Dropping a Stitch

Chapter 11 – Designed to Reveal

"Rita, please sit down," Ben lightly grasped his lover's slender shoulders and gently pushed her towards one of the two tall stool-chairs that sat against the small kitchen island in their Vermont cabin.

Rita gave Ben a confused look, but she cooperated. Then her face became pensive as it occurred to her that Ben might be about to propose. She was shocked to realize that the idea excited her instead of filling her with dread. Only two months ago she had walked away from their relationship because she felt that he was moving too fast. Now he might be preparing to propose and all Rita could feel was an electric thrill of anticipation. The truth was that she already knew her answer. There was no longer any doubt in her mind. Despite his oftentimes childish ways; despite his residual jock personality; despite the fact that he was almost always full-speed-ahead, in contrast to her own cautious approach towards life… despite all of this and every other excuse she might try to dream up, she knew the truth: she was in love with Ben Quimby.

As she sat and waited, Ben paced. Rita braced herself as he wheeled and stopped in front of her… but his face was twisted in a grimace of agony, not the smoldering look of passion she had always envisioned accompanying a marriage proposal. Ben tried to speak, failed, and then resumed pacing. When he turned again that same look of barely-contained pain suffused his expression. Rita felt herself becoming angry. Is the idea of marriage with me so heinous that he has to show that expression?

When Ben started to pace again, Rita jumped off the stool and exploded, "Look, Ben… I'm… I'm going shopping! Whenever you figure out what you want to say, you let me know." Grabbing her coat, gloves, scarf, and ear mufflers, Rita flew out of the door.

Ben stood there, his arms still raised as if to speak; his face a mix of confusion, frustration and agony. When I finally work up the courage to tell her the truth… it will all be over… and I'll lose Rita all over again.

oOo

India sat in a queenly manner in her café chair, her salad mostly untouched, and basked in her impending triumph. She was seated inside the little corner bistro with Jeremy and Heather Croft, Gray's temporary assistant. India hadn't actually wanted to drag Heather along, but she needed to keep the girl away from the office while events unfolded. Jeremy was reclined in his own seat, regaling Heather with some anecdote about his early days as a designer. Heather, for her part, was predictably enchanted by the handsome designer's British accent and suave sincerity. India could practically see the drool forming on the corner of the poor girl's mouth.

India didn't care. She was used to seeing women drool over Jeremy… just as she was used to basking in the envious glares she received whenever those same women realized that the man was already taken. In fact, the only woman other than her who had made any impact on Jeremy in the past three years was Jane Quimby… yet another reason that India hated the girl.

Not that it mattered. By the time this lunch was over, Donovan Decker would have received Heather's carefully-worded memo, asking the owner and director of the company how she should deal with the issues of health benefits and IRA for a minor. Coming from a temp, it would seem like a completely innocuous question… a simple request for clarification. Except, of course, for the fact that the carefully worded memo would also highlight the fact that the employee, Jane Quimby, had been working directly under Gray Chandler Murray for the past few months without any clarification on these matters.

Gray had sent a minor to Paris and London, completely without adult supervision. She had placed several crucial clients… and thereby the reputation of Donovan Decker… in the hands of that same minor. Even now, Gray was using the teen-aged girl as a personal assistant in Rome… where the girl was making headlines and drawing attention… while leaving Donovan Decker completely unaware of the fact that the girl was only seventeen.

India smiled as she contemplated the carnage… and her own new position in the company.

"You seem unusually happy today, India," Jeremy mused, breaking into her thoughts.

"Oh, she should be," Heather pronounced. Before India could signal the young woman to stop, the temp continued, "We finally found a way to bury that conniving fraud Jane, and probably that dragon-lady Gray as well."

India sat up straight to interrupt that idiot's words. Now, as Jeremy's disappointed gaze met hers, she sank back into her seat. Jeremy saw the truth in India's eyes and the pleasure of the day left his own eyes, "India, I was really hoping that you had decided to let it all go. I see that sometimes nothing changes." Heather looked back and forth between the handsome British man and the lead designer.

