Chapter 19
“Mark!”
Rainn was last person on earth Mark wanted to see. Especially here. Especially now. He still owed her that confirming e-mail with the orders attached, an e-mail that he never intended to send—if he could only persuade Meri to come around to his way of thinking. The deadline was tomorrow morning, and he still had no idea how he was going to get through to the stubborn woman.
He’d tried to dodge Rainn quick, before Meri saw them together. He didn’t want to get himself in any deeper than he already was by having to explain to Meri that he was considering buying Rainn’s line. That would lead right back to the issue of her using her real name on her work. Wait a minute . . . why didn’t he think of that before?
“What are you doing out here in the hinterlands of Vallejo on a Sunday?” asked Rainn, barbell flashing in the sunshine.
“Huh?” It wasn’t as if Vallejo were a ghost town. He noted the sprinkling of people dotting Georgia Street. Impossibly cool hipsters with long bangs and narrow pants glided in and out of its casual eateries. Young mothers, skirts fluttering in the September breeze, paused with their strollers in front of arty shop windows. “I’m always on the look-out for something new and exciting. You?”
Her smile dazzled. “Got some new equipment to play with. Want to see?”
“Not wasting any time, are you?” Had he said that out loud?
A shadow passed over her face. “Any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“No, no reason. Listen, I gotta run. Good to see you.”
He took a step around her, but she grabbed his arm.
“Hey,” she said. “What’s the hurry?”
It was weird how certain words exposed tongue rings better than others. People with oral piercings made him crazy, because once you knew they had one, you were always on the look-out for it, which made you feel awkward because you were staring at their mouths. Really, shouldn’t they be the ones to feel awkward, when they’d paid cash money to have a spike driven into one of the most sensitive parts of the human anatomy?
“By the way, I haven’t got your e-mail yet.”
“Ah, no. Sorry, I’ve been swamped. It’s the weekend.... I’ll be sure to get to it next week.”
“You better come through for me. I’ve told everyone we’re in bed together.” Rainn’s eyes glittered wickedly.
Did everyone include Meri? Rainn wasn’t too fond of her, for some reason.
The guys she’d walked out of the building with called to her from down the street. “Tsk. I’m with friends, and they’re in a hurry.”
She reached up from her five-foot-zero inches or so to throw her arms around his neck, forcing his head uncomfortably downward, drowning him in the incompatible scents of chocolate and pepper. Like everything about Rainn, it was intriguing and creepy, all at the same time.
The main door to the co-op swung open again, and Mark looked up from Rainn’s embrace, straight into the eyes of Merlot. Her face was white as chalk, her green eyes wilder than the Bay in a thunderstorm.
He placed his hands on Rainn’s wrists and jerked free of her clutches to straighten up. “Meri!”
“Mark.” Her voice was grimly calm.
Rainn whipped her head around. When she saw who it was, she began to stroke Mark’s chest through his jacket.
“I was telling Merlot all about us,” said Rainn, rising up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
There is no “us.”
Meri glared while Mark prayed for a helicopter ladder to materialize overhead to airlift him off the sidewalk.
He needn’t have worried. Meri had neatly sidestepped them and was already striding away.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“Home.”
“Hold up.” He turned to Rainn and raised a hand in farewell. “Later.”
Rainn held a pretend phone to her ear. “Call me,” she said. “I’ll be waiting.”
Mark ran to catch up with Meri. “Where are you going?”
“Like I said. Home,” she said without slowing her pace.
He tossed a furtive glance behind him.
“What’s the matter—afraid she’ll see us together?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Rainn. She told me you’re buying her line, too.”
They were at her car. It was now or never. The game might have to wait.
“Why should it matter if I am?”
She didn’t answer but opened the back door and threw in her bag.
“Meri, we’re going to talk.” He put his hand on her arm to stop her before she got in. “We can’t put it off any longer. Where’s it going to be, in the car? In your studio? I know. We’ll go back to Our Little Italian Place and I’ll buy you lunch.”
She yanked back her arm and he let it go freely.
“Stop making decisions for me! Sometimes you’re just like Papa!”
“If I were making the decisions, you’d be using the name you’re destined to use, the name you were born with. We wouldn’t be standing here arguing, and I wouldn’t be forced to give Rainn and her damn skulls and her stupid cookies a second glance.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Everything! Our time’s up. We can’t pretend anymore.” He jerked his thumb toward his car, across the street. “Everything’s packed up and ready to go for the tailgate. But if we’re late, we’re late; hell, we can skip the whole thing if you want to. Getting things worked out with you—with us—is more important.”
The desperation in Mark’s voice took the edge off Meri’s anger. He cared more about her than his dude food, his friends, and the ’Niners?
“What do you mean, our time’s up?”
“Just tell me if you want to go to the game or not,” he pleaded. “If not, we’ll go somewhere else. But you have to tell me now so I can change my plans. People are depending on me, and friends don’t let friends tailgate without the brats they promised to bring.”
