The Stylist
Summary: Chang Wufei is the stylist and inheritor of an ages-old, very influential Chinese clothier business. Can he transform two punks into this season's hottest bachelors and win a bet?
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.
Warnings: AU, male/male pairings, language
Before we begin, just a word:
This story is a tribute to all my writing friends out there, especially Dyna Dee, whose passing this summer has been very, very sad. This was the last story I sent to her—just a partial, an outline and a couple chapters—a test to see what she thought, if I should finish it or not. I remember her asking me if I could keep up the particular characterizations I'd chosen for an entire story. After thinking about that, I realized that I couldn't and set aside the story for a year or so, which is not an uncommon thing for me to do. And then the fix came to me. Although I couldn't finish this story before her passing, I like to think she was reading over my shoulder during its creation, offering her gentle suggestions and kind touches here and there, filling the romance with deep, true feelings, and keeping the plot meaningful.
Now I know, however our stories end, I know you all have rewritten mine by being my editors, co-writers, and most wonderful of all, my friends. – Kaeru Shisho
And now… enjoy :)
Chapter One
January 20th,9:00 pm
OZ Couture Spring 2030
Winner Grand Hotel
Smiles showcasing shiny, bleached teeth, brilliant for the video, spread across both ladies faces. Ladies of the prestigious high fashion media.
"I'm Constance Serang—"
"And I'm Stephanie Putter—"
"-from Le Rage magazine covering the most important—"
"—and first—"
"—fashion show of the New Year."
Coming out a side door and keeping to the shadows of the giant artificial pine trees standing in for post-holiday décor (tiresome stage craft), the smartly dressed Chinese man hoped to avoid the media events (dreadful boring time-wasters) that were the most important portion of the closing ceremonies. Chang Wufei stopped instantly and froze in place. One false step and he would be sharing the limelight with Constance and Stephanie. As it was, someone manning a spotlight managed to pass a stream of light over him, sending rays lancing his migraine-sensitive eyes. Wufei had to blink away tears.
Constance was the first to speak again. "Oscar Wilde once said 'Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable we have to alter it every six months.'"
"-And so-" Stephanie took her cue that it was her turn to make a joke and lowered her eyelashes coyly. "-we are here for the biannual fashion event of the season."
Foolish women twittering like songbirds, Wufei groused silently.
There was a rolling cart with a few hanging dresses nearby. He considered it seriously before deciding he couldn't use it as camouflage and sneak off. It was a good thing he didn't, because at that moment, the spotlight swiveled, blazing just over his head, tracking the two women, and concentrating its radiance as they approached the cart.
"Yes, thank you Stephanie. There has been a fair bit of buzz about this show, and one immediately sees why: for better or for worse, this is Khushrenada at his theatrical best. For me, one of the most impressive aspects of this collection is his mastery of structure."
"I agree," said Constance. "Opinions will always be divided, but I overheard a great deal of positive responses to the show. While plenty of designers have studied structure in their work, a good deal of it has been very two-dimensional."
Which is, essentially, a line, Wufei mentally snapped.
"Nothing terribly wrong with that," Stephanie said. "I just adored what Tsubarov Studios and Duke Dermail's Consortium put out last year!"
Stephanie almost missed her cue, touching up her mascara in a reflective decoration. "Um, yes, but in this OZ collection a third dimension, depth, has been added."
Buddha save me, Wufei wished, and a heartbeat later winced when Stephanie reached back to move the cart closer, rolling over his foot, and retrieving a dress.
A luridly awful travesty of good fabric, in Wufei's silently expressed opinion.
"You are so right, Stephanie."
"I know, right? Take this dress, for instance," Stephanie was on her game now, "if one examines the lines, shape and form not just from a single point of view, but from several angles, one can see… There, just turn the dress around and the silhouette changes; individual segments seem flat when close-up, but taking a step back gives the dress depth."
Wufei couldn't step back far enough or fast enough. Actually, he couldn't move at all; he was wedged in place by the cart, a potted palm, and an advertising poster balanced on a tall easel.
"Absolutely, Stephanie. A print of waves, which would otherwise be very clichéd, gains drama and movement through the folds and fall of the dress. Also, the three-quarter frilled neckpiece thrills in terms of texture and structure - the aristocratic Elizabethan touch serving as an interesting juxtaposition with the Japanese motifs."
"Chinese motifs, you ignorant fool!" Unfortunately, he said that aloud, drawing attention to himself.
"Oh!" Constance whirled around and stuck a microphone in his face. "Here's Mr. Chang Wufei, renowned stylist and owner of the ages-old and terribly influential Chinese clothier business, Long's, which he has expanded into a stylist's dream and spa! Let's see what else he has to say."
With all his escape routes blocked, he had no choice but to do his duty and give the interview, which was expected of him anyway. Making a smooth getaway had really only been a delusion of his. A fantasy.
"Mr. Chang, congratulations for being anointed 'Stylist to the Stars' by Le Rage magazine," Constance gushed.
He was tired, grouchy, and short-tempered. The dull ache at his temples had grown to a pulsating throb of pain. His assistant was not here, where he thought she should be in spite of being in five other places fending off the publicists and gathering valuable research information. In other words, doing her primary job.
