Caught Up in Us (14 page)

Then he did, calling out my name
as I were the best thing he’d ever felt.

He tasted spectacular in my
imagination.

Chapter Fourteen

After a caffeine-fueled night of
studying business tomes til the wee hours of the morning, I powered
through a brutal test in one of my courses. When I filed the exam
at the end of the class, submitting it from my laptop, I felt
relatively good about my prospects of earning a strong grade. Marks
in graduate school were less important than in high school or
college since this was the end of the road for me as far as school
was concerned. But I wanted to do well so I’d have the skills to
grow My Favorite Mistakes. Maybe someday I could even turn it into
a business like Made Here, with a board, stockholders, employees
and revenues with many zeros. The business geek in me relished that
thought as I left the class, headed down the wide wooden staircase
to the first floor, and pushed open the door into the late October
air.

Fall had coasted into Manhattan,
bringing with it crisp air, and the temporary rush of gold and red
leaves on the trees in the parks. I looped my orange scarf with
white stars around my neck, and pushed on a pair of
champagne-colored sunglasses to block out the bright midday rays.
My brown boots clicked against the sidewalk as I checked the time
on my phone. I had a meeting with Claire Oliver in an hour. She’d
finally reached back out to me and asked me to meet her at the cafe
at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, adding that since she and her
husband were avid supporters of the museum, she had other meeting
there too.

On the subway I checked my email
for messages. But that was a mere Pavlovian response. There were no
emails, no love notes, no sweet whispers at a restaurant, on the
street, in public. As the train clattered through the tunnels, a
quick burst of unease swept through me.

I thought of all the jokes Bryan
and I made about acting.

We were acting in front of
Professor Oliver. We were acting in front of the board. Acting as
if we were nothing. But what if it was all an act?

What if we were nothing? Because,
really, we weren’t anything. We didn’t go out to dinner, to the
movies, to the grocery store. We didn’t leave my building holding
hands. Because he’d never been to my building. Was he using me for
sex? Or, rather, sex talk? Sure, we always chatted before and
after. Every day I learned something new about him. I could tell
you he liked French toast for breakfast, that he was a rabid
baseball fan, and that he played Words with Friends on his phone
with some of the guys at the factory.

Did that mean anything though? I
didn’t know if we were a thing, or would ever be one. I didn’t want
to be just a toy, a treat, an easy 900-number away. I wanted to be
more. I want to be his everything.

Then there was the looming thing I
didn’t know. Why he hadn’t loved me way back when.

The air felt colder as I emerged
at Seventy-Seventh Street, as if October had taken a cruel turn
into winter. Or maybe the cold was inside me, in my bones, as I
found a new worry to gnaw on. I’d been having so much fun getting
off that I hadn’t bothered to ask myself what was next.

I walked up the steps of the
museum, hoping against hope that I could shed this desolate feeling
for the next hour.

*****

“I showed these around to some
buyers I know, and everyone is in love with your necklaces. They
think they could be the next big thing,” Claire said, looking very
now in a short red linen dress that I’d seen Jessica Biel wearing
while shopping on Melrose Avenue in the pages of Us
magazine.

“I’m so pleased
to hear that, Mrs…Claire.” I quickly corrected myself, and she
nodded in approval when I used her first name. We sat in the cafe,
drinking afternoon tea in white china cups with a green vine design
lacing the rim. “And, while we haven’t talked about this yet, I’d
love to know more about the buyers, and who they’re buying
for.”

She grinned like a Cheshire Cat,
then mentioned two names that made me want to grab a pair of
pom-poms and cheer wildly. The first was a distributor that
supplied to the trendiest independent boutiques on the east coast,
and the second worked for one of the largest and hippest department
store chains in the country — Elizabeth’s. The chain was helmed by
the reclusive and rarely-seen Elizabeth Mortimer, whose mother,
also named Elizabeth, had started the first store in Seattle many
years ago, then steadily expanded across the country. Elizabeth’s
taste was legendary; a cocktail of trendy and timeless. She stayed
entirely out of the limelight though, letting her stores and their
displays do the talking. She was simply known.

I leaned back in my chair,
gobsmacked. “Let me just catch my breath.”

The smile vacated Claire’s face.
“The only thing is, we’d like to see more variety.”

I sat up
straight, and pressed my lips together. The comment wasn’t quite a
slap, but it wasn’t the compliment I’d hoped for. Whenever a
statement is prefaced by
the thing
is
,
having said
that
, or
however
, chances are you won’t like
what follows.

“Did you have something in
mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I
wonder if you’d consider moving beyond the idea of favorite
mistakes to include, quite simply, favorites. We thought that might
broaden your base, and we all seem most fond of your European
stylings, and we were hoping to see more in that vein — European
Favorites.”

“So there could be My Favorites
Mistakes and also My Favorites?”

“I rather like the sound of
that.”

“I can do that. I can definitely
do that.” I started flashing back to my time in Paris, then
flicking ahead to the quirky little design blogs I visited each
night. I’d need to cobble together my own style, of course. But
inspiration often comes from looking at the work of others. Or from
art, I mused, as I thought about the setting. Here we were in the
belly of one of the greatest collections of art the world has ever
known. “When would you and the buyers want to see them
by?”

“Soon. Very
soon. I think we can get your designs into their stores if we can
mix up the look and I really want to get them in for the holiday
season. Which isn’t that far away. Elizabeth’s is looking for just
the right style to focus its holiday jewelry marketing on.” She
steepled her fingers together. The look drawn across her porcelain
skin and fine features revealed nothing.

I nodded several
times. “I better go get started,” I said and I didn’t have to feign
enthusiasm. Her “
the only thing
is
” wasn’t that bad after
all.