She was a complete and total ass. All Mark wanted was to be a reliable friend to his football buddies. He had no way of knowing why she was so upset over his buying Rainn’s line. He didn’t know anything about her past life at Gates.
She drew a deep breath to clear her head.
“Could we talk on the drive down to the stadium? And could we stop for a coffee before we get on the freeway?”
All was quiet in the car until after their pit stop. He waited until she’d taken a fortifying sip. “Meri, I don’t want to control you. You’re in charge of yourself and your work. Only you can design jewelry like yours. Not your papa, not even your sisters. Don’t you get it? You hold all the power. I need you, not vice versa. You can always find another store to buy you. But there’s only one Gilty Artisanal Jewelry. And I want her.”
Meri couldn’t help but be touched.
“I need your line to keep Harrington’s in business. Right now we’re sitting on the brink. We’re facing our fiftieth anniversary next year, and everything looks fine to the public, but for the past few years, the numbers simply haven’t been there. . . .”
“I hope Harrington’s appreciates your dedication. If I didn’t know any better I’d think that company belonged to you.”
“I’m going to lay it out for you. I have to make a choice between your line and Rainn’s. Gloria wants me to put all my bets on Rainn. She believes in her concept, we can position metal clay at a lower price point, and she thinks Rainn is better educated.”
She felt her blood pressure rising again. “Just because I missed out on some marketing classes my senior year? Will I ever live that down? I’d already learned everything there was to learn about technique! School was holding me back. . . .”
Mark held out a staying hand. “I’m just saying. Gloria’s opinion, not mine. When I found out who you really were—”
Meri interrupted him. “By the way, who told you?”
He hated even saying the name. “Rainn. After she saw Gloria and me shopping your line at the co-op.”
Meri made a sarcastic little smile. “Should’ve known. But why do you have to choose one or the other of us? Why can’t you buy both lines?”
Mark fought for patience. “That’s a perfectly logical question. The answer is, because when Harrington’s—any store—buys a new line, we can’t just stick a toe in the water. It’s all very carefully thought out. We have to dive in, to make a commitment . . . invest in enough stock to make an impact, to cover our ads. Then there’s training the sales force, allotting dedicated floor space . . .”
A mental picture of Harrington’s upscale San Francisco showroom came to mind, each line with its own, carefully orchestrated presentation.
“I get it.”
“What is it with you and Rainn, anyway? Why all the animosity?”
Meri glared straight ahead, fuming silently.
“It’s because she’s jealous, isn’t she? Jealous that you won the Gates Purchase Prize, not her—and because of your name.”
“Don’t forget my money.” Meri couldn’t keep the resentment out of her voice. “It’s a crime to be rich. Haven’t you heard?”
Mark let that slide. “Meri, you have nothing to be ashamed of for being who you are. Nothing to feel guilty about.”
Crickets.
He flashed her a sideways glance before checking his rearview to change lanes.
“Unless there’s something else behind your Gilty pseudonym.”
Again, she caught him jockeying to read her carefully guarded expression. “Is there? You can tell me. I won’t judge.”
Meri wasn’t about to touch that. Because he would judge. Anyone would. “So you’re saying Gloria doesn’t want me at all, unless I agree to market under St. Pierre?”
His mouth formed a tight line . . . clearly reluctant to hurt her feelings, then huffed an apology. “I’m sorry, but there it is. Without your famous name, to my boss you’re merely another very talented, but very green, designer. Hell, Gloria wouldn’t have sought out Rainn, either—but I was determined to go after something fresh and young, and she was willing to give me that much free rein.”
“And you knew this before Wednesday? Before we—”
She didn’t have to finish. He knew he’d eventually have to choose between her line and Rainn’s, even before they made love. And he’d kept that from her.
She peered out the window, full of stony indecision. She’d already gushed to Savvy and Char, the most important people in her life, about the Harrington’s offer—about Mark. Made a total fool of herself, jumping up and down like a kid with a new pony. They’d been so magnanimous, letting her brag until she was blue in the face. Both sisters had counseled Meri not to quit school, but she’d gone and done it anyway. Now it was coming back to bite her in the butt.
But not even her sisters knew the rest of the story.
“Say the word, and we’ll be off on an incredible journey together. I don’t have anything in writing with Rainn yet. We can still make this work.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand, his voice milder now. “I’ve kept quiet about the orders for the past three days because I didn’t want to ruin the great time we were having. More than that, I didn’t want to lose you. No matter what you decide, I won’t walk away from us—whatever it is that we have. That’s not the hill I want to die on. But as for the business end—I have a planning meeting with Gloria tomorrow morning.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I already told Gloria you were on board. She’s more excited than I’ve seen her in years . . . making all kind of plans. Not just for spring, either, but way beyond. Are you really going to make me go back and admit that I led her on? And then send Rainn that e-mail she’s waiting for, the one with the POs attached that should rightfully be yours?”