But still. I could use her here now. Assisting me. As my assistant.
As his patience thinned to tissue, his sharp tongue shredded what he had to say. "It's a dubious honor."
"You're so humble." The one journalist giggled nervously.
The other woman stepped in front and tried another tactic. "The new Khushrenada collection is amazing. Do you think this last dress is all for the ladies? In all honesty, I'm not sure I can see anyone ever wearing these dresses and gowns. They're almost superhuman—"
"Of course they are. That's why they call it haute couture." Foolish woman.
"Oh—"
Blink, blink.
"Um…"
"I'm sorry." Wufei gave up attempting to chase the ladies away and end the interview. He had an obligation to face the press and at least pretend to be interested in fashion. Like it or not.
Both ladies were oh-so willing to forgive his eccentricities.
"Oh, Mr. Chang that's…"
"It's so very crowded…"
He gathered his wits, smiled, barely, and cutoff the dueling apologetic blather. Wufei held up one hand, signaling "stop" and pinched the bridge of his nose. If nothing else, he was honor-bound to execute his duty.
"Well, I'll tell you. I have the deadliest headache and I'm not myself."
"Stephanie, get my bag. I can offer you some aspirin, Mr. Chang."
"That is a kind offer, but I need my migraine meds. Still, I can contribute something. I'll let you in on a little industry secret."
"I'm all ears, Mr. Chang."
"Some are cursed. Some are blessed with talent, but the OZ brand stands alone this season. Thank you. Excuse me now."
"Kisses!" sang the chorus.
Kisses, oh gag. He cast about for his assistant, caught her attention, and gestured for her to hurry and take over. He paid her enough to handle the media when he was unable to.
"Thank you! You get better now! Poor Mr. Chang. So much industry stress. Oh, here's his assistant. Let me nab her. Miss Po, have you any tips you can share with us to look sensational in this tough economy?"
"Yes I do," Sally Po began, following his retreat at the edge of her vision. "This year, look for dazzling Designer Accessories. Most people can't afford to wear head-to-toe Khushrenada, so accessorize your ensemble with a designer purse or sunglasses. You'll look and feel like a million bucks and no one will notice your outfit is last season Gap. Don't think you can pull a fast one on a fashion insider and sport a knock-off label. This is a no-no for everyone. You were not lucky to get an authentic OZ, Treize Khushrenada creation at that purse party for $100. Not true – and he would be very disappointed in you for even carrying around that fake."
"Fakes are so awful," the journalist agreed. "And accessories can lift a good outfit and make it great."
"Absolutely, Stephanie. Looks like you could use a new look yourself. Accessories finish you, and we have left the understated elegance of last season behind. Sex sells and some of the new jewelry is downright filthy." Miss Po laughed a low throaty gurgle.
"As well as creating interest, a belt or two added at the waist can define your proportions and add a little extra to your look. There's a Khushrenada design that gives the illusion of … well… you'll see when you insert the 'tab' in the opening." Po smiled slyly. It was her job to construct images, present the overall style motif for the entire line, when Wufei wasn't available. Like now.
"Ooooh," one media representative giggled.
"What other ways can I change my look, Miss Po?" asked the other.
"The right pair of earrings can make not just an interesting talking point but a touch of glamour to an otherwise simple neckline. A long necklace can elongate your figure and draw the eye down through the body in the most flattering of ways – making the wearer appear taller and slimmer. A shorter necklace can draw the eye upwards and away from a fuller mid-section or hips. A beautifully colored scarf –" Miss Po checked her caller ID. Relax, Wufei. "- take a second look at the Merquise men's scarves for leopard prints. I'm sorry to cut this short. I'm sure you understand? Busy, busy, busy."
"Thank you, Miss Po, for your good advice. I see the Khushrenada assistant director of women's wear, Miss Lucrezia Noin—"
"You go ahead. I want an interview with that hottie, Zechs Merquise, directing the men's wear line."
"Well, who doesn't, darling?"
(o)
What Wufei Chang wanted to do was go home. Shut himself in his room. Silence the annoying pests pestering him for his opinion. He was sick and tired of pretending. Pretending he adored the fashion world, expected for a man in his line of work, a style consultant; pretending he cared which color was hip for the season, or the number of buttons, or the cut; pretending he was satisfied with his lifestyle… style… life.
No. That was not true. I simply have a bad, bad headache and want it to go away.
Honoring his ancestors by making his family business a blazing success was taking its toll, and he wasn't even 30 yet.
Sally appeared at his elbow. "I've extricated myself. What can I do for you now?"
"Miss Po?" he gritted his teeth against the fluttering aura threatening to overtake his vision. "I'm going home."
"That's all right. I can remain to the end and take care of the rest." Sally smiled comfortingly. "You know I'm always available to help."
"Yes. Well. Thank you. I just need to go over my notes and see yours. Maybe call you later. Thanks." Wufei pocketed his phone and strode to the stairway.
The best way to avoid people is to take the stairs to the exit and not the elevator.
