Previously…
– Molly struggled to regain her footing after being reinstated in her position at Objection Designs.
– Samantha remained estranged from Diane after learning that her conception was the result of Diane tricking an amnesiac Tim into having sex.
– Jimmy impulsively proposed marriage to Kathleen, who accepted.
– Danielle discovered that her performance of an original song at the opening of Bill’s on the Pier had gone viral.
– Travis hired Sarah to investigate the circumstance of Rosie’s father’s death, in hopes of understanding his girlfriend’s secrecy regarding her life.

 

A Katy Perry song flows from the speakers hung all around the downtown event space. Rows of chairs have been set up around a makeshift runway, built out of flooring squares. Employees of Objection Designs move busily through the room, a palpable energy buzzing all around.

Backstage, Trevor Brooks is chatting with Arturo, a member of the styling team. Models swirl around in various states of undress as their outfits receive last-minute touch-ups.

“Have any of you seen Molly?” a woman’s voice asks as she marches through the space. “We’re supposed to begin in three minutes!”

With a huff, Gia Vincent, the Vice President of Design, stops in front of Trevor and Arturo. “Where is she? They already pushed this thing into the evening–”

“She sent a text that she’s on her way,” Trevor says calmly. “She had to pick up some things.”

Gia shakes her head of long, blonde hair with annoyance. “Pick up some things? What, for her holiday shopping? The rest of us are stuck here, waiting on her–”

“I’m here!” Molly Taylor calls out. Heads turn to see her rushing in, flanked by two assistants carrying several garment bags.

“It’s about time,” Gia says.

“I’m sorry.” Molly checks the time on her watch. “We can get started in a few minutes. Arturo, I need you to take these five pieces and add them to the end of the rotation.”

Arturo stammers as the assistants hand him the garment bags. “What are these? Which models–”

“I have it all written down here.” Molly pulls a folded sheet of paper from her purse and hands it to him. “Each one is marked with which model gets each piece, and which existing accessories we can style with. I’ll come back with you.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gia demands. “What are these clothes?”

“These are brand-new pieces. They were just completed. Part of a capsule collection we’ll be releasing alongside the regular summer items,” Molly says.

Gia’s eyes flare. “You can’t just walk in here and declare–”

“That’s the thing. I can.” Molly turns toward Arturo. “Please take those and get everything set up.”

She waits until the stylist, flanked by the two assistants who accompanied her, heads off. Trevor lingers nearby, his body tensed as if preparing to intervene physically.

“This is crazy,” Gia says. “No one is expecting these. We’ll look ridiculous.”

“This is an in-house run-through,” Molly says. “The reason we do them is so we don’t look ridiculous later on.”

“You’re just slapping random fabrics on models! They’re going to be confused.”

“They’re models. They do this all the time. They don’t know what is what — they just strut. Right, Trevor?”

Behind her, Trevor nods. “It’s true.”

“Gia, with all due respect, I am the Chief Creative Officer of this company,” Molly says. “I have taken everyone else’s viewpoints into consideration on the spring and summer lines almost to the point of insanity. Do you know why? Because I’ve been doubting myself. I came back from my hiatus–”

“You were on trial for murder,” Gia says flatly.

“Yes, and I was cleared.” Molly shakes off the interruption and plows ahead: “My vision and leadership have kept this company successful for a decade. I haven’t done that on my own, by any means — it’s a testament to the strength of this team that we’ve kept going strong. But there are going to be times when I have to trust my instincts. So if you’ll let me get to work approving the styling, we can get this show on the road, and everyone can take their holiday breaks to prepare feedback so that we can get the clothes finalized and into production right after New Year’s. Understood?”

Gia’s outrage settles into a stale grimace. “Fine. But people aren’t going to wait around forever.”

“Ten minutes,” Molly says.

“Fine.”

Gia pushes through the curtain that separates the backstage area from the runway. Trevor leans in toward Molly.

“Where did that come from?” he asks.

