Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75481 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75481 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“You too,” I replied, hoping my palm wasn’t too sweaty.
“I see you didn’t scare this one off yet,” she said to Rowan, and Anita chuckled as she left the room.
Could that be the real reason his last assistant left? Sounded plausible.
My eyebrows rose as Rowan scowled and muttered something under his breath.
“I’m kidding.” She snickered, apparently not intimidated by Rowan Abernathy in the least. “No one has been scared off.”
She winked at me, then turned to Rowan to discuss what sounded like the day’s schedule. She was able to joke easily with him, even affectionately, so maybe his bristly attitude would change once I got to know him.
After she left, Rowan walked to a rack of clothing I hadn’t even noticed in the corner of the room and stood there, considering something. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants and refocused on the sewing instructions.
I tried to remember my mother sewing stuff like holes in socks for my siblings and me. I’d never paid attention, but maybe I should have. Didn’t people just buy new stuff when they needed it? Now who sounded like a diva?
Finally threading the needle, I nearly did a happy dance, and when the button actually stayed put where I’d aligned it on the material, I beamed. When the button seemed secure enough, I tied a knot, cut off the extra thread, and stood from my seat. “There. How did I do?”
Rowan walked over to inspect my work. “Not bad. You really know nothing about clothes or fashion?”
“Do you really have to ask?” I bit my lip, hoping he hadn’t changed his mind.
“True.” He turned up his nose. “Well. You’re about to become an assistant to a fashion stylist, so hopefully, I’ll rub off on you.”
I snickered because I couldn’t even help myself. “You know I could make a joke right about now?”
“Maybe if you were twelve instead of…” He studied me, obviously trying to guess my age.
“Twenty-three.”
“Damn, that makes me feel old.”
Except I knew he was only ten years my senior, so that was ridiculous. Still, I didn’t dispute him, not knowing if that was a sore spot for him.
“You’ll need to fill out paperwork with HR on the second floor. When you’re finished, you’re welcome to watch us in action while recording the first show.”
My stomach squeezed with excitement. “Sounds good.”
He pointed a finger. “But show up Monday ready to work.”
“I will. And thank you.” I turned to leave and plowed right into the wall. Like I said, clumsiest person ever.
“Are you okay?” It was the first time I detected concern in his tone.
I rubbed my forehead as my cheeks caught fire. “Yeah, fine.”
“Christ, I’m afraid to know how you’ll do around the steam machine.”
“Steam machine?” I asked faintly.
“Never mind. Off you go.”
I smiled all the way to the elevator.
Prologue
Two months later
* * *
“And then we went to this club in Chelsea where men were dancing in cages,” I told Tony, one of the network’s makeup artists. We were in the large wardrobe room everyone called the closet. I was probably rambling, but Tony didn’t seem to mind. Besides, he was fun to talk to and sought me out most Monday mornings to compare notes about our weekend antics.
“Oh, I’ll bet that made your young, fresh-out-of-the-closet heart sing.” He clapped his hands in delight. “Like going to a buffet when all you’ve ever been served was appetizers.”
It was cool to work in an industry with plenty of LGBTQ personalities, so I always got the scoop on places to go and sights to see. It was something else I didn’t realize I appreciated about this job until right then. And that certainly helped smooth all the other frustrations about it.
“What was it like for you when you first came to the city?”
“It was a smorgasbord of fun and sex.” His eyes glinted before growing dark. “But that was in the early eighties, before the AIDS epidemic.”
“Did you lose a lot of friends?” I’d heard heartbreaking stories over the years and even watched a documentary with Casey that highlighted that time in history. It was after we’d visited the historic Stonewall Inn and felt like we needed to learn more about our history and who had helped pave the way.
Tony’s expression grew clouded. “Too many to talk about without breaking down in tears.”
My chest ached. “I’m sorry.”
“But hey, we older gays still know how to party.” He winked. “Thankfully, the survival rate from HIV and AIDS is way better, and protection like PrEP certainly helps.” He threw me a pointed look. “The younger kids forget what happened back then. Don’t be reckless.”
“Of course not. PrEP and condoms. Always.”
“If you’re finished oversharing, we have work to do,” Rowan snapped at us from across the room, where he was busy being annoyed and pretending not to listen.
“On it, boss.” I caught the outline of a grimace before he looked away, which was sort of satisfying.