India was momentarily abashed, but then she felt her temper rising, "Did you really expect me to forget how she tossed me out, Jeremy? Or the fact that it was Jane who pointed the finger at me in the first place?"

Jeremy placed his cloth napkin over his plate and pushed away from the little table. "You seem to have entirely forgotten all of the schemes that you've tried of the past few years in your attempts to oust Gray… and the number of times that you've included Jane in your attacks. I may have been the true culprit, India, but you gave them more than enough reasons to believe that it was you." His voice became sadder, "This stupid feud is turning you into something… someone… less than the person who I know that you could be." He stood, "If you'll excuse me ladies, I'll take care of the check."

oOo

It was late evening in Italy. Jane was on a train again. This time she was accompanying Gray to Florence to shop at a famous holiday bazaar… though "accompanying" might not be the right word since she hadn't even seen Gray after the first few minutes that they boarded the train. As usual, Gray was smoozing with the important people in the elite cars while Jane was stuck back in the lesser seats.

That wasn't a fair description either. Jane was sitting in a very comfortable seat, watching a spectacular moonlit view of the Italian countryside while enjoying a very nice meal. Jane knew that she should be grateful, but she would have preferred to be doing other things… especially since several of the other passengers had recognized her from the magazine article and approached her for signatures or simply to talk… at least until they discovered that Jane couldn't speak Italian. There was also one young woman who made it clear by her mannerisms that she considered Jane to be unworthy of the honor that Donatella Versace had accorded to her. It was all a little disconcerting.

At least now Jane had been able to get her hands on an English translation of the article in Fashion International. She wanted to be pleased, but the many innuendos in the article suggested that Jane was far more than she truly was. This, of course, only added to the fraud that she had perpetuated since September. She should have felt relieved now that Gray knew the truth, but she couldn't share the older woman's assurance that others… and especially Donovan Decker… would accept the truth as readily as Gray seemed to have.

There had been other surprises during the day. Xavier Lewis had texted her to let her know that he had seen the article and that he and the rest of Shock and Awrsenic expected her to be at their Rome concert. Piper Grace texted to tease Jane about getting bigger headlines than she had; which wasn't true, of course, since Piper had continued to generate scandals since their last meeting. But the most amazing surprise came when Charlotte Whitmore, now Princess Consort Charlotte, had actually phoned to say that she was pleased to read of Jane's success… and that she was expecting Jane to design her spring gowns for Denmark's Liberation Day and Constitution Day.

Lost in her thoughts, Jane didn't notice at first when the very handsome and strangely familiar older man took a seat across from her. In fact, she was a little shocked when she finally realized that the man was sitting there and staring at her. Since Gray had paid for both facing benches, it was disconcerting that this strange had invited himself to sit. He was above-medium height, trim, fit, and very handsome in an executive or lawyerly sort of way. He had ebony hair, still full for his apparent age, with gray around the temples and peppering his bangs… and he had light hazel eyes that had probably made many women swoon… not that Jane was interested in men of his age. As the man endured her appraisal with unaffected calm, and possibly amusement, Jane struggled about what to do. The man resolved the situation for her when he said, "Pardon me for taking a seat without asking. I was hoping to speak with you."

Jane's first thought was that the man wasn't, as she had naturally assumed, Italian. His accent was upper-crust and American, probably Bostonian. Her second thought was that he might be a reporter hoping to capitalize on her semi-confined situation on this train to force an interview. Then she felt silly. First of all, this man might pass for an anchor-man, but he certainly wasn't the roving reporter type. Besides, I'm getting a little full of myself. One little false interpretation of Donatella Versace's kind instruction and now I think that I'm a celebrity? I'm an idiot. Bracing herself, Jane said, "Perhaps we could begin with introductions? My name is Jane Quimby." When the man seemed to wait for something else, Jane raised an eyebrow. It was meant to ask a question, but she knew that it probably showed her confusion instead.

