that evening, Swan stepped out onto the patio and allowed herself a moment to take in the magical world that lay before her in the estate’s gardens. She clutched her new leather organizer, where she’d jotted her commentary for the show, and took a breath. Gerard had outdone himself. She couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to put together such an elegant display on a party budget that bordered on embarrassing. Buffet tables sat on the left and right of a rented champagne fountain. Japanese lanterns hung in colorful patterns, augmenting the starlight from a crystal-clear sky above. At the far end of the garden Gerard had set up a runway, accented by delicate white lights. The entire space had become a place of wonder and delight.
“Are you pleased?” Gerard asked as he hurried up the flagstone steps and joined her. He took a moment to check out Swan’s outfit and gave her a surprised blink of approval. It was a daring black silk halter top with a bias-cut skirt that she’d put together a couple of summers back, wondering if there would ever be an occasion to wear it. To gear yourself up for a bold move, this was the dress to wear, she thought. And tonight was the night.
“If you’re not thrilled with all of this,” he said, “I’m going to hang myself. Just like that nanny did in The Omen.”
The way he stood with his hands on his hips and his face all expectant made Swan laugh. Gerard was no taller than five feet six and on the plump side these days but his heart was large, and that was what mattered. Plus, whatever he lacked in stature, he definitely made up for in Sturm and Drang.
“Gerard, I love it! How on earth did you ever manage this?”
He flipped his hand casually. “Oh, it was nothing. A little of this, a little of that, and a lot of discount shopping.”
“I’ll never be able to repay you. Not just for this, for everything you’ve done these past few days. I couldn’t have made it without your help.”
“My pleasure, Duckling.” He loved to call her Duckling instead of Swan, but at least he didn’t put the U-word in front of it. “Lest you forget,” he said, “I’m your biggest cheerleader. It isn’t every day that a couple of feisty independents decide to strike out on their own, especially in this business—and you know how I love an underdog.”
He headed off, beckoning her to come with him. “The guests will be arriving any minute, and you’re the receiving line. Once you greet everybody and get them eating, drinking and mingling, I’ll do the honors and introduce you.”
Swan had been on the run for days, but suddenly her nervousness caught up with her. And it wasn’t just the stress of the tour, as if that wasn’t enough. She’d been having vivid dreams at night and flashbacks during the day, all of them erotic and all of them starring long-legged men with bulging tool kits. She never knew when the lurid images would pop into her head, and it was playing hell with her composure.
“I wish you were coming with me on the road trip,” she said, trailing after Gerard. “If you were there, I wouldn’t feel so…so…”
“Helpless? Vulnerable? Terrified?” Gerard offered.
Swan nodded. “Any one of those would fill the blank.”
Gerard grabbed her hand and led her back into the house and down to the foyer. Her black-beaded heels clicked on the marble steps and her skirt swished against her legs. The knowledge that at least she’d dressed for the part boosted her confidence. She left her organizer on an occasional table as he went to open the door and usher in the first of the guests. Here we go, she thought, taking a deep breath.
The guest list had been a calculated move with calculated risks. The L.A. Times and the Long Beach Press Telegram were both sending their assistant fashion editors tonight. Photographers from In Style magazine and Details were scheduled to show up, as well. The risk was that they would pan the line. Veteran designers could weather bad reviews, but hopefuls could be wiped out by just one, especially if it was the premier show.
Besides the press, the small staff of people who had actually worked with Lynne and Swan to get the new line from idea to reality had been invited, along with the managers of the Los Angeles La Bomba boutique. Swan’s mother had been invited, too, of course, but Pat McKenna was too concerned about the risks her daughter was taking to show up and witness them in person.
May she be wrong about that, Swan thought. With all due respect, may she be dead wrong.
Once she’d greeted everyone, Swan began mingling, making her way through the house and out into the gardens. It was quite a heady experience seeing so many enthusiastic faces and hearing the buzz of excitement about her new creations. Jan Hudson, the manager of La Bomba, rushed up to her.
“Wonderful party!” she said, clasping Swan’s hand. “We can’t wait for you to bring the show to the store. Everything is ready to go.” She glanced around. “Where’s your partner in crime?”
Jan clearly meant Lynne, but there was no time for Swan to explain. She was being summoned.
“It’s show time!” Gerard called, waving at her from across the wide expanse of neatly trimmed grass. He was climbing the steps to the stage and runway that he and his buddies had built.
“Good luck,” Jan said as Swan excused herself.
Swan silently rehearsed her opening lines as she headed for the stage. She wasn’t accustomed to public speaking, but the show had to go on, and she was the one who had to deliver it. Fortunately she had the organizer notes to back her up if she went blank. And this bold black dress as her shield.
Just don’t let me have to whiz, she prayed.
Gerard tapped the microphone with his hand. Three loud thumps assaulted the quiet night air. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “she is not only the designer of the hottest new line of male undies in recent memory—which will be sold exclusively through the La Bomba boutiques, I might add—she is also our master of ceremonies tonight. I give you Swan McKenna!”
Waving to the clapping crowd, Swan hurried up two creaky wooden steps to join Gerard at the podium.
“Swan McKenna!” he bellowed again. Gerard gave her a thumbs-up before disappearing behind the curtain of the makeshift stage. He’d also volunteered himself and his motley crew to run the slide show, lights and sound system.
“Thank you all for coming,” Swan said, still a little breathless. Her voice sounded loud and hollow as it came through the speakers. “Some of you may have noticed that my partner, Lynne Carmichael, isn’t with us tonight. She was called away on a business matter, but she sends her love and her gratitude for your support.”
Swan sucked in a breath and smiled. “And now, I would like to present a sneak preview of Brief Encounters’s first-ever line of male undergarments. This is our fall collection, and we have for your viewing pleasure our Romeo Underwear, our Hero Bodywear and our Machismo Activewear!”
On that cue, Gerard flipped on the sound system and the night erupted with Jerry Lee Lewis wailing out “Great Balls of Fire.” The audience applauded as three male models burst onto the stage and began their routine. Behind them, projected on a black silk screen, were huge color slides of other pieces from the fall line. The photos had been Swan’s idea, and it had cut down significantly on their need for models.
“Starting the show is our Romeo for tonight, Brad!” The applause was instantaneous as Brad took center stage. He wore an Armani tuxedo jacket and very little else. In one hand, he clutched a dozen roses, and in the other,