It gave him extra time to ponder his life. Oh, Treize Khushrenada! Why doesn't that man recognize my superior mind, take me under his wing, and bring me into his power of influence? He supposed he should be satisfied with the shallow friendship the man had honored him with, but Wufei was certain that given the opportunity, it could grow into a substantial relationship. The details of that were a little vague.
His cell buzzed.
"What?" he snapped irritably and then noted the caller ID. "Mr. Khushrenada, sir?" His stomach did a little somersault. As much as he wanted to talk, to be around this man, he was not at his best. He wasn't even at his moderately okay. At least my voice hadn't cracked.
"Treize," the honeyed tone corrected him. "We're in the lobby. Meet us there."
"Um… absolutely, T-treize." Wufei almost had dodged this last duty. Almost. So near, and yet so far…
At the exit door he turned back to the main lobby. He'd been so close to freedom, but now, either endless possibilities or a quick dead end. He popped the cap off his meds and downed two pills with bottled water—recyclable glass, embellished with the OZ logo, snuggling in buckets of ice dotted all over the hotel. A nervous hand smoothed back his glossy, black hair. He snagged it into a tight ponytail and tied it with an elastic band low at the nape of his neck.
I hope I look better than I feel.
He felt tingly in the presence of Treize Khushrenada. The man looked like a God with his ginger-gold tresses neatly waved and clipped. His powerful build suited perfectly in one of his own designs- not yet available in any boutique—the cut emphasizing the width and strength of his frame, triangulating down past his trim waist… At his side was the taller, broad-shouldered, but willowy Zechs Merquise, directing the men's wear line. Both awaited him, turning their heads his way in perfect synchronicity.
"Wufei Chang!" Treize called. "Where have you been hiding yourself?"
"No place. That's the trouble. All the press. No place to hide." Wufei caught himself from blathering like an idiot. He could hardly meet the taller man's warm gaze. The wisp of tawny hair that curled on the man's forehead teased him. Wufei felt in his bones that this man could teach him so much!
"Poo-poo. You know we need the press to promote the glamour."
"I do. Still—"
"Subject change! Tell me, what do you think?"
Sigh. If he wanted to impress, this chat with the most applauded designer of men's and women's fashion could not be circumvented. Forget his personal cries for help for the time being. "Another fabulous show," Wufei began, "but do you really think sage and peach for men's wear?"
The lissome blond Zechs gracefully reached out to shake his hand. "Wufei Chang, so nice to see you again and what a…delight…to have you share your opinion with us." Zechs smiled in an artificial manner that implied the stylist's opinion didn't delight him at all, and then explained his choices. "Sage, lemon, and nautical blue for spring, more saturated for summer, grey them down for fall, and wash them out or take them to jewel tones for winter. That's how we do it. Saves time."
Wufei could care less about how the designers wasted their time. It was the outcome that mattered! A few items really ruffled his feathers, like—he went for a wounding remark. "And the ubiquitous, irrelevant purses!"
"What? You didn't like them?" Zechs actually looked a bit hurt.
"Not even on the women. I don't see their purpose."
"Oh, ho, ho! " Treize laughed. "Wufei, you are the jokester today."
"You think so?" He hadn't intended to be funny. He felt the entirely opposite—a denial of all things comical. "Actually, I'm feeling a bit stale." Very past his sell-by date; the migraine playing a supporting role in his ill humor and lowering his defenses, making him reveal the thoughts he usually kept scrupulously contained; at least, around Treize, his would be-could be-mentor. "It is possible that I need a change."
"More change than sage for, say, celery? I think we could hone the palette a bit, if that's what you feel is right. We haven't gone into production with that color yet." Treize Khushrenada turned to his underling. "Zechs? When's the cut-off for color runs?"
"The 28th, sir, but I don't believe that is what Mr. Chang meant." The set of his jaw said, it had better not.
"No? What do you mean, then, my friend? You know your approval helps sell it to the trend setters who are so influential to those who must be noticed. Then after we start those crazes, the masses will follow."
"You need my clients to wear your clothes so your line is a success." It was the honest truth and Wufei tried his best to live up to his upbringing and stand for truth, honor, and justice. Honor, anyway. In principle.
"Yes, that's true, but—" Treize paused.
For the first time since they had begun the discussion, Wufei felt Treize scan up and down his entire body, ending with an examination of his face. Wufei stood rooted in place when the impenetrable aquiline gaze rested on his; Treize's ice blue eyes stared down into his nearly black ones. The young Chinese man fought the blood rushing up his neck and coloring his cheeks. He hoped for the man's admiration and he did have an image to maintain, but he hadn't freshened up and he knew he must appear sub-par.
"Wufei, there is something wrong. Nothing serious, I hope?"
"No, and yes." But what? In desperation, Wufei grasped at the first thing he could think of as an excuse. Better than asking him for some private time to discuss the industry, pick his brain for insights. Enlightenment, possibly? "I'm bored. It's been lethal to my enthusiasm. Creativity evades me at every turn. I'm afraid I might be losing my passion for the job." He waved a hand in the air, a weary gesture.
