Boston's Man-Eater

VII

I felt so ashamed of myself.

She suddenly straightened her posture, and turned on her heels, walking past us with confidence...or at least feigned confidence.

Removing my spectacles, I rubbed the bridge of my nose and excused myself from Tony.

Stopping before the door of her dressing room, I raised my fist to knock, but a voice interrupted me.

"No sé cómo sigues con él, muchacha," I heard Marisol complain with exasperation.

"You know why."

"But, Tess, this is not the way. I can't even stand to see you like this."

"I don't know what you want me to do, Marisol."

"Break up with him!"

"I can't."

"Can't you see that this is just revolving around fear? I know you're scared...but we need to take care of him. I can take care of him."

"You will do no such thing, Marisol!" Tess responded sharply.

"I don't know how much longer you're going to let this go on, but I don't like it."

"What am I supposed to do? He's a man-it's what he knows."

"Man," Marisol echoed with disgust.

"Yes."

"Such revolting people."

"Fortunately for you, you're a lesbian."

Surprise, surprise.

"Yes, I could never." Ney-verr.

"Why don't you make sure everything is set?"

"Fine. But this conversation is not over."

"I'd really prefer it if you let it go."

"Not for all the money in the world."

"Marisol..."

"If you want that, then I'd have to tell Ayanda."

A short quietude commenced before Tess sighed.

"Fine, just don't tell her, please."

And when it was least expected, the door swung open, and Marisol instantly scowled at me.

"What are you doing here, Greg?"

Greg?

"I'm just waiting for Tess," I replied nervously, embarrassment washing over me under her frank scrutiny.

"Waiting for Tess," she mocked with a high-pitched voice, and sauntered away.

Seems like the feeling is mutual.

Knocking onto the door, I entered and watched her apply a layer of foundation onto her reddened cheek.

Her intense stare met mine through the mirror, and I stopped breathing.

But after a few seconds, she tore her gaze away and refocused on her make-up.

"Keith," she finally acknowledged with her cold Brits accent.

"Kyle."

She stared at me again, and I cleared my throat and waved off the "mistake".

"Miss Salander..."

"You're here for the interview."

"Uhm...yes."

Is it really the best idea to tell her that I had witnessed Derek's assault? She certainly didn't have to endure this.

"What happened to your cheek?"

Her lashes lowered to the ground as she picked up a brush, choosing to deem my question as useless.

"Minor causalities."

I gazed at her for what felt like an eternity, trying to dig deep and hopefully see the windows of her soul open up.

"Sorry," I then mumbled.

"You must know that I can only give you 5-10 minutes of my time."

"Thank you."

Where to start? I was utterly shaken.

Grabbing the recorder, small jotter and pen from my brown jacket, I sat on one of the stools.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

I froze wide-eyed.

Not like in a bad way, but I had not expected her to be older than I. She didn't look a day over twenty-three!

"Problem?" She challenged.

"No," I answered, and clumsily read through the next question.

"What was the reason for starting Private Affair?"

"Female empowerment."

"How?"

"To me, there is nothing more powerful than a woman who is comfortable in her own skin. I think everyone deserves to feel beautiful in whatever their dressed in, even when undressed. And if that's the boost I need to give by designing lingerie to celebrate variety, then it will be the first thing I do. Being yourself is a super power, and every superhero needs a costume-this is the costume from me to you."

Stunned of course. I wanted to applaud her, but my lagging mind just decided on conducting an exhale of breath.

"That's amazing."

And for the first time, ever directed to me, she smiled.

"Thank you."

"Is there more to it?"

"The pressure society puts on a woman and a man simply appalls me-it's like an insatiable thirst for social gratification, or a standard of some sort. It is often when we are told that a certain body type is a "trend," and if you don't fall into that group, then you are automatically deemed as an outcast. Plus sized people are told to shed some weight, the small framed are said to put some on. And when you have a certain feature that people perceive as desirable, they don't want to see it in little or big amounts...it has to be just right. I struggle to fathom what this 'just right,' is."

"So, lingerie is a source of female empowerment to you."

"A symbol of female empowerment. Look into the mirror, and adore the way that bra and thong looks on you, then love your body for the way it is-the ultimate move is to declare the beauty it radiates to whoever and wherever."

"That's highly impressive, Tess," I said, noticing that I used her first name.

"Thank you, Kyle. I have to return to my work now."

"Thank you for your time."

I left the room with an increased sense of respect reaching out to her.

I must've misjudged her.

Sitting back on the chair I was stationed at as Tony took photos of Tess' first few models, I began to realize that they did come in all shapes and sizes and color.

It was liberating to watch.

Her designs were phenomenal, and I could see why people adored her work.

And when the last model walked out, she then appeared at the beginning of the runway, strutting all the way up in a dark suit.

This Tess was becoming...

The authentic and profound woman who sought the emancipation of slaves from the social pyramid of humanity.

And when she finally readied herself to turn around as people gave her a standing ovation, she flickered her gaze to me and smiled, drawing all the attention to the poorly dressed journalist who seemed to pay more attention to his subconsciousness than reality.

This was the Tess I liked.

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