It was a warm, bright winter morning in Los Angeles, and it was Vera's turn to buy the coffee.
When she'd said she was willing to put in her time doing coffee runs, she hadn't known how prophetic it would be. After four months at this job, she knew her colleagues' orders by heart.
The bell above the door chimed as she shouldered through it. Bypassing the queue of grumpy commuters, she grabbed the tray of steaming drinks from the app order stand. With no time to chat today, she waved at the barista before scurrying out to her car. The small red hatchback coughed when she turned the key, but it only had one or two rust stains, and it was all hers - she'd bought it a month ago, after finally accepting that life in LA was better with a car. Her mother's little red luck charm dangled from the rearview mirror. Before she hit the gas, she touched a finger to the handmade trinket. Just in case. Then she peeled out of her curbside parking spot.
As she inched along through traffic on a trip that was actually quick by LA standards, her phone vibrated regularly. She asked her virtual assistant to read out the newest posts from the group chat causing most of the ruckus. A space where brand-new designers and brand creative directors alike shared inspiration and came together over new projects, she'd been invited to the chat by one of the designers she worked with at her internship. It was a benefit she hadn't expected, but one she loved because it was letting her build meaningful connections in the industry.
Caught up on the group chat, she switched to the radio instead of checking her remaining notifications. Social media had taken a back seat to her other work these days. Now she posted only for strategic promotional purposes. Weirdly, her fans seemed to like this – maybe they felt it added mystery or something. Regardless, she was as popular as ever and with far less effort and stress.
Traffic at last released its hold on her and she parked outside a low, gleaming white building tucked behind a row of gently swaying palm trees. She hopped out, juggling coffee tray and her overloaded tote bag, and strode into the lobby.
There she found Ahmed, one of the design assistants she worked with, trying to herd two clothing racks. He was halfway into the elevator with the first when the door slid shut on him. He let out a muffled yell, trapped between yards of tulle and sequins and the hesitating door. It opened a fraction of an inch, then immediately turned around and started to close again.
Vera leaped the last three steps and jammed her foot in front of it before it could wallop Ahmed on the back again.
"Thanks, Vera," he said with relief, extracting himself from between clothing and door.
"Why are you trying to handle two clothing racks alone?" Vera shook her head and propped the door with her hip so he could maneuver the rack inside.
"I offered," he said between grunts of effort. "The boss wanted to get up there and find the magazine people to sort some things out. And the new intern is late." He grabbed the second rack and squeezed it in, too.
"New intern?" Vera thumbed the button for the third floor, frowning.
"Yeah, she's starting today. You hadn't heard?"
She hadn't. Sipping her coffee, she tried not to let it show how much the idea of a new intern worried her. Vera was the intern. She had only been here four months. Were they replacing her? She'd thought she was doing well.
Sure, there had been that time a month in, when she'd made a disastrous error during the creation of a custom gown. They'd had to special order more of a very delicate fabric at great expense, delaying the delivery of the gown by over two weeks. In the stress of her mistake, she'd almost quit, sure they were about to fire her. But she didn't. Even though she had been hideously embarrassed, she'd gritted her teeth and made her apologies. When the new fabric came in she'd worked hard to fix things. They hadn't fired her.
Obviously, she'd made other mistakes since. She wasn't perfect. But each time it felt a little less like the world was going to end, and she'd thought the team had been impressed by the way she handled things. The senior designers had begun to trust her opinions. And then she'd been invited to help style this photoshoot. She had seen the invitation as a big vote of confidence from the boss, but maybe it had only come because of her personal connections.
She blew out a breath and swallowed another scalding sip of coffee. She wasn't ready to leave this job. She was learning too much, having too much fun. They wouldn't replace her without a fight.
The elevator swished them up and spat them out into a wide, high-ceilinged room that rang with chatter. The setup for the photoshoot was well underway. All sorts of lights and reflectors swarmed around a white backdrop. A slim young woman with dark brown skin stood in for the subject while the photographer tested the lighting.
Vera's boss was nowhere to be seen at the moment. Ahmed manhandled the clothing racks into place along the side and then accepted his coffee from her. They pressed their backs against the wall, out of the way of the people hurrying by in both directions.
"Remind me why we're here again?" Vera blew steam off her coffee. "Doesn't the magazine usually provide stylists for a cover shoot? Or the subject brings their own?"
Ahmed shrugged. "Sure, they might do that. But when the subject is our brand ambassador and the photoshoot is for a major front-page spread, the boss wants to make sure everything is just so."
As though speaking about the boss had summoned her, a door at the end of the room swung open and Fatima Bhatia swept through, dressed in a yellow and purple print. The magazine's creative director hustled along beside her, speaking rapidly and looking dim next to her radiance.