"Do NOT say that. I need you in top shape!"
If only… Wufei sighed. "Could we talk about this later? I'm afraid I'm not quite feeling up to… being compelled to explain myself just now."
"Aren't you overreacting just a little bit? Perhaps you just need a challenge?" Treize patted him on the back and once again turned upon his assistant. "Zechs, think of something fun for our dear friend."
God, no. Wufei thought and then muttered, "I have a dreadful headache."
No one was listening to him. They were talking over his head. Actually. Wufei was a head shorter than both men.
Zechs' handsome face brightened as a thought came to mind. "Maybe a contest is what you had in mind, sir?"
"A contest? What kind, and for what? Wufei isn't one to be trifled with."
Oh, please… Wufei sighed with sizable significance, had anyone noticed. No one had. Or just ignore me. He looked longingly toward the glass doors. A way out. This was not what he wanted. Having Treize near was lovely, but with Zechs chirruping on about some nonsensical thing or the other, and the headache putting a wrench in his verbal skill set, he'd be better off home. Try being attractive and intellectually stimulating another time.
Zechs tossed a silky fall of platinum hair, allowing it to shimmer down his back. "If I might be so bold as to suggest a bet, sir?"
"A bet?" Treize rubbed at his chin stubble just starting to show golden red. "Yes, I'm warming up to this. How about it, Wufei? Shall we wager a little, a gentlemen's gamble?"
As much as he wanted to say "no", Wufei felt he might be discharged sooner if he just went along with whatever scheme was brewing. He could always bow out later, if the entire plot didn't simply get dropped on its own, the preferred solution. "That depends on what it entails and the stakes, but it is (stupid) intriguing." Possibly, in the next millennium.
Treize looked towards his tall assistant, probably as a nudge to get him to supply the substance of the plan. And given the opportunity to shine, Zechs stepped up.
And Zechs Merquise snaps up every opportunity he can like a hungry shark in a tank of tuna, Wufei thought ungraciously.
"Well, we could use some fresh faces in the industry, sir. I, myself, could benefit from two new young male models for the summer swim suit line. Ones that would, say, bring out the best in the new colors. Or if you'd prefer women, Mr. Chang-?"
"God, no. Never." Wufei rolled his eyes dramatically. "And don't pose another contest for models! That last one brought in hordes of God-awful, anemic, starved boys." Dear, Buddha and Ancestors, I'm whining now.
"Now, now." Treize smiled and patted the Chinese man's back sympathetically. "Don't you worry, my friend, Zechs has something far better than that in mind." His eyes met Zechs' grey gaze. His tone sharpened. "Don't you?"
"My apologies," Zechs bowed slightly. "I had no intention of upsetting the man."
"Of course you didn't." Treize glowed. "How about we don't drag the weaker sex into this? Help us out a bit here, Zechs, where does this bet come in? I know you have an inspiring proposition."
"Thank you, sir, for your confidence." It was Zechs' turn to glow, gilded in praise. "Mr. Chang has somewhat of an extraordinary talent, so I was thinking of showcasing that by choosing two scruffy street kids and turning them into—"
"-into gentlemen," Treize completed, grinning with anticipation.
Wufei groaned. The fantasy he figured Treize was imagining just sounded frightful. Where on earth did Zechs some up with this idea? Not on earth, clearly. The outer limits.
"I suppose that's one way to put it," Zechs said ruefully. He lowered his voice slightly, a blush rising from his high collar while correcting his boss. "Recalling my earlier thread, I was hoping I could turn them into hot models for our new 'street cred' line of swim wear—providing Mr. Chang won the bet and made something of them. A week should be sufficient, don't you think?"
Wufei, numb-struck, had no chance to answer. A week? A Month? One hundred years! He wanted no part of this. An eternity wouldn't make me any more amenable!
Taking up his assistant's line of thought and expanding on it, Treize said, "Perhaps the safari line as well! Yes, a week is more than enough time! God damn! I'm liking this idea of mine more and more. What do you think, Wufei? Is the deal on, then?"
Deal? Oh, yes, a bet. God. How could Wufei escape the combined enthusiasm of (arguably) the most important men in his profession? He hadn't the strength to debate. He summoned his wits and summarized, hoping they'd see the silliness of the plan and just bow out gracefully.
"Let me get this straight," Wufei said. "You are challenging me to turn a randomly selected man, or men, from the…gasp… streets into what will naturally become the most eligible bachelors in the kingdom, and who shall show off your alternate line of summer clothing, correct?"
"Concisely put. Bravo, Mr. Chang." Zechs smiled in what Wufei believed to be a sinister manner, reminding him of his pet rosy boa the day it escaped its confines and strangled his pet hamster.
No wonder I no longer have pets.
And then Wufei made the mistake of looking up. Treize cast him a sultry gaze and Wufei nearly melted in place, despite his throbbing headache and general malaise.
"Not entirely," Treize amended. "It is a contest; we decided you needed something fun to stimulate those creative juices of yours."
Or you could invite me to tour your library, one of the best in Sanc. That would be stimulating. Wufei shuddered in his oozy state and then solidified once again. "It's a game. What if I win? Or (perish the thought) fail?"