Meri propped her elbow on the window ledge and rubbed her forehead.
“Tell me what’s bothering you. Your family’s not that bad. Anyway, no family’s perfect.”
But most families’ dirty laundry hadn’t been hanging out there for all the world to see—for the past half century. And Meri, herself, was no better. “Does Rainn know it’s between me and her?”
He looked aghast that Meri would even ask. “Of course not.” He frowned. “What is it with you two—did something happen back at school?”
She returned Mark’s hand squeeze and granted him a tiny smile. “I’ll let you know by tonight.”
A tight grin of resignation crossed his face. “Fair enough.”
After a moment’s pause, his mood shifted and he reached over to ruffle her hair. “Meanwhile, let’s enjoy the game. My buds can’t wait to meet you. I mentioned your name once, and they’ve been busting on me ever since.”
“Which name?”
He gave her a sideways smirk. “Not the one you’re worried about.”
Once more, Meri was overcome with chagrin. Mark Newman had done nothing but great things for her. Offered her a contract. Accepted her decision to go it alone. Gave her continuing professional advice on building her collection. Invited her into his circle of friends. Sitting there in the plush leather interior of his car, remembering the thoroughness with which he had satisfied her, made her lower-most muscles clench. And how had she repaid him? By being cryptic and mulish. She wasn’t about to ruin the football game for him, too.
But on the way to the stadium, she started to get nervous, despite her resolve. She’d been with more boys than she could count, but she never went on real dates....
By tenth form, Meri was well-versed in skirting prep-school rules. Just like English or history, fitting in was a learned skill, born from the universal need for belonging. Lindenwood students were mostly daughters of moguls, girls who didn’t let their genetic cageyness go to waste.
When you started curling up with your roommate from the age of eight—even if it was entirely innocent—and skinny-dipping in Lindenwood’s basement pool at fourteen, it wasn’t a big leap to sneaking out at midnight.
The girls were alerted when the head resident’s lights went out by the student sentry assigned to her window. Priscilla—today a White House intern, according to social media—was the self-appointed extracurricular events coordinator. She had a cellular hotline to a guy at Lindenwood’s brother school, only an exhilarating dash across the joint athletic field. Every couple of weeks, when Mrs. Slonaker’s bedtime coordinated with Lindenwood Boys’ HR, Prissy and “Code-Name Beav” organized a meet-up that was as tightly orchestrated as any papal visit. Nine times out of ten it was the girls who bolted, giggling madly, over to the boys’ dorm. Not fair, maybe, but the guys were too chicken to risk being caught at the girls’.
Even without the need to assuage the grinding loneliness, to assert their individuality beneath their uniforms, intense peer pressure would’ve overshadowed any concern over getting caught.
Besides, faculty turned a blind eye. The most flagrant violators to the “no boys allowed” policy suffered nothing worse than a squirmy confrontation before the headmistress. Dr. Hollabaugh didn’t relish explaining to parents that she’d lost control of her charges.
From those excursions, Meri quickly deduced that the highest and best use for boys was not as friendship material. There’d been times when she’d barely seen the face of the guy whose stringy arms and thighs she was entwined with—a good thing, she realized after running into a gang of the doo-fuses tripping over themselves on the streets of New Haven in broad daylight. Being under the covers with a teenage boy was like wrestling in the dark with an octopus—all hungry, grasping hands.
Yet all the flat chests, sleeker than Meri’s freshly shaved legs, and urgent, inept kisses were worth it to satisfy her curiosity about how male and female parts worked together, but more than that, for inclusion in the howling tell-alls after the girls raced back, breathless from the thrill of discovery and the triumph of success, to plop down cross-legged on each others’ mattresses. Those late-night chat fests were the closest thing Meri had to being back home with her beloved sisters.
At Gates, half the male art students wore more eyeliner than she did, whether they needed it or not. If that didn’t stack the deck high enough against finding The One—not that that was her goal, but every girl wanted to fall in love, didn’t she?—add to it the fact that lesbianism was the new black. All the cool girls were suddenly holding hands. Okay, maybe not all, but enough to drive home the point that The Gates College of Art and Design in San Francisco, California, was no bastion of traditional values.
“Here we are,” said Mark. The impressive new stadium loomed into view. He hung his parking sticker from his rearview and concentrated on finding his designated space.
“No, Gates definitely didn’t have anything like this,” murmured Meri, almost to herself.
She hadn’t even realized there was still such a thing as “dating.” No wonder her anticipation over going on an actual date with a straight-laced businessman and his friends was tinged with a touch of panic. As usual, she’d accepted Mark’s invitation on impulse—typical Meri. But it was too late to back out now. She sat helplessly in the passenger seat as he wound his Audi through the vehicles and people filling up the stadium.