Mathieu clicked the lighter and inhaled a long drag of the cigarette between his lips. He lay into the pillows and blew plumes of smoke into the air, scratching his stomach in satisfaction.

“You know I hate it when you smoke in bed,” I said. Even after a fresh set of sheets, the residual smell of what we just did mixed with those Camels made me gag.

“After that,” Mathieu smacked my still very sore ass, “I might light up two.”

Mathieu flicked the built-up ash into the tray on the nightstand and rested his arm behind his head. He was always so relaxed after, with a handsome arrogance that made me want to smother him. My afterglow consisted of cleaning everything on and out of me and locating every article of clothing I came in with. I was still missing a sock or two.

“What do you have planned tomorrow?” Mathieu asked, snuffing his cigarette and settling under the covers.

“The same, I guess. Make the girls look good, and if anyone who looks like money walks in, cease to exist. You?”

“Another lesson in the morning, then a couple of shoots.” Mathieu switched off the lights then rolled over to face me. “So I’ll be prim and proper all day.”

We shared a laughed, and I yawned, the tiredness from the day catching up with me. It had to be after two, and I needed to be up in a few hours; a good thing I had picked out my outfit already.

“Hopefully, at least one of us will have a good day tomorrow.” Mathieu kissed me, his lips still toasty from his smoke break. “Night, baby doll.”

I plunged my face into the pillow and wished for the lack of fresh air to knock me out. He was too good at this, or maybe I was too much of a sap. Either way, I was too tired to care. 

***

I woke up, arm stretched out to the other side of an empty bed. The light filtering through the window warmed my skin and would have been lovely if I didn’t feel like I’d been flattened by a truck. I blinked at the time on the alarm clock, just enough to freshen up and make it to work.

I swung my legs onto the floor, willing my muscles and joints to hold me up, and I went on a scavenger hunt in the living room for my clothes. Undergarments, pants, and a wrinkled shirt accounted for, I rushed to my apartment to reshape my hair and change. 

From the time I got there, I took down measurements for six different alterations that would take three weeks tops, but Pearl prided herself on a quick turnaround—not an issue for me, anyway—so there went my free time for the foreseeable future. A half-hour to noon, and I was convinced that the one who’d have a good day certainly wasn’t me.  

Pearl got over on these poor people by selling them cheap duds that “shouldn’t” be altered elsewhere, then charged an arm and a leg for it. She offered unique quality clothes, handpicked by her—some made by me—along with the best alterations in town, also by me. 

Say what you will about Pearl, but the woman knew how to run a business. As long as she gave me our proposed cut, I turned a blind eye to whatever underhanded dealings she had. 

I took my second shirt in the past twenty minutes to the back and pinned the instructions to it, piling them with the rest and taking a much-needed break. I checked my watch, It was close to that time anyway, and I still had a long-standing appointment with Lou tonight; more reasons for this day to go to shit.

“Oh, Darzsa. You’re already back here.” Pearl squeezed into the stacked space where she so graciously let me work uninterrupted. One of the few perks I got. “Some of those big wigs from Reinel-Glatz are coming by to check out some items. So you know what to do.”

“Be a good little house boy and stay in here?” 

“Darzsa,” Pearl clutched the honeycomb brooch on her blouse, “I hate when you joke like that. Don’t you see Eleanor out there? What kind of business do you think I run here—and imply such a thing.”

I took notes on what I’d get started on first while Pearl spouted off on her bullshit and how I was such an asset to her, then the laundry list of her friends and neighbors she loved so much. I picked up one of my needles and wondered if it was the right size for a lobotomy. 

“Anyway, Pearl, if you want me to scram, I will. But,” I spun around in my chair to face her, “what exactly is this deal with RGE about?”

Pearl narrowed her eyes at me and fluffed her salt and pepper victory rolls. “If all goes well, this would be the spot off the strip for custom clothing. We’d supply them directly with our designs—”

“You mean my designs.”

“—and these won’t just be in some flick at the local picture show. We’re talking coast to coast on the silver screen. And as you know, that may come with some challenges, being that you’re...well…”

“Black?” I gleaned. “You can say it, Pearl.”

“I do have a color—Black niece, you know. I raised her myself. We’ll have to play this close, and you know I’ll take care of you. So, you’ll get twenty percent.”

Pearl was out of her damn mind if she thought I’d do all this work for her and get pennies for it. We'd be in business if Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum out there could tell a crochet hook from a seam ripper.

“My name possibly not on any of this, and I do all the labor? Fifty.”

“Half?” she gasped. “Think of the experience you’ll get, and I’ll let you drop off the garments—maybe. You can use that charm of yours to make your own connections.”

“Thirty-five, I do all of the above, and I get input over what gets sent.”

Pearl’s blazing cheeks haloed her cakey rouge. She thought she drove a hard bargain, but I was far from naive. “Looks like we’re in business.”

I got up and since she needed me gone, I could make the day of it. “I’ll be out of your hair then. And if all does go well, that’s Mr. Blake to you.” I shook Pearl’s hand and gave her an enthusiastic grin. “I’m sure you’ll knock them dead, partner.” 

Pearl probably blew a gasket by the time I made it to the front door, but a deal was a deal, and she wouldn’t dare go back on her word. With the rest of my afternoon free, I decided to catch a picture and start some research. I guess this day turned out to be a good one yet.