Fashion Kills

Fashion Kills 2

Chapter 2

POV OF ASHER

“You're having a panic attack.”

I fall over. I hit the floor. I can breathe. I'm seeing two. There is a man next to me that I woke up to and he's dead. It's the middle of the fucking night. Diamonte is come. He sits on the bed with his dead husband and crosses his legs. He's watching me at that moment looking down at me as I hit the floor. I don't know how he can remain calm. I don't know what's wrong with me. All I know is that I'm beyond repulsed by everything.

“No shit!” I choke out.

I start coughing all of a sudden. My body is doing it's own thing. I'm losing all control. The panic attack is setting in.

“Focus only only on your breathing. Get it slow down, and try to breathe deeply. Use your abdomen. Try to think to yourself about why you're feeling anxious. Most of the time, there is no actual harm being threatened and in this case no real reason to panic.”

I want to scream but Diamonte's voice is calming for whatever reason. He's reassuring. The slow, steady way he is talking is seeming to calm me down. After a minute the panic attack passes and I'm sitting on the rug trying my best not to look at the dead body of Alexander Bautista.

“Oh my god.”

Diamonte crosses his arms, “My father used to have them all the time.”

“What?”

“Panic attacks,” Diamonte explained shaking his head, “He was a weak individual. He had emotional issues. It didn't take seeing a dead man for him to panic. Late bills---panic attack. Long hours on the job----panic attack. Car transmission issues---”

Diamonte is looking at his dead husband right now. I don't know why the fuck he's going on a tangent right now. I don't get it. He's not panicking and right now I'm the worried one. I am my jeans with no t-shirt. I dig through my pants and grab the cellphone out of there.

“I have to call the cops,” I tell him. Just so he knows.

“Right, right,” he explains before shaking his head, “But just so you know. The Bautistas will eat you alive in court. They'll probably go for the death penalty...”

I stop.

My heart races.

I turn to Diamonte at that moment, “I did NOT kill anyone.”

Diamonte moves over to his husband. He leans over on the bed. He's taken out some seeing glasses from the chest pocket of his blazer. He's studying his husband's body almost as though he's looking over a fashion line.

“Someone did,” Diamonte says, “There's bruises all around his neck. No doubt he was strangled. You can see for yourself. You into rough sex, Asher?”

I'm panicking when I run over to the bed to see what Diamonte is talking about. He's right. There are bruises all over Alexander's neck. Finger marks.

“All I remember was getting a drink last night,” I explain to Diamonte, “He joined me. We both drank the Hennessy in the kitchen. Before I knew it I was drowsy. I was losing it. It was almost like...like I was drugged...”

Diamonte is calm. He's so calm. He is listening to my story and let's out an interesting, “Sure...”

“You don't believe me.”

It's not a question. Diamonte's tone was doubtful. It was strange though. If he thought I killed his husband then why hadn't he called the police himself. Why was he sitting on the bed with his legs crossed folding up his glasses and placing them neatly on the expensive side table as though he'd just finished reading Danielle Steel? What the FUCK was wrong with this man?

“What's done is done. You said you didn't do it. Fine. Fashion only looks at the past when it wants to shape the future. What is done is done.”

So. Calm.

Then all of a sudden it clicks to me.

“You did this!” I can feel a panic attack coming back, harder and stronger, “You killed him.”

Diamonte Rose rolls his eyes, “Don't be absurd.”

“You did this! YOU KILLED HIM! You hired me, you drugged me and you killed him me when I passed out.”

“He's been dead for at least 8 hours,” Diamonte explains looking down, “His extremities are turning blue. I left here at 8. It's now 3. I have an alibi for the entire night. Besides...what reason would I have to kill Alexander?”

“You said it. You wanted a divorce.”

“And I would have gotten it,” Diamonte responds, “Don't point fingers at me because you're in a predicament. I can call the cops right now. You'll go to jail. They may or may not think I had something to do with it for hiring you. Maybe that's the only reason I haven't called the cops yet. I don't want to lose either.”

“I didn't do this...I didn't do this...I didn't...”

Did I?

