sophia cosby

Prada

Darren and Claire fought all the time. Last Christmas, Claire got so drunk she pulled off her wedding ring and, with mascara streaming down her cheeks, chucked it over the balcony and into the streaming black river below, sobbing loud insults at Darren, who was passed out snoring on the sofa.

Darren and Claire always had people around. Strong drinks. Thumping rock music. Most of their friends were much younger than them. Evenings were spent imbibing and listening to their stories about touring the country with obscure eighties hair bands. That was back when they met, before they grew up, as they said.

Before he met Claire, Darren briefly dated the weather girl from one of the local TV stations. Whenever this came up in conversation, Claire would look at me with wide, glassy eyes and ask to just imagine how intimidating that had been for her, to know that Darren used to be with somebody famous. Claire was a pale, petite chain-smoker with curly black hair. Darren disliked cigarettes and rolled his eyes whenever Claire slipped away to the balcony to light up.

“I fucking hate cigarettes,” he’d say.

Stories about the fights Darren used to get into often rounded out the evening.

“I’m a crazy motherfucker,” Darren cackled once, twisting one of his chunky rings between two fingers as he remembered the altercation. “And I could still fuck anyone up who messes with me!” he shouted, his face serious and menacing before he melted back into a mellow, inebriated daze, running one hand through his shoulder-length silver hair and rubbing his polyester suit pants with the other.

I had heard most of Darren and Claire’s stories before, and I always answered with the expected reaction. Shock, laughter, incredulity. Tyler adored Darren and his stories. He never tired of hearing them. With bright eyes and the eager devotion of a golden retriever, Tyler would listen close by Darren’s side, giggling and tossing his head back in delight, gasping, “I love you, man” at regular intervals. Sometimes, after a few drinks, Tyler would be close to tears, assuring Darren of his commitment to the company while Darren sat nodding his head like a drunken godfather.

Their need for color and excitement was now lived out mostly in memory. Darren had started his firm and Claire painted. They took care of us. We were often invited for lavish dinners and they gave us some of their old furniture—all designer.

Tyler disliked it whenever I said anything against them. Even when he was passed up for a promotion. Even when Darren left him out of a potentially career-changing meeting with the Janteck Corporation, Tyler stood by Darren. “They’re good to us,” he scolded, knocking back his drink and crunching the ice with his teeth, as Darren often did.

One Sunday night in late November, Tyler and I were invited over to Darren and Claire’s for dinner and to watch the game. It was already dark as we walked along the river to their house. I reached for Tyler’s hand.

“What do you think they’ll serve tonight?” I asked.

“If it’s duck, you have to eat it.”

I frowned. “I only pushed the fat aside. It was chewy. But I ate the rest.”

“It’s rude to leave food on your plate.” Tyler dropped my hand and pulled out his phone to scroll aimlessly through Facebook.

I looked up at the clear sky. Orion. Canis Major. I cleared my throat.

“Let’s maybe count our drinks,” I suggested. “It’s so easy to get caught up in their pace. I hardly ever finish a glass before one of them tops it up.”

Tyler didn’t answer.

“I hope they don’t play Def Leppard again. Wasn’t that crazy?”

Tyler started whistling and picked up his pace. I rushed after him.

We reached their building, a modern condo set back from the road to look over the water. It had a large gate with a blue light illuminating the post boxes and name plates.

Tyler rang the bell. Darren’s voice cracked over the intercom: “Yeah?”

“Hey, Darren. It’s us.”

With a buzz, the gate opened. We crossed the courtyard. Manicured hedges lined the path. I could already hear Cleo, their Pomeranian, barking wildly from the interior-facing balcony. We entered the building and took the elevator to their floor. The barking became louder as the dog ran to the door, before being shushed by Darren.

The door opened. Cleo ran out and jumped on Tyler’s legs.

“Hey girl,” he greeted enthusiastically. Then Tyler went in for a bear hug with Darren. They patted each other on the back, the hollow of each clap echoing in the stairwell. I was up next.

“Hi Emma,” Darren greeted, kissing me on both cheeks.

“We brought that good Merlot,” I said, stepping into the apartment.

“Sweet–Cleo, get in!”

Claire was already on the couch, wearing black leggings and an oversized knit cardigan, a glass of pinot grigio in hand. “Hi loves,” she waved without getting up. Tyler blew her an air kiss.

I placed the two bottles of red wine on the kitchen island. Darren followed and rested his hand on the small of my back.

“White or red?”

I straightened up. “Red, please.”

Tyler joined us in the kitchen.

“Dude, can you believe they threw the game like that?” Tyler slammed his hand on the marble countertop.

“I was fucking screaming at the TV. Ask Claire. It was murder.”

