A Lowcountry Bride Page 2

  “The museum and the efforts to save it don’t seem bothersome to me.”

  For a few seconds, Laura’s face froze, as if she registered what she’d just said aloud. “Oh. I didn’t say it bothered me. I was just . . . you know . . . thinking of the tourists who visit Charleston to relax and enjoy the rest of the beautiful town. That museum is an eyesore and it needs to go. I wouldn’t want to go on vacation there. I mean . . . the topic is just so . . . you know.”

  Laura was clearly uncomfortable talking about Black history. Typical. If Maya pushed back on this conversation, her career could be compromised. Still, Maya couldn’t let this slide. “I don’t know. What is wrong with the topic?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it. I just think . . .” Laura’s cheeks turned red. “It shouldn’t be the focus in Charleston’s tourism scene.”

  “You think Charleston’s history of enslavement should be erased?” Maya asked, feeling bolder now.

  Laura’s eyes widened. She was sinking fast, and Maya wasn’t going to help her up. “No. No. No. I was referring to that smaller boutique next to it. The one I saw online.”

  Why would she want the boutique to go when she just said she was considering selling her dresses there? Just trying to cover her tracks. “Oh, okay,” Maya said. “Because that area holds a rich history. It’s an important piece of Charleston’s history.”

  Laura was silent. Guess they weren’t talking about that anymore.

  Laura reached for a pen and tap, tap, tapped it on her desk. “So, what was I saying? Oh—there’s a new opportunity I wanted to tell you about. I’m also looking to fill a special assignment with one junior designer. It’s not as high profile as the head designer job, but it’s pretty important.”

  Maya’s heart catapulted. There was only one other junior designer on staff—Kelly. They’d gone to design school together and got along well at work. Competing against her would be awkward, but it wouldn’t be much different from applying for the same job: only one of them would get it.

  “You’ll have to make a brand-new dress, something never seen before. Kelly will do the same, and I’ll choose the best out of the two. That dress will be featured on the cover of Bridal Magazine. Ashley Tate will wear it on the cover.”

  Maya’s jaw dropped. Ashley Tate, the hottest movie star in town. If Ashley wore the dress, that would catapult her career. She’d be fashion’s It girl. “Really?”

  “Really, darling.”

  Laura set her pen down and folded her hands on the table, twiddling her thumbs. A diamond-studded pendant bearing her initials jangled from her smooth décolletage. The sunlight from the bay window shone on her diamond tennis bracelet. Laura’s expression grew serious, restrained. “There is one caveat, however. The style of the dress must reflect Laura Whitcomb Inc.’s fashion sense since it’ll be a dress under our brand name. Because of this, I’ll offer feedback to you and Kelly during your design process, so that when one of you is chosen, we’ll have full confidence that it reflects our style.”

  Maya straightened in her seat. Following the Laura Whitcomb style guidelines had always been a struggle for Maya. Where Laura wanted clean, simple lines, Maya tended toward flourish. Where Laura wanted monotonous designs, Maya tended toward the nontraditional. She especially enjoyed using the bunga-sama stitching technique her mother had taught her. It was a pattern of large-sized hexagons and rhombuses. Other times Maya used the palipattang pattern, which was inspired by the colors of a rainbow. They were techniques that had been passed down from her grandmother in the Philippines, and these techniques always had a way of making the dress fit the bride, rather than the other way around.

  Laura pulled off her eyeglasses and set them next to her cell phone. “Your designs are very innovative. I already know it’ll be a tough call between you and Kelly because you’re both extremely talented. I don’t hire just anyone to work for me.”

  That was exactly why Maya loved working for Laura. Being a part of Laura Whitcomb’s team meant Maya was the best of the best, and that validation meant everything to her.

  “So, what do you say? Are you interested in applying for the special assignment?”

  If Maya landed this assignment, she’d be one step closer to becoming head designer. “Yes. Definitely. Yes.”

