Page 11 of Hiding Forever
It reminds me of when Justice pretended his pool cleaner was an octopus and wrestled it in front of his entourage for a laugh but ended up breaking the device.
If I’m honest with myself, he and I weren’t in a good place before he dumped me. We were constantly on each other’s nerves. For most of our relationship, my emotions revolved around his life and mood. I lost myself and now it’s time I find who I want to be. If only there were a book with instructions on how to find yourself. I’d read it tonight.
“My dear, I could hear your sigh from the hallway.” Gigi waltzes onto the balcony and puts her arm around my shoulders for a sideways hug.
“I sighed?”
As if she knows what I’m thinking, she says, “You deserve better than a pop star with no substance or staying power. See it for what it was. A time of fun and exploration. He was a moment in your life. One day you’ll be thankful he’s gone.”
“I wish that day were today.” I rest my head against her shoulder.
“Well, that’s what cocktails and wine are for.”
I giggle.
“And this.” She slips into the room and returns with a sketchbook and colored pencils.
“You want me to draw?” I ask as she hands me the stuff.
“I want you to reconnect with things you once loved. When was the last time you sketched a design?”
I shrug. “A year.”
“You used to draw gowns. Remember? We’d watch the Oscars and Grammys, and you’d sketch gowns the women should have worn or an improved version of what they were wearing. You had such a great eye, even at a young age.”
“I’d forgotten about that.” I was ten when Mom moved me away from Gigi to New England, but I visited her every spring, summer, fall, and winter. Whatever award ceremony was happening, we’d watch it, critique the outfits, and I’d sketch several designs.
“I didn’t forget. I still have some of your sketches. They’re framed in my dressing room.”
“They are?” I can’t believe she saved them. I try to recall what they look like. “Can I see them?”
“Of course, darling. But you must promise if you create any new designs, you’ll share them with me. You never know when I’ll need a new dress.”
I follow Gigi out of the room and down the hallway. We cross from one side of the house to the other via catwalks that overlook the grand foyer and double staircase.
We enter Gigi’s massive master suite, which could pass as a spa in Morocco with its peaceful vibe and mix of hanging lanterns and vibrant colors. When I was little and living here, I would have sleepovers in Gigi’s giant bed. She would finger comb my hair and sing to me as I fell asleep.
In the dressing room, sketches I drew years ago hang from an oversized mirror that rests on the floor.
Gigi points to two on the right side. “These are my favorites. I had this one made for a party.”
“You did?” I gape at her. “You never told me.”
“I’m sure I mentioned it once or twice.” She waves a hand, the bracelets on her wrists clinking with a pretty sound.
“I think I’d remember you telling me you had one of my dresses made.”
“Hmm?” A line forms between her eyebrows. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here or you might have never known.”
“I can’t believe you had one of my dresses made,” I say, still in awe. She must have really liked the sketch. “Can I see it?”
Gigi walks to the far end of the room,where a row of gowns hang. She fingers through them until she finds the dress.
The one I sketched is colored blue, but this dress is a glittery green. “I altered the color,” Gigisays. “Green is much more flattering on me, but the rest of it is identical to your drawing.”
I touch the sparkly fabric and examine the dress closely. It’s well made, with tight, straight stitching and a hand-sewn hem that would impress the most critical eye.
I step back and take a moment to admire the creation I dreamed up, a sketch from paper brought to life, and smile in admiration. “Wow. It’s sexy and kinda fabulous.”