Evey propped herself on her elbow and looked me in the eyes. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Positive. You know what?” I traced a line under her arm with my index finger.
She giggled. “What?”
“You need to get ready for work, young lady.”
She rolled off me and looked up at the ceiling. “Ugh, Tracey.”
“I know, I agree. She’s unbearable.”
“Isn’t she? She’s so full of herself.”
“Just stick it out a little longer. She knows the right people.”
“You’re the first person who has told me to wait it out with Tracey. But you’re right—it’s the only sensible thing to do. Everyone is always saying I should ditch her.”
“I have your best interest in mind. I’m not always going to tell you what you want to hear.”
“I get that.” She leaned in and kissed me. “I like your honesty.” She reached behind me, and then with a grim look, she handed me a feather. “Another one.”
When I reached for it, it disintegrated. Jesus, really? This is how it’s gonna be?
“Why don’t you ride in the car with me?” she suggested, pulling me out of my head.
“Okay.”
On the way to work, I had to tell Evey to slow down twenty times. She drives like a maniac. That driving instructor she’d had when she was sixteen was terrible. If I hadn’t had intervened, she’d be dead by now.
“Don’t be a backseat driver,” she said.
“I taught you better than this.”
“You didn’t teach me; my dad taught me.”
“I became your driving instructor after the first lesson when I realized Mr. Willis didn’t know what he was doing. I became him for your behind-the-wheel lessons.”
“What?” She looked shocked. “You put your hand on my leg and squeezed it during the last session. I thought he was a total perv.”
“I did not!”
“You did too!” She looked at me pointedly.
“Eyes on the road, Evey.”
When we got to the warehouse, I said, “I’ll just sit in here and be invisible.”
“Won’t you be bored?”
I laughed hysterically. “This is what I’ve always done, and yeah, it’s boring as fuck.”
“Come in with me. Meet Tracey for real. She’ll love you. You have a perfect body for design.”
I frowned. “I’m not letting her dress me up.”
“Then let me.”
We walked in through the large roll-up door. There were tables and material scraps everywhere, and in the corner was a huge roll of denim. Tracey was talking to another assistant, who scurried away when Evey and I came in.
“Who’s this beautiful man?” Tracey said while she stared me up and down.
“This is my boyfriend, Lucian.”
“He’s your boyfriend?” she asked with more shock than spite.
“Yes,” Evey said, “he’s my boyfriend.”
Tracey wasn’t unlike Brooklyn in that she would probably be forever single, but she didn’t want to be. That was the difference. She was aging fast, approaching her mid-forties, and still had no serious male prospects. Part of the reason was that she emasculated and objectified men in a really disgusting way, much like she was doing to me presently.
“Take off your shirt,” she said to me.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you shy or something? You got little boy chest under that tee?”
I was still me, okay? I couldn’t resist. I pulled off my T-shirt and threw it to the side. I had left my belt and boxers at Evey’s, so there wasn’t much material left to hide anything. I didn’t even bother pulling up my hanging jeans. They covered the important part.
“Jesus, lord,” Tracey said. People really needed to stop saying that. I was starting to get a complex. She looked at Evey. “He’s perfect. Perfect shoulder width, sculpted jaw and abs, narrow hips.” She turned to me. “How tall are you? What’s your inseam?”
“Six two. Maybe thirty-five inseam.”
Evey came over and whispered in my ear, “You’re eating this up.”
“I have a plan,” I whispered back. I knew which items Evey had designed, but to Tracey, it was my first time in the warehouse.
Tracey left and then came back over with a stack of jeans and some T-shirts. I really had no shame. When I dropped my jeans, Tracey and the assistant lurking behind her froze. They went slack-jawed.
Evey, standing next to me, looked over and said, “Really, Lucian?”
“Well, he’s definitely not shy.” Tracey approached Evey and said, “How’d you land him?”
I slipped on a pair of jeans that I knew Tracey had designed because they were hideous. I shook my head, pulled them off, and dug around for a pair that Evey had worked on. “These are perfect.”
“Evey, we have a photographer coming,” Tracey said as she ran to the phone. “I’m canceling the other model. Lucian, how do you feel about making an easy grand?”
“Why not? But I only want to be photographed in these jeans.” I pointed at Evey’s.
Tracey was a ball-buster. “Well then, I better keep the other model on. Your pay just went down to two hundred.”
“Fine by me,” I said, although I wondered how I was going to get money now that I had been cut off from Mona and the higher-ups. No, Lucian, you are not going to model Tracey’s jeans.