Page 22 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

***

We arrived at our little classroom at eight the next morning.

I had so much work to do and so little time. I prayed the next few hours were going to be free of interruptions so I –

The door opened just as I got to my station and Claude walked in, cameras moving around the room to capture his arrival and our reactions. He looked like I felt. Exhausted. So much for no interruptions.

“Bonjour, les designers,” our advisor said as he lifted Pamplemousse – sporting a tiny vest in the same dark blue checkered wool material that his master’s suit was made from – and gently placed him to the floor. The dog rushed around smelling all of our ankles before snuggling down into a ball of castoff muslin in the corner.

“Bonjour, Claude,” we all replied like school kids responding to the teacher. Which we all kind of were to be honest.

“Apologies for missing my critiques of your work to date yesterday. Though life is a whirlwind it’s a wonderful one.” His smile seemed a tad forced but I chalked it up to fatigue. “So, I will see what you have created so far now.” We waited with bated breath to see who he would advise first. Seemed this morning it was Enzo Moretti’s turn to be number one. Lucky him. Mickey and I exchanged looks of relief across the room while we fiddled with adding pins to the cushions strapped to our wrists. “Tell me what you are creating, Enzo.”

Claude folded his arms over his chest as the sound of hallways filling with college students moving to their first classes of the day slipped into our quiet workroom. His head tipped slightly to the left as his critical eye ran over the black silk gown.

“It’s an interpretation of the thoughts of the man in the painting as two women are trying to lure him into a marriage he does not wish to enter,” Enzo replied.

Oh. A black wedding gown. Well that was certainly one way to interpret the painting.

“So this is a wedding gown.” Claude reached out to touch the lacy creation. Enzo nodded, back straight, certain about his marvelous design. “It’s boring.” Enzo’s black brows flew up his brow. “It lacks passion. You need a fashion moment. Something more sculpted, fitted at the waist. Add some sleeves and please, by all that is holy, add some color. Even if its piping around the sleeves. We are not designing for Morticia Addams.”

Ouch. Shit. That was rough. Enzo stared at his gown as if lost. Which I’m sure he was. Starting over now was a no-go. We only had a few hours to work in fittings, model makeup and hair consults, and last minute fixes before we were to show our work. Claude then turned his attention to Zara, our outspoken contestant from Uganda. He picked her design apart as well, then moved onto Rafeal, and then stopped at Ayumi’s station where he informed her that her box dress was saying nothing to him at all.

“Please walk by, please walk by,” I heard Suki praying as Claude moved through the room sniping at all of our work. He did not walk by sadly. He stopped beside Suki’s dress form which held a beautiful, fitted pantsuit with a lined cape. He gave her hell over a sloppy hem before those brown-green eyes flickered to my outfit.

“You have a lot of work to do, Kinder. Perhaps you should not be standing here playing with pins and instead be trying to decide just how many coats a woman should be forced to wear.”

“Two if it’s really cold out,” I replied which made one of his expressive brows climb.

“May I remind you elegance is not seen. It’s felt in what you choose to withhold. Perhaps you should withhold a coat?”

“I’ll consider it,” I said which got me a flat look that was both hot and annoyingly smug.

“Do so.” He made his way to gather up his grumpy dog then stopped at the door to give all of us he had eviscerated one final look. ““You do know that the models are arriving in an hour? Looking around this design studio I am tempted to say that the models should be creating the outfits and you all should be wearing the clothes. They could not have done a worse job then you all have done today.”

Pamplemousse barked at us as if to back up Claude. Out the door they went. The cameras in the room turned to the designers for our reactions. They were saucy to say the least. Many in the workroom began hastily trying to change things, which seemed a good call since an icon had told them to enhance, but I wasn’t taking away a coat. That would destroy the whole expression of the heaviness of grief. My gut clenched. It was ballsy to shoot down the advice of our coach but an artist had to have faith in his art. If I was sent home then so be it. I’d have at least stood by my design and that had to count for something. Claude Barrons was a puzzle. How could one man be so sexy and tender then turn around and be so cold and snide not ten hours later?

***

That evening I stood before the judges to hear my grades.

“This ensemble speaks without shouting which was the whole point of the assignment. I love it. You’ve accessorized perfectly with the sling back pumps and the navy cross body bag. The gold chain strap on the bag breaks up the darkness of the fabric. I would buy this and wear it to a movie opening,” Soline said then turned to the other judges who all nodded. My exhale was huge.

“Merci, Soline.”

She smiled sweetly at me.

“I agree, I gave this outfit the highest grade,” Garbriel concurred. “Beautifully done. Seamless crafting. The coats flowed around her as she walked. Gorgeous.”

“Merci, Gabriel,” I replied with a short bow.

“I want this,” Madeleine commented, drawing laughs from the other judges. She would look amazing in it with her slim build. “Can I take this off her?” We all chuckled. “Seriously, I would love to wear this to the Vision & Son Video Awards in Marseille in November.”

“I…I’d be honored to give it to you to wear, Celeste,” I croaked as she clapped in glee. My gods, a pop star would be wearing a Kinder Graham to a major European awards show. I slipped my hand into the pocket of my dark green pants to pinch my thigh. It hurt. Yep, this was really happening.

Marcel Fournier, a huge designer in his own right, gave me a slow nod. “Wonderful work. The linings of the coats are exquisite. The construction is superb. Dark and mysterious. I can see this woman walking down the streets of Paris on a cold, rainy night, as she hurries to meet a lover. Tell me, what did you pluck for inspiration from the painting that led you to this stunning design?”

“Merci, Marcel. The man in the painting had pained eyes and seeing the agony in his gaze reminded me of how I felt when my father died. I was ten at the time. I felt as if I wanted to scream but couldn’t because everyone was now telling me I was the man of the house. I wanted my design to capture that in the way the coats billow around her just as grief swells around our hearts when someone passes away.”