Flowers for Jill Ch. 06

Nothing. She should feel nothing about it, and stop obsessing about that man.

Treading into her bedroom and eyeing the trim Tahari pants suit she planned to wear for the day, she decided against the outfit and picked a snake print sweater dress instead. A pair of knee-length black boots and a gray great coat completed the look. The dress was a slightly short for work, and maybe a tad too sexy, but she convinced herself that the reason why she wore it was to show him how happy and together she was in her new position.

Time lagged all morning in the office, but she still managed to float in indecision throughout the whole morning until it was time to go to the site.

"Where are my New York people?" she asked André, the coordinator, who pointed indicating the cars outside the building, "Outside."

The trip to the store location took forever and a day in the crazy Christmas Eve traffic that was already hindered by the snowfall. She couldn't see through the tinted windows of the other two black Escalades, but was almost certain he was in one of them.

"Jillian! Jillian!" she heard Helga's voice and tried to focus on not slipping in the snow as she found a path to the site.

"I was wondering where you guys were." She told the older woman who was maneuvering her way over with the same care Jillian used.

"The plane landed late last night, and it took a long time to get to the hotel from the airport then get to your offices."

"You're here, though, and that's what matters, right?" Jillian smiled, "So who else is with you?"

"Oh, Stella, Howie, Jason and his wife, and that shrew from casting you like so much. Foster decided to stay in the hotel because he's saving his energy for tonight's party or whatever." She rolled her eyes, "So show me around, I want to see what you wanted to do so much that you had to leave me with that fishwife of a replacement you picked."

"Hey, Riley will take serious offense to being called a fishwife, and he's completely competent, thank you very much!" the cheerful smile she put on felt like a grimace as disappointment sunk its talons in the back of her neck and carried her off. She tried to convince herself that she wasn't deflated or dejected that he didn't make the trip to Chi Town, but one could only lie to oneself so much.

She led the team with the help of the contractor, and they were later met by the engineer who suggested they all go somewhere warm to look at the project plan he had on his computer, and see how the completed building should be like.

Sometime during lunch Helga, who was seated on Jillian's right, leaned forward and murmured, "He said he was going out of town."

Her heart raced, and the look in the old woman's eyes told her exactly whom she meant, "To Montréal?" she curled her hands in her lap and waited.

"I don't know, he didn't say, but he wasn't on the plane with us."

"Oh..." she swallowed and reached for her food again, "I'm sure he wants to see his parents."

"They're in Belize."

Thoughts of Marc having a hot island affair with another woman formed a lump in her throat, "Nice."

"You gutted that man when you left, you know that?" her companion reached for her red wine and took a sip, then contemplatively swallowed it before continuing, "He's so wired up, and snappy."

Blinking, she recalled the amiable conversations they've had almost daily whether they emailed or phoned each other, "He sounds okay to me, we talk all the time."

"Why of course, because he's talking to you." The shrewd older woman threw her a knowing fleeting glance to which Jillian took a defensive stance, "I think you have the wrong idea about him, and you don't know what you're talking about."

Fighting a smile, Helga exclaimed, "What? He's mad he lost one of his best team members, and now he's stuck with us, and what's his face, that Adam Glambert/Lambert wanna-be." Then she winked, "He's so tense these days."

Covering Helga's glass with a napkin, Jillian declared, "You've had enough wine this afternoon, Ms. Bloom." making Helga burst out laughing.

Like a little girl, though, Jillian spent the rest of her day on the golden wings of a hopeful dove. There was a possibility he was here in town, what with the orchids and everything, and she couldn't help but be anxious and excited to see him.

She floated through the office building where Élsi Dussant occupied two floors, and managed to work uninterrupted for about an hour before she decided to go home and rest for the party since almost everyone else has already left, or was off for the holidays.

She ran to the elevator, then halted her step and doubled back to Élsi and ran to the studio's fitting room. She was intent on finding something, and it took her a while and some rifling through the rolling clothes racks to find it hidden in the back and still zipped up in a garment bag despite being fitted on a fabric mannequin. It was perfect, a golden beaded gown with a front slash and infinite little details that shimmered and curved to fit and flatter the body.

