Dialogue

You must start this piece with a piece of dialogue.

"I'm here to answer the ad in the paper," he said from the office doorway. He was not what I expected when I'd answered the phone and set the appointment. In the fashion industry a straight man with talent and the eye was hard to find. He wasn't gay. I could see that. That whole gaydar thing was totally true.

"You bring a portfolio?" I asked, taking a seat behind my desk. A pile of fabric strips left little room for me to peer over.

"All my work is here," he reached into a leather satchel and pulled out a classic black book with gold embossed pages and elegantly scripted font. He wasn't gay but he should have been. The boy was beautiful; about twenty-eight or so with thick dark hair and twinkling blue eyes of innocence. He was dreamy, like that McDreamy dude from that McShow.

"What's your area of expertise?" I asked, flipping through the pages. Yeah, he should be gay. A straight man could never dress a woman's body like that. I felt giddy at the idea of hiring this young man, even though I was quite certain he'd never return my advances.

"I can dress a woman like no one else. I know curves. I know how to construct pieces that flatter multiple body types, but when I'm working with a specific body in mind, exact measurments, I can make any body flawless." He crossed his legs and folded his arms across his chest. Was that an aggressive manuever? His way of telling me he wasn't gay and my flirting wouldn't be welcome?

When I got to the second to last page I had to stop and gape at the picture. That woman had to be three-hundred pounds. Yet she looked gorgeous in the leather corset boustier, off the shoulder sleeves, and jeans that made her look tall and slimmer than she was. If it wasn't for the round cheeks and double chin, I would have been hard pressed to find anything wrong with the photo.

"Why is this in here?" I asked, handing the open book back to him.

"If I can sell my work for a size twenty-two in a size zero world then I must be alright," he made no apologies and I liked that about him.

"Were you a model? Is that how you got into the fashion business?" It was relevant to the position but I was curious. He sat there looking like a doctor or maybe like that scrumptious architect dude from that one show; just not so brooding and without that awful faux deep voice.

"While my friends were busy playing football and dating cheerleaders, I took home ec. I had a plan. In college I went to design school and spent my course hours surrounded by beautiful models who'd get undressed right in front of me because I was the designer. I'm the only fish in a sea of mermaids and fairies," he said, smiling. If an outsider to the fashion world had called me and my dudes fairies I would have screamed at them and totally talked about them over non-fat, skim soy double lattes and plotted how to end their career. But from him, I couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, so here's the deal. You work with a team. Discuss and design. Compare and create. All designs must be approved be me or Soda. He's the fairiest of us all. You'll see him in a second. And hands off because he's mine," I stood and shook his hand, "oh yeah, one more thing. You can't sue for sexual harrassment. You have a fine McAss, and I plan on watching it and/or pinching it."

"Long as you aren't stalking me in the urinal, I can handle a little sexual harrasment. Thank you for the opportunity to work for you and the company. You won't disappointed." He shook my hand, flashing that perfect smile at me.

"Too late. I'm already disappointed. Now go kiss a model or something so I can stop thinking about you shirtless."