I'd chocked people during sex before. Some guys liked real kinky shit like that. Was I so fucked up last night that I didn't realize it? Could it have been an accident? Did I even have a defense? Me saying that I didn't remember wasn't really going to do it.

“It doesn't matter,” he responds, “What are you going to do about it?”

“I...don't know...”

I'm staring at the body. I'm confused.

Diamonte shakes his head, “You would be. Take the check. Leave. I'll take care of this.”

I didn't know if I trusted him. The thought that Diamonte had something to do with this is a real possibility. He's so calm right now. He's so cold. He's so calculating. Nothing is moving him in this situation and that is scaring the fuck out of me.

“I don't want your money! A man just died! Don't you get it.”

“You need my money and you need me to take care of this for you,” he responds shaking his head and sighing a little bit, “Simple as that.”

“Yo, you don't FUCKIN' know me.”

Diamonte laughs. His laugh echoes through the two story condo. The moon shines a clear light on his face. The darkness illuminates the fact that he has lip gloss on his lips. He smacks his lips bit after his laugh as though intentionally letting me know that I've entertained him. How he could be so entertained with a dead man inches away from him blows my mind.

“Oh I know you,” he breaks me down with a severe ease, “You didn't go to a good school. I can tell by how you use grammar. You never paid attention in class. You never really had any 'dreams'. You were the popular kid all your life and when you started seeing people moving on with their lives you struggled to find a purpose in yours. You became a model. Being sexy was the only thing you were ever good at. You spend all your time in the gym because you're trying to fix ever flaw because you realize that if you don't have your looks you don't have anything. You lack ambition---which is why you never quite made it in the modeling world. You live in a small two bedroom apartment in downtown even though you can afford something better if you moved to the valley. You want to be around where everything is 'happening'. It makes you feel more important. You have a roommate because you can't afford rent alone. He's a friend that you've known forever because only someone you've known for a long time will agree to cover you when you can't pay bills on certain months. Your roommate is attractive and has some features you admire, but he doesn't look as good as you. You couldn't put up with being around someone else who is more attractive than you. That's also why you date boys who are less attractive. Not ugly though, just not a ten like you are. The kinds that treat you like you are a trophy. You act like you don't like the compliments but you can't sleep at night if you don't get them. The boys you date always care about you more. Once they start to fall too far in love though, you ditch them. You feel you're much too beautiful, much too young to be in love. You move onto the next ignoring the emptiness in your heart. You see it coming but you lack the drive to change. You're far too weak to stop it. Gay men just like litter Los Angeles growing older every day. You'll grow old before you want to settle down with modeling pictures you took a long time ago still hung on your walls. By then your body will be mediocre, your face will have become mediocre, you'll work a mediocre job that you hate, you'll be with a mediocre man that bores you and twice a year you'll wonder what it would be like to just take slit your wrists---horizontally---”

I stare. I'm just watching Diamonte. He's taken out a cigar. He's begun to smoke it. My world is rocked at that moment and I don't think he knows. Maybe he does. It's almost as though he's had someone spying on me. It's almost as though Diamonte is the devil himself and this is judgment day. He reads me and my world is suddenly turned upside down.

I'll never forget this moment.

“You---don't know me,” I tell him.

I don't know who I'm trying to convince here. Why are there tears falling down my face? Why am I so emotional. What the FUCK has Diamonte done to me?

He puffs his cigar, crosses the room, grabs the check, hands me the check and whispers a slow, deliberate, steady and certain confirmation, “I know you.”

I take the check. I look down at the body of Alexander Bautista. My heart is still beating fast. I won't be able to sleep tonight or many nights after this. My life will never be the same.

“What are you going to do with him?”

He shakes his head, “It's best you don't now. I'll have a car come pick you up tomorrow. I'll get you a job at B&R. It'll help to have steady income around now I'm sure. Go home. Get some sleep.”

I walk out of the room. I turn around one last time to look at the King of Shade...engulfed in a cloud of his smoke....

“You look like shit,” Sebastian says.