The man seemed amused at some private joke. "Yes, Ms. Quimby, I know who you are. After all, I hear reports on your work quite regularly."

This only served to confuse Jane further… and yet a nagging sense of recognition continued to plague… and then Jane's large eyes went wider still and she sat up straight as realization finally dawned, "Mister Decker! … Sir!... I… I apologize for not recog…" She stopped her apology as Donovan Decker started laughing in a good-natured way.

"Gray told me that you were a breath of fresh air…" the distinctive older man paused and looked around conspiratorially, "Actually, don't tell her that I repeated her words… our Gray likes to maintain her dragon-lady image. It makes a handy shield in this cut-throat industry I suppose." The smile dropped and his face turned suddenly stern, "Then again, perhaps you do fit well in this industry… considering the fact that you pulled off one of the best deceptions that we've seen in quite some time." Jane flushed in alarm and made to speak, but he forestalled her with one raised hand, "Imagine my own chagrin when I heard that it was a high school intern who not only described the wedding dress that I personally designed as 'fussy,' but then turned around and redesigned it in a single night."

Jane's face couldn't seem to decide whether to be beet-red in embarrassment or ashen-white in fear as she realized just how much the CEO and founder of her company knew about her activities. Jeremy and Carter had pledged to keep the identity of the designer a secret. India certainly wouldn't have confessed to her attempt to steal her design. So how could he have known!? And the presumption of having the princess consort of Denmark wear her design… "How…?"

Again, the man's expression changed; this time to one of amused triumph. "My dear girl, you do realize that Denmark has its own version of the Secret Service, don't you?"

The question seemed non-sequitur, but Jane nodded.

"Whenever the royal family, or in this case the soon-to-be family member goes anywhere, an investigative team conducts a pre-check of the people who might potentially come into direct contact with the royal person," he allowed that to sink in, clearly relishing Jane's look of slowly-burgeoning understanding. "And when such investigations reveal discrepancies, such as a young woman who is lying about her age, it is only natural for the team to check out those discrepancies with the most-likely person to know… meaning me."

Jane's eyes couldn't have gone much wider as the full realization dawned, "So… you… 've known about my true age ever since early November?" Jane didn't know how to react as the man nodded without expression. He had known her true age even before Gray had… and he had done nothing. Then another thought nagged at her, "But… how did you know that the new dress was my design?"

"From the Princess, of course," Decker answered simply. Then he elaborated, "Charlotte called me. We were acquainted well before she became engaged. That is why I agreed to design her dress in the first place, although designing wedding dresses has never been within my sphere of interest. She seemed to know that you were the designer. She clearly found it amusing that a seventeen year-old girl out-designed me. I was skeptical, but Carter caved after a little pressure."

He raised an eyebrow and Jane cringed. "I'm… sorry?"

"Never apologize for doing a good job, Ms. Quimby. I fully intended to speak with Gray about you, but after you wowed Charlotte with your redesign, I decided to sit back and watch instead. Since then I have been following your work with great interest."

Jane felt a Big-Brother moment coming on… the sense that she was under a less-than-benign microscope. Then again, he hadn't fired her yet. As she pondered these and a multitude of other thoughts, Donovan Decker sat comfortably and watched her. Finally she said, "What happens now?"

"Well, my dear young lady, right at this moment we have another problem to resolve."

oOo

It was still past noon in New York City. In his run-down apartment Billie was looking at the magazine that Carmen, a close neighbor who knew about his friendship with Jane, had handed to him only minutes before. The middle-aged woman, who often took a motherly interest in Billie's well-being, had often scolded Billie for not making Jane his girlfriend. When Billie had insisted that Jane was only a best-friend, not a romantic interest, the expressive Hispanic woman had raised an eyebrow, quirked her mouth, and placed her hands on her hips in a manner that clearly showed derision. "Son, you won't see the tractor till it ran right over the top of you, will you? That girl cares for you. You care for her. 'Friends' might be where you started, but you'd be a fool to leave it there."

