I never expected him to invite me. So when I got the special envelope in the mail, I almost died. Armante Desu was the premier counterculture fashion designer along the eastern seaboard, and I was only an Academy of the Arts School dropout. After all, his condominium blocked the sun from shinning in my ratty one-room apartment. Yet he invited me to his private island getaway where he would be celebrating the release of his newest signature.
A separate letter attached read:
“Loved your new designs. I did some new ones myself that are similar to yours only slightly different. See you at the exhibiciónes.
Due to his careful attention to including intricate adornments in each of his pieces, one of the most influential fashion magazines declared Armante “The White Knight of Detail.” Every flower was perfect. Every sequence was a mesmerizing pattern. Even when it was not his own, he could make it eloquent and “attrayant.”
The Academy of Fashion bestowed upon him the title of “El Divino.” I had known Armante during our time in Florence, Italy. We had studied under the tutelage of The Great One in fashion and design.
That was before Gera. She was a painter from France. One day, she told me she was pregnant with Armante’s child. She was now living down the street from me. Below the separate letter, there was a small note with instructions on it.
“Emar, you know that you are still like a brother to me, so what I ask you to do for me now will make that bond stronger…”
I finished reading the note and prepared myself for what he requested. The poison was simple enough to locate. I bought some packs of green tea and walked over to Gera’s apartment. She was there and welcomed me fondly. We had tea together. Two hours later, I left her to her own demise. I stuck the invitation into my coat pocket and rented a small charter boat.