I didn't get any sleep that night. I'm in my apartment. I look at Sebastian as he talks. I can't help but to think about what Diamonte told me last night. Sebastian is attractive and there are certain things about his body that I like but he's not more attractive than I am. Diamonte was right on the money with that. How did he do it? I shake off the thought. Maybe he had someone look into me. Maybe he'd done some background on me.

He had to. Right?

“I'm fine. How was your night? Sorry about standing you up,” I respond.

“Found the man of my dreams,” Sebastian laughs.

“As opposed to all the other men you thought were the men of your dreams.”

“No seriously. I knew he was the man of my dreams when he nutted, rolled over and asked me if I knew that Sacramento beat Cleveland.”

“Sounds romantic,” I roll my eyes.

Sebastian is drinking out of the milk carton. Usually I'd go in on him but my mind isn't in this conversation right now, “Hey. I take what I can get. You're the one who has guys trying to wed you up. Speaking of which I saw Tyson last night.”

“God no...”

Tyson was one of my exes. He was handsome, beautiful and treated me like I was his trophy. I don't know why me dating Tyson triggers the conversation I had with Diamonte last night yet again.

“He gave me his number. He said he misses you. I don't get it. That guy was perfect,” Sebastian is telling me.”

“Bash I don't need to hear this right now.”

I knew what Sebastian is talking about. It isn't the first time. I can see Sebastian about to argue his case about why Tyson was the most perfect man in the world and luckily the door bell rings. At this point I am sleep walking. I head to the doorbell and when I open it I see a black BMW parked outside. There is a woman standing there. I notice the woman almost immediately. She's one of Diamonte's assistants. I almost forgot that Diamonte was going to send a car for me in the morning. I spent all night seeing his husband's dead body.

“Mr. Diamonte sent me to get you. He has a job for you.”

I look at this woman. Why was Diamonte doing this? Why was Diamonte helping me? Why was he now giving me a job? I can't help but to think that he set me up. He had to set me up. He had to kill his husband. He HAD TO!

I look at her and realize I never want to see, hear or speak to Diamonte Rose again.

“Tell him no thanks.”

The woman looks at me as though I just said the sky wasn't blue.

“No one says no Diamonte Rose,” she tells me as though it is a testament in the BIBLE between thy shall not kill and they shall not steal.

“I just did,” I respond.

She is going to say something else. I don't give her the chance. I shut the door at that moment. No. Matter of fact I slam the door in her face. I turn quickly to my side and make my way back into my small apartment. I need something. I need ANYTHING to get my mind off of last night or else it'll drive me crazy.

I look over at Sebastian.

“Give me Tyson's number.”

Chapter 2.2
=========================================================================

POV OF DIAMONTE

“How can people commit suicide when things like Chiffon exist?”

I am in a workspace. I've picked the fabric for a gown. It's a royal blue chiffon fabric that is probably the most beautiful fabric that I've had. Last night I felt an inspiration. I don't know where it came from. All of a sudden I felt like I had to work though. I felt like I had to create. When I turn Remus has walked into the room. He knows better than to disturb me when I'm working. No. I invited him here. I had one of the girls grab him from his office and bring me to my work space.

Remus's handsome face lightens the hallway. He's always been the more attractive Bautista. His brother's gotten far too old and his sister far too fat. He was their saving grace. When he walks into the room he studies the fabric without giving me any eye contact.

“It's beautiful isn't it...the fabric. 900 dollars per yard imported from Milan,” I say looking at it.

Remus raises an eyebrow, “What's the occasion?”

“I'm redesigning the fall line.”

Remus is gasping a little bit. I can tell he's shocked. He's more than shocked. He's feeling a little worried, “Wait, wait, wait. Ok. I know that Vivienne's collection was a little basic, but you want to redesign everything? You don't have the time to perfect all the pieces for an the entirely new Fall line before fashion week.”

“You're right.”

He sighs, “Oh thank God.”

“That's why you'll be doing it,” I tell him.

Remus is struggling with this. I hand him the roll of fabric and scissors before rolling out my Iphone to read a message from Neverland saying that Asher turned down my job offer. I look at my phone shocked in a way. No one has ever turned down a job offer from her. I lean up against the desk at that moment and send Neverland a quick message saying: Listen, you nameless bitch. Fix this or Asher won't be the only one out of work.