  “Excellent. Kelly agreed too. If you can whip up a pencil or computer draft of what you’d like to create before you go on vacation, that’d be great too. I’ll offer my feedback on it, and we can chat when you return in two weeks.”

  “Yeah, so . . .” Maya bit her lower lip. “I will need more than two weeks down in Charleston. My father will take a few months to recover.”

  The smile fell off Laura’s face. “A few months? How long do you plan on being there?”

  “I’d say until the end of June at the earliest. Until my father becomes more mobile.”

  Laura drummed her fingers on the table. “Well, well. That poses a problem. You know you’ll have to take leave without pay.”

  Maya clenched her fist.

  “This would mean you’ll be working toward both opportunities without getting paid.”

  Maya’s skin tightened. For all the money this company made, Laura was stingy. “Why not?”

  “Because I have bills to pay here too. If you get the position, of course, you’ll receive a generous salary, but while you’re down south, you won’t get a paycheck after your vacation time runs out. Of course, you’ll still be on staff.”

  “So you’re saying I have to show your dresses to department stores in Charleston without getting paid?” Maya asked, her voice incredulous.

  “I’m sorry. This is the reality of the business.”

  “I have to take care of my living expenses.”

  Laura paused. “The location scouting will only take an hour or two. No big deal.”

  Maya wanted to bang her head against a wall. It was a huge deal. There wasn’t a subway system in South Carolina. Maya couldn’t just zip around Charleston to scout locations. She’d been scrimping to make ends meet on her junior designer salary, and now she wouldn’t get paid a dime—but somehow she’d have to scout for Laura and do the work required for these two opportunities and figure out how to pay her rent before her vacation time ran out. Why was this so hard?

  Trust, her conscience said.

  Yet the word meant nothing. Trust what?

  She shifted in her seat. A heaviness pulled and pulled and pulled. “Fine then,” Maya said. “I’ll scout for you . . . for no pay.”

  Maya hated saying that.

  They made small talk, but Maya’s sense of overwhelm stuffed cotton balls in her ears. Everything sounded like gibberish. When they finished, Maya gathered her things and stood. “Thanks for being flexible with me,” she said, tamping down her unease.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll still have your job when you return.” Laura smiled. “You’re doing good work here.”

  Now it’s unpaid work. A well of resentment bubbled within her, but she pushed it aside. Maya said goodbye and left. Heartache rushed at her in waves, drowning her in disappointment and despair. She headed to the balcony to clear her head and think.

  Another missed chance.

  “How will I make ends meet?” Maya muttered.

  Another wave crashed in.

  You won’t make ends meet.

  And another.

  You don’t have what it takes.

  The feeling didn’t leave. She gripped the balcony’s railing and let her uneasiness settle. She’d have to make some money down in South Carolina. Maya would bring her portfolio of the personal designs she’d created, along with the dresses Laura had rejected, in the hopes of earning money from them in Charleston. Maya made a mental note to get Laura’s okay to sell her dresses in Charleston. She had to say yes, since Maya wasn’t going to be paid.

  Would Maya be able to earn extra cash down there? Would she be able to get over this hump? Not sure. Perhaps she should listen to Pops and stay up here.

  No. N
o. No. She was going to be present for her father.

  Maya pushed aside her insecurities. The breeze rustled through her pin-straight hair, and a steely determination rose up in Maya. “I’ll figure something out,” she said.

  The warm sunlight kissed her face. The New York City skyline exuded a peculiar peace that afternoon. A peace that Maya failed to grasp. She would have to trust.

  Hopefully trust would be enough.

  Chapter Two

  Captain Derek T. Sullivan stood prepared for battle against another Lowcountry bridezilla ready to attack.

  Bridezilla planted both fists on rounded hips. With her head cocked to one side, she aimed to fire. “What do you mean you’re out of size eights?”

  Could he speak any more clearly? “We’re out of stock. You’re wearing the last size eight, ma’am.” Derek added the “ma’am” for good measure, always the gentleman.

