they got the slightest opportunity. The fashion industry is cutthroat. Some people laugh when I say that; they think of Victoria’s Secret models, shit like that, but they’re outsiders to this world and don’t get it. They have no clue how this shit works. Do you have any idea how many designers, models, and the like have been murdered but it was called an overdose, King? Homes set ablaze, families busted up, blackmail, prison terms and lives destroyed… all over money? Power?
“You have to become a monster just to survive. You have to be a demon. A deviant. To play by your own damn rules. This is no walk in the park, my friend. Lincoln, whom you obviously have heard of, as well as the rest of the world, is a friend of mine. As you know, he’s worked with many of the greats. He is launching a new urban design line and expressed a desire for an artistic approach. No one knows about this except for me and him, and now, you.
“He is going after a younger demographic than usual, but not teenagers – men and women in their twenties and thirties, perhaps early forties. He has looked at hundreds of designs, and still isn’t satisfied. He is extremely picky, way more than me. When I heard of his dilemma, I realized he and I were interested in a similar venture and we should join forces. This was discussed way before I had even met you. It was put on the back burner until he brought it up to me again in passing. I told him I had hired a locally famous fine artist, who also has a graphic design background and went to Pratt, an exceptionally good art school. I also mentioned you have experience with casualwear and urban design, an added bonus. I showed him several of your pieces that I had found online. It was art, not clothing work, but he could see the vision. He was not only impressed, he felt this meeting was necessary.
“I have been wanting to delve into this area as well, away from the suits for a bit, and see how it goes. Though this type of clothing is unfortunately force-fed from trends, which I don’t care for, it does however offer lucrative benefits and prospects. He wants something new. Fresh. Something no one has seen before. YOU.”
Just then, the doors open and in walked a tall, light-complexioned Black man wearing the shit out of a camel suit paired with a chocolate silk tie. His lips curled in a smile as he made his way across the room.
“If isn’t my good friend, Ricky!” the guy’s voice boomed.
Ricky raised his glass in the air in greeting. King placed his glass down on a chair, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, and waited as the two men engaged in conversation. Then, both turned to him as if needing answers to a riddle, ASAP.
“Well, you must be thee King Chrysalis. What an amazing, regal name. I love it.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m the infamous Lincoln Davis, the best damn designer in New York City. Bar none.” The man gave a heartfelt chuckle. They shook hands. “King, you’re one talented son of a bitch. Even if I don’t use you for my venture, I know you’re going to make waves in the art world.”
“Thank you, again.” King grinned, already enjoying Lincoln’s banter. “I appreciate that.”
“Now, I want to see what type of eye you have, your vision. You better have more than a nice butt and a smile.”
Ricky made a quick call, asking for someone to come meet them. Within seconds, five people appeared, pushing long tables on wheels and placing them in the center of the vast room. Wardrobe hangers were placed in various locations, some with jumpsuits and jackets hanging from them.
“As you see, on the tables are assorted shirts with different designs. My designs,” Davis said. “Ricky assisted me in getting vendors for the material I wanted, a more quality cotton-blend for the right price, and yet, even with this great material, something is missing. I need a set of fresh eyes. You may possess that missing piece, King. I’ve been dealing with this ordeal for almost a year. Walk around, and tell me what you think, okay? Your honest opinion, please.”
King slid his hands into his pants pockets and took his time studying the shirts, while Ricky and Lincoln spoke in hushed tones. He cleared his throat to garner their