“It’s something I’ve been missing for a long time,” she says. “Too long.”

—–

The pristine white Christmas lights frame Jason Fisher and Natalie Bishop’s house against the dark evening sky. Samantha Fisher shivers as she hurries from her car, parked at the curb, to the front door. She still isn’t sure why her uncle and aunt insisted that she come over tonight; although she loves them both, they aren’t especially close, and the invitation seemed a bit mysterious. It has crossed her mind that this could have something to do with Tempest — Jason has always been protective of her, since she began working for him at the arena years ago — and she really hopes that is not the case, because she doesn’t want to cause a scene.

As she rings the doorbell, she can hear activity from within the house. What sounds like a stampede comes racing to the door, and when it flies open, her young cousin is standing there.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Sophie Fisher says before spinning on her heels.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Samantha says.

Sophie lets out an exaggerated sigh, her shoulders sagging. “I thought it was UPS. I just know they deliver a lot of our presents!”

“Can I come in?”

“I guess?” Sophie cups her hands around her mouth and shouts,  “Dad! It’s Samantha!”

Jason emerges from the kitchen, wearing a warm smile, as Samantha removes her shoes and hangs her coat.

“Glad you could make it,” he says as he greets his niece with a hug.

“All the higher-ups at work were going to some exhibition downtown, so it was easy to leave a little early tonight. But…” She examines him more closely, as if the answer might be etched into his face. “What’s going on? You guys made it sound really important.”

“I hope we didn’t freak you out. We just have a surprise for you.”

A little nervously, Samantha follows him toward the kitchen. In there, she finds Natalie, baby Peter, and two people she hadn’t imagined she would see any time soon.

“Grandma? Grandpa? What are you doing here?”

“Wow. Samantha. Look at you.” Henry Bishop steps forward and extends his hand. His silvery hair gleams beneath the kitchen’s lights; though he looks much older than Samantha remembers, he is as polished as ever, wearing a navy blazer over a crisp dress shirt and khaki slacks. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” she says as he gives her a firm, authoritative handshake.

“Oh, I can’t believe what an adult you are,” Claudia Bishop says, taking Samantha by the shoulders and turning her. She wears a tasteful, cream-colored skirt suit and a strand of gleaming, expensive pearls around her neck. “It’s been far too long.” Claudia swoops in and gives Samantha an airy kiss on the cheek.

“What are you guys doing here?” Samantha asks.

“Your aunt Natalie told us all about what you’ve been through with your mother,” Claudia explains, “and we knew it was high time that we paid a visit. Besides, we have a wedding to plan!”

“I told you that I’ve got it under control,” Natalie says.

Claudia waves a hand dismissively at her daughter. “A second opinion never hurt anyone. And there’s so much to do.”

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Jason says. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you, Sam?”

“No. Dinner sounds great.”

“Why don’t we go into the living room and talk while we wait?” Henry suggests.

“That’s a great idea,” Natalie tells them. “We’ll call you when the food is ready.”

“You really should have just had things catered,” Claudia says.

Jason slides an arm over Natalie’s shoulder. “Natalie has turned into a terrific cook.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Natalie says proudly.

“I’m sure it helps that Jason comes from such a culinary family.” Claudia takes Samantha by the arm. “We’ll be in the living room chatting. We have so much to catch up on!”

—–

“Thanks for coming over,” Travis Fisher says as he holds open the door to his apartment.

“It’s no problem.” Sarah Fisher Gray unzips her leather jacket and slips off her gloves. “I know meeting at the house would raise all sorts of questions.”

“Yeah. I don’t really need Grandma wondering what’s up.”

Travis locks the door and walks toward the small, square dining table. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I’m fine. But thanks.”

Sarah sets her large purse on the table and takes out her iPad.

“Did you find anything out?” Travis asks as he perches on a chair across from her.

“I have some info for you, yeah. Have you and Rosie spoken at all?”