  He hung another seventy-pound wedding gown on the dress rack. Bridezilla had tried on an endless number of dresses over the last seven hours. Though mental fatigue had set in, he remained alert, ready to help this woman make up her mind. During his navy days, he’d spent many nights on watch. He was used to working long hours.

  The shop had had a steady stream of customers over the past few days. Derek was certain this special sale would help him turn a profit this time. It was this or foreclosure.

  The bank had sent its notice this morning. He had two months to pay the past due mortgage. If he didn’t, Always a Bride would be done, done, done.

  So he’d deal with picky customers whether he liked it or not.

  Today, he’d have to like it. He’d have to garner every possible sale.

  A gaggle of women stormed inside the downtown Charleston shop. Many of them waved red sales flyers, a thunderous sea of buyer frenzy. It would be another long evening, but he remained optimistic. With Ginger, the longtime manager, at his side, they would triumph. This would be the day that the store made a financial turnaround.

  Derek squared his shoulders, ready to take command of the boutique just as he had taken command of numerous aircraft carriers over his twenty-year military career.

  Bridezilla stepped outside of the dressing room and twirled in front of a gilded mirror. “Doesn’t feel like a size eight.”

  The sound of ripping fabric pierced the air. Panic flashed across her features. “Was that me?”

  Derek winced and quickly averted his eyes. A response clogged his throat.

  “Double-check the tag for me.” She pointed to Derek as if he were a misbehaving child. “This is not a size eight.”

  Blood rushed to Derek’s head. He needed to call in reinforcements. This was too much to handle. “Ginger.”

  “Are you trying to avoid me, mister?” Bridezilla stood close, too close for Derek to breathe.

  He took a step backward. “No, ma’am. Ginger, our manager, can help you. She’s an expert at dress sizes.”

  Bridezilla bent over to pick at the hem of the floor-length gown. The rip deepened.

  Derek took a deep breath. He couldn’t afford damaged inventory, not with all the debts the store had accumulated since his mother, the founder of the boutique, passed away from cancer a year ago. His mother had had a policy of never charging customers for dresses they tried on in the store, even if those dresses incurred rips and tears along the way. Derek tried his best to keep with his mother’s tradition, even if it cost him.

  “Are you sure this is a Leilani original?”

  “Yes, it’s—”

  “Did ya call, hon?” Ginger freed Derek from Bridezilla’s spur-of-the-moment cross-examination. As a child, Derek had avoided Ginger, especially when she nagged him about tucking his shirt in or not slouching when he sat. Now the woman with the golden-brown skin, the auburn hair, and the 1950s-style eyeglasses was a welcome reprieve.

  “Ginger, this lady needs your assistance. She doesn’t think this gown is a Lei—”

  “Finally!” Bridezilla threw her hands in the air. “Someone who can help me.”

  Ginger gestured to the bride. “Follow me, dear.”

  Ginger was a great salesperson. She could close a sale despite Bridezilla’s blowup. Could they close enough sales to cover three mortgage payments? He hoped so.

  After Ginger and the customer left, Derek clambered past a dizzying crowd of women hovering over bins and bins of garters, pantyhose, bodices, and other items he’d rather not ponder. Derek had decided to sell the merchandise clogging the back room at a deep discount by placing an ad on the local radio station to attract customers. The next morning, the women of Charleston swarmed in like locusts on a mission: shop and devour.

  The crowd left him dizzied, but it also gave him assurance. Always a Bride must’ve made good money today. Marlon, his accountant, was getting up-to-the-minute sales reports through their server. In fact, he’d call Marlon and get a status update now.

  Derek grabbed the cordless from its cradle and dialed Marlon’s number. He picked up after the third ring.

  “Hey, Marlon. How do the sales look?”

  “It’s not looking good.”

  Derek’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Not even today? We’re crowded and Ginger and I have rung up a slew of sales.”

