Chapter Two – Phone Tag

Bright rays of sunlight burst through the lace sheers that neatly framed Sheila’s bedroom window. The light was so unbearable that she couldn’t help but pry open her swollen, grimy eyes…courtesy of late night of crying and indulgence in wine.

Yesterday’s excitement was far too much to deal with.

“How will I cope?” she quietly sobbed, “This isn’t fair.” A single tear managed to escape her left eye, burning as it traveled across her cornea.

Then suddenly, chirp, chirp…chirp, chirp!

“What is that irritating noise?” For a moment she thought she was still dreaming. It took her a second to realize that her cell phone was ringing.

Chirp, chirp…chirp, chirp!

She strained to see the clock…6…28. “Nothing good can come from a call this early, they’ll have to leave message”.

Sheila reluctantly peeled her body out of bed and headed for the shower knowing that she could count on one finger, the number of people who cared enough about her to check in – her father.

After 45 minutes of primping and outfitting herself with designer courage, Sheila was ready to face the day’s idiosyncrasies. It would be only a matter of minutes before she’d arrive to the Mod. As she hailed a cab, her mind continuously filtered through the questions.

“Who else knew about this letter?”

“Is Renée working alone?”

“Do the new partners already know about my indiscretions?”

There were so many possible scenarios, but only one would really matter, “could Daddy get me out of this?” Then, just as if there was some mysterious cue, her phone rang…chirp, chirp…chirp, chirp!

This time she didn’t dodge the call, “Hello?”

“Sheila? How are you?”

Her voice trembled with excitement, “Gianni, is that you?”

“Yes, my dear, please dine with me at noon, we have much to discuss.”

“Absolutely!” she exhaled and smiled, “absolutely.” Yes, Gianni, twenty-five years her senior, was the man of her dreams, oh…and her former boss. Yes, she’d have lunch with him, but not before entering the lion’s den.

The cab hastily pulled up in front of the Mod Fashion House. The time had arrived and there was no route for escape, so she handed the driver her money and said, “Keep the change and say a prayer for me, I’ll need one.”

As the taxi sped off, she stood on the cold, gray cement in front of the Mod. For the first time she had the opportunity to admire its architectural splendor and prowess. Besides, what was the hurry? Why rush the humiliation?

So she sat down on the ice cold cement slab in front of the fountain-slash-sculpture and gazed up at the mirror-windowed cubes that formed the building. She admired how the dark glass panes beautifully reflected the blue sky and clouds. The sky had fallen in her path – in more ways that one.

How could this a breathtakingly beautiful building hold such heinous and self-serving people? They lie on their résumés about their qualifications, they steal designs from lowly, unsuspecting interns and they sleep with their bosses to get to the top.

Sheila smirked…she was one of those dreadful people.

She snapped out of her pondering daydream, gathered her oversized Balenciaga handbag, flattened her Chanel skirt and walked to the glass revolving doors. As she placed her hand on the door, she said to herself, “Let the games begin.”

Chapter One – Yours Truly, Renée

And in that very moment, she stood frozen as if all time and space ceased to exist.  Her body fell numb as the letter floated from her hand onto the Oriental rug beneath her Manolos.

After a few minutes, the shock began to fade and rage engulfed every cell of her body, then she began to shout,

“No!  No, this can’t be!”

“I’m Sheila Jackson!  She has no idea who she’s messing with…I’ll have her head for this!  No one screws with me!”

But deep down, she knew better.  She knew that Renée had her by her cute little designer skirt and there was nothing she could do about it.  You see, Sheila and Renée attended the Fashion Institute and began working at Mod Fashion House together right out of college five years ago.  Both of them were talented,creative and smart, but only one of them was equipped for success.

Everyone in the town of Marietta knew Winston Jackson the Third.  He owned the local Marietta newspaper and two other media outlets along with a host of other offshore ventures.  It was no secret that papa had connections, especially the kind that would interest a twenty-something designer wannabe – his little princess, Sheila.  But Renée was no fool.

After a crazed night of excessive partying just before graduation in 2003, Sheila stumbled into the dorm room reeking of booze and dusted in blow.  She was a wreck.  She knocked over the desk lamp while trying to “sneak” into bed with her late night companion.  Of course the noise jolted her roommate Renée, out of her slumber, but she quickly fell back asleep once she realized that it was just her liquored up roomie – nothing out of the ordinary (so she thought).

It wasn’t until the morning haze filled their room that Renée became aware of Sheila’s very special visitor, or shall we say…visitors:  Calvin Vatalle, the dean of F.I. and Gianni Luccini, founder of the Mod Fashion House.  She knew that Sheila had a few steamy rendezvous, but the dean of their school?  She was incensed!  She had worked tirelessly for four years just to become second to Sheila, the class valedictorian.  The truth was shocking and hurtful, but most of all, unforgettable.  Sheila was sleeping with their dean and their future boss!  Talk about opportunistic.

But let’s be reminded again, Renée was no fool.  She rode Sheila’s coattail all the way to the Mod Fashion House and has become Sheila’s assistant designer.  It’s too bad that Gianni Luccini has sold the company to another fashion house leaving Sheila all alone to compete for the new creative director position.  One wonders what would happen if the board of directors knew of her affair?  Surely, she such behavior cannot and will not be rewarded.

Yes, Sheila was abruptly reminded of her depraved climb to the top, all on quite lovely Retta le Ritz stationery which read,

“It looks like daddy’s hush money has finally run out…yours truly, Renée.”