here to see you.”

“Who is it?” Farrah looked up, confused.

“She said her name was Lisa.”

“Lisa . . . I don't know anybody by the name of Lisa,” Farrah replied, perplexed. “Do I have an appointment that we bypassed by accident?”

“No,” Camden shook her head.

“Okay, send her back.” Farrah smoothed down her shirt, then checked her teeth and hair in the mirror.

As she stood up to greet the unexpected visitor, her heart dropped down to the heel of her Valentino soles. She knew exactly who Lisa was, except Lisa wasn't her real name. The woman's real name was Jade. Normally, Jade exuded sex on a stick, but that day she looked a hot, tired mess. Her skin wasn't its usual golden color. It was a sickly, pale yellow. Dark circles and bags surrounded her eyes and she looked as if she hadn't slept in days.