The Savage Girl - Alex Shakar [46]
An awkward, tender silence follows, in which they can’t quite look at each other.
Once they’ve secured a cab, Javier lays out the agenda: a brief stop by the office, a visit to an upscale clothing store or two, and then some people watching over lunch.
At the office they find the Roman bust in an Italian suit that is Chas Lacouture in particularly good form: the grain of his gray-marbled hair stands out under an extra coat of polish, and a grim rictus, newly chiseled into his bloodless lips, accentuates the malevolence of his smile. He and Javier begin their meeting in their usual fashion, eyes gleaming, static electricity crackling in the air around them as they parlay their respective energies into a juggernaut of agitation, trading the bits of information they’ve culled from the street that for some unfathomable reason seem noteworthy to them. Javier has seen audience members stand up to a stand-up comedian who was making fun of someone in their midst. Chas has seen a woman point out her daughter’s bad posture on a security monitor. Javier has seen a group of drunken college kids stop in front of the plate-glass window of a hospital waiting room and fall silent at the sight of the sad people inside.
“Ursula,” Chas says. “You reeled in a new client. Good work.”
“I did?” she says. “Who?”
“Ed Cabaj at General Foods. You impressed him.”
Javier shakes Ursula by the shoulders. “Way to go,” he says.
She feels her face flushing. “Me? But Javier’s the one—”
“He admired your ‘poise,’ as he called it, once he found out who your sister is.”
“But . . . ,” she begins, feeling, for some reason she can’t name, betrayed. “But how did he find that out?”
Chas stares at her, perhaps a little mockingly. “Just came up.” He drums his fingers on the desk. “Anyway, it’s a big account. And they want a presentation pronto for the diet-water brand image. Ursula, I want you to present the savage girl. Put together a little speech, something personal and touchy-feely. Next thing. Javier, I’ve just about finished our trendbook.”
Javier leans forward. “Really?”
Chas taps the side of his head with a square-nailed finger. “Burst of inspiration this week. It’s all coming together.”
“Great,” Javier says, and then, with a nervous glance at Ursula, adds, “Um . . . maybe I should take a look at it—you know, see if I have any suggestions.”
“I’ve already taken all your suggestions into consideration,” Chas says, reclining in his chair. “You helped me see things this year, Javier. You helped me put all my theories together. This year our clients are getting more than a trendbook; they’re getting a fucking treatise.” He leans forward. “I’m not dumbing it down this time, Javier. I’m through spoon-feeding pap. This time I’m taking my fellow marketers to school. You remember my university lectures?”
“Of course,” Javier says.
“Well, I’m gonna give it to our clients just as straight. Gonna enlighten the shit out of them. This trendbook is my best fucking work ever.”
“You were his student?” Ursula asks Javier.
Javier smiles. “He taught me everything I know.”
“All right,” Chas mutters. “Enough dawdling. Go do your job.”
He picks up a sheaf of papers and spins in his chair, eclipsing himself from view. Silently, Ursula and Javier get up and leave. Out on the street they catch a cab to Hugo Banzer to check out the fall line. Javier points out the prevalence of ethereal colors, soft fabrics, and draping cuts. One dress suit catches her eye, lapis lazuli with rough onyx buttons—a long, fitted jacket and pants.
“Yes,” Javier says. “There’s something in that one. Try it on.”
“Why?”
“Please,” he urges. “I need to see you in it.”
His black hair is still wetted down from his morning shower, making his eyes even more luminous than usual.
“Well. If you need to see me in it.”
A saleswoman shows her to the dressing room. She puts it on and stares at herself in the mirror, taking in the drama of the cut against the curves of her body. The transformation is astonishing, and her first reaction is confusion. She looks like her mother, smug and untouchable.