“Actually, Kat. I haven’t even
gotten to the proposition part yet.”

“Oh. Okay.” I took a drink of my
tea and waited.

She placed her hands flat on the
table, her diamond ring catching the light. “Is My Favorite
Mistakes open for a small seed round of investment?”

I nearly choked on my tea. I
coughed a few times, and I could feel my face turning red as I
hacked at the fancy table in the fancy cafe in the fancy museum.
“Excuse me?”

“I want to be an angel investor.
Think of it as expansion capital to fund the new design
work.”

“Right. Yes. Of
course. Absolutely. I’ll do it right now.” I wanted to smack
myself. I wasn’t making any sense. I was so bowled over I could
barely form words.

“So is that a yes?” Claire seemed
on the cusp of annoyed.

I collected myself. “I would be
thrilled. I would be absolutely thrilled to have you as an
investor.”

When she shared the amount, I did
everything in my power not to holler and thrust a victorious fist
at the sky. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined an
investor.

“Now, the money is to be allocated
solely to the business. You can’t use it to pay your rent or
anything like that.” She wagged a finger at me and narrowed her
eyes. She was being playful, but she was also serious. Given her
tone, I felt compelled to respond with a salute.

“Absolutely.”

“But I do have some
stipulations.”

“Of course.”

“First, you need to finish your
MBA. I’m a big believer in the value of education, and even if this
helps your business take off, you must finish your degree. Or else
I’ll need the money paid back.”

“Totally. I’m definitely finishing
my degree. I’m so committed I’m beyond committed.”

“Second, after you finish your
degree and can focus solely on the business, I’ll put another round
into My Favorite Mistakes at the same multiple.”

My heart sang. Everything seemed
possible.

“Great.”

“Third. When we first met and you
mentioned the markets in Paris and all the little trinkets and
charms to be had there for a steal, and when my buyers mentioned
they preferred your European stylings, I started
thinking…”

Chapter Fifteen

“Paris, Mom! She wants to send me
to Paris. And it’s a requirement.”

I was on the steps of the museum,
my hand cupped over my mouth even though I wasn’t truly trying to
keep my voice down. How could I?

“That is so wonderful.”

“She’s like a fairy godmother. And
she’s making me, Mom, making me, go to Paris as part of the
investment. To find vendors to expand my designs. Can you please
just pinch me now because I must be dreaming!”

A group of school kids chattered
noisily as they raced down the sprawling steps to the hot dog carts
and pretzel vendors on Fifth Avenue. A curly-haired guy in
sunglasses gave me the once-over as he walked past me. I shifted
away from him, but then tensed all over, thinking he was Wilco. I
scanned for him quickly, but he was already pushing through the
revolving doors. I hadn’t gotten a good look, but what were the
chances the guy was Wilco anyway? Besides, for a big city, New York
was the smallest of towns and you bumped into people you knew all
the time. Or, as the case may be, people who simply looked like
people you were avoiding.

I pushed him out of my mind and
returned my focus to the call. “I’m going to use some of the
investment for the trip and to buy the supplies. But if the buyers
pick up my designs, then I’ll ramp up the business quickly and I
can help pay off your loan for Mystic Landing with my
revenues.”

“Katerina, I’ve told you to stop
worrying about us.”

“Mom. I want to do this. Just let
me help. I mean, I know I don’t have the money yet, but I will
soon. And nothing could make me happier than helping you
guys.”

“Pssh. Enough. Tell me more about
your trip to Paris. That’s what I really want to hear.”

I shared more of the details, told
her I’d come out to visit before I left, and then said goodbye. I
looked around at all the people streaming in and out of the museum,
then up at the darkening sky. I shook my head in amazement. I was
still giddy, and didn’t think I’d come down from this high for a
long time, nor did I want to. I wanted to share it with someone
else. Someone special.

Bryan answered on the second ring.
“Hey,” he said in a sweet voice he used just for me.

“I have amazing news. Where are
you right now?”

“Just finished up a meeting on the
Upper East Side.”

“I’m at the Met right now. About
to do some work on a new expansion project for My Favorite
Mistakes, and I thought perhaps my mentor might want to join me for
a few minutes. It’s a business meeting, of course.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

*****

The morning light reflected off
Monet’s waterlilies. The brushstrokes from the Impressionist master
made me think about shapes, colors and new ways of
looking.

“
So I’m thinking
I should totally add a line of waterlily charms to My Favorite
Mistakes.”

Bryan played along as we strolled
past paintings. “While you’re at it, why not throw in some
haystacks too?” He tipped his forehead to another Monet. “Your
favorite painting, right?”

My eyes went wide with the
realization that he hadn’t forgotten the last time we were here
five years ago. From the caramel macchiatos to Hello Kitty to
haystacks, he’d held onto so many details of me. My heart felt
bigger and fuller. “You remember?”

He shot me a smile, then nodded.
“Yes, I remember.”

I wanted to wrap my arms around
him and kiss him, but I resisted. “Maybe I should even get some of
those melty clocks from a Dali.”

“Or, how about just a bunch of
drip mark charms from a Pollock? Because I would have to think drip
marks would qualify as a favorite mistake.”

We stopped to sit on a blond
hardwood bench in the middle of the gallery, keeping necessary
space between us. Bryan wore slate gray pants and a green and white
checked shirt with recycled bike chain cufflinks. A tie that I
longed to unknot completed the look. He rested a hand on the bench;
I did the same. Six more inches and we could have been holding
hands. I glanced at his fingers, and restrained every impulse to
lace them through mine. This beautiful place had the bars I needed.
We simply couldn’t do a thing here. There were too many people
around us, tourists and school kids, couples and
families.