“I adore her stuff. That last line was fire.”
“Are you kidding? She’ll send you anything you want. A chance to dress the First Lady? What designer wouldn’t jump at that opportunity?”
“I’ve been careful to make sure I’m wearing things by up-and-coming designers when possible, especially indigenous women. It’s such a great way to draw attention to those who might get overlooked.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call Lotus overlooked,” I say dryly, “since she just won the CFDA for womenswear designer of the year, but she’s still pretty new to the game, so that kind of exposure could only help.”
When I lift the lid of the white box and peel the fragile tissue paper away, Lennix and I both gasp.
“Holy crap,” Lennix says, running her fingers lightly over the golden silk. “This will look fantastic on you.”
“It was literally made for me.” I lift the dress from the box, revealing the gilded fall of shimmering fabric. “Lo sketched it over drinks when I was in LA a couple months ago.”
“You have to try it on.” Lennix presses her palms together in a begging pose. “I wanna see.”
“Okay! You lock the door. I’ll get the windows.”
While Lennix walks briskly to lock the door, I draw the drapes across the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the chaos of D.C. traffic and commerce. I rush back to the work table, anticipation humming through my every molecule. My girly reflex is fully activated. I’m already thinking about the Manolos I found to go with the dress, mentally accessorizing and wondering if I should wear my hair blown out or upswept and in its natural curls. Without self-consciousness, I strip off my slacks and blouse, standing in only panties and bra. Lennix and I are in that “over ourselves” stage of friendship you reach through time and trial. She, along with our friend Vivienne, were my extended family so far from home. I carefully slide the silk up to my thighs, frowning when it catches there.
“What the…” I mutter when the material only inches up incrementally, not quite clearing my hips. It pulls so tight that if I force it, the dress will probably rip.
“Oh.” Lennix bites her bottom lip and tilts her head to the side. “Well, it…did she maybe send the wrong size?”
“I told you. She made it for me. One of these exists in the whole world, and Lo confirmed my measurements no more than ten days ago. I don’t get it.”
“I’m sorry, babe. Well, if we—” Her phone buzzes on the work table. She grabs it, still eyeing me with consternation. She glances down and grimaces. “Ugh. Dammit. I forgot we added a meeting to my schedule this morning. It’s on possible legislation for improved maternity leave. Something with teeth. My secretary just reminded me.”
“Go.” I waddle over to her, careful not to make any sudden dress-ripping moves, and give her a quick squeeze. “Be the badass bitch First Lady I know you can be.”
“And here I was looking for a motto when you had that up your sleeve this whole time,” she says, the sarcasm thick, but still not eclipsing the concern when she pulls back from our hug. “Kimba, the dress—”
“It’s fine.” I force a smile. “I have a dozen dresses that should work.”
If I can fit any of them.
“You get outta here. I don’t want you to be late.”
“Okay.” She rushes to the office door and unlocks and opens it. Hal stands there, blocking our view of the lobby and Carla, who is probably on her fainting couch with all that broody testosterone in forced proximity.
“Love you,” Lennix offers as a final parting and closes the door behind her.
“Love you, too,” I mumble absently, staring down the length of my body with dismay. I’ve noticed a few lumps and rolls that stubbornly resisted four days a week of Orange Theory, but didn’t realize it had gotten this out of control. I’ve been busy strategizing how I’ll turn a swing state in an upcoming gubernatorial election. Lumps and rolls around my middle got back-burnered.
My cell rings and I grimace when Lotus pops up on FaceTime. I want to ignore it and call back audio only so she won’t see me.
I answer, being careful to keep the phone aimed above my shoulders.
“Hey, Lo.” I inject my voice with the enthusiasm the woman who has become a close friend would usually merit.
“Heyyyyyy.” Her pretty face, surrounded by a huge, curly afro, lights up. “My assistant just told me we got a delivery notification on the dress. How is it?”
“It’s…” I glance at the material pooled below my waist. “A little tight.”
“T
ight?” Lotus’ sleek black brows snap into a frown. “It shouldn’t be. We finalized measurements not long ago.”
“It’s not you,” I rush to reassure her. “I’ve been gaining weight lately faster than I ever have in my life.”