  “You’re barely breaking even. With the level of debts that your mother left behind, along with these poor sales numbers, things aren’t looking good at all.”

  Derek shifted. The foreclosure notice crinkled in his back pocket. “I just got a notice from the bank today. If I don’t catch up on the mortgage by the beginning of May, the bank will start the foreclosure process. I’ve tried most everything to make a profit here. How can I turn things around?”

  No sound on the other end. Then: “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “You might want to consider filing for bankruptcy.”

  “Bankruptcy?”

  “Yes. You’ll clear all of those debts and be done with the extra stress. The efforts you’ve made are commendable, but they’re not enough to save the boutique.”

  If he filed for bankruptcy, that meant everything his mother worked for, everything he promised his mother that he’d maintain, would be lost. Derek couldn’t afford to let his mother down, even from the grave. He’d let his family down one too many times before.

  Derek’s biggest regret was with Grace, his late wife. He’d never forgive himself for not saving Grace.

  This business had to work. “I’m not entirely set on bankruptcy.”

  “Sometimes we have to face the truth of the situation.”

  That was the thing. Derek didn’t want to face the truth of the situation, not like this anyway. Always a Bride was a way for him to maintain his mother’s legacy, her memory, as well as Grace’s memory. She used to help out at the boutique too. While he was on deployments, he’d get emails with pictures of his mother, Grace, and his daughter, Jamila, working at the boutique together. He had smiled at those pictures and imagined Jamila growing up one day and taking over the family business. Always a Bride was an intergenerational legacy. If he filed for bankruptcy, those ties would be broken for good.

  “You’re quiet, Derek. Do you have another idea?”

  “No. But I don’t want to file for bankruptcy.”

  “You could sell the business. That would save you from the embarrassment. A woman by the name of Marjorie Wilkinson sent me an email earlier today. She’s interested in buying the place.”

  Derek’s neck muscles tightened, already not liking the sound of this. Selling the business was the same as filing for bankruptcy. He’d be throwing away a legacy. “Not interested.”

  “If Ms. Wilkinson’s asking price is right, then I’d definitely consider it. The money from the sale would pay off all the debts. No bankruptcy hassles and red tape. You’d be free and clear to move on with your life.”

  Move on to what? Jamila, now twelve years old, could hardly stand him, and he’d stopped getting too close to folks after Grace’s
death. Why get close when people left? When people died?

  “I know it’s tough, man. If you don’t want to sell to a stranger, how about selling to a friend? Would Ginger be interested in purchasing the place?”

  “No. Ginger is retiring very soon.”

  “Do you have any relatives who would be interested?”

  A picture of his late wife’s gleaming casket flicked across his mind. Derek blinked it away. She died so horribly in that mass shooting. Three years later, and the grief was ever present, still thrumming under his skin, still causing a dull ache in his heart. “No other relatives.”

  “How about friends?”

  “I’ll need some time to think this over. I can’t make a decision today.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to. But when the business ship is sinking, you have to move on.”

  Move on. Easier to dole out that advice than to actually live it. “I’ll get back to you with my next steps in a week or so.”

  “A week?” Marlon asked. “Okay. I’m holding you to it.”

  Derek ended the call and placed the phone back in its cradle. He thought about how his mother had worked so hard to start and maintain the store, often spending long days and nights there. She was the first Black woman to own a bridal shop in downtown Charleston in the eighties, quite a feat given the hardships she’d faced, including his father’s abandonment.

  Downtown Charleston used to have a vibrant Black business district. After the slow repeal of Jim Crow laws, many Black-owned businesses eventually closed down during the sixties and seventies. Black people no longer had to travel farther downtown to shop, and White people didn’t rush to patronize the Black-owned businesses. Those were the unintended consequences of integration, and so starting and keeping Always a Bride was an uphill battle.

  Derek had watched his mother work to keep the business running, and even when he was a kid, he encouraged her to keep going. She had worked hard and maintained hope despite it all.