Magdalena's Shadow, page 27
“They want a full shoot and article. You’ll get the cover, Coco.”
“Oh, my God, Angie, this is amazing!”
“You could say no,” Angie teased. “Honestly, if you don’t want to be on the cover of Vogue you could refuse.”
“I want it. I want it!” Coco practically bounced off the couch she was so happy. “I don’t want to talk about James, though, remember? You have to stick to our agreement.”
“No problem. I’ll see you next week.”
The shoot was executed with more professionalism than Coco had ever experienced. No little Frenchman yelled at confused Italians, and no one told Coco to look like she had just had sex. The entire shoot was magical, as were the garments they gave her to wear. Coco wore a thigh-length kimono in red and yellow silk. The silk felt cold when she first slid naked into it. She liked how the fabric warmed instantly to her, its soft panels enfolding her body like a second skin. She sat perched on a gold ottoman, her dark hair tumbling around her, one knee drawn up under her chin, and stared at the camera. She felt a languid pleasure in the warmth of the set lights and the attention of the photographer. This is it. The thought filled her with warm, soothing happiness. This is all my dreams and all my fantasies colliding into reality right now. Though her lips never smiled, her eyes filled with joy.
When the feature ran the following month, the storeroom filled with boxes from around the world. Now, instead of Magdalena’s name on their labels, N.V. Rodriguez took her place. As Coco carried the first box inside #2 her heart beat strangely in her chest. Magdalena was dead, Coco was on the cover of Vogue, and the boxes were addressed to her. She remembered the frightened child she had been, a girl so different from the confident woman she had become. So much had changed and continued to change. Her life had made a complete revolution from stagnation and loss to confidence and freedom.
Only one month after listing #2, it sold with #1. A man from Florida bought them both with the idea that he would knock down the adjoining wall making one gigantic penthouse suite. Coco packed quickly, arranging the move with all the courage she could muster. Tia puttered, trying to maintain the status quo for the children. When specialty movers came to take and store the art, Bebe became hysterical.
“It’s okay,” Coco soothed the four-year-old, “they’re still our paintings; these men are going to keep them safe for us until we’re settled in our new home.”
“No new home!” Bebe spluttered between sobs. “This is home!” Giant tears streamed down both cheeks.
Tia sat on the sofa next to them. “We’ll be closer to a park.” She rubbed Bebe’s back comforting the child with Coco.
“Will Bob be there?” Bebe asked.
Tia and Coco looked at each other. No one had thought about Bob.
“We can’t take….” Coco began but Bebe was already running from the room.
Chapter Forty-Five
Life in New York was very different from life in Chicago. There was no kitchen except the one on the first floor, and baby proofing the old building was impossible. Tia said little, but Coco felt the strain building up in her little family. Bebe was hit the worst by the move. She had never been the same after losing Mila. Now with the loss of Bob and #2 she seemed almost depressed. Coco did what she could, including the four-year-old in her daily business and enrolling her in a local preschool, but after the first month Tia confronted her in the hall, well away from where the children played.
“There is no stability here, Coco. You need to create a home for her. A home with a kitchen and living room – and she needs a pet.”
“Are you serious? A pet?”
“Yes, a pet and a home. We’re living in a collection of bedrooms with no center.”
“Well, what do you suggest we do? I’m trying to run a business here. We can’t afford an apartment.”
“I think we should move down from the ninth to the fourth floor. I want to be closer to the kitchen.”
“I need the lower floors for the business, the middle floors are rented out and Jack and Carmen are already living below us. Besides, this floor gets the most sunlight and has the best views. This is our floor until I make up my mind about keeping the building.”
“Coco, if you’re set on living here then you need to renovate this floor into a proper apartment. I want to try to recreate the floor plan we had at #2. It would help Bebe if she felt at home, and I’m too old to be without a kitchen in easy reach. You have money, Coco, you’re just afraid to spend it.”
