It was just before lunch and L'Atrice had a meeting with a new up and coming designer who had just made it big in Spain. I should have told her what time it was -- but I waited.
"Oh L'Atrice," I popped my head in her office. "It's one o'clock-- you're late."
"Shit! Why didn't you tell me?" She jumped up. "I hate being late, I really hate it. Fran, why didn't... oh, forget it!" She stormed off, grabbing her jacket that hung behind the door and shoved me out of the way. "Really Fran, let's get it together."
She was making this easy.
I sat patiently at my desk and waited to make sure L'Atrice didn't forget anything, followed by the mass company lunch exodus which made my floor quiet between 1pm and 2pm.
I walked into her office and looked at the book filled with twenty or so new designs, some of which I hadn't seen. I took a deep breath, glanced out the door, saw no one, and headed for the book. My heart started to pound, my blood raced, and my temperature raised.
I flipped open the book that was labeled '96 - '97 to a simple black cocktail dress. Thea had said to get something unusual and striking. I turned the page to lingerie that I had seen before, including my one piece butterfly underwear.
And then I found what I was looking for. Two models displayed midriff shirts made of unwoven cotton. It was kept together like a cotton ball with no seams. You just pulled it over your head. One shirt was white and the other was a beautiful forest green. They looked incredibly comfortable and very sensual.
The phone rang. I jumped, realizing I should have turned on the voicemail. I ran back to my desk and picked it up.
"Fran?" It was L'Atrice calling from her car.
"Hey." Did she know somehow? I was ready to pee in my chair.
"You're not going to lunch?" she asked.
"No," I said, "I'm not hungry."
"Well, listen," she said. "I just wanted to apologize. I should have been aware of the time myself. After all, you're not a clock, right?" And she laughed.
"What?" I said, "You're breaking up." I could hear her just fine, I just didn't want to.
She yelled and enunciated each consonant and vowel.
"What?"
"Forget it, we'll talk later." Click, then an empty air sound-- the sound of space. I listened to it for a long moment, my heart racing, before I hung up. A pang of guilt suddenly knocked in my stomach until I reminded myself that she stole my design. The design that could have changed my life. I went back to the book, Xeroxed the page of cotton shirts, and slipped the copy into my pants pocket. The book went back exactly where I found it. Mission accomplished.
I was freaked driving home and I knew I couldn't handle being alone, so I went to hang out at Mocha Daze.
Hugo, with his head in his hands, sat at a table alone. I sat down. "What's up?" No reaction. "How about I buy you a double capp?"
"Huh?" He looked up.
"Hugo, is something the matter?"
"Oh, nothing. Just your typical LA weirdness, I guess."
He got up and went to the bathroom. Something was up with Hugo and I couldn't place it. I realized then, for a moment, that maybe I should go to the bathroom myself and flush the Xerox copy in my pocket down the toilet.