He shakes his head glumly. “It sucks. Everything was going so well, and now it’s almost Christmas, and…”

“I’m sorry. Isn’t it weird how everything seems to hurt a little more at this time of year?” She offers him a compassionate look for a quiet moment. “I wish I had some magic bullet that would explain everything and make it all right for you.”

“Well, what do you have? What the hell is she so scared of me finding out?”

Sarah uses her finger to scroll through some items on the iPad. “Rosie’s father, Manuel Jimenez, was shot and killed in 2013 during what was ruled to be a home invasion.”

“A break-in.”

“Yeah. There was a struggle, and some electronics were taken. It looks like a robbery that went wrong.”

“They never caught the killer?”

“No. The weapon never turned up, and no one was arrested or charged.”

“Was Rosie at home when it happened?”

She glances down at the screen even though she doesn’t pause before answering. “Nope. Manuel was the only person at home when it happened, according to the 911 call.”

An uneasy sensation continues to creep through Travis, as if circulating outward from his core through his bloodstream. “Who made the call?”

“A Mrs. Juanita Jimenez. His wife. She found him when she arrived home.”

“There’s no mention of Rosie?”

“Just that there were two adult children who lived in the house but weren’t home at the time, either,” Sarah says.

“I don’t get why she would make such a big deal of this,” he says, his head spinning. “At least, as far as keeping it a secret. I know it must be really painful for her, but…”

“Everyone deals with grief in different ways. It might not even make sense to her.”

“Yeah.” He thinks back to the early days of getting to know Rosie, long before he considered her his girlfriend. “She was so hard on herself for giving Philip the chance to attack Grandpa. I mean, I was, too, at first, but I knew it was irrational. But she kept holding herself responsible.”

“Maybe because of what happened with her dad,” Sarah says. “She couldn’t save him, either.”

Travis nods along as he tries to put the pieces together in his mind. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

But it still doesn’t explain why she would lie about going to work. Or about the busboy, Jesse.

“There are still so many parts of this that don’t add up,” he says. “At least not yet.”

“Unfortunately, there are some answers I can’t find for you,” Sarah says. “It’s going to be up to Rosie to fill in the blanks.”

“If she even wants to talk to me at some point.”

Sarah offers her nephew a reassuring smile. “From the sounds of it, there are things that Rosie is ashamed of, for whatever reason, that she’d prefer you not know. That anyone not know. And if she wants to keep those barriers up, she’s going to be a really difficult person to be in a relationship with.”

“You think she would be pushing anyone away the way she is me? Like, this isn’t just me?”

“Travis, I can’t answer that for certain, even though I wish I could,” she tells him. “But I do think you owe it to yourself to try and get through to Rosie one more time — and she owes it to herself to try and open up to someone.”

Danielle Taylor stirs honey into her tea at the condiment bar inside Cassie’s Coffee House.

“I couldn’t be happier for the two of you,” she says as she fixes the lid onto the top of her cup.

“Thanks, Dani,” Jimmy Trask says. “That means a lot.”

“It really does,” Kathleen Bundy echoes as the three of them navigate through the busy café. Garland and sprigs of holly add a festive air to the homey vibe of the place. Onstage, two employees are readying the speakers and sound system for Open Mic Night, which is set to commence in a short while. They manage to find a small table, and the two women take the existing chairs while Jimmy moves off in search of a third.

“I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I’ve always been a little jealous of you and Jimmy,” Kathleen says.

“Believe me. You have absolutely nothing to be jealous of.”

Kathleen shrugs sheepishly. “It’s hard not to be, that’s all. You guys are like two peas in a pod, with your music.”

“I adore Jimmy — as a friend,” Danielle says, “and he really impressed me with how he stepped up to be a father to Elly. But I promise you that’s the extent of it. Besides, he practically has stars in his eyes when he looks at you.”

Beaming, Kathleen gazes at the small, sparkly diamond on her ring finger. “I still can’t believe it. It’s like something out of a movie. I would’ve been happy keeping that old school ring Jimmy gave me when he proposed, but he insisted on getting me something fancier.”