“I’m not set on living here. We may have to sell. Right now, I’m living day to day. I know this hasn’t been easy on anyone, but I need you to make do with what we have.” Tia looked inflexible. “Tia,” Coco begged. “Every cent I have has been invested into the label. We have to live carefully on what money is left. If this label goes bankrupt so do we. I cannot borrow money. More debt is the last thing we need.”
“I’ve moved here without complaining, but when I see Bebe suffering I’ll speak up. It’s our job to create a home for her, Coco. She needs a proper home.”
“I know you’re right. It’s not like I’m enjoying seeing Bebe suffer, but remodeling is out. I’ll consider selling but you have to give me time. I’ll figure something out, Tia.”
When Coco reached her office on the second floor her desk was already stacked with documents and post-its.
Carmen poked her head around the doorframe. “Come and see this.”
“What?” Coco rose to follow. Carmen worked in the room next to hers. An open box overflowing with colored cloth sat in the center of her desk.
“Look at these swatches!” An ecstatic smile lit up Carmen’s face.
Coco lifted the pile of colored squares out of the box. The colors were all in nature tones, from pale taupe to vermilion red surrounded by lavender and dusky rose, sandstone beige and avocado.
“This is silk!” Coco looked up, impressed.
“And look what they’re going to charge us.” Carmen handed Coco the invoice. “It’s so cheap we can actually afford it.”
“No, we can’t,” Coco snorted. “We can’t afford anything. Only order enough for the mockups. We’ll bulk order after they’re completed.”
“Sounds good.” Carmen happily spread all the colors across her desk. “I can’t believe we found one fabric merchant with the right colors and the right price. I’m in heaven.”
“What are you two so giddy about?” Delilah Ramirez stepped into Carmen’s office. She looked over the array of swatches, her eyes landing on the invoice. “That’s about six times what I pay for good American cotton,” she smirked, shaking her head.
“I think you mean Indian cotton. You never once bought American,” Carmen spat back. “And besides, this is silk, Ramirez, but I don’t expect you know how to tell the difference.”
“Whatever you say, Madam Design Head.” Delilah waved her hand through the air. “I thought you’d like to know that Kansas Distribution’s contract with us is up for renegotiation, but if you’re using silk then you have already moved out of their market.”
“They are La Sangre’s Midwest distributor.” Carmen spoke in answer to Coco’s confused expression. “They bought Delilah’s cheap crap to stock their warehouse stores.”
“Let’s not word it quite like that,” Coco glared at Carmen before turning to address Delilah, “I don’t want to cut the whole Midwest out of our clientele. Let’s try not to lose them.”
Delilah smiled like a cat on a mouse. “At these prices for materials alone, you have already lost them. Let’s call this the first knot in your noose, shall we?”
“I hate her,” Carmen said before Delilah was even out of earshot.
“Behave.” Coco glared at Carmen. “You need to use diplomacy with her. It’s your job.”
“You can’t use diplomacy with Satan. Evil doesn’t negotiate and neither do I.”
“Thanks for making an effort.” Coco turned toward the door.
“Wait, Coco. I want to order this silk, but the contract has to be drawn up by a lawyer. We’ll be ordering tons of material if the mockups work out; what do I do?”
“Have we settled on a manufacturer?”
“The silk people make it.” Carmen looked confused. “They dye and weave the silk at their factory.”
“I mean, who’s making the silk into clothing? You can’t order cloth until you know where you’re sending it. Did Jack and Delilah come up with anyone?”
“No.” Carmen looked dejected.
“Well, I guess you better go talk to her. I imagine it’ll be a fun conversation after your last remark.”
Coco closed the door to her office. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling gave off little light and the sun in her window glowed gray and hazy. Tia was right. There was no stability here. It was neither a home nor an office. Coco slumped down in her chair, flipping open the design book Carmen had given her that morning. Inside were all the sketches they had created for the new line. Everything the modern woman would want, or so Carmen said.
