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“And the Deux?”
“It means two. This is the second Tissu in existence.”
She owned two? “Where’s the other one?”
“Far away,” she said. She held open the door for me. “Come on in.”
The lighting was much dimmer as we entered, so it took a second for our eyes to adjust. But at first it was just a short, dark hall.
Once we got to the other side, we were in a large room with dark curtains hanging along the walls like a theater would have. There was a small stage as well, with some lights focused on it.
Besides that, there were waist-high black pedestals. The tops were glass and the bases were lit up to shine light on fancy mannequins in outfits. There were about twelve of these in a semi-circle, all lined up just ending before a few white couches that faced the stage.
While there were a couple of very fancy dresses and skirts on some of the mannequins, some had what I considered normal clothes. One was jeans and a white T-shirt, just the shoes were high heels and the purse looked expensive.
No racks of clothes.
Nothing you can just pick up and take to a cashier.
No cashier at all.
Worse than I thought.
Gretchen came up beside me, as I’d stopped at the mannequin that had the plainest clothes. The white T-shirt one. “Is this more you?”
“Without the heels,” I said.
“Do you like any heel?”
“You can’t really run in heels.”
“Some you can,” she said. “Short bursts. I’ve dressed dancers in long heels. Although we had to get them balanced and make them super lightweight since they do kicks and twists and things. Some need to be heavier and wider to keep balance better. It depends on what the situation is.”
I raised a brow. “You dress celebrities?”
“I dress everyone. But yeah, some.”
I grimaced and suddenly felt dirty and ugly in the clothes I was wearing. “Maybe we shouldn’t be wasting your time.”
Marc had been looking at several of the displays, studying them. When I spoke, he was instantly at my elbow. “We’re not sure how this works. Do we point to what she’d like to try on?”
I stuck an elbow in his rib. “He means we’re probably not your usual clientele.”
She seemed genuinely curious and motioned for me to follow her. “Why don’t we just get started? I’ll measure you, and then we’ll work out the type of clothes that suit you.” She waved a hand at Marc and then pointed to the white couches near the stage. “Why don’t you get comfortable? This might take some time.”
I glared at Marc. Don’t you dare leave me.
He went right for the couch like an innocent pup and sat down.
Traitor…
Gretchen had me follow her to one side of the stage, where she pulled back part of the curtain hanging from the wall and revealed a door. I followed her though and down another hallway. There were doors that were open on the left. She skipped two doors and then entered the third, flicking the light on.
I startled myself looking in on mirrored walls, seeing her reflection and mine repeated so often under the lights. There was a plush rug on top of hard dark wood flooring. Near the door was a large wood and iron, antique coatrack and then a long table to one side. All of this reflected in the mirrors a few dozen times in on itself.
“Wait here a second?” she said to me. “I’ll go get my kit.”
Kit?
I grimaced, already highly uncomfortable, and was tempted to run for the door while she was gone.
A DIFFERENT WORLD
When she got back, I spent a half hour turning around, lifting my arms, bending over and going into all sorts of positions while she held a tape measure to my body.
And when she couldn’t get accurate with my clothes on, she had me take them off.
So I was standing around in my underwear while she was doing all the measuring and taking notes.
I gazed over at her clipboard where she’d written things down. “Did you really need to know my ankle size?”
“I like to get everything down on paper,” she said. She studied the numbers on her clipboard like it all made sense to her.
After she was done, she left and brought back clothes.
That’s when it felt like I went into robot mode. I did what she told me, putting a variety of shirts and pants on while she marked some notes, only to take them off again at her say so. I wasn’t even sure what I was wearing at times. Pants, jeans, T-shirts, some blouses, a skirt, one dress. Sometimes with shoes, sometimes without.
How she got me to be so patient with her, I’d never know. If anyone else had done this, I would have been setting them on fire. When we were getting to jackets and outerwear, I was wearing down.
“How much more do we need to do?” I asked. “It’s been fun, but…this is a lot of clothes.” The table and the coatrack were covered in all the outfits she’d had me put on, some tossed aside as not for me, some she approved in a different pile. I couldn’t tell you which ones. I didn’t pick them, she did.
“Yeah, we’ve been at it a while,” she said. She sat back on her heels on the floor and brushed a palm against her forehead to wipe away some hair. “It’s been months since I’ve put together an entire wardrobe for someone.”
My eyes widened. “Wardrobe? I…don’t need much.” I nodded to the pile of clothes. “The T-shirts. A pair of jeans…I don’t even want the dresses.”
She flicked her hand at me. “No, I just wanted to see those on you. Although the chartreuse has your name all over it.”
I gazed at the tennis ball colored dress. The shape was okay, but the color was nope. “You’re kidding.”
She got up and held a jacket up to her own body and then to me. “If you’re wearing your boyfriend’s clothes enough he wants to buy you your own, I’m guessing you basically don’t like anything you own and need everything new. So we’re getting you everything. A capsule wardrobe. You’ll be able to mix and match everything and you can add in whenever you like. But you’re covered for every occasion.”
“Erm,” I said. “Look, I don’t know if I can afford this. I didn’t know we were doing all of it. I can’t ask Marc to pay for it all.”
She sighed a little. “I know. But look, all of these”—she motioned to the collection of items—“were created for people who tried them on and decided they didn’t want them. Most were headed to the donation bin.”
“Why?” I asked. “They’re perfectly good clothes. Why don’t you put up some racks and sell them?”
She smiled in a way that she seemed amused. “Like the other shops around here?”
“Kinda.”
“I’m not really a factory,” she said. She held up the jacket and motioned to it with her other hand. “These are custom. I used to operate like everyone else, but not everyone fits in the same manufactured piece of material. Some need different fabrics, different shapes, colors. I was frustrated with limitations.”
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“Interesting,” I said.
“Plus, people pay booka moola when something is this custom.” She put her jacket on the table with the other clothes. “Rarity increases value.”
She was smart and creative. Hard not to be jealous. “Huh,” was all I could say. Custom clothes. A talented fashion designer. “I don’t know how we can pay for any of it.”
She waved her hand quickly at me. “I’m going to make a few adjustments to some of these, but then I’ll only charge the cost of materials.”
I raised a skeptical brow at her. “For real? Why?”
“You’re not the first girl to walk in here without a clue or lick of fashion sense. And I always appreciate when you’re willing to play model and let me pick the clothes. Most people try to tell me what to do and what they should be wearing.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Designers don’t sell trends. They create them. Maybe you’ll stop by again and do some modeling.”
I snorted. “You’re insane. I’m not a model.”
“I don’t really like working with size zero models. The fashion industry does it for…reasons. But I work directly with clients, not with bulk buyers for fashion outlets, I can’t really operate the same way. People need to see outfits on figures that match their own to make decisions.” She went back to the pile of clothes, particularly the ones she’d put aside for me. “I’m going to make a few adjustments here, but by tomorrow evening, I’ll be able to deliver them to you.”
I found this amusing. “You offer delivery?”
“Often I get paid extra to display the new garments in closets. For me, it gives me a chance to match what I’ve prepared with what they already own and see who else they buy clothes from. It also gets me out of the office.”
I gave her the address. Just before I was going to get out of the last pair of jeans and a light sweater combo she’d given me, Marc emerged, poking his head in through the doorway.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but you’ve been gone an hour.”
Had it really been that long? He probably also needed to get more supplies than just clothes. Whoops.
It was the look on his face that scared me.
