Almost Naked, Inc. Page 18

  “Thanks,” she said, slipping out of the chair to make room for another model.

  Tonight, during Fashion Week, on one of the coldest nights in February, she was fulfilling her last contractual obligation for Maggie Winterbourne, an informal fashion show staged in an art gallery. Maggie had shamelessly stolen Bridget’s idea.

  Bridget had been inundated with orders for her designs, but hadn’t shown anything new since. Unable to deal with the fallout of her short time as a CEO and marketing whiz of a start-up company, she’d relegated her designing talent to the back burner.

  She closed her eyes, waiting for her cue as she stood at the entrance to the room where she would hit key points on the floor while people enjoyed their tea and petits fours.

  Talent. That word still made her stop and think. All her life she’d thought her sewing and designing had been nothing but doodling, not worth mentioning and certainly not worth pursuing. Her mother’s expectations had overwhelmed her and at age six she didn’t stand a chance.

  But she wasn’t six anymore.

  Now she couldn’t stop the creative energy that surged in her every day. She had dozens and dozens of drawings filling up one whole sketch pad, numerous patterns littering her bedroom desk and fabric always running through her brand-new sewing machine.

  Maggie began speaking. As soon as she cued her, Bridget stepped out from behind the curtained alcove and hit her first pose. The applause beat against her ears and the lights blinded her. She walked forward to the next point like a wooden puppet and then the next, where she was supposed to stay for five minutes then make it back for her second outfit.

  Her position afforded her an unobstructed view of the wall to her right. She recognized Sheila Bowden’s work the moment she saw it. She studied the six pieces of art. They were all studies of a nude man. The curve of his jaw and the line of his back, the way he held himself looked achingly familiar. She broke her pose, stepping closer. Some of the guests sitting at the table closest to her glanced at her. Could it be? Could it possibly be Matt?

  Her heart leaped in her chest. It was him. She could tell by that unmistakable spiky hair and the full clean lines of a body she knew by memory. Realizing her unprofessional breach, she pulled her eyes from him and made her way back to the dressing area. Her heart just a little bit lighter.

  Once the show was over, she received many invitations to go to a popular nightclub, but Bridget shook her head and declined. She went back to Sheila’s nude. She stood there so long the owner came over and touched her on the shoulder. “Beautiful, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is. I’ll take the one of him in profile with his back to the artist.”

  “I’ll wrap it up for you.”

  Bridget carried the piece home to her loft. All she had now was regrets. Regret that she had hurt Matt so much. Memories flooded her so strongly she had to close her eyes. Matt’s hands, his mouth, the whispered words as he’d taken her on Sheila’s chaise. The way he looked the last time she’d seen him. Bridget clenched her jaw against an almost suffocating surge of love.

  Hanging on to her emotions by a thread, she turned on the shower, stripped out of her clothes, the designer labels suddenly chafing her. With soap, she vigorously washed the makeup off her face. She leaned hard against the shower’s tiles and closed her eyes. Her throat tightened and she swallowed against the awful feeling of vertigo that washed over her. She shivered in the hot water pouring from the spout, cupping her hands on her upper arms, trying to provide some self-warmth.

  She opened her eyes and the box inside her burst open and all her emotions scattered like leaves caught by a powerful wind. They twisted inside her, opening up a vortex until she was overcome by them. Slowly she slid down the tiles until she was sitting in the tub, shaking.

  Now was the time for her to be true to herself. Now was the time to admit when she was wrong. She’d made a horrible mistake that could have cost her everything. Everything.

  Matt was everything.

  Maggie’s contract couldn’t buy her happiness. A million contracts couldn’t buy her happiness or self-worth because that had to come from inside. She’d been crippled all these years by the need to be what her mother so desperately wanted for her. But as Bridget sat there with the water rushing over her head, she felt a deep well of emptiness open. Who was she? What did she want out of life?

  She closed her eyes and her voice caught on a sob. Matt. It had to have taken a boatload of courage on his part to pose nude. If he had the courage to change his life like that, she couldn’t do any less and be worthy of his love. She wanted Matt. She wanted to go to bed with him every night; she wanted to wake up to him every morning. She wanted to laugh with him, tease him and make love to him.

  Her fear of failing her mother’s dream had blinded her to what was important in her life. Love, fulfillment and need.

  She needed. She needed Matt. She needed her family and friends.

  She could hardly remember a time in her life that she didn’t feel the need to be “the best.” To be the most beautiful, have the best clothes, live in the grandest home. Well, no more. Searching her heart and soul, throwing away that image other people had of her, Bridget rose in the tub like a phoenix from the ashes—a new woman.

  “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

  “I want out, Leslie.”Leslie’s eyes widened, her brows raised. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m leaving New York and going back to Cambridge.”

  “For a visit?”

  “No. Forever.”

  “You’re quitting?”

  “Yes.”

  “I just moved your composite to the high board today. Now that your contract with Maggie has expired, she wants you to sign again with her. She’s not the only designer who’s clamoring for you. I’ve gotten interest from people in Hollywood—movie scripts. You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m very serious. I’ve already put my loft up for sale. Thank you for everything, Leslie, but I’m going home.”