This time, when Billie opened the door to her knock, Carmen simply thrust the magazine into his startled hands, "Billie, if you don't get your act together you're gonna lose that girl. Now read! And don't forget that I'll be saving some Christmas dinner for you when the time comes." And with that, she was gone.

Billie did read the article; several times. He also stared at the photos of Jane: with the old woman at the table; holding a dress for a model while conversing with another woman; and standing regally in a spectacular form-fitting dress at some type of social event. The last photo was the one which held his attention; in fact, he couldn't look away. Jane had never looked so beautiful… and so beyond his reach. I'm losing you, Jane… and it's all my own fault.

oOo

It was evening in France. Zoe had just returned from a pleasant evening with her fathers. Alone in her hotel room, she stood three feet away from her bed and stared again at the closed magazine that she had thrown on the covers. It seemed to stare back at her, threatening, accusing, mocking. Expelling a deep sigh, Zoe stepped forward, kicked off her shoes and picked up the magazine. Making a nest for herself against the headboard with three fluffy hotel pillows, she forced her hands to open to the cover story.

Zoe loved Billie. She had once loved another boy, but he had been brash and wild… and eventually abusive. Billie looked like a rebel but his was a heart of pure gold. He was good to the core… precisely the type of boy that she had hoped to find. Which was why she continued to hold onto him even though a part of her knew that Billie's heart was, at least in part, already given away.

She looked at the large photo of Jane, seated with the famous designer. Zoe knew that she was beautiful; not in the flashy, voluptuous sort-of-way that someone like Lulu or Harper sported, but definitely sexy and definitely attractive. In most circumstances Zoe was very self-confident. But with Billie it was different. Zoe wanted Billie to see more than just her outside. She wanted Billie to see what was inside; to love her for who she truly was… like the way that he seemed to care for Jane Quimby.

True, Billie and Jane had been friends since early childhood. And boys and girls could be best-friends without becoming romantically involved… right? It happens all of the time. In fact, more often than not friends don't become romantically involved because they can't get past their long-term friendship… right? But Zoe was observant enough to see the looks that both Billie and Jane shot at each other when the other wasn't looking. Whether or not Billie was in love with Jane, she couldn't be sure; but there was definitely the possibility of romance.

Zoe looked at the article again. Then she flipped the page and looked at the photo of Jane in the Versace dress… and she knew, deep in her heart, that the young woman in that photograph had the power to take Billie away if she chose to.

Her phone buzzed. She laid down the magazine and reached for her handbag on the night table. The screen told her that Billie was calling. With another guilty glance at the photo, Zoe closed the magazine and answered her phone.

As they talked she glanced down at the magazine. Then she put one of the pillows over it… for good measure.

oOo

Donovan Decker led Jane through several cars towards the front of the train. Each car seemed to become more elegant. As they reached the second-to-last car, the older man led Jane to the door of a spacious day-cabin, where a team of makeup artists were currently working on Gray.

I'm going to be on a television interview! Jane thought, barely suppressing her feeling of panic. I'm going to be on a television interview with one of the top names in network news! This is ridiculous! But, though it might be ridiculous, it was also very real. In fifteen or so minutes Jane would be sitting down with Gray and Decker to participate in an interview with a lady whose face was known nationally, if not internationally; a woman who had interviewed hundreds of important people; a woman who would now be interviewing Jane.

It seemed that the article about Donatella had not only generated interest, but further inquiries as well. It hadn't taken long before the other news clips: of Jane with Aden Chase; of Jane with Piper Grace; and of Jane with Shock and Awrsenic had crossed the news desk. Suddenly, without Jane ever being aware of it, she had become a "person of interest." Phone calls were made. Questions were asked. And now, to prevent further rumors, Donovan Decker had decided that the truth was the best shield.

Which meant that Jane Quimby, seventeen year-old high school student, was about to become a national… and perhaps international name.