Bad Taste (Part I) // Colby Brock

89 - Rebecca

I made a call to the nearest, best locksmith while I was driving to the studio. Since my reasoning concerned a possible break-in—and my surname was a little intimidating to others, if my voice and attitude didn't do the job first—they put me on a priority waiting list. The locks should be changed by the end of today if I stayed at the studio long enough. I had a feeling I would stay there until Colby called, whenever that would be.

That was my second task complete. The next one was getting Jax and the other designers to start creating my designs. That was the first thing I did when I arrived at the studio, ordering them around and handing out papers. For some reason, it felt like they were warming up to me—or was I warming up to them?—because they never seemed scared as I yelled and swore at them like I always did. I considered feeling bad for my behaviour, but remorse never came.

My next task was talking to Lillian to make sure she had everything sorted with the showcase. I needed details like when it was going to be taking place and what was the dress code. So when I called and she answered, I was both pleasantly surprised and annoyed. My voice came out in a mixture of both. "Have you done it?" I asked immediately.

"Yes, Ms Woods. You have your place representing your studio's designs at the showcase. Ms A. Woods will not have anything to do with you or your studio. Both she and Mrs Woods have been informed of this. Mrs Woods says she wants a phone call from you."

"Well, she can wait," I muttered in annoyance. "I will email you and I expect a full rundown of details back. I knew close to nothing of this showcase, so I won't accept anything less than a complete recount of anything that's been sorted so far."

"Yes, Ms Woods." I hung up on Lillian after that and waited for the email to come through on my phone. It did, about ten minutes of staring later. The date was scarily soon and the dress was semi-formal. As if I was going to show up in anything more than what I usually wore. I had a dress in mind already as I sat in my office chair, thinking about my closet. A little extra makeup and an up-do would make me look formal enough for the ridiculous showcase.

Halfway through planning my outfit, I remembered why I was having to go to it in the first place: Angela. She was trying to steal my studio's credit and I simply couldn't accept that. However, when I tried to call her—an event so rare she should have answered instantly—I got no answer. I didn't leave a message.

The worst flashed through my mind. It wasn't like me to worry about anyone, let alone my sister, but staring at the blank screen after she had ignored me, I found myself imagining everything that could have gone wrong—especially connected with her past and what she'd told me about her maybe-not-so-imaginary stalker. I couldn't quite bring myself to believe her yet and put the ignorance down to ignorance.

Without being able to confront my sister, I decided to bite the bullet and call my mother instead. She had wanted me to start designing again for a while, and she'd given up trying to convince me after a while. She saw anything less than the top ends of society as pitiful and she believed that designing was the best way to the top. For me, at least, given her connections and now Angela's too. But I had never, never even given her the slightest of a reason why I would do it too until now; I was actually going to be representing my own studio with a bunch of my designs.

A part of me wished I had never indulged in that side of me but what else could I do when inspiration hit so hard like that? My mother had made sure that she'd drilled designing into my head ever since I was born whether I liked it or not.

So I finally called her... and regretted it as soon as I heard her too-happy, fake, surprised voice. "Rebecca! How lovely to hear from you."

"Hey, Mom." I was always different around her.