She had initially decided on wearing a red St. John gown that she had splurged on when she normally got great deals with her employee discount, but the fancy red number faded in comparison to the golden dress that she had handpicked to be featured on the catalogue's Christmas edition cover. They ended up having to choose another dress because of the holiday theme in which they wanted to include a whole family picture, and the golden gown seemed too ostentatious even for a glamorous Christmas at home.

She stripped it off the mannequin, then carefully folded and zipped it back into the garment bag, before walking out the door with a smile on her face. Her phone message tone beeped, and the pulled it out of her purse reading a Christmas greeting from Mia, who was still disgruntled about Jillian's relocation. Typing a reply, she stumbled on her heels walking out of the elevator, and righted herself giggling in embarrassment and wishing to God no one saw her almost fall.

But of course, her luck liked to dangle her into unexpected situations like a puppet, "Jillian!" a familiar deep voice rang from the foyer when she tucked her cell phone back in its small pocket, "That's my friend Jillian, let's go say hi."

"Max!" she exclaimed digging her left heel in the carpet, and cursing under her breath as her pulse escalated.

He was dressed casually in black chinos, an off-white sweater, and a Fendi scarf she recognized to be a brand new runway piece. He looked like he could be featured on the cover of Italian Vogue with his bronze tan that made the green in his eyes stand out even from a distance. His smile was picturesque and symmetrical, very unlike Marc's roguish grin that was loaded with lewd innuendo, and promised carnal exploits at his hands.

"My son Caleb," he introduced the mini-me whose hand he was holding, "and this is Jillian. What do we say, buddy?"

"How do you do? Merry Christmath!" the kid gave her a grin that emphasized his two missing upper baby teeth.

Getting on her knees, she laid the dress carefully on the ground and extended her hand, "How do you do, sir!" he giggled, and she asked, "How old are you?"

"Theven!" he declared proudly, and his father corrected, "Six and a half, big guy."

"Thikf and a half!" he agreed, and she smiled commenting, "Wow, you're the man of the house, aren't you, captain?"

He glanced at his father then back at her, "I'm not captain, I'm a pirate!"

"Why yes; a pirate captain."

"No, I'm a pirate." He insisted, and she went around it, "My bad, I thought you were the captain of all the pirates."

"Yeth!" he nodded his head and turned to his dad again, "I'm the pirate captain, daddy!" he was adorable in his excitement as he asked her, "Do you have a puppy? I have a puppy, hith name ith Monthter, but he had to thtay with mommy."

"I don't have a puppy, but I have two budgies." At the boy's puzzled look, she explained, "Parakeets." And his father said, "They're like little parrots, buddy."

"Oh, oh! Do they talk?"

"No." she pouted, "They just chirp." And before the kid went on again, she straightened, and grasped her dress carefully, folding it in half and cradling it in her arms, "So what are you two pirates doing here?" she asked of Max whose eyes openly admired her in that way that made her feel like the village seductress coming to corrupt the wholesome townsmen.

"He wanted to see where Daddy works, and I couldn't say no."

The kid went on about how they went ice skating on a building the day before, and she glanced questioningly at Max who explained, "John Hancock center. It was really small though, and there were too many kids. Not the right time to go, I'm afraid."

"I thkated in the thky!" the boy declared before he went on about his skating skills, and how his mother won't take him to the mall to skate back in California because she didn't know how to.

"Don't tell me you worked today." He murmured, and she answered, "I had to go to the building site with a bunch of people from home office, but I'm leaving now."

"Workaholic! No one should work on Christmas Eve. Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Company party." She didn't elaborate, and didn't invite him. And again, she felt guilty for not being able to respond to the way he reacted whenever she was around.

"Formal? Sounds boring. You should come with us; we're going to a traditional family Christmas at a buddy's grandmother's house, so you know it's the real deal!"

"Stuffed turkey, glazed ham, tons of creamy pies, and real eggnog?" she asked with a smile, and he nodded repeating, "The real deal. And you can wear your ugliest reindeer sweater, and smuggle some brandy to lace the eggnog everytime an older aunt starts ranting about something."