"A prize. Absolutely! We must have a prize for the winner," Treize demanded.
"What about an all-expenses paid vacation with the companion of your choice?" Zechs suggested eyeing Wufei like a fine wine, waiting to be un-corked and poured.
Wufei was sure the man had slopped on a leer as he said that. He wasn't the least bit attracted and regarded him with a narrowed-eyed unwelcoming look, his normal fall-back expression.
Zechs stepped closer and leaned down. His breath warm on Wufei's cheek. "How does that sound? Worth the effort?"
Wufei sagged. What he wanted was private time with Treize and the man's recognition of his impressive intellect and skills and stand on justice, but that wasn't on the table, was it? This game would disrupt his regular work and pile on more. Totally inconvenient. Fraught with possible conflicts and absolute turmoil, at best. A bother, a burden, and—
"That's rather loose-ended," Treize said. "Things can escalate; become a bit high on the hog, don't you think, Zechs?"
Zechs shrugged, so what?
Treize continued on, "- but I'm certain we can set some limits. Yes. And what if he fails?"
Zechs smiled serenely down upon Wufei. (Of course he could. He had nothing added to his workload) "Conceivably it could work both ways; that is, he could provide you with the same holiday, sir?"
Wufei's eyes widened in alarm. This was going to happen, wasn't it? "What?"
"Now that's very fair. What do you think—if it's not too lavish? Lady Une would adore a surprise."
"Satisfactory terms, sir," Zechs assured him.
Une, the wife of Treize Khushrenada. That dowdy, humorless, crazy autocrat. She was the snag in the romantic tapestry Wufei had woven and wrapped about himself and his mentor… sharing a rare vintage, discussing the merits of the latest financials or quoting favorite lines from a fine classic novel. A cocoon of comforting bliss unraveling right before his mind's eye.
"Wufei? You haven't been very forthcoming?" Treize waited.
There was no avoiding this. Treize was excited and there was no skin off Zechs' back. Next time, Wufei vowed, when asked how he was doing, he would not complain. Never again. Just smile and nod. Play it safe. No. NO, no, no. He would never require outside assistance to become motivated ever again. Sage, page—as long as it was color. Was 'page' a color? Who gives a damn? Wufei drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"I suppose." Sigh. "Where do I get these… men… to start with?"
Zechs smiled benevolently. "May I suggest to Mr. Chang, that we begin with the hotel personnel? Perhaps, Mr. Winner would be so good as to allow us to interview the part-time help for possibilities. I believe I saw him leave, but if I run I may catch him."
"Do that!" Treize shouted imperiously. "Run, after him!"
NOT NOW! Wufei's heart raced in panic mode. Delay might allow them time to reconsider or … t. Think! Luckily, I am often at my best when pressured.
Not to be distracted or deterred, Treize wiggled his fingers at Zechs in a shooing motion. "Toot, toot! Run like the wind!"
And at my worst.
Still, he was alone with one of the most brilliant tacticians in the world, the other being Quatre Winner, who is currently being summoned to join in this imposition, this intrusion into my life and work.
Wufei felt a large warm hand on his shoulder. The warmth was so important. He blinked his eyes and smiled in spite of his misgivings about the game or bet or whatever muddle he was trapped in. He interrupted Treize humming a familiar tune.
"Treize, you don't think that may skew the contest. Make it too easy on me? Winner doesn't hire scruffy kids off the street."
"Say what? Now, what was this new stumbling block- your dilemma?"
Wufei shrank, feeling Treize address him like he might talk to a stray cat. "Um…"
"Too easy, you say?" Treize chuckled. "I don't see how. Winner will have willowed out the more dangerous elements. Separated the seed from the shaft—"
Automatically, Wufei corrected the man. "You mean winnowing out the seed from the chaff?"
His years as a scholar (a fine one) had been interrupted by the death of his father, family and everyone in his colony. He was subsequently thrust into the vacated company position. It was a good job. An HONOR. His DUTY. But his heart was in his studies, which were now and forever more suspended. So many of Long's employees depended upon him that he couldn't see giving it all up. His studies remained pursuant of a dream. For the foreseeable future. How bleak it was.
"Eh? Ah, yes, as you said. What is 'chaff' anyway?"
"Chaff is the unusable part of a plant, and winnow means to separate the chaff so it can be discarded. So, by separating the chaff from the grain, one rids oneself of undesirable parts," Wufei said, falling into the pedantic mindset when stressed. If he wanted to impress this man, and he did, he was going about it all wrong.
"No one is interested in all that, are they?"
Apparently not. Wufei winced and studied his foot, the one he'd just metaphorically shot. "I guess not," he acknowledged.
Treize's look softened. "What I was saying, my friend, was that it is you who must select and nurture the seed into fine young saplings."
It was time to paw and scrape a bit. Accept his fate. Make the best of it and prepare to atone for misspeaking. Wufei forced a weak, contrite smile and choked out, "I'm reasonably satisfied with this idea of yours."
He could find some level of justice in it. One could defend this as a righteous cause to improve a man's condition, right?