“This isn’t good for our ranking.”

“Jones can still get us back up there.”

“Unless he’s out with another concussion.”

“Here you go.” Darren handed me a glass with a generous pour. He pushed one over to Tyler as well.

I waited for them to grab their drinks before we all returned to sit with Claire.

“Cheers then,” Darren said, lifting his glass.

“You look gorgeous today, Emma,” Claire cooed from her corner. “I love that sweater.”

“Oh, thank you,” I blushed.

“Has Tyler taken you to Astrida yet?”

“Not yet,” I mumbled and took a sip of wine.

“You must go! It’s kind of like that place we went to for lunch the other day. What was it called? It’s near your apartment.” Claire shifted to sit on her other leg. “I’m not usually in that neighborhood, so I always forget the names.” She laughed a high-pitched laugh and looked from Tyler to Darren and back at me.

“I was actually going to take Emma to Astrida for our anniversary,” Tyler explained.

“Oh lovely!” Claire exclaimed. “That’s a fine anniversary spot.”

“We’ve been trying some other places first—Mencken, Du Bonheur. But of course we’re saving the best for last.”

“Get a table near the fireplace. It’s fantastic. In fact, it’s the perfect spot for, well, you know…” Claire raised her eyebrows suggestively and burst out laughing at our confused faces. “A proposal!”

“Yeah, what’s going on with you two?” Darren chimed in with a mischievous curl about the lip. “Are you getting married or what?”

Tyler giggled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you know, w-we–”

“We’re still a bit young, perhaps,” I answered.

“Nonsense. Claire and I got married—what?—when we were twenty-six? Isn’t that right, babe?” Darren turned to Claire, who was rifling in the pockets of her cardigan and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter.

“Yup, twenty-six,” she said, getting up.

“That’s almost three decades of bliss,” Darren trailed off. He watched her disappear to the balcony.

“I fucking hate cigarettes,” he said when Claire slid the glass door shut behind her.

I watched her struggle to catch a light. She hunched over, turned toward the wall, then faced the living room. When she finally managed, she looked up and we locked eyes for just a moment. She smiled before turning to look over the water.

Darren addressed Tyler. “Listen, there’s a huge meeting coming up next week and I want you to be a part of it.”

Tyler turned serious.

“Of course, Darren, whatever you need. You know that.” He lifted his hand for an unknown gesture, then let it fall again.

“It’s with Williams. Sounds like they’re finally ready to buy.” Darren chuckled. “Those bastards. I’ve been waiting forever to hook them.”

“It’s a big account,” Tyler said to me.

I raised my eyebrows and formed a silent “oh” with my mouth and went back to looking about the room as they continued their conversation. Chewed up dog toys. Reading glasses under the sofa.

“I was on the phone with Linus earlier today and he gave me the tip. Sounds like Williams and his team want to start the partnership in early January and I might need you to go with Linus and go to talk to those boys, you know, before the big boss comes down.” He laughed loudly at that and winked at me. I smiled back. Tyler joined in Darren’s laughter.

“You’re crazy, man,” Tyler giggled and gave his boss a slap on the back. Then he became serious again, rambling on while Darren took successive gulps from his wine glass, eyes resting at half mast and staring into the middle distance.

“You know, Darren, Linus is a good guy, but sometimes he lets things slip. I mean he’s already doing operations for you here and maybe handling the Williams account will be too much for him. I can definitely commit to this. 100 percent.” He paused, summoning strength. “You know me, Darren, I’m your guy. I’m your guy!” he repeated and hit himself on the chest with open palms. “Whatever you need. Really. You know that. How long have I been working for you?”

“With him,” Claire said, coming in from the balcony. “You both should be working together.” She shuffled to the kitchen to freshen her drink.

“Right,” Tyler continued. “Together. A long time, right? Five years almost. And I’ve learned so much from you. I’m ready. I can handle Williams.” Tyler snickered. “Remember those guys from down south?”

Darren hiccoughed and grinned at the memory.

“Exactly!” Tyler exclaimed. “I’ve got your back.”

“Good man,” Darren said, tussling the hair on the back of Tyler’s head.

Cleo jumped onto the couch and whined on Darren’s lap.

“What’s up, girl?” Darren scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Do you want to sit with daddy while we watch the game? Do you?” Cleo barked and wagged her tail excitedly.

Claire rolled her eyes and stretched her free hand out toward me.

“Come on, Emma. I’ll show you that dress I was talking about over lunch.”

I set my wine glass on the coffee table and accepted Claire’s hand. She pulled me up and we walked down the hall to the back of the apartment, Darren and Tyler’s laughter ebbing as we reached the bedroom.