“I...I haven't designed anything else but male clothing,” Remus is struggling at that moment, “I can't design a women's wear collection in a month.”

“That's a good thing you aren't designing then huh? I found some...let's say, inspiration...last night. Spent all night making sketches. They are right there. You know how to sew, I'm sure. Your brother spent how much money making sure that you could at least do that, didn't he?” I ask him.

“Why can't you get one of the other designers to do it?”

“Because the name of our company is Bautista and Rose. You're a Bautista last time I checked. I don't want Vivienne, Whatever-the-fuck-her-last-name-is, fucking my collection up and making it look like everyone else's. 10 looks. 5 gowns, 3 fitted dresses, 1 jumper and 1 pant suit. Make it work.”

Remus is struggling. He's always struggled with confidence. I can tell.

“This is...these looks are going in a whole different direction. I don't know where to start,” Remus explains looking at my sketches, “I don't get this. I don't get the vision. What is this detail around the neck in the pieces?”

I smile at Remus.

“I call it the choke.”

I don't know why I can't get Asher out of my head. As the day goes on I find myself thinking about him. He's beautiful. I know that but he's just another beautiful face. He's just another beautiful boy in a sea of beautiful boys. I was finally free and for a moment I am realizing the reason I can't get Asher out of my head is because he freed me. He looked like one of those princes from those fairytales. And he'd come into my dungeon and he'd slayed my dragon.

I've never been distracted so much before. Now this excuse of him forgetting wasn't quite going to fly. That was just bullshit.

Alessa Bautista storms into my room disturbing me as I'm thinking about him. From the door I can see Vivienne standing out there probably too scared to follow Alessa into the room. I'm sure the other board members are outside of my office. Alessa is the only one with some balls. Looking at how hard Alessa's face is I wonder if that can be taken literally as well.

“500,000 thousand dollars!” Alessa says walking into the room, “You budgeted 500,000 thousand dollars for a new collection.”

I knew it was a matter of time before she did this. Alessa was the VP of Finances. She approved all the finances for B&R. If it was up to Alessa we'd be designing a line for bloated, middle aged women who needed maternity clothes. Alessa was everything I hated in a woman. She was sloppy, drunk, attached to her her brother Alexander in a weird almost incestual way and just extremly unattractive. She walks into my room wearing a ruffled Mary Poppins top, a knee length floral skirt and some flats. Flats. I can't even take her seriously.

I watch as my lesser assistants run into the room to try to stop her. I give them the hardest eye for letting her this far but wave them away. My main assistant Neverland is away trying to figure out how to get Asher to work for me.

“I'm taking B&R in a new direction.”

“Clearly. Remus let me know. You are scrapping all of Vivienne's work.” Alessa is pissed slamming the invoice in my table. The woman has the face of a dragon and the body straight out of the Blackfish documentary,

“Listen Free Willy, what can I tell you?” I ask shrugging my shoulders and leaning back in my chair, “Trash belongs in the garbage.”

“We are not interested in your couture bullshit anymore,” Alessa states, “Alexander and the board members agreed. We are doing ready to wear. We are moving B&R towards affordable fashion. And away from art.”

“Over my dead body...”

Or your brothers...

“We'll see what Alexander has to say about you having Remus redesign all of Vivienne's hardwork from scratch,” Alessa explains.

I smile.

Just at that moment Neverland walks into the room. You would think Alessa would see all these attractive females that work under me, demanding attention everywhere they went and she would use them as a tips instead of trying to be so 'comfortable' at work.

Neverland stands off to the side. Clearly she has news and it's probably something that is much more entertaining than feeding attention to this escaped Seaworld killer whale.

“Good idea,” I tell Alessa, “Why don't you go find your brother and have him come in here and attempt to pull strings. Otherwise...get your fat...rude ass out of my office and use all that mistargeted energy to find your FUCKING calf muscles.”

Alessa grunts. I swear that is the noise she makes. It sounds disgusting. Like her.

She moves out of my way and walks out of the room, making sure she pushes past Neverland on her way out.

I signal Neverland towards me.

“Are you ok sir?” Neverland asks me.