  “YOU’RE GOING HOME?”

  “Yes. Naomi, I’ll explain everything to you when I get to Cambridge. Could you call an emergency meeting of the BQU for me for tomorrow morning? Thanks. Ask them to meet at my mother’s house.”Bridget hung up the phone and packed her suitcase and grabbed the nude of Matt and left the room without looking back.

  The flight was short and she was soon hugging Aunt Ida.

  “Could you drive me to my mother’s house?”

  “Of course.”

  When Bridget showed up at her mother’s house, her mother was shocked, but delighted to see her. “Come in, dear.”

  Once they walked into the living room, Bridget said to her aunt and her mother, “You might want to sit down.”

  “Why?” her mother asked.

  “I quit.”

  “What?” they both said in unison.

  “I want to be a designer.”

  Her mother rose and walked up to her. For a long moment she stared into Bridget’s eyes, then she wrapped her arms around her and hugged her close. “Good for you. I’m so very proud of you.”

  She wasn’t sure what she expected her mother to do, but this wasn’t it.

  Shortly after her mother’s astonishing turnaround, the BQU started to arrive. She hugged all the Queens and sat down on her mother’s designer sofa.

  “I have a proposition for you all. I’ve decided to become a designer.” There was a cheer from the group. “I want to give you all the opportunity to get in on the ground floor. Bottom line is—I need help.”

  “I’m in,” Danny said. “I think you’ll be as big as Maggie Winterbourne.”

  “Bigger,” said Betty Sue. “I’m in.”

  All the other Queens made it unanimous.

  “What are you going to use as your label?” Danny asked.

  Bridget smiled and laughed before saying, “BQU. What else?”

  Bridget rose from the sofa. “Now it’s time to find a place to r
ent or buy depending on the property.”

  “Wait one second,” her mother said from the doorway. “I want in.”

  “You do?” Bridget said, staring at her mother.

  “Yes, I do and I have the perfect property.”

  “Who owns it?”

  “I do.”

  “Isn’t that convenient,” Danny said, throwing his arm around her mother’s shoulders.

  Her mother looked up at him. “Do I know you?”

  “You sure do,” he said, “But you know me as Danielle.”

  “Oh my,” Bridget’s mother said.

  BRIDGET STOOD in the storefront two doors down from the Bowden Gallery and sanded her office wall in preparation for the vibrant yellow paint she’d bought at the local hardware store. Her mother, dressed in jeans and a ratty shirt, sanded one of the other walls.

  “You know I have a beautiful Queen Anne’s desk in the attic. It belonged to your grandmother. I think it would look very elegant in here.”“I think you’re right. Mom, why didn’t you protest when I told you that I wanted to be a designer?”

  “I haven’t been able to forget the day of my garden party. I was so intent on showing you around to my friends, having you regale them with stories of Paris and New York. I didn’t once think about you at all. And then Matt shouted at me that he loved you. I realized then that I’ve been so selfish and narrow-minded. When you came home instead of staying at your aunt Ida’s, I was overjoyed. I so wanted my daughter back, but I didn’t know how to go about it.”

  Bridget laughed. “I think you figured it out okay.”

  Her mother’s eyes shone with emotion. She nodded. “This will make you happy?”

  “Yes, I had a wake-up call. I don’t want to measure my success that way anymore. I’ve been designing clothes since I was a little girl. Doodling, you used to call it. It never occurred to me until I met Matt that I could do it for a living.”

  Her mother stopped sanding and turned to look at her over her shoulder. “All the publicity from that job with Matt made you think this would be right for you?”

  “No, the publicity was just a by-product. It was the great personal satisfaction I got from creating. It was like a high and I realize that trying is what’s important. My personal self-worth is not tied to it. If I succeed or don’t succeed, you’ll still love me, Aunt Ida will still love me and my friends will still be there for me.”

  “I will be there for you, Bridget. I promise. I’m sure Matt is a fine young man. I was influenced by how your stepfather viewed my aspirations when we were first married. If I had pursued a career instead of getting pregnant, I’m not sure how happy I would be right now.”

  “Sounds like you and dad worked on your differences.”

  “We have. I think he understands a lot more now how I feel and he loves me. That’s all that really matters.”

  “That’s wonderful, Mom.” Bridget sanded a bad patch on the wall, feeling as if layers were being peeled from her in strips. “There’s something else I need to tell you. Before, when I came back to Cambridge because I not only lost my contract with Kathleen Armstrong, but I couldn’t get any other work, I was also flat broke.” It felt so good to finally tell her mother the truth.

  “Thank you for confiding in me, Bridget. Now, we’d better get a move on. I think it’s time to paint.”

  Fresh new beginnings.

  It took a week to get her designer office and workspace completed. All the Queens were present when Bridget hung up her sign. In bold pink letters, it read BQU.