“You two are going to be very happy.”

As Jimmy is returning with a chair, a woman in her 20s with an asymmetrical haircut and dark-rimmed glasses tentatively approaches the table.

“I am so sorry to bug you,” she says, “but you’re Danielle Taylor, aren’t you?”

Danielle reacts with surprise. “I am, yeah. Have we met?”

“No. No!” The young woman shakes her head nervously. “I saw your performance on YouTube — from that restaurant. It was so beautiful.”

“Oh. Thank you. That’s so nice of you to say.”

“I downloaded your album, and I love it. It’s so genuine!” the woman says. “Anyway, I just wanted to say hi. And, um…”

“Do you want a selfie?” Jimmy chimes in from across the table.

The fan lets out a squeal. “Would you?”

“Of course,” Danielle says warmly. They pose together, and the woman snaps several photos in rapid succession.

“Thank you so much,” she says. “Merry Christmas to all of you!”

“Merry Christmas,” Danielle, Jimmy, and Kathleen all tell her.

“Look at you,” Jimmy tells Danielle as he picks up his coffee cup.

“It’s been a long time since I had a fan recognize me,” Danielle says. “A long time. It’s nice. Strange, but nice.”

Before the others can respond, Danielle’s phone lets out an insistent ring. She quickly picks up the phone to silence the ringer and then looks at the number on the caller ID.

“What’s wrong?” Kathleen asks.

“Oh, it’s just a number I don’t know. From Los Angeles.”

“Pick it up,” Jimmy says. “Could be someone we know.”

“I guess.” Danielle hesitates for another second and then answers. “This is Danielle.”

“Danielle Taylor! I’m glad I caught you,” the male voice on the other end says.

“Who’s calling?” she asks while standing up.

“My name is Martin Kelley. Have you heard of DJ Khaled?”

“Um, yeah. I have.” She neglects to mention that it’s mostly because of her nephews, and she manages to stammer her way through the next 90 or so seconds of the call as it becomes increasingly unreal. By the time she hangs up, Jimmy and Kathleen are staring at her.

“What was that all about?” Jimmy asks.

“I’m not even sure I know, and I was on the call.” She sits back down and places her phone on the table, floored. “I have some big news. I think.”

—–

Objection team members sit in the white folding chairs as they watch the procession of models display this upcoming summer’s looks. When the last model passes through the curtain and another doesn’t emerge, the music fades, and the audience applauds. Before anyone can stand up, however, Molly steps through the curtain and onto the runway with a microphone in hand.

“I’d like to thank everyone for making time to be here,” she says, as their clapping trickles off into quiet. “I know the holidays are a very busy time, but it’s important that we get this done before the break. We have a few more pieces to run through before we’re finished, though.”

The downbeat EDM song continues playing quietly as everyone attempts to figure out what could be going on. Molly pauses to scan the crowd; for the first time in days, it seems, the rush of adrenaline that has been carrying her ebbs enough to reveal reality. It is a harsh sensation, like that first instant of opening one’s eyes the morning after a night of wild drinking. This could be a disaster. She could be out of her mind. She could be laughed out of the room.

Still, she knows that she has to do this.

“Alongside this summer’s regular collection,” she says, clutching the microphone between her hands, “Objection will be launching a capsule collection.”

Her voice echoes through the large room.

“As many of you know,” she continues, “or, probably, all of you know, I’ve had a strange last few years. Getting back into the swing of things at work has been a challenge. But I’m back, and I’m ready to turn my experiences into something that we, as a company, can share with the public. Without any further ado, I present: Conviction!”

After the briefest moment of quiet, the music that she had the DJ cue up explodes out of the speakers. The models begin parading down the runway: first the rusty, brown-orange romper; then minidress with chain detailing; the black-and-white stripes, the bold orange shift, and the key-adorned sweater follow. Molly watches from her vantage point backstage and, with every outfit that comes out, notices a thing or two that she would have done differently. These came out so fast, from her initial sketches to conception, that while she managed to avoid technical errors, there are judgment calls that she knows she would have thought through in different ways.