"Oh, good, you're here." Fatima Bhatia waved off the creative director. "Has the new intern arrived yet?"
"No," Ahmed said.
Straightening, Vera said, "Can I talk to you about that?"
"About what?"
"Why do you need two interns?"
"I don't, of course."
"Then why did you hire a second intern?" she demanded, before she could think better of it.
Bhatia's lips twitched, amused. "You have been a marvelous intern, Vera, but I'm afraid you've outgrown the position. I would like you to take on a new role as a design assistant."
"Design assistant?" Vera was sure she must have heard wrong. It had only been four months. "Me?"
"Yes. Your work has spoken for itself and I am ready to see what you can do when you are given the right tools. Do you refuse the offer?"
"No. Of course not. Thank you," she sputtered.
Fatima Bhatia waved that off. "I do not give what has not been earned. We can discuss terms later. Now. We must get to work. Our ambassador will be here any minute."
Bhatia handed Vera a thick folder. It weighed about a thousand pounds and she almost dropped it before she managed to wrap both arms around it and clutch it to her chest, grinning hugely. Ahmed gave her a thumbs up.
They hurried through the final preparations. As promised, it wasn't long before the bustle elevated to a fever pitch, as word spread that the subject of today's photoshoot was on her way up. People ran every direction, trying to finish whatever task they had been set.
The elevator doors slid open again. Everyone who a moment before had been sprinting around now stood stock still, except one guy in the corner who was fighting with some tangled wires. His frustrated mumbling rang loud in the sudden hush.
An assistant stepped out, held an arm against the door to keep it open. Then out stepped Sharise Carter, fresh-faced and calm.
Vera grinned as Sharise's eyes found her in the crowd. She wiggled her fingers in a little wave, buzzing with excitement.
Sharise's team had arranged this shoot, destined for the June cover, to generate some early buzz for her new project. She had signed on to star in the first season of a romantic drama adapted from a best-selling book series, which would begin shooting in a month. The show was being produced by a premium streaming platform with money to burn on elaborate costumes and on-location shooting, and it was expected to be a big deal. This cover story would re-introduce Sharise to the world not as Carmen's manager or the supporting actress she'd been in the past, but as a leading lady.
Vera couldn't be more thrilled for her.
The creative director clapped their hands and gave some orders, and everything swept into motion - cameras, hair and makeup, and Vera and Ahmed working under Bhatia's direction to style the pieces. The magazine had sent a stylist too, but no one paid much attention to them.
It was a delight to watch Sharise work. She took the photographer's directions well, but she had her own sense too of the right ways to move and pose for the camera, the best angles to showcase her stunning face and her gorgeous curves. It was obvious that the camera loved her.
Vera kept it professional. Even when Sharise was draped over a white brocade chaise longue wearing a revealing lacy number, she stayed focused on her task (or at least, she stayed on task in between sneaking peeks). But when her girlfriend was back in the chair for a hair change, she couldn't resist leaning in to whisper in her ear, "They're not gonna be able to keep their eyes off you, angel."
Deep brown eyes twinkled. "Are you jealous?"
"Absolutely not. It's a gift you're giving to the world, honestly."
Sharise laughed. "I still can't believe I'm doing this."
"Do you wish you'd said no?" Vera asked, suddenly concerned.
"No. It's actually kind of fun. Don't tease me. I know what I said about this kind of thing in the past. I can admit when I'm wrong."
"Tease you?" Vera put a hand to her chest, feigning shock. "I would never."
She was interrupted by the hairstylist shooing her away. Sharise blew her a kiss.
The shoot ran long. Sharise began to make her apologies, graciously encouraging everyone to wrap it up. The photographer begged for one final shot, which she allowed. Then she gently but firmly refused any more and began to put on her own tapered black pants and white lace top.
Vera made her goodbyes to her colleagues, thanking Fatima Bhatia one more time for the promotion, before crossing to Sharise's side and stealing a kiss.
"I have the car here."
"Will it start today?" Sharise teased, shouldering her petite blue vegan leather purse.
"Excuse me, my car has never failed to start, thank you. And certainly not on a day when you've been working so hard." Vera sniffed. She held the elevator door open. "My lady."
"Why, thank you."
The car did indeed start, although it rumbled like it had a sore throat.
This time traffic miraculously cooperated. They barely had time to discuss all the funny bits and awkward moments of the photoshoot before they were pulling up outside the studio that Vera had inherited from Bea. Silver balloons at the front gusted in the wind. A heart had been painted on the window in the colors of the transgender pride flag. Out of the open door spilled joyful music that reminded Vera of an elaborate dance scene in a Bollywood movie.
"Looks like they've started without us."
"Well, we are late."
