Page 23 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

There was a moment of silence then Mickey, who was standing beside me on the runway, gave my arm a squeeze. I shot him a wobbly smile.

“Well, I would say you perfectly captured the swells and surges of emotion that makes an outfit one of a kind. Felicitations, Kinder, you have the highest grades for this assignment and are the winner. You may take your seat,” Soline announced.

“Thank you, thank you. Merci!” I gushed, jogging to my seat where several of the other designers gave me hugs and soft congratulations. Mickey sat behind me, grabbing my shoulders to give me a playful shake. Suki joined us, safe again. Madeleine Monroe, a quiet mouse of a woman with dull red hair was sent back home to Dublin. I’d barely gotten to know her well but I was sad to see her go.

We made our way back to the lounge where we’d gather to chat then be pulled out for little personal confessionals wittily called ‘Off the Cuff Moments’. We moved as a pack, arms linked around each other me, Mickey, Suki, and Ayumi. The four of us had clicked right off and were growing close rapidly. Claude stood in the wings, passing along compliments to those who had moved onto the next assignment. When I walked up to him I paused, feeling a little ungraceful about the swell of vindication in my heart, as our gazes met.

“You did well, Kinder. I’m very glad to see that you stood by your convictions. This is a good lesson for all of you.” His sight touched on the three new friends gathered around me. “Being proud of your work, sure of your talent, and confident in your design is paramount. The moment you allow someone else to hold the shears you’re allowing them to create the pattern of your life. Always trust the original thread of your creative process.”

He said the most amazing things. I could stand here and listen to him talk for days. That accent combined with his wisdom and life experience appealed to me so damn much.

“Merci, Claude.” I wasn’t sure what to say other than to thank him. Had he ripped into all of us as a test to see who wouldn’t back down from their vision, or had he just been tired and shitty? I’d probably never know.

“Now go celebrate your victory. Tomorrow brings another day and another assignment.” He waved us off, his gaze holding mine for a moment or two before Mickey looped his arm around my neck to pull me to the lounge for celebratory cold drinks and baked goods. It might not be a raucous party but it sure would be joyous. I’d won my first assignment and, to top it off, Madeleine Delon was going to wear my outfit. How could life get any better?

Chapter Ten

Ten days and four assignments later found the remaining ten designers about to take our frustrations, stress, and exhaustion out on each other in a cage match.

Whoever thought doing a team challenge after nearly two weeks of high pressure madness needed punted into the Seine. I’d never worked with another designer, nor had any of the others, so right off we were in deep shit. Then add in the fact collaborations – as important as they were in the fashion biz – grated on each designers creative control. Plus, if someone in the group fucked up we all went down. To top all of that off it just added tons of angst to an already frazzled group of people.

Ah but the viewers did love the drama I could hear Xavier saying as he pushed us into yet another round of late night shoots that sapped us even more. Every one of us had broken down into tears by now, some on camera, some off, but no one was exempt from the purging. Mickey and I had managed to keep ours off camera so far but I was hanging by a fucking thread.

Thread. Ha. Funny. A fashion joke. Let’s go strangle Enzo with that hideous wide belt he insists must be added to his capris.

If we never did another team challenge I’d be ecstatic. For some reason the fates had dropped Enzo onto my lap. Sure, the names had been plucked from a gorgeous chestnut brown cream straw sun bucket hat from the 1950’s so everything had been random but fate surely played a part. Four hours into the assignment we were trying to tie all of our looks together but failing miserably. Enzo just would not listen to our suggestions. We’d been a pretty firm set of parameters to follow. The theme would be Paris in Motion. We were to complete a three look mini collection inspired by daily life in Paris that combined style, practicality, and sustainability with one functional feature. That feature would be weather adaptation, convertible elements, or hidden storage or utility pockets. All of our looks had to be crafted out of sustainable or recycled materials. The looks had to reflect French cultural themes like café, cycling, art, architecture, public transportation, or whatever we thought French culture meant.

I’d been thrilled to find out we were using recycled materials. That was what I did, and I did it really well when I wasn’t carrying an infant of a designer on my shoulders. Enzo had been a dissenting vote on everything so far. The theme – café attitude – the chosen materials – café linens – and the overall theme. The linens were super easy to work with as well as fashionable. We’d leaped on a mound of old tablecloths which had been piled in the textile vault along with other repurposed textiles. The bistro “Vichy” gingham checks were asking to be made into something inviting and oh-so Parisian. Or so me, Zara, Ronan, and Nova thought. Enzo felt it was tacky.

Once he was outvoted he got pissy as hell. So now four hours in we were all frantically cutting and pinning and sewing summery little dresses or, like me, working away on a set of lace trim shorts and a matching sleeveless top. The strawberry gingham reminded me of the twins when they’d been young enough to dress without complaint. Now if I tried to get them to wear gingham they’d throw themselves into a tizzy. Our outfits were all light and breezy with a summer in Paris vibe. My shorts had deep pockets and a cute backpack pieced together out of a table linen of off white that had wine stains on the corner. Where the producers had found all of this old material I hadn’t a clue but it was my kind of place.

“Look, I get it that you want to give her a cinched waist but a fat leather belt just does not go with gingham,” I explained for the tenth time. “Just take in the bodice of your shirt to give her the proper silhouette.”

Enzo was about to reply when the door opened with a shout of surprise. We all spun to face Soline and Claude as they sailed in looking fresh as daisies.

“Look at you all working so well as teams. Wonderful! Collaborations are important in the fashion world so seeing your collections coming together is amazing!” She gave us a wide smile that didn’t quite cut the undercurrent of suspicion every designer in the room was feeling. Soline never came into the workroom. Ever. Yet here she was looking chipper in a short denim skirt, a silvery top, and tiny silver flats. “Claude, would you like to tell them our big surprise news?”

We all moaned. If they dropped another element of design onto us right now I’d lay down and weep into the scraps of nylon and elastane that the other group who were doing cycling chic had flung to the floor.

“I’d be delighted,” Claude said while Pamplemousse gazed at us from his pouch with sleepy eyes. He seemed quite laid back today in his casual look. A nice break from his suits he wore fitted slacks and a cool blue sweater really well. “We know you’ve all been working very hard so we would like to reward you. After the runway tonight we’ll be announcing a small getaway surprise trip.”

That sounded cool. Getting out of our damn dorm rooms would be amazing. “So work hard today! Your models are waiting outside for your fittings.”

Shit. No way were we ready for fittings. Enzo was still being an asshole over the fucking belt. Pushing him out the window to splat on the quad under the sycamore sounded better and better. I’d say it was an accident. He stepped on a spool of thread then out the window he went. My teammates would back me up. They all disliked him too. There was always one…

***

Monique was perfection. Utter perfection.

“This outfit is adorable!”

“You’re adorable,” I corrected.

She gave me a final spin to let me check for any corrections that may need to be made. With time being so short I’d had to rush the zipper in the back of the shorts. It looked okay. I knew one of the judges would mention it but eight hours to make three looks was insane so if a zipper wasn’t up to their standards sorry. I was too tired and too damned stressed to give one shit. Right now going back to Perkins Hollow sounded divine. The pressure to perform, to be on all the time, was soul crushing.

“This peach lip color was the right choice,” Monique said as I nodded at her look. It would have to do. We had no time to nitpick. Enzo’s capri, blouse, and cape trio still had last minute issues.

“You look amazing. I have to—” I jerked a thumb in the direction of Enzo’s model who was, as we spoke, being handsewn into her white cotton blouse.