"It does sound properly challenging. Seeing the potential, and then selecting, molding, training—(enough already). Thank you, Treize. I see how it might fail splendidly, of course, so I must not lose focus or it may become too costly."
He realized at that point that he had been running on, that his words were falling on deaf ears, as they say, and he had lost the attention of Treize. And that was definitely not his goal.
"Good, good. Oh, say now, Zechs returns! How was it? Did you catch the man? What did he say?" Treize asked, appearing eager to avoid Wufei's 'molding of young minds' discussion.
"Mr. Winner was very excited and is keen to find you the best canvases upon which to create masterpieces," Zechs exclaimed breathlessly.
The cause of the tall blonde's lack of breath wasn't clear. Whether it was from running or (Wufei's choice) the result of excitement at having entangled Wufei into a mad scheme- for which there were countless of ways for it to become an embarrassment.
Zechs pushed on. "He is assembling the staff in one hour -giving them time to clear the building. You'll have your choices perfectly arrayed."
"Thanks. How convenient," Wufei managed to mumble. He was not looking forward to that at all.
"My pleasure," Zechs said in return, then directed his cool gaze at Treize. "Is there anything else, sir? I promised to meet with the press."
"No, thank you, Zechs. You've earned your time in the spotlight and the accolades. Let Mr. Merquise take care of the media throngs. What say you, Wufei? Shall we toast our pact in the lounge together, you and I?"
Stunned by the sudden invitation, Wufei stood uncertainly, swaying slightly, lips parted. Say yes, you fool, he screamed in his head!
"I'd like that. Oh, wait. I promised Po a word before she leaves. If I don't, she'll come hunting me down." He pulled out his smartphone to locate her. "Please, go on and I'll meet you in a few minutes. If that's all right with you?" Stop blabbering! He chastised himself.
"Don't be long."
(o)
Could it be true? Could this wonderful thing be finally happening to me? Wufei was nearly skipping for joy as he searched for his assistant. Treize was coming around, at last. All his efforts to gain the man's attention, his respect, was worth it if tonight was the start of something meaningful, something deeper. Finally! Tonight! I can't believe it!
"Sally, Miss Po, I found you."
"I was about to leave. You look worn. I thought you were going home?"
"Not really. Let's get this over with. I have a, well, not a date, exactly, an appointment."
"You do? I see."
His eyes slid sideways to avoid her scrutiny. She looked puzzled, but didn't press him for explanation. Not yet. He knew the who and what would get wormed out of him eventually.
With a huff, she continued, "Anyway, I think the show went well. There's the new colors to prop up, but that way our customers have to buy new clothes. What is the matter? You look strange. Don't tell me you didn't like the fashion direction?"
"Oh, it was well done, as always," he said grudgingly.
"Oh? That exciting, huh? Bad lighting?"
"No, it isn't that. Just, Treize…" There, he'd said it.
"Chang, not him. You are a smarter man than to put yourself through that… agony… over and over."
"It's not as if I have any choice."
"But you do. Treize Khushrenada is not the powerful mentor you think he is. He puts on the right airs to give him authenticity in the business, and he has the background, the old world ties, but he is very much in love with Lady Une and has no time for recreating with you. "
"I don't know what you are implying, but it sounds improper. I only want to interest him enough to share a few intellectual pursuits together."
"Uh, huh. If you'd give that handsome assistant of his the time of day—"
"Who? Noin?" He regretted making that stupid remark the moment he said it. He couldn't take it back, though.
"Noin? Would I suggest that cold fish? I'd be a far better match, if you were attracted to women. Or are you? I can't tell. You never date anyone. You just go starry-eyed around that man. Yes, he's charismatic, but…anyway, if it's men that appeal to you, then I meant Zechs Merquise, who's been pining after you for years."
"Zechs? Him? You think …him?"
"Everyone thinks so!"
"You are exaggerating, woman. I don't think so, and that's just one who agrees with me. I have anappointment with Treize over drinks and I'm wasting it arguing with you. Just fax your notes to the office and I'll review them in the morning."
He turned and stared at her smiling face. "And stop speculating about my preferences. It's personal."
(o) Meanwhile, down in the parking garage—
"Maxwell, how would I know?" The young man whipped the fall of caramel-colored bangs out of his eyes and scanned the garage entry and exit points. "The message just said for Duo Maxwell and Trowa Barton to wait here and there was some meeting to go to."
"Ah, geez, Tro'. They better be paying us overtime for this." the other young man tugged at the end of his long brown braid. "What I really wanna do is go home, kick back with a beer and not go to some meeting."
"No shit," Trowa agreed.
"Holy schlemoly! Ya know who that is coming our way? That's Cat-ra Winner, the man himself!"
"Smokin."
"Shhh. He'll hear—"
From his expression, they could tell the handsome blond executive could hear them.
"Kid looks like he owns the place." Trowa smiled in greeting.
"I do, as a matter of fact." Quatre Winner returned his smile. "You don't remember meeting before, do you?" he asked Trowa pointedly.
"No," Trowa answered, "you aren't one I'd forget."