“I don't need a doctor right now. Maybe a vet to handle Alessa, but no doctor,” I let her know before signaling her even closer, “Did you do what I asked?”

“I tried my best getting Asher to accept the position,” she explains.

“What the fuck is trying? I don't speak loser...Neverland. That word isn't in my fucking vocabulary,” I explain finding my annoyance growing with each moment, “In my world there are such things as doing, accomplishing and succeeding. Maybe in Neverland you have a local dialect. Maybe that's why you're wearing Chanel from three years ago. Think I didn't notice?”

She all of a sudden becomes all too aware of her little black dress.

“Sir--” her voice trickles down.

“I didn't know we were paying homage to our Vintage labels today. You might as well have come in here with Ed Hardy. FUBU! Did I not get the memo? Is it Mediocre Monday? Talentless Tuesday?” I ask before shaking my head, “No---Witless Wednesday. Or Tacky Thursday. I know what day it is. I got it. It's Fired Friday, isn't it?”

“No please. Sir,” she is saying at that moment.

I think about it. I can't stand someone who doesn't get the job done. The vision was all that mattered. How can I build the vision if I was surrounded by people who didn't GET the vision.

“Where is Asher?”

“Sir. I'm sorry sir.”

“I asked for Asher, not for apologies.”

“Sir. Yes sir,” she is saying attempting to hold it together, “The last time I checked----I believed he was on a date at a local bar.”

“Bring my car around for me. Email me his location. I'll do it myself. Since I have to do everything myself.”

“Of course sir.”

I get up. Trenchcoat. Shawl. Glasses. Cologne. Leather gloves. I make my way towards the door but stop right before I leave. I stare at her behind the rose tinted shades.

“And Neverland---”

“Yes sir?”

“You're lucky you hid that body for me last night and I appreciated it. The next time you disappoint me you might as well dig your own grave next to my husband's and dive in yourself.”

=====================

The bar is a gay bar. It's a hole in the wall in downtown Los Angeles. By the time I get there it's almost dark again. LA traffic is no joke. I hop out of my Ferrari and walk into the bar to see Asher sitting at a table. He's with a bunch of model looking boys. They must think they are the 'popular' ones in the bar because they are the best looking ones. These people have no idea how useless popularity is. They have no idea what real power really is. It's just like the celebrity B&R dresses. They walk into my fashion house thinking they own the world. But what are they without the beautiful clothes we put them in? What good is a statement without an exclamation point?

He'll learn though and I plan on teaching him...

I make my way towards them. I don't think they notice me right away. I hear the conversation they are having amongst each other. There is a black boy. It must be Asher's roommate. I can tell that this must be some sort of double date.

“Do you think it'll be awkward going to their wedding knowing I've slept with both the bride and the groom?” Asher is joking at the table.

They break out into laughter. He smiles. He likes to feel important and the boy across from him is starstruck. He couldn't wait for Asher to finish what he was saying so that he can kiss his ass. So that he can laugh. It didn't matter what Asher had said. Asher could have said that the Earth was round. The boy would have laughed. I can smell the desperation. Maybe that's just cheap cologne.

“You should go to the wedding,” I answer Asher, not quite certain what he's referring to, “No one should be able to tell a real man where or where he can't go.”

The four of them turn to me. The boy Asher is dating is handsome in his own way. His muscles are big. His face is perfectly symmetrical. He looks at me without really recognizing who I am. That lets me know that he's not in the modeling industry. I'm not a celebrity to anyone else but people in the modeling industry.

“Diamonte...” Asher says.

“In the flesh,” I respond taking off my gloves and smacking them on the table.

“Oh my god...oh my god...” Asher's friend says before getting up, “I'm Sebastian. It's such an honor sir. Please sit if you'd like.”

I forget his name as soon as he tells me, dusts off the chair before I sit down. I look over at Asher. He's nervous. He's sweating. It's not mistaking anything. It always amuses me how the most confident man in the room always fumbles in the presence of real confidence.

“This is a friend of yours?” Asher's date asks.

“Tyson,” Asher quickly interrupts, “This is Diamonte Rose.”