A sandwich board by the door read, GRAND OPENING. It listed prices for short haircuts and long haircuts, and then said, Trans customers pay what you can.
They edged into the crowded interior. The long narrow space had been transformed. Vera's worktable was gone, tucked into a tiny room built at the back along with her sewing machine and all her fabric and notions. The brick walls of the front room had been hung with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, three on each side, and these were faced by six black leather salon chairs. Every chair but one was full, the stylists laughing and chatting with their clients, and cushioned benches at the front held more waiting customers who sipped at glasses of fizzy gold champagne. Shelves behind the tiny register stand held a display of hair products with a sign that promised none of them had been tested on animals. The bottom shelf was full of champagne flutes. Vera snagged one, and passed another to Sharise.
She spotted Jay near the back of the room, speaking to a reporter while another person held a camera on them. "Looks like he managed to get the press interested."
"I called them."
"It was my idea, though. You're welcome."
Vera turned to see Carmen and Marina in the doorway. Carmen looked smug, as usual, and wasted no time in securing a glass of bubbly for herself and one for Marina, who smiled and murmured her thanks. The two of them stood together, but not too close. They were spending a lot of time together, but they were still keeping things low-key as they figured it out.
Vera, on the other hand, draped her arm around Sharise's waist and leaned comfortably into her side. Sharise settled into her in return, softly running her fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Vera's neck.
"I'm so glad Jay invited us," Carmen said, gulping her champagne. "I was gonna crawl out of my skin if I had nothing to do tonight. It's honestly criminal for them to make me wait so long to hear about the Academy Award nominations."
"You would have stayed up all night refreshing the page until the livestream started in the morning," Marina teased.
Vera laughed. "Aren't you supposed to pretend to be all chill like it doesn't matter to you that much?"
"I have no chill about this and I'm not ashamed of it." Carmen shook her head and set down her empty glass. "I've waited so fucking long to be recognized for my work. This Merry Sanders film was the performance of my career. If I'm not nominated, I am seriously gonna cry."
"There's no need to worry. All the blogs are saying you're a front runner," Sharise reminded her. "The consensus is that it's your time."
"Oh my god. Why would you tell me that? You know I haven't been reading the press so that I don't go insane."
Jay flounced up then, reporter in tow and a huge smile on his face. "I'm so happy y'all could make it to our grand opening! I see you've found the bubbles. Perfect, perfect. If you'd like cuts you'll have to wait your turn. As you can see-" He swept his arm out towards the waiting crowd. "-we've had a fantastic turnout. Now, my nosy friend here from the local paper would love a word with you three about your support of my little project here. I know you won't mind."
The reporter cornered the three actors, leaving Jay alone with Vera.
"Congrats," she said, giving him a hug. "It looks like a fabulous success."
"Girl, I need a fucking moment to breathe. It's been nonstop all day." He snagged a water bottle from below the register and swallowed a long drink. "Who knew that trans folk would turn out in the hundreds if you offer haircuts at the fabulous price of pay-what-you-can?"
"Will you be doing that deal all the time? How will you keep up?"
"One day a month. And one day a month where it's pay-what-you-can for anyone, no questions asked. I would burn out so fast if it was more. Do you see these girls waiting?" He gestured at the crowd, some of whom were obviously queer and some of whom were more than a little famous. Vera recognized at least two influencers with huge followings. "These girls are going to make me a hit. Our A-list friends showing up won't hurt either, of course."
"You have a lot of friends," Vera said with a laugh. "I'm so happy you've made this a reality."
"Wouldn't have happened if you hadn't agreed to split the studio with me. I think I might forgive you soon for crashing on my couch for so long." He split a toothy grin.
The reporter finally left, and Sharise, Carmen, and Marina rejoined them.
"Can you put me on the list for a cut?" Marina asked. "I don't mind waiting."
"Of course. That hair is definitely looking a little tired." After he'd scribbled her name down, suspiciously close to the top of the list, Jay grabbed himself a champagne flute. "A toast," he said. "To the hottest girls in Hollywood. Two of you are definitely getting Oscars noms tomorrow and one of you will be this summer's internet girlfriend when your show drops. To Vee, who's gonna have her own collection at New York Fashion Week before we know it. But mostly to me. Because I'm a goddamn entrepreneur and I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing."
They all laughed and raised their glasses.
"To me," Carmen said.
"To us," Marina said, poking her in the side.
"To all of us," Vera said. "Because we all need friends who help us get through the shit and also tell us when we're being assholes."
"To dreams that come true," Sharise said, with a small smile just for Vera.
Crystal clinked. They sipped golden liquid that fizzed like the promise of the future. And Vera leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed Sharise, her lips sweeter than any dream.