"Come to think of it-," Duo began, but he didn't finish.
Quatre cut him off.
"You've likely seen my picture in the papers. Or a case of deja vu. No matter." His tone was light and friendly, but suddenly very businesslike. "Come along, you are keeping some very important people waiting."
"Why us?" The young man with a long braid cried out, worried he had done something wrong, and got caught doing it. "We just been parking cars."
"I told ya," Trowa answered for the fast-walking blond. "Some rich dude probably found a scratch on his car and wants to blame us."
Quatre looked over his shoulder. "No, no, no. It's nothing like that. You two aren't in trouble."
"Uh, huh—sure, Mr. Winner," Duo said, feeling slightly more assured of getting out of the predicament with his record intact.
"Not with me anyway. Ha, ha, hah! Please, call me Quatre, by the way. My father was Mr. Winner."
"Heh, yeah. So, I'm Duo."
"Trowa."
"I know," Quatre said with wry smile and a wink. "I wrote the note."
(o)
Zechs sailed into the lounge just as Wufei was feeling cozy and jarred his sensitivities when he addressed Treize. "Excuse me, sir, but the staff is nearly all assembled and is waiting for your inspection."
"Already, Zechs? Well, let's get on with it, eh Wufei?"
"So soon? Oh, well, all right." Like I have any say in this.
"I took the liberty of culling out a few unsuitable choices based upon age, size, and weight, sir."
"Thank you, Zechs. We can take care of things from here on out."
"I understand. If I might look on, sir?"
"If you must. Stay, leave, whatever."
"Thank you, sir."
(o)
Reaching the conference room, Trowa hesitated before entering. "So, who are the dudes demanding our presence?"
"Treize Khushrenada, he is man behind the famous clothing design company– the parent company being OZ. Zechs Merquise with the long platinum hair is his assistant. And Chang Wufei is a men's stylist," Quatre explained.
"The Chinese dude? Really? What's a stylist?" Duo asked.
"Well, a stylist like him is a clothing innovator that can define a person's image. He's a very important man."
"Don't need it. I'm freakin' chill the way I am. Goes for Tro', too."
Trowa raised an eyebrow in agreement. "Goes without saying."
"I'm sure you are both happy the way you are, but maybe life could be a little better, perhaps?"
"Better?" Trowa mused. "Define better." He wasn't walking into a trap.
"Aw, c'mon," Duo drawled. "I can't imagine what they want with us," Duo said without a shred of trust for the system, any system. However… "We only gotta listen, right?"
"That's correct," Quatre reassured them both. "They just want to see you; that is, all the male employees. They have a special opportunity for whomever they select. All you need to do is, um, be polite, and, um, smile."
"How about we just be our charming selves?" Trowa asked. This time his smile provoked a blush from the young executive.
"Well, yes, you do that! Go right over there where you see the other men, and good luck to the both of you! Excuse me." Quatre took a call as he walked a ways off. "Hello, Heero? You should have come tonight. I know it's not your thing, but listen to this-"
"Geez, Tro', I feel like rotting liver at a meat market."
"You look like it, too."
"Bite me, Barton."
"I'd rather bite Quatre."
"Way outta your league."
"No shit."
"I wanna watch what's going on first." Duo and Trowa hung back, listening, while Quatre was engaged in a private phone conversation.
Quatre's personal assistant, Dorothy Catalonia, introduced herself to the lineup of employees. She carried a clipboard and pen, ready to answer any questions, but first she barked out a few orders to the riffraff, because she loved the power of authority, however brief a moment it was.
"All right boys, no talking. Form a line and stand still."
"Wufei, what about that one?" Treize asked.
Dorothy piped up, "That is Mike, saucier- cooking staff, sir."
"Er, yes, him. Eh? What's that you say? I don't read 'arched eyebrow,' Wufei. "
Wufei dismissed the attractive-in-an-conventional-way saucier immediately. "No, I'm afraid he won't do. Not at all. And I can't explain my particular criteria. It's about character and I don't see what I'm looking for."
"How discerning a taste you have," Treize murmured. He marched down the lineup; hand on his chin, examining the prospects. "No. No, no, no, no. What about-? No, even I can see the problem with the bell boy."
"We may have to look elsewhere." Wufei's hopes counted on delays postponing it into the plan Treize forgot.
Dorothy caught sight of Trowa and Duo hovering in the shadows. "Sir, excuse me, here come the two parking-garage attendants- late," Dorothy announced sourly, perking up when she recognized the cute Mr. Winner accompanying them. "Mr. Winner? It is such an honor!"
While she engaged her handsome employer in conversation, Wufei was diverted by the slender, well-muscled, healthy-looking specimens Mr. Winner had herded into the room.
"Dear Lord," Treize exclaimed, "would you look at that hair on the one. He has you beat, Zechs!"
"Only in the length… sir—of the hair, that is."
Wufei found the spunky walk and gorgeous eyes arresting. He had once seen a boy with an astonishing braid like that, but he was sure he'd died. This couldn't possibly be him. "What is your name?"