Coco flipped through pages of blouses, skirts, dresses, and pants. Everything was fresh and sophisticated. Coco was halfway through the book when her phone rang.
“My darling.” Paolo’s voice poured into the room, but Coco hesitated to reply when she remembered how their last conversation had gone. She had pushed him away after he had broken her trust. Even with this memory on her mind, the sound of his voice filled her, soothed her, and created that certain kind of dizzy allure that made him so desirable.
“Oh, Paolo, tell me Cristina has given you a divorce and you’re calling to take me away from all this,” she laughed.
“My love, if God and the Pope would allow me two wives, I would be on a plane already.”
“Oh well, for a moment I had hope.”
“You don’t need hope, my love, not when you are the only woman in my life. I adore you and all is well. Now tell me, what’s wrong?”
“Business is wrong.”
“This is only your first month. It’s not supposed to be easy; besides, I really am calling to take you away from it all. Come back to Rome for the spring show. I’ll pay you well and we can book several shoots while you are here. Your face and my clothing are synonymous these days. Come to Rome. We’ll behave like old friends all day and make love all night. You will be happy then.”
“Book the ticket and I’ll be there, Paolo – but I’m not going to bed with you. I’m done with men until I get my head on straight.”
When she hung up the phone Coco felt a little better, until she remembered that she was supposed to create a stable home for Bebe, which made flying to Rome a bad idea. Sadly, stability would have to wait. They needed the money. Coco would go to Rome.
Chapter Forty-Six
Rome was a much needed and very pleasant break from the worries of New York City. Paolo’s driver met Coco at the terminal’s main gate, carrying her bags to the car. With Tom out of the picture Coco entered a relaxed flow completely devoid of paparazzi. Stepping from her elegant hotel into the plush interior of Paolo’s new Maserati became a smooth and effortless dance: fittings to shows, shows to shoots, everything accomplished without the stress, anxiety, starvation, and exhaustion she had experienced before. Coco mingled with designers and models, photographers and journalists in an easy state of contentment while Paolo dropped in and out of her days with his usual charm and grace. She had managed not to sleep with him, though he behaved as if their love affair had never ended. Paolo existed in a state of perfected opulence, living as if everything he wanted already belonged to him. It wasn’t in his nature to be angry or petty. In his dealings with Coco, he chose to be patient, loving, and very available should she change her mind.
“My love.” He kissed her cheeks as he took her hand, leading Coco off set at the end of the final shoot. “I’m throwing a party tonight, and you must wear this gown.” He indicated the green and gold beaded dress she still wore. “Everyone will want it once they have seen you in it.”
“Paolo, of course I’ll wear it if you want me to. Where’s the party?”
“Very near here. I don’t think you have seen our house in Rome.”
“You mean your palace,” Coco corrected with a smile. She had heard about the ancient palazzo Paolo referred to as a house.
“A palace is for royalty,” he smiled. “I’m a common Roman. A palace is just a big house without its queen. But with you there it’ll be a palace once more.”
Coco smiled, shaking her head at him. “All right, but I’m still not sleeping with you. Will Cristina be there?”
“Yes. I’ll introduce you.” He smiled wickedly.
“Does she know about us?”
“But of course, her spies are everywhere.”
The party began at eleven that night. As usual, the driver picked Coco up promptly, weaving the sleek Italian car through the chaos of Rome with his usual skill. When the car stopped it stood before a massive rococo mansion. Every window in the magnificent building glowed with light, and colorful lanterns lit up the walkways and gardens of the D’Ambrosia house.
The driver stood quietly beside Coco’s door, waiting for a signal that she was ready to exit. Gathering her wrap around her shoulders, Coco watched him open the door. She had begun the long walk through the garden when a man in livery spoke her name into a headset. A moment later Paolo stepped into the garden to meet her.
“Did they radio you that I was here? Is your party that organized, Paolo?”
