Page 11 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

Claude, who I was staring at, met my look for a moment. A flash of recognition lit up his gaze before his sight went to the staircase. He looked amazing. Dark gray suit, jacket longer in the back, which was the style of the season, slim slacks, no socks with his loafers. The shirt under his asymmetrical jacket was a buttery soft lemon just like the vest his dog was showing off as he piddled on a streetlamp outside.

My gaze flicked from Claude to a woman at the top of the stairs. I didn’t have to pretend to be awed. Soline Valmont drank in the adoration of everyone packed into the main vestibule of the Barrons Academie. In her early fifties now Soline was the epitome of grace, style, and fame. The once supermodel still maintained her famously toted figure of 38-27-38 quite proudly. Dark brunette hair resting on her shoulders, bright green eyes made-up to perfection, she was wearing a butternut squash toned wool wrap dress that hugged her body like a glove. A Claude Barrons creation. I’d bet the farm on it. It had his touch in the draping. The demure evergreen was perfect as it rested on her creamy pale skin.

Discovered at the age of sixteen walking near the Palais Garnier she became the youngest face of a major Paris luxury fashion house ever signed. She closed shows during Paris Fashion Week for three consecutive years. An ungodly rare achievement. Forty international covers of Vogue. Earned the nickname "The Ice Rose of Paris" for her elegant runway presence. She went on to become the highest paid French model in the twenty-tens she walked more than a hundred run way shows in Paris, Milan, New York, and London in a single year. Then she turned her sights on film after winning all of the major fashion awards. She made Midnight on the Seine, The Velvet Empire, and a few others which brought her more awards such as best actress at the Cannes Film Festival and an Academy Award nomination for The Velvet Empire. She received France’s Ordre des Arts et les Lettres for her contributions to culture. Hell, she even inspired her own hairstyle called ‘The Valmont Cut’ which she still wore to this day.

“Holy hell,” Mickey whispered. No one among us peons spoke. We just stared. This was a coup of epic proportions for the show. Of course Soline and Claude were close. She wore his clothes all the time. She seemed to float down the stairs as a small round of polite applause broke out among the crew, students watching from the balcony above, and we designers. Claude moved from his spot to offer her his hand for the last two steps, tucking it into the crook of his arm as she stepped down to ground level.

“Bonjour,” Soline said with a smile that probably stopped traffic out on the street. She bussed Claude on both his cheeks. I was close to weeping to be in such exalted company. Several of the designers on the show were openly crying. “I am overjoyed to be your host and one of the judges for this premiere season of Étoiles de Style!” Her accent was cultured as it flowed over us and the filming cameras like warm honey. “I shall let my dear friend Claude explain the minutia of the show while I whisk these up and coming designers to one of my favorite boulangerie where they will learn of the first design contest!”

“What is the comment?” A tall, heavyset man with a Spanish accent asked as Claude and Soline exchanged tender hugs.

“Something about showing us the first challenge,” I whispered to the side, my sight darting back to Claude and Soline smiling at each other with devotion. “Kinder Graham,” I added. He nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Dante Rossi. I’m from Spain. You’re American,” he asked then got a dark look from one of the sound techs.

I pretended to zip my lips. He did the same. My attention settled back on the power couple at the foot of the grand stairwell. Soline was stunning. Claude was stunning. How was there such gorgeous people on this planet? What kind of gene pool lottery did they win at the moment when sperm wiggled into egg? Sure, I was okay. The dark looks of my mother’s heritage were a blessing as was her bone structure but I was a wart on a troll’s ass compared to the luxe twosome before us. Soline waved goodbye to Claude.

“And now we are on our way! Come along ducklings. Waddle after Mother Ice Rose,” Soline called as she was shown to the front doors. Waddle. Like hell. That woman moved as if she were on the runway. Camilo broke from the mass of crew gathered scurrying around.

“You heard Mama Duck, waddle along. Quack, quack.” Our wrangler clapped his hands to get us moving. I shot a glance over my shoulder at Claude addressing a camera, his dog being placed into his arm. His hazel gaze found mine and held it tightly.

I tripped over someone’s huge foot.

“Sorry mate, they’re always in the way,” Mickey said as we tumbled out the front doors of the academie like a pack of exuberant beagle pups. “But you know what they say.”

“Something about big feet equaling a small penis?” I fired back.

The others around us tittered. Mickey barked out a laugh before we were gently pushed in the direction of a waiting van.

“Good one. We’re going to get on famous,” Mickey told me with a firm rap on the bicep.

“Inside. Hurry along. The restaurant is waiting. Ayomi why are you trying to cross the street?” Camilo yelled out. Ayomi flushed bright pink then dove into the van.

“I saw a sign for Ferragamo,” she confessed once we were packed into the custom made Mercedes van. “My feet found life of their own.”

Camilo, seated beside a driver who looked like he wanted to be doing anything else including having a tooth extracted without Novocain, wiggled around to face us in the back.

“They’ll be having their fall bags coming out in a week or so,” Nova informed us.

Chatter about bags, belts, and shoes broke out. Camilo whistled through his teeth. We fell silent.

“Thank you. I understand the lure of a Ferragamo belt. I own five. But we are not to leave the group while outside. Every moment is scripted. Your time belongs to us now. I promise there will be a day or two where you can wander the city but is also under supervision. Now, for the rest of the day you’ll be having a sit-down breakfast with Soline and Claude where they will announce, on camera, your first challenge. Claude will escort you back to the academie where you will begin working on your designs.”

“How long do we have to finish?” I asked because someone had to.

“That will be discussed at breakfast. We want your reactions to be fresh and unrehearsed. Now sit back and enjoy the ride. If you look quickly on your left you’ll be able to see Notre-Dame. Rumor has it there is currently no-one named Quasimodo hiding in the bell tower but there is a beautiful Romani woman named Esmerelda and a small goat performing on the streets near the basilica.”

I chuckled softly. My sisters loved Disney movies. I could sing along to most of them, and did when prompted, even though I was off-key. I’d barely left home and I missed them already.

Every head save the drivers turned to the left to grab a fast peek at the famed cathedral. Oohs filled the van. Suki began crying. As my sight touched on the famed façade my stomach growled softly. Not even flying buttresses could tame the rumble of a hungry American in Paris. If only I could dance like Gene Kelly…

Chapter Six

The van pulled up a quaint eatery tucked between a florist and a pharmacy. The golden clapboard siding was charming as hell. Tall and thin with bright blue lettering on the wall between the second and third floors reading Le Grenier Doré which Esme, our French designer, translated to us as meaning The Golden Attic. Five rows of small tables for two were packed into a tiny space on the sidewalk as servers in gold tops with black trousers were placing fresh floral centerpieces on the tables. Parking was not happening on this skinny street so we were dumped alongside the curb like unwanted shoes.

Camilo moved us into the eatery where the smell of bread baking wafted over us. My gut roared this time. Funny how part of my body like my stomach was right on track time wise for breakfast but other parts – such as my brain – were still foggy as it tried to adjust to a whole different time zone. I hoped the fogginess didn’t interfere with whatever challenge we were taping for today. The interior was done in shades of yellow, white, and gold.

The interior was warm. Stone-lined ovens baking gorgeous loaves of whole wheat, white, and rye kept this floor toasty. Glass display cases filled with buns, rolls, and a dozen different sizes of breads were quickly being filled as we were hustled to the second floor along a narrow staircase that was barely wide enough for my shoulders. There were more tables here, crammed in tightly, all with cloth tablecloths which matched the bright red ones outside. More flowers arrangement as well, vivid mums of white, purple, and yellow stood out against the ruby table coverings.