Brief Encounters

“I can’t even spell Gvon,” Swan admitted. “What are you doing on his yacht? I need you here!”

And that was an understatement. She and Lynne weren’t just business partners, they’d been all but inseparable since childhood, sharing everything, especially their problems. They’d gone to the same schools right up until they graduated high school, when Swan had received a scholarship to study design at Brooks College, and Lynne had pursued a business degree at U.S.C.

“Swan, this is big. Big. I showed Gvon our stuff, and he loves it. He’s dropping hints that he might give us our own label. We’d design for him, but it would be our name on the clothes. And he doesn’t want just underwear. He wants loungewear, too, and maybe eventually, sportswear, men’s and women’s. Think about it, Swan. This is a dream come true.”

Swan had thought their tour was a dream come true, but she could hear Lynne’s excitement. “How did you meet him and why are you on his yacht?”

“It was that fund-raiser fashion show I told you about. One of the models introduced me to Gvon, and I had my suitcase of samples with me. Now he wants to talk business, and he said we could do that on his boat—I mean, yacht, excuse me!”

Swan’s sense of urgency grew and it wasn’t just physical. “Lynne, is this what we want to do? Team up with someone else?” They’d worked so hard for this chance to have their own line and they’d always seemed equally driven to succeed. Lynne came from money and Swan didn’t, but that had never mattered to either of them. Swan sometimes wondered if they each needed to prove themselves because of their very different stations in life—Lynne because she’d been given so much and Swan because she’d been given so little.

“It’s not someone else. It’s Gvon Marcello! How many pipsqueak designers like us ever get this chance? Just to be near him is golden.”

Lynne was not going to be talked out of this opportunity. That much was clear, and Swan didn’t necessarily want to pass it up, either. Big breaks came rarely in their business.

“Okay, okay, do what you can,” Swan said, “and then get yourself back here. The party’s tomorrow night.”

There was a distinct gulp on the other end. “I’ll never make it back for the party, Swan. We’re heading out for some secret destination, and even I don’t know where we’re going. Gvon’s destinations are always secret, so the press won’t find out.”

“And you’ll be back when?”

“Two days, three at the most. I know this is crazy and unexpected, but think of the chance to bond with a couture designer.”

“Bond? It sounds like you’re being kidnapped.”

“Oops, we’re leaving. Hear that horn? Now, listen to me, Swan, this is important. Art Long called me, and our loan’s come through. You need to go to the bank at ten tomorrow and pick up the check. Art will be waiting for you.”

The check, thank God! They’d had to mass produce their line to supply the boutiques, and the cost was staggering. Without this money, they wouldn’t be able to handle the mounting bills or pay their share of the tour expenses.

“You’re going to have to sign for it,” Lynne was saying, “and you may have to sign my name, as well, but don’t worry. You’ve done that before on business stuff. Besides, Art’s the loan officer, and he’ll push it through.”

Swan winced at the pressure, both from Lynne’s news and her own bladder. She’d held back out of correct telephone etiquette, but everyone had a breaking point. A sigh of relief escaped her.

“Are you peeing?” Lynn asked.

How could she tell? Swan plucked the air freshener from the back of the commode and spritzed the air, as if that could disguise her failure of nerve. How many over-achievers out there had to trot to the john just when things were getting challenging? This had to be a club with a membership of one.

“I’ll take care of the check,” she assured Lynne. “Have fun, but if you’re not back in time for the L.A. show, I’m coming to get you.”

“So I guess the audition went badly?” Lynne persisted. “If you’re in the bathroom, it must have been bad.”

“Sometimes people just have to go. I was in here when you called.”

Lynne sighed. “How bad was it, Swan? You might as well tell me.”

“Terrible.” Swan shuddered at the thought. “I molested a repairman, thinking he was one of the models.”

“Way to go!” Lynn chortled with delight. “Was he cute?”

Swan found herself smirking into the mouthpiece. “Cute doesn’t begin to describe this guy. He’s sex on the cloven hoof, sent from the hottest region of hell to torment me.”

“Wow, that good?”

“Dark hair, blue eyes, the longest legs I’ve ever seen.” Including the third one. “Just my type.”

“I didn’t know you had a type.”

“I didn’t, either.” Swan sighed, perfectly aware that she would never see the man again. Lynne would have gotten his business card and his bank balance before she let him go. Probably a saliva sample, as well.

