Page 10 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Totally. My stuff is still unpacked and I’ve been here for two days. Locked up in this bloody hotel with no phone. Seen the rubbish they got on telly. Look at this.” He waved at an old black-and-white western on the wall-mounted set. “Good thing is we can hang with the other designers who seem alright. Not unlike our beloved advisor.”

I paused toeing off my shoes. God my feet were tired. Smelly too I was sure. They’d been in my sneaks with no air for what felt like days. “Claude?”

“Right. Claude ‘I am God’ Barrons. Tore me a new arsehole yesterday for holding up a production meeting of some sort. How was I to help it? I have slow bowels. No rushing my colon. So I was sat on the loo reading a book I’d brought, some lengthy boring vomit from a serial philanderer back in the early sixties, trying to force a shit when someone’s pounding on my door. Cutting off a log isn’t a pleasant thing but I do it, wash, run out with my trousers undone to answer the door. There stands Barrons, bold as a button with that damn dog on his bloody hip tapping his gold watch. Goes off at me in French then jumps to English to dress me down as if I’d personally ruined his day. Tells me being late is a sign of disrespect that shows him my regard for his time is nil. Then him and his dog sniff at me like I’m something they found on their shoe before storming off.”

"That bad?" I caught maybe ninety percent of what he said. The other ten percent disappeared into an accent so aggressively British my brain had to file a formal request for translation.

"Mate, if looks could kill, I'd have been buried this morning."

“Wow.” I couldn’t think of any other response. Claude had seemed distant but polite to me, but I had been warned about being late. “That sucks.”

“Right it does. Well, he’ll be eying me for a bit I think but he’s not a judge so if he’s got a stick up his arse about me then so what?”

“Okay.” I didn’t know what to say but Claude could make things rough for Mickey even if he wasn’t judging our garments. “Sorry he jumped down your throat. I’m going to get a shower and crash. Camilo said it’s a six am wake up.”

“Ugh, fuck me up the bunger. Yeah, they like that kind of shite. Well, you go wash your face and arse, in that order, and I’ll get the room ready for bed. Nice meeting you. I think we’re going to get on quite well over all. Long as you don’t nick my ideas or designs.”

“Yeah, me too. I won’t, no worries.” I smiled wearily, dug into my suitcase to find some clean fleece and socks while nudging an old Bowler hat aside, then showered. Mickey was snoring softly when I exited the small, steamy shower. Taking a fast peek around I noted a cramped kitchenette, two closets, two twin beds, and one desk with a chair. Lap of luxury. Whatever. I didn’t need a luxe suite. I slept on a foldout couch at home so a real bed under me was divinity itself. Falling into the bed I fumbled to find the right switch over the phone provided by the hotel. One sluggish idea about maybe calling out on that flared to life then flittered out. Sleep didn’t sneak up on me wearing satin slippers. It stood over me then dropped a dress form on my head.

Chapter Five

Someone with tea breath was shaking me awake in the middle of the night.

“Hey, buddy, time to rise. We’ve got about twenty minutes to make it to the lobby.”

My eyes were too heavy to even crack open so I moaned like a lovesick cow then tried to fall back asleep. Tea breath wasn’t having it. He shook me harder then pinched the underside of my bicep. That got my eyes open. I rose up to all fours like a grizzly who’d been poked with a sharp stick. Kind of sounded like one as well.

The man next to my bed snorted in amusement as I glared at him, one side of my dry lip raised.

“You look like Gran’s Pug when someone wakes him from his nap,” Mickey tossed out then sat down on his unmade bed. “Hated to wake you up. I know that jetlag is brutal but late isn’t acceptable for the lord and master of this elegant keep.” He waved a hand heavy with rings at the small room. “Kettles hot if you want a fast cuppa.”

“Coffee,” I moaned as I sat back on my heels, my hamstrings tight as fuck from sitting for so long yesterday. The stretch felt good even if it did sting.

“Well, there’s an espresso machine. I can whip you up a cup while you tame your hair and shave,” he offered.

“Sure, yeah, okay.” I’d never had espresso but it was a form of coffee so it had to be good. “Extra-large,” I mumbled while leaving my bed to hit the bathroom. It was still steamy from my roommate’s shower. The counter was covered with hair gel to hold that hawk in place so I made room for a towel then jumped under the showerhead then cranked it on. The burst was chilly at first but warmed quickly. With no time to waste I washed the sleep from my face, soaked my head, and ran a soapy washcloth over me just hitting the high spots. Five minutes later I was dressed, combed, unshaven, and staring in disappointment at the tiny cup of coffee Mickey had prepared for me.

“This is pathetic,” I sighed before tossing it back in one gulp. “I should have brought a mug from home, and a coffee pot.”

“You Yanks do like to supersize everything.” He tugged on an oversized vest with some intricate seaming that went well with his tartan pants. The shirt under the vest was a dull green tee with an alien face reading ‘Have you been probed today?’ which was kind of funny in a stupid way.

“The airport in Denver has this restaurant where you can get a bucket sized cup of coffee to go.” I slid my feet into my sneakers. “They boast it’s the biggest cup of coffee Colorado. I had one while I waited for my flight. Wish I had that now.”

“You’ll be grateful you only had that wee cup I wager. Who knows what kind of hell they’ll be putting us through today.”

He made for the door. I grabbed my sewing kit from my upended suitcase, pulled on a Boho flower hippie jacket I’d made for myself with some psychedelic material I’d found at a yard sale.

“Nice.” Mickey gave my jacket a nod then we rushed out the door. The halls were quiet yet aside from a group of young women at the elevator. “Some of our peers. Let’s say hi,” Mickey said then called out to the women. The intros were fast. Suki Navarro from Japan was a tiny thing in a vivid floral dress, Ayumi Cross a chubby woman from Thailand wore a slim suit with a ton of jewelry, Nova Sinclair who lived in Australia was a tall skinny designer who was rocking a large tee with tight jeans. Freja Lennox from Sweden was blond and shy as we quickly exchanged greetings before the elevator doors opened. Freja was clad in a bright pink skirt with a bold pattern blouse. I’d never been packed into an elevator with so many other designers. Shop talk took off right away. We were still discussing what our brands were – not that I had one yet but many in the elevator did – when the doors opened to the lobby.

Stepping out was akin to walking into another world. There were at least two dozen people in the main welcoming area. People with cameras, people with boom mics, people sitting, people standing, people running. It was chaos but I had to assume it was controlled chaos. Claude stood off to the side of the grand staircase getting a last minute touchup from a woman with a makeup tote. A lean man with dark hair combed to the side was taking Monsieur Pamplemousse to the front door for a walk. Along the far wall, where the display case filled with past students creations, stood four men in suits.

One I thought I recognized but surely it couldn’t be him. IT sure looked like him though but—

“Finally. Okay, let’s go. You’re all to be lined up at the foot of the grand stairs when she makes her entrance. Everyone needs to be stunned, awed, and overwhelmed when she presents herself. Tears are fine, as is bouncing in adoration. Whispering to each other about how amazing she is would be great. Stand here.” Camilo – who looked about as wiped out as me – hustled us over to another small group of smartly dressed people. The rest of the contestants I guessed by their assessing looks at what we were wearing. I was horribly underdressed but it was too late to change now. I nodded at the men and women waiting for the grand entrance of… whoever the host would be.

Someone off to the side called for quiet. The cast and crew fell into silence.

“Everyone is needed to be silent now,” an older man with dark red hair bellowed. “She is ready to descend. When we have cameras rolling in three, two, one…”