"And what do I do with my limited edition princess gown?" she indicated the garment she held so dearly in her arms.

"Save it for a date...with me?" he grinned bobbing his head a couple of times, "Something fancy?"

"I promised them I'd go. I'm very important, you know." she joked.

He waved his hand, "Sorry, I didn't mean to come off pushy."

He wasn't; he was polite, and agreeable, again making her question why her heart and mind were so fixated on that incorrigible, larger than life Canadian that she couldn't have, "You're not pushy; you're sweet." She told him and made to leave, "You two have a wonderful Holiday. It was nice meeting you, Caleb."

"I'll see you before New Year's?" he asked expectantly, and she nodded noncommittally, "Fingers crossed." Before excusing herself and walking off.

She paused and made half a turn, curiosity motivating her to cast one last glance at him only to see him holding his son up and pointing at the elevator's little number screen.

"She's pretty." She heard the boy remark, and faintly heard Maxime say, "The prettiest." Then he turned his head to her and waved with a smile.

"Oh God, I'm Cruella de Vil." She whined under her breath, and waved back regretting her capricious moment of nosiness.

On the drive home, the stop-and-go traffic provided her with some time and clarity to think some things over. The possibility of Marc being in Chicago was very likely, and running into him in a more relaxed, party atmosphere would give them more than a few opportunities to talk privately about...what? She glanced at the dress hanging halfway from the passenger's seat's grab handle with the bottom part laid on the cushion. She wanted to get his attention, to look pretty for him which was normal since she -like most people- liked positive attention, but she'd been working overtime to get him out of her mind. She didn't want seeing him to reboot her system, and start her from ground zero after the progress she made, and the semi-successful dates she had with Max.

Sure, she wasn't ready to go to bed with the other guy yet, but she needed time. Her emotions were still frayed, and she'd spent a long time dealing with everything alone, and relying on herself without labeling her situation "lonely". She wasn't sure she wanted a relationship, yet she wasn't sure she wanted to explore the whole "lonely" thing that she'd recently discovered herself to be.

It was odd how different her predilection for Marc was from the fixation she used to have on Curt. She loved Curt from afar for a long time, thought of him so much that there were times when she forgot how he looked. She made a fool of herself seeking him out, and learning where he was or what he liked and trying to be compatible with him just to get his attention. With Marc it was just...simple. Complicated in ways, yet simple where they both clashed and twined into each other, knowing exactly what the other needed and giving it to them. Any lingering juvenile feelings she had for Curt were completely erased by Marc, even when she didn't know his name. Nameless Jack Winters treated her like a woman; he was gentle when needed but not mild. He didn't treat her like a gauzy doll that could be torn and ruined with the slightest pressure, but he still treated her like she was precious...like he needed her to complete him. He was feral and rough, but not brutal or hurtful. Marc was...a man, in the way that men should be, when Curt was an eternal egotistical teenager. Her whole crush on him, and the years she wasted pining for him seemed so ridiculously squandered on something that she didn't want after all.

Something told her, that had she not uprooted herself and made her big move, she wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. She wouldn't have been able to recognize the signs of weakness that were weighing her down, and keeping her constantly afraid to explore something just because she got rejected trying it once.

She couldn't nap before the party, so she flipped through the channels trying to find something worth watching on TV, but nothing grabbed her attention. Jillian didn't normally have the time or mood for television, but when she wanted to watch something, trashy shows or crime documentaries both caught her attention, and horrified her in different manners but completely equal measures.

She settled on a rerun of Will & Grace and drank some green tea listening to her birds chirp loudly everytime Karen with her screechy voice was on. Growing bored with the episode that she'd already seen a few times before, she wandered into her closet in search of a pair of shoes to go with the gown. As inspiration struck, she decided to go talk to her infamous neighbor Tamara, and see if she'd do her hair since she owned a ritzy hair salon uptown.

"Have you tried on the dress yet?" Tamara, the extortionist who wanted a 30 percent discount to do her hair, asked holding a Chi curling iron in her left hand and plugging it with her right.

"No. Shit." Jillian's expression fell, "I have another dress, but I really wanted this one."

"Okay, then go put it on."

"I'll have to do my makeup first."