  All the Queens decided that their days of garden parties and the life of leisure weren’t as exciting as putting time and effort into an investment. Danny became her head seamstress and Betty Sue was a natural at choosing fabrics. Even her mother participated by organizing everyone so that her office ran like clockwork. Everything was in place in her life, except one thing.

  Matt.

  She was going after him with everything she had.

  He was the only man for her.

  MATT HELD THE FLOWERS so tight in his hand he thought he’d break the stems. When Bridget’s mother opened the door, he expected to see the disapproval in her eyes. He even expected her to shut the door right in his face.

  But she smiled brightly and said, “Matt. How wonderful to see you. Are you here for Bridget? Silly me, of course you are. She’s in the greenhouse watering the plants. When you’re through, perhaps you’d like to join her father and me for some lunch in the garden.“Let me take your coat.” She hung it up and then took his arm.

  He was utterly speechless as he stared down at her blond head. Slamming into the side of the library door with his shoulder didn’t even faze her.

  “Do be careful not to hurt yourself.”

  At the entrance to the greenhouse, she let go of his arm. “We’ll see you later.”

  Matt stood there and took a deep breath. Walking forward, he could hear Bridget humming that tune she’d been singing in the shower. When he turned the corner, avoiding a large table of orchids, he saw her.

  His throat closed up. “Bridget.”

  She started and dropped the hose. It snaked around like a wild beast. She chased it and Matt helped her, drenching them both before he finally got smart and turned it off at its source.

  Breathless, her hair dripping water into her eyes, she stared up at him and his now worse-for-wear flowers.

  “What are these? They’re beautiful.”

  “Trientalis borealis. Starflower. Now you can hold them in your hands.”

  Her eyes welled up with tears and in the past that would have been enough to make him close up his emotions for fear she would cross his boundaries, but now he accepted her just the way she was.

  “I’m a fool,” he said softly. “A rigid fool. You are right. I did stand back from life instead of embrace it. But I’ve changed.”

  “I saw the portrait, Matt.”

  He colored, obviously still not as comfortable as he wanted to be. “Did you like it?”

  “I saw the whole series she did on you, but I bought the one where you’re in profile with your back to the artist. You have a really nice butt.”

  He colored again and laughed. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” Unable to wait one second longer he took her into his arms. His throat closed up again, and he buried his nose in her wet hair, a surge of hard emotion cutting through him. A sense of relief filtered through him as her arms came up around his neck to hold him close.

  “I can’t go back and fix the past, Bridget, but the present is all new and clean. I can get a job in New York. I can live with your lifestyle. Anything you want.”

  “Come with me,” she said, taking his hand.

  “I’ll follow you to the moon, sweetheart.”

  Those words were like manna from heaven and Bridget soaked them up like a sponge. Keeping a firm grip on his wrist, half afraid he would vanish like smoke before her eyes. Dripping wet, she walked through the house to a sumptuous bedroom done in gold tones. She picked up a vase on her bedside, the glass cool to the touch. Heading for the balcony, she threw the flowers over the side. In the adjoining bathroom, she filled the vase and set the delicate white five-point flowers inside. Her throat tight, she replaced the vase on her night table.

  He reached for her, but she evaded his grasp. “Wait a second. There’s something I need to say to you. Sit on the bed.”

  He complied while she made her way to the French doors and leaned against the jamb, the wood a hard goad to keep her focused on what she had to say. “I made some bad choices when it came to you, Matt, and I need to tell you I’m sorry about that.”

  “Bridget, we both made mistakes.”

  “But you were trying to change. I know how hard it was to let me invade your privacy. I know you struggled with it, but you loved me and you tried to overcome it. I, on the other hand, didn’t make an effort to see what kind of path I was walking.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I always thou
ght of myself as the little engine that could. Everything I have ever committed time and energy to doing, I’ve done from a competitive, striving, goal-oriented stance. Performing everything as close to perfect as possible has fueled my existence since I was six. The reason—fear—the fear of failing. To fail meant death, swallowed up by a black hole. I had to avoid it at all costs.”

  “Go on,” he urged.

  “I was repeatedly rewarded for my beauty and I became practiced at adjusting myself so much that I lost touch with myself. Having a successful image feeds on itself and obliterated my own core identity. The more successful the image, the more tempting it was for me to continue to rely on it and to develop it rather than myself. Who I really am became more and more unknown territory, something I didn’t want to focus on because if I looked inward, I’d feel empty.

  “I didn’t really know who I was beyond that image, so it was everything to me to maintain it. That’s why I went back to New York to sign that contract.”

  “Then you saw the nude?”

  “Yes. As I said, your courage humbled me and when you gave me the opportunity to be the CEO of your business, you gave me the chance to see myself in another light. I could do something beyond projecting this image to the world. I found friends and got so much value from the experience. I want to be a designer, Matt, and stay here in Cambridge. My only regret is failing you in the end.”

  “You didn’t fail me. I realized that I had been protecting myself, not my reputation at MIT. My chairperson was overjoyed with the publicity. I’ve gotten the tenure track position, but that’s not important to me anymore.”

  “Then we’re even, because I’ve got the two things I most want in life.”