Claire flipped on the overhead lights of the cold bedroom. The curtains were drawn. The bed was unmade, teal satin sheets were rumpled, hiding stray garments. Crooked lampshades on the nightstands. A pink silicone vibrator was charging behind a pillow.

“Those boys,” she sighed as she placed her wine glass on one of the nightstands and slid open the doors to the floor-to-ceiling closet.

“Incorrigible,” I said, my voice breaking.

“So, I was going through all my clothes. I mean, there’s just so much. I’m a fiend. I just love to collect, you know? I’m a collector. I just buy, sometimes not even for myself, you know? I’ll be in a store and see this amazing piece and think, Someone must wear this!”

She rifled through the closet, pushing hangers to the side, sliding them back again. “Where is this fucking thing?” she muttered.

I watched the back of Claire’s head as it bobbed in and out of the closet.

“I’m excited,” I said weakly.

“You should be! This dress I’m looking for is gorgeous,” she sang from between the garments. “It’s Prada! Pra-daaa! On sale! Can you believe it? From when Darren took me to Europe. It’s Prada actually from Europe. I didn’t know what to do with it, but when you see Prada on sale, then you must buy it. Right?”

I agreed.

Claire popped her head out again. “It’s like this really modern mini dress. Really fun. It would look so good on you. With your tall model figure. I couldn’t possibly wear it.” Her eyes lingered.

I blushed. “Oh come on. You’re so small.”

Claire smirked and stuck her head back in, pushing her tiny body towards the farthest end of the rack.

With muffled grunts, she emerged, pulling out a dress and clutching it to her chest.

“Here. We. Go! Oh, you’re going to love it.”

She flipped it around and stretched her arm out. The dress appeared to be entirely hand-knitted or crocheted. Alternating horizontal stripes in faded primary red, blue, yellow, held up by long, thin braided red straps. There was pilling on the sides.

I stared at it.

“Well, try it on!” Claire demanded, handing me the dress. She picked up her drink from the nightstand.

I obliged, slipping the straps off the felt with great care. Discreetly, I let my eyes pass over the label, as if admiring the craftsmanship closely. ‘Polo Ralph Lauren’ was machine-stitched in yellow onto a faded navy label.

“It’s so… colorful,” I ventured. “Usually not my style, but I can see how it’s perfect for spring.” I paused. “Or summer.”

“That’s what I thought,” Claire said, swallowing a big gulp of pinot grigio. The overhead light cast long shadows under her eyes.

“I think I’ll just slip it on over my clothes.”

I took off my pullover and pulled the dress over my head, smoothing it down over the white T-Shirt I was wearing underneath. I turned towards the mirror leaning against the wall and spent some time arranging the fit, inspecting myself, turning left, right. Lifting my arms and watching the heavy knit come to rest over my loose cut jeans.

I waited for Claire to comment. I saw her observing me silently in the reflection.

“So…bohemian,” I offered, searching Claire’s face.

“Isn’t it?” She replied coolly, still staring at me.

“Really nice.”

“Let’s go show the boys!” Her eyes lit up.

“What?”

“Yes! Come on!” She made a move toward me, hand on my shoulder, ushering me toward the door. “They’ll love it.”

“Oh, I don’t think Tyler will really care.”

“Come on, it will be fun. Tell him you’re going to wear this when you go to Astrida! And then he can propose to you!”

Claire laughed and pushed harder.

“It’s beautiful, Claire, really,” I turned to face her. “But I don’t think it’s quite my style.”

She stopped and her hand fell. Her eyes were wide, childlike, pouting.

“Thank you so much for thinking of me. I really appreciate it. You and Darren really take care of us.”

“Fine,” Claire conceded. “Spoil sport.”

I slipped out of the dress as quickly as I could and returned it to its hanger, glancing at the label again as I arranged the thin straps back on the felt. I handed it back to Claire.

“Maybe I’ll find something else for you,” she said curtly, sliding the closet doors closed.

“That would be amazing.”

Empty wine glass in hand, Claire switched off the bedroom light, and I followed her back into the living room. Cleo, sitting between Darren and Tyler, barked excitedly as we walked in.

They were already watching the game. I sat down next to Tyler on the arm of the sofa. He put his arm around my waist.

“What were you girls up to then,” he asked. His breath was laden with the smell of whisky.

“Just girl’s stuff,” I smiled. “Claire let me try on one of her Prada dresses.”

“Oh, Prada! We love Prada! That’s very nice of you, Claire.”

Tyler looked at Darren. I searched for Claire, but she had already escaped to the balcony. Darren followed my eyes and craned past us to look at his wife.

“I fucking hate cigarettes,” he said and turned up the TV.