“They radioed my assistant who informed me. I would never wear one of those silly headsets, Coco. Can you imagine being all wired up like that? No, I’m too old for such nonsense.”
“So, it’s better to leave the wires to the hired help, is it?”
“Exactly! How are you, my darling? It feels like days since I last saw you.”
“And yet it’s only been a few hours. Whatever will you do when I fly back to New York?”
“Go crazy with missing you.” He leaned over and kissed her. The kiss was sweet; it melted her heart and her resolve in one gentle motion. “I adore you, Coco.”
“And I adore you, Paolo, and I’m still not sleeping with you.” Paolo only smiled. Together they stepped into the palazzo’s great hall, its expansive ceiling painted with fat cherubs and gold leaf rococo flourishes.
“I love your parties,” Coco smiled, dazzled by the room and the way the crowd parted to admire her. Many of the faces in the room were now familiar. Coco recognized the designer she had worked with on her first runway show. The little woman stepped forward, kissing both cheeks as she greeted her. Models and journalists embraced her as did rich patrons, celebrities, and a few fellow fashion devotees Coco had come to know.
“And this, my friend, is my beautiful Cristina.”
Coco turned, her eyes falling on the tall slender woman with her long black hair worn in a twist at the nape of her neck. She was beautiful, with large almond shaped brown eyes and a long thin aquiline nose.
“I’m so pleased to meet you.” Coco said, feeling shy and at a loss as to how to greet her lover’s wife. It felt wrong to shake her hand or to kiss her in the Italian style.
Cristina was silent for a long moment while she looked Coco over. Her look was appraising and formidable. In an instant Coco understood why Paolo lived in awe of her. Coco felt her cheeks begin to glow with embarrassment.
“You are just a little girl.” Cristina’s voice held sadness not scorn. “Your models, Paolo, are always so young.”
Raising her eyes, Coco observed Cristina openly. Her beauty flowed naturally around her, a beauty no camera could ever capture, because it was the power in her voice and the way she stood in complete mastery of her surroundings that made her beautiful. Her gown was simple, tastefully cut to fit her body exactly. It was more than evident that no second gown had ever been thought of in the making of this one perfect piece.
Cristina’s eyes locked on Coco’s, holding her in her power. “Such a little child.” Cristina glanced sadly at Paolo before turning her back on Coco.
Paolo chuckled quietly before leaning in to whisper in Coco’s ear. “Now you see why she has always frightened me.”
“And thrilled you,” Coco said, her eyes scanning Cristina’s perfect shoulders. “Your palace has its queen, Paolo.”
“And its dragon,” Paolo added soberly, his eyes locked on his magnificent wife. Coco felt Paolo move from her side. She felt him leave her for this woman who so dominated the room that it was impossible to see anyone or anything but her. Coco watched her move through the crowd with absolute grace. Cristina was Paolo’s perfect match: an imperious Roman woman for a loving Roman man, reining him in with her sexuality only to let him out just enough to keep him wanting.
“Signorina Rodriguez,” a voice said close to Coco’s ear, drawing her attention away from Paolo’s wife. “You are even more beautiful in person.” The man speaking was young, no more than twenty, and amazingly beautiful. “I’m Alessandro,” he smiled, “come and dance with me.”
Alessandro wasn’t as confident as most of the Italian men Coco knew, but his shy sweetness disarmed her and after one dance she found herself sitting on the sofa talking and drinking with him.
The music swelled around them, moving to a faster beat than either of them wished to dance to. Without even considering her actions, Coco gently twisted one of his thick black curls around her finger, releasing it to bounce back in line with the others around his temple.
“You are very good-looking,” Coco stated candidly, letting her fingers trace the line of his cheekbone and jaw.
“I’m glad you think so, because I think that you are perfect. Your scent,” he nuzzled her neck, “your beauty,” his fingers grazed her collarbone, “everything about you is beyond desirable.”