“Well, it sounds like you’re having fun, you vixen. How’s the model search going otherwise?”

“I still haven’t found anyone who can dance and unbutton his fly at the same time. I never realized what an art form that was. We should have called the modeling agency instead of letting Gerard recruit his friends.”

“Well, then call the modeling agency.”

“And how do you suggest we pay them?”

“With the check you’re picking up tomorrow!”

That prompted Swan’s second sigh of relief. Of course, they had money now. Maybe they could even afford to pay Gerard’s back wages. Oh, happy day. Now all she needed was for Lynne to come back safely and the show could go on.

“Gotta go,” Lynne said. “Something’s moving and it isn’t me.”

“Be careful!” Swan pleaded, but her partner had already hung up. And with the sound of Lynne’s voice went Swan’s elation. Somehow Swan was going to have to get through the launch party tomorrow night and probably the L.A. show on her own. The odds of Lynne getting back for either seemed slim. But Swan wasn’t alone. She had her indispensable Gerard—and some emergency funding to ease the pain.

Thanks to Art Long, she thought. Lynne had been dating him for a couple of months now, and Art was the one who’d suggested they use the villa as collateral for a business loan. Lynne’s mom and stepdad had retired and moved to the Florida Keys, leaving her the charming, three-story mansion. Unfortunately, Lynne could barely afford the taxes, and her mother’s one condition was that she cover all costs in maintaining the house.

Swan had moved in last year to help defray expenses and they’d converted the villa’s first floor into their design center and offices. But they were still running short every month. Then La Bomba, a trendy west-coast clothing chain, offered to show Brief Encounters’s wares exclusively and to promote them with a fashion show tour. It looked as if the struggle was over. But only in the long term. In the short term, their manufacturing costs had soared and they had yet to recoup any of the money. If the shows didn’t generate strong sales…

Well, Swan wasn’t going to think about that.

Art had pushed the paperwork through in record time, and now it seemed he was willing to participate in a bit of forgery, as well. Lynne had her ways, but Swan wasn’t sure she wanted to know how Lynne had managed to wrap a banker around her little finger.

Swan’s crisis seemed to be over, so she quickly finished. Washing her hands, she glanced at herself in the oval mirror above the marble sink, but did not like what she saw. She looked exactly like what she was: a thirty-year-old woman who’d had to sacrifice most of her “me” time to keep a business afloat. Her aquamarine eyes were her best feature, but even their rather exotic almond shape couldn’t stop them from looking stressed and weary.

Tired of fighting with her long auburn hair, she’d gone after it with a claw clip and it was now back where it belonged, sitting on top of her head. She was grateful for its rich luster, but she probably could have used a stylist—a few highlights wouldn’t have hurt, either. Still, all the sacrifices had been worth it, especially now. She’d come a long way since she and Lynne had joined forces. They both had.

They’d grown up together, though under very different circumstances. Swan’s mother, Pat, had worked for Lynne’s mother as a housekeeper, but they were both single moms and had many things in common, which was probably why their working relationship had developed into a lasting friendship. Eventually Lynne’s mother, Felice, had remarried, but she and Pat had remained close. Pat still worked as a housekeeper for another very wealthy family. Her duties now mostly involved supervising the household staff. Whenever she could, she traveled to Florida to visit Felice.

Swan owed much to her mother. It was Pat who had taught her to sew and to piece whole outfits together from whatever material was available. Swan took to it quickly, once fashioning slacks and a blazer from a corduroy bedspread. But her mother was also a cautious and fearful soul who believed that dreams were dangerous and pursuing them even more so. She’d never wanted Swan to do anything but follow safely in her footsteps. “It’s steady work,” she liked to say. “You’ll never go hungry or lack for a roof over your head.”

Maybe that was another reason Swan felt the need to prove herself. Her doting mom was waiting for her to fail.

Swan felt as if she were carrying Brief Encounters squarely on her shoulders right now, and everything she and Lynne had was at stake. It wasn’t just their business, it was this house, too….

But if she didn’t stop thinking like that, she would never get out of the loo.

She peeked up and down the hallway before letting herself out of the bathroom. Somewhere loose in this building was a dangerously attractive telephone repairman with a twitch, and she did not want to run into him again.