Tamara unplugged the iron, "I'll wait. Do you have anything to eat?"

"I always have food, help yourself in the kitchen."

Jillian didn't normally put a lot of makeup on sticking with simple basics that didn't consume time, and didn't make her look like someone else. But she took her time applying fabulous golden and bronze eye shadows to create a smoky gold look then signed it with winged black eyeliner and her signature mascara that enhanced her lashes' length until their tips almost touched her eyebrows.

"Red or gold lipstick?" she barged into the kitchen finding Tamara eating raw cookie dough, and laughed, "Girl, that takes only ten minutes to bake, you could've popped it in the oven, I wouldn't have minded."

"Shew, who has the time for that?" the other woman popped another white chocolate and macadamia nut square into her mouth, "It tastes better this way."

"The lazy way?"

"You got it." she gave her a messy smile, "Red lipstick. You have a little pinup, classic look going on."

Her little hair appointment turned out to be fun despite the torture her neighbor put her poor tresses to. Jillian hadn't had quality girl time with a girlfriend in a long time. Even when she and her best friend Simone visited, they did other things. Somewhere in the midst of turning into adults, they had stopped wasting their time gabbing and twaddling about things that didn't change anything in the world, but made them laugh. Spencer had filled that part for her back in New York, but he also had his own life, and was claimed by adulthood that limited his opportunities to kill time by doing nonsensical yet enjoyable things.

Tamara, on the other hand, seemed to lead her entire life with the concept of relaxed diversion from strict routines. She operated on a laidback tempo that was powered by senses, and didn't bother over-think or stress about every small detail. What Jillian initially thought was a mere lazy streak, turned out to be a very fulfilling way of life that kept her neighbor's head mostly clear of worry, and made her a quirky, memorable character.

"Time to go try that dress on for a fit." She told Jillian who was questioning whether it would fit or not. She wore a size 2 in dresses, but she had curves, especially around her hips. She didn't want to squeeze her bottom into a tight dress and fear a possible rip all evening.

"If it doesn't fit, I'll kill myself." She joked morbidly, unzipping the short concealed zipper in the back.

"You can still wear that red dress," Tamara offered honestly, without sugarcoating it by offering a little pep talk. Jillian liked that in people. When she complained about something, or expressed her discomfort from something, it wasn't to get a lie in the shape of a compliment; it was to find a solution or an alternative.

Her companion left her to change into a tiny gold thong, and she decide on eschewing a bra since the dress had a tight bodice that was held from the back by crisscrossing beaded ribbons.

"It's go time, motherfucker." She hissed at the dress, and stepped into it wondering if it would've been smarter to throw it over her head instead. She closed her eyes and gyrated her hips wiggling the dress up until she got it all the way on. It fit like a glove...a custom made glove, and she let out a long exhale of relief. Zipping it, she turned around watching herself from all angles thanks to the trio of mirrors that made her diva vanity corner in her closet. A bit snug around her derriere, but perfect in the way it displayed her hourglass figure.

She stared at her reflection for a long minute, the red lip-stain in deep lust, the perfectly curled hair, the gold material that complimented her olive complexion, and a slow smile stretched her lips. She felt...beautiful, like the way she fantasized about looking like when she was a little girl; this was exactly how she wanted to look.

"It fits!" she declared loudly turning her head to the side, but not taking her eyes off of the mirror. Marc had better be there to see her at her best!

She saw Tamara's reflection as she walked into the room, "Whoa!" the other woman was eating another piece of cookie dough, but she paused mid-bite and spit it in her hand, "I'd have to starve myself for eight months to look like that!"

Chuckling, Jillian answered "You wouldn't look like this because I eat. That's the secret, small healthy snacks throughout the day, and regular exercise."

The other woman shook her head making a face, "And you have ass and tits, too, it's not fair. Tell me again why you don't have a boyfriend?"

Flinching, she busied herself rifling through one of her jewelry boxes, "I'm a workaholic, remember? I live vicariously through my parakeets' sex life." She added with a strained phony laugh then thought of Max and mentioned, "Besides, I went out with someone just a few days ago; it's not like my social life is a barren desert or anything."