Even if the clothes look good, that doesn’t mean they will go over well. Or that her status in the company will be restored.

But then she sees it: audience members sporting genuine smiles. As the last model disappears through the curtain, applause fires up. It is not tepid or forced, but natural. Trevor, seated in the second row, gives her an encouraging nod.

She holds the microphone between her palms and finally works up the nerve to search for the telltale sign. Sure enough, Gia is clapping along with the others.

It worked, Molly thinks, her heart ready to leap out of her chest. It really worked.

—–

“You’re a very happy young man, aren’t you?” Henry says as he stands over the playpen, where Peter is busy waving a stuffed dog and stuffed lion around wildly.

“He gets crazy for a little while after he has his dinner,” Sophie explains, spinning her index finger in a circular motion beside her temple. “He’s a real wacko.”

“Well, Peter, you’re the first Bishop grandson,” Henry says to the infant. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

Peter gurgles back at him giddily.

Across the living room, Claudia sits on the loveseat with her hands in her lap.

“I never got the impression that you’d be interested in a career in fashion,” she says.

“I hadn’t considered it much,” Samantha, who rests on an ottoman nearby, says, “but writing is writing, and I’m learning a lot about marketing.”

“Perhaps you’ll learn some things about fashion, too. Those are always good skills for a woman to have in this world.”

Samantha responds with a pleasant grin, while a dialogue speeds through her head. She hasn’t spent that much time around her grandmother, but she’s always noticed her tendency toward the passive-aggressive. As much as she hates to give her own mother credit for anything right now, she can understand why Diane wouldn’t want to be around that all the time.

“I’m getting a little more interested in it,” she says diplomatically. “My Aunt Molly is helping me learn, when she has time.”

“That’s excellent.” Claudia lifts her chin approvingly. “She’s built quite a business. I must say, if Diane had to have a child, I’m happy that you also have a family like the Fishers to lean on. You’ve needed it, I’m sure.”

“They’re really great.”

“We were so sorry to hear what you’d all been through — especially your grandmother, Paula. Being…” Claudia glances toward Sophie, who is playing with a puzzle several feet away. “…confined like that.”

Sophie looks up suddenly at Claudia. “Have you ever gotten arrested?”

“Excuse me?”

“Both my grandmas have!” Sophie declares.

“Sophie, that isn’t a good thing,” Samantha says. “But your Grandma Helen was let go, and Grandma Paula–”

“She has that thing on her ankle, and she can’t leave her house or they’ll shoot her!”

“No one is getting shot,” Jason interrupts as he steps into the living room. “Sophie, what have I told you about talking about that?”

Sophie rolls her eyes. “Sorry for keeping up with the news.”

“Dinner is just about ready,” Jason announces to everyone else. “We can all move into the dining room.” He scoops Peter up out of the playpen. “And you can come sit with us, young man. I know you already ate, but there might be some Cheerios in it for you if you’re good.”

“We’re all ready!” Natalie calls out as she pokes her head into the room.

“Jason just came to get us,” Henry says. “Come on, everyone. Let’s go eat.”

They file out of the room behind him. In the doorway that connects the living room to the kitchen, Claudia pauses.

“This is a lovely life you’ve made for yourself,” she tells Natalie quietly. “You should be very grateful.”

“I am.”

“Good. Please don’t do anything to ruin it.”

With that, Claudia moves toward the dining room, where Christmas music is playing quietly as everyone selects their seats. Natalie lingers behind, watching Jason place Peter in his high-chair. His love for the little boy is so clear in his eyes, and just like always, it warms Natalie’s heart to witness it.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” she mutters under her breath. “Nothing is going to ruin this. Nothing. I’m making sure of it.”

END OF EPISODE 904

What do you think of Henry and Claudia Bishop?
What big news did Danielle receive over the phone?
Were you happy to see Molly succeed at work?
Talk about this episode in the comments below!

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