"Um, Duo Maxwell. What's yours?" he asked cockily. Quatre had already identified the men studying him.
"Mr. Chang. Turn around. You're part time?"
"Yeah, here, but I do more than just park cars. I can fix 'em."
"Most likely steal them, too."
"Hey! I said fix and I meant fix."
"How truly talented you are. I don't care. Your hands; let me see them. Dear, Buddha, the nails."
"Not pretty, but when it comes to talent, these hands can work miracles, or so I'm told." Wink, wink.
Trowa pitched his voice low, adding, "And not just on cars."
"Heh, heh, thanks, Tro'."
"That's enough. Stand back." Wufei didn't want to give up control of the process to two smartasses, charming as they were. He turned his focus on the tall young man with the green eyes. "I want to talk to this other man. What's your name?"
"Trowa Barton." Whatsit to ya? went unsaid.
"Hands, hands! Have you never heard of a nail file? What is this red material?"
"Clown make-up. If it's just the same with you, I'd like to make my bus in ten minutes."
"If you are lucky, you won't have to take the bus again."
Treize stepped closer to inspect the two men drawing Wufei's particular interest. "Don't feel as if you must choose them due to lack of alternatives. We could look further, if you require a broader palette. The selection need not be so limited."
"No, that's all right. These two will do. Challenging, certainly, but it's not completely out of the question that I could make something of them." Wufei caught Dorothy's attention and made shooing motions. "Let the others go."
Zechs strode over, closing in on the two best options. "I'd like to see them out of their clothes. Swimwear models require trim bodies with some…sculpting."
"No," Trowa said bluntly, and folded his arms across his chest. "Not stripping."
Duo hadn't been listening until that moment. "What? My shirt? No, I don't do that crap for any money. Thanks but no thanks!"
"Pardon me," Zechs put in. "I didn't mean right here and now—"
"We'll find our own way out," Trowa said, pushing Duo ahead of him.
"Don't let them leave just yet," Wufei snapped. "I want them at my shop to see how they photograph."
"I don't think they understand the opportunity of a lifetime you can offer them," Zechs said, getting bored with the scene where he wasn't the center of attention.
Duo put on the brakes and looked over the smaller Chinese man. He had another déjà vu moment when he caught a flicker in Wufei's eye—then it was gone. Duo figured he could take him down easy, if it came down to a fight to get out.
"Say what?" Duo asked. "I don't much like you talking about me like I'm not here. I'm here and I don't know what the hell yer talking about, but I'm fine just the way I am."
"Is that so? When is the last time you ate three square meals?"
"I dunno, most mine come outta a round carton, heh, heh. Ramen, ya know? Get it?"
"What Mr. Chang is getting at is—" Zechs offered to put in.
"I can speak for myself, thank you, Merquise. Now, Maxwell, Barton, I have a proposal for you. You may think it over tonight, and if you decide to agree to my terms, show up at this address at 10 o'clock. Here's my card. I've penned all the information you need on the back."
Trowa took the card carefully between two fingers as if it was covered in wasps.
"Proposal?" Duo asked gamely. "You're a fast worker. I mean, we just met, heh, heh."
"Duo, shut up. It says here ten-o'clock? Is that AM?"
"Yes." Wufei saw no reason to say otherwise.
"Seriously?" Trowa shook his head. "We work here nights… late."
"Dear Buddha and Ancestors!" Wufei felt the return of his migraine. "Zechs, would you do me a favor and explain to these… men… what it is that I aspire to do?"
"Yes, Mr. Chang. I'd be more than pleased to be of service." Zechs smiled first at Wufei and then at the two young men he was addressing next. "I fear that your timetables will become turned about," he said, bowing his head.
"Ah geez… brown-nosers and snobs!" Duo sniffed, but then grinned over at Trowa. Wait for it…
"If you meet our needs and agree to the conditions, Mr. Chang will make you the most sought-after men in the country."
Duo held up a hand, stopping further conversation. "Been there. No more of the illegal stuff for me."
Treize chuckled behind his hand.
Zechs breathed slowly and deeply to control his voice. "No, you misunderstand. Mr. Chang will train you to be the most desirable bachelors in the kingdom. You'll have completely new wardrobes, be seen in all the right places with all the right people. And potentially new jobs—"
"We'll be rich and legit at the same time?"
"If you work out, you'll be the OZ models for Khushrenada swimwear and our new 'street cred' apparel," Zechs said.
"And, I dare say, you'll be the talk of the town." Treize smiled benignly.
"No shit?"
"Sounds too good to be true, Duo. I say we clear out. I got four minutes on the clock."
"I gotta agree. But first… What's the catch?" Duo asked Wufei directly.
"The catch, if it is one, is that for a week you have to quit what you are doing, come live where I say, do what I say—without complaint."
"Oh, yeah? Not sure if I can, but gimme a card, too, and lemme think about it."
"You do that."
As Wufei made to leave, Zechs touched his arm in passing. "What?" Wufei asked gruffly.
"I apologize. I never expected events to go so far."
Their gazes met and Wufei could see he meant what he'd said, worry still lingering on his face.
"Well. They did."
TBC