Tate Read Free Page B

tight shirts and snug jeans. Now go change.”
    “Wait. My crotch? You’ll be pinning down there?”
    “I do this for a living. If you have a problem with it I can have my assistant, Dion, do it. He’ll be here in about an hour. You can wait,” she said, and turned to walk away.
    “No, wait. It’ll be fine,” I said, and prayed. I found this woman attractive and that whole hard-on thing was kind of freaking me out.
    She pinned and chalk-marked the rear and hips, then rolled a chair in front of me. I swear I was sweating bullets. She was right there, sitting in front of me, my stuff right at eye level.
    Dear God, please… I prayed like when I was a fifteen-year old boy with a hard on, standing in front of my hot English teacher in ninth grade.
    “Before I start, I need to let you know that I’ll be working on this seam. I hope I don’t slip and pin something I shouldn’t, so stand still,” she said, and grabbed the crotch of the jeans.
    I heard the devil’s laugh, but when I looked at her all I saw was an angel’s face. She tugged to get a better hold of the seam. When she did, it made me step forward.
    “Hey! I don’t know anything about you, and you’re being all kinds of personal down there!”
    “You can wait for Dion,” she said, not missing a beat.
    “But I still don’t know anything about you,” I prodded.
    “Nothing you need to know but my name, and you’ve got that,” she said, still working, not looking up.
    “Married?”
    “Stand still. Are you gonna be able to perform?”
    “I perform best without my jeans.”
    She looked up, and by the look on her face, I knew that she wasn’t amused. At. All. “Not gonna answer me about being married?” I asked, nudging her for more.
    “You’re here for me to tailor some clothes so you’ll look pretty on stage. Now, will you be able to perform?”
    I watched her. Finally, she looked away. I’d blown it. She’d shut down. I looked around and saw a broom in the corner. Carefully, I walked over and grabbed it. Holding it like a guitar, I started to sing, making a play on the words of a song my sisters used to dance to.
     
    I like big trucks
    And I can’t deny
    I’m a guy
    I’ve got big dreams
    I’ve got a dog
    And big’ol truck
    I’m a guy
    With lots’a little play things.
    I got a boat, a hog
    And ‘bout a million bucks…
     
    “They’re good,” I said, putting the broom back.
    “Everything will be ready for someone to pick up in two weeks, just like Audra said. Bring me the tux and suits as soon as Audra picks them out.” She turned away and went back toward the sewing machine.
    I’d been dismissed.
    I changed and headed for the door. “Thanks. It was nice meeting you,” I said, but she didn’t look up. “See ya,” I added, but she still didn’t acknowledge me. I stepped out the door some kind of pissed off and ran smack into a tall, slender, dark-haired man.
    “Whoa-up there, handsome cowboy,” he said. “You must be Tate Morrow.” He dragged my name out and the end sounded like a coo. “Oh, and you’ve got that look like you just got pissed away by the Ice Queen. Dion Rouselle,” he said.
    “Nice to meet you. What’s her deal?”
    “She’s a loner,” he said, shifting the package he was holding. “If you got more than ten words out of her, you get a medal. She talks to me because she has to. I’m her design partner. She has to tell me what she needs. Did you see the sparkly red number she’s working on? One of Ami Woodson’s dresses for the GRAMMY Awards, and there are three more almost ready. That bitch’ll wear Maisie out, changing her mind…”
    “Yeah, red sparkles. Why doesn’t she talk to anyone?” I asked.
    “She’s a mess.”
    “Meaning?” I asked, trying not to get frustrated.
    “Oh, please. I don’t go gettin’ all up in her shit. I gotta go, cowboy. I’m on sequin patrol,” he said, and pushed through the door.
    “Cowboy,” I laughed, knowing he was checking me out.
    I walked