The date still doesn't know who I am but he reaches out in an attempt to shake my hand. I look at his hand and place my glasses in them.

“Here's a gift. From me to you. If you aren't familiar with Bautista & Rose...you should find out more,” I say looking him up and down before adding, “It might do you some good.”

The guy Tyson takes the glasses. He seems shocked and a little taken back. He mutters a soft and silent, “Um...thank you...”

Asher looks over at me at that moment, “Can I talk to you for a minute in private Mr. Rose?”

Asher looks nervous and somewhat shocked. His friend is looking at me as though he's starstruck. His date is looking like he is embarrassed. I wonder where Asher falls in this. By the time we get to the other side of the room Asher is standing there alone.

He takes me to the bathroom looks around to see if no one is in the stalls and then locks the bathroom door.

“It takes a little bit more than a handsome face to get me to drop my pants Asher,” I tease when he locks us both into the bathroom.

“What are you doing here?”

“Besides making you nervous?”

“I'm serious,” he responds at that moment looking hard at me, “You can't be here. What if someone puts something together.”

“Relax. My assistant buried the body. No one even knows he's dead. Alexander's disappeared before with some male model or another to some island or another. It'll take months before anyone even realizes he's really missing. By then we'll think of something.”

That doesn't seem to be enough for him, “It's too risky. I don't understand why you're here. What are you doing here?”

I shake my head at that moment, “I don't know. I feel like we had a real bonding experience yesterday. You know with...what happened. I felt so inspired.”

“Holy shit you're fucking crazy.”

He paces back and forth as though for a moment he really believes it.

“Maybe. But maybe it takes a moment of madness to create art,” I explain to him, “After what you did I spent the entire night just...inspired. There was something about that moment that shaped my entire line.”

“What I did? What I did?” he asks, “I didn't do anything. I didn't touch your husband.”

He was still denying it in his own weird way. As though a ghost came in and killed my husband.

“I'm not upset,” I explain shaking my head, “There was no love between my husband and I. Two weeks after he married me he was off sleeping with anyone he could get his hands on. I accepted it, because that's what gay guys do. He took half of my company even though it was my vision. He wasn't even into fashion. I accepted that as well, because it was his money. I accepted him wanting to turn my vision into low budget bullshit too, because I had no choice. Last night you inspired me in so many ways and I want you around.”

“To do what? What could I possibly do for you?” Asher asks.

He's angry. He's sexy when he's angry. Even though he's dressed like a low class, tacky idiot he still has the most attractive face on a model that I'd ever seen. No wonder Alexander was so smitten by him the very first moment he saw him.

“Be my muse...”

I put my hand on Asher's cheek. He looks at me. There is something between us. I don't know what it is but it is something fucking magnetic. Can he feel it? Can he feel that this murder has brought us so close together. I can't get him off of my mind and I've never been so inspired in my life. I just wanted him around. I wanted to look into those eyes of his.

“I thought there was nothing to me but my looks,” he explains squinting his already narrow eyes at me.

“For right now. But in the hands of the right artist even the most basic lump of clay can become a masterpiece. Let me be your artist Asher. Let me shape you.”

He looks at me for a minute. He is thinking about it. He is struggling with it. I can tell he wants it. I can see it in his eyes.

Just then though we are interrupted. My phone rings. I look down at it to see that it is Neverland calling me.

“Give me one minute,” I tell him.

I turn my back to him and pick up the phone.

“Sir.”

“What is it?” I ask Neverland on the phone.

“News sir. Big news.”

“Spit it the fuck out.”

“I don't how they did it. I don't know how sir. It's not my fault. I promise you. Somehow they found the body. Somehow the police were tipped off and they found Alexander's body!”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My heart was racing at that moment.

This was not good. This was not good at all.

I turn around to tell Asher. He needs to know this. I thought Neverland would be cleaner with this. I thought she'd hide the body until it at least completely decomposed. If they found it they could find evidence that would be linked to Asher.

They could find evidence that would link Asher to me.

“Asher...”

Asher is no where to be found. He's ditched me leaving me to deal with this situation alone.

To read the next chapter in advance go to www.crushedcrown.com