Page 3 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Doubtful. He said he would never marry again,” I reminded her.

“Oh right. His ex must have fucked him over royally. Shh! Shh. There he is. Oo, I wonder where this is. Is that his place in Paris?”

“Maybe?”

We both sat there spellbound as the camera artfully captured Claude seated on a settee, his dog Monsieur Pamplemousse on his lap. Claude was in a light gray slim cut suit, the dog in a matching vest as it rested on his thigh.

“Bonjour.” His voice was refined and deep. It made me half hard just hearing his lush French accent. “Paris has always been a runway, but now it becomes the stage. I am thrilled to announce Étoiles de Style, a daring new fashion reality series where emerging designers will battle beneath the lights of Paname to prove who truly understands style, spectacle, and soul, is about to debut. Expect impossible challenges, unforgettable couture, and more drama than a midnight fitting before Fashion Week.” He paused to settle those sinful blue-brown eyes on the camera as he patted his dog’s tiny head. “Think you belong in the atelier? Auditions are now open. Submit a filmed five-minute video showcasing your designs, your creative vision, and the story behind your style to the email address shown after the announcement. Surprise me. Inspire me. Seduce the world with fashion. The grand prize winner will receive a full scholarship to the Barrons Fashion Academie, one million Euros, and international acclaim. Paris is ready. Are you?”

A small email address flashed across the now black screen.

I stared at the spot where Claude had been as I tired to form words. None would come. The entire time the rules and regulations flowed over the screen my brain was fogged up.

Ivy looked at me with eyes as wide as dinner plates. “We’re making a video.”

Chapter Two

Avideo that encapsulated me, my story, and my fashions.

It was due in two weeks.

Two. Weeks.

What kind of maniacal moron had decided fourteen days was enough time to explain to one of the world’s most famous designers why you should be chosen out of a pool of tens of thousands desperate stylist?

Our apartment was chaotic for a week solid. Mom and the twins were called into active duty to help me finish some of the outfits I’d half-heartedly been fiddling with. Since very few people in this town cared for me or my clothes I’d started to fall into a black hole of ambition. Why cut, sew, and promote on social media if not a soul cared? Sure, I had dreams but after several years of being ignored those dreams had started to wither. When I told Ivy how I felt, like a dead begonia, she decided I needed watered. Literally as well as figuratively. After dumping her half empty bottle of sparkling lemon water over my head as we sat on the grass outside my apartment building a few days after the call for designers she then gave me a pep talk worthy of Tony Robbins.

Shaking off the self-doubt, and the lemon water, I’d gotten to my feet. “Let’s do this,” I’d said and so we had done it. Or, were doing it. Working on doing it I supposed. Five minutes wasn’t much time to tell my tale then show off my creations. Ivy and Mom had been given the task of writing the verbiage for my clip, the twins were in charge of acting as runners. Something they were really good at since the ran track in gym for the fun of it.

I was spending all of my down time sewing clothes from piles of handoffs and thrift shop finds I’d cut or torn apart. I felt, and this may not be what the producers of the show were looking for, but I felt my strongest designs were women’s street wear, men’s punk, and cocktail dresses ala Coco Chanel. Maybe I was coming into this wrong. Maybe I should focus on one style. I did have a single haute couture gown hiding among my creations. Perhaps I should stick to ready-to-wear or dive into the Boho clothes I’d whipped up a few months ago. Without knowing what everyone else was showcasing my decision to display a wide range of clothes might be a good thing.

The judges – whoever they were – would see I was versatile. I’d watched all the famous fashion reality shows. Every week the contestants were thrown different challenges in wide ranges of styles. Those who only designed high-end struggled when athletic wear or children’s clothes were announced. I’d done it all so why not show it off? As Mom liked to say, in for a penny in for a pound. Feeling supercharged one minute then doubting myself the next I nonetheless threw every one of my one hundred and fifty-five pounds in to the pot, or whatever it was people put their pennies in nowadays.

With four days left before the cutoff date for submissions we were ready. Team Kinder as the twins had started calling us were now gathered in our living room. Mom, Ivy, and the twins were dressed in the best outfits I’d ever crafted. Mom in a sleek sportswear combo, the twins in wildly opposite looks – one in a goth designed hoodie with knee-length culottes paired with ratty boots and the other in a sparkly party dress – while Ivy was in the haute couture gown fashioned from upcycled fabrics found in second hand shops. Gold, bronze, and a dark green leaf pattern compromised the bodice that fed into a wrap skirt with dark brown panels of striped silk. I was wearing one of my fave men’s Boho looks. Blousy pants with a wild tropical design, a shift worn over a bare chest. Lots of clunky wooden beaded necklaces, a Fedora, and a hemp tank. Leather sandals from the local Five for Ten shoes before they’d folded.

Mom’s cell phone rested on a tripod Ivy had borrowed from her parents, the camera aimed at the hallway of our tiny place so the models could strut the walk, spin, and then disappear. It wasn’t exactly Milan Fashion Week but it would have to do.

The only thing holding me up was my little intro.

“I don’t want to tell them all of this personal shit,” I argued with Mom and Ivy as the twins did spins around the living room. “They’ll pick me out of pity not because of my talent.”

I passed the paper Ivy had printed out back to her.

“Kinder, they want to know about you. What path you took to get to this place in your design career. The up and the downs. Tell them your story. All of it,” Ivy said as she shoved the now crinkled paper into my chest.

“She’s right,” Mom chimed in after telling the girls to stop before they got dizzy and threw-up. “Losing your father was a life changing event for you, for all of us.” She took my face in her hands then tipped my head down so my gaze met hers. “There’s no shame in being part of a hardworking family. Bad times befall all of us. Don’t hide what made you who you are. The judging panel will love you for your honesty.”

“I hate talking about it,” I whispered as I let my brow touch hers.

“I know, we all do, but it’s part of our life journey. You’ve never been one to hide anything about yourself from the world. Don’t start now.”

The room fell into silence. I nodded, kissed her smooth cheek, and turned to face the camera.

“Okay, fine. Let’s get this made and sent off. Paris awaits!” I crowed with more than a touch of unease resting on my shoulder. My models all clapped then scattered back to Mom’s room for last minute touchups and to wait for me to call them out to strut their stuff. Now it was just me and the camera. I glanced down at the paper for one final reminder of what I was to say then reached out to tap the record button on the back of the phone.

“Hey judges. I’m Kinder Graham from Perkins Hollow, North Dakota. Fashion isn’t just clothes to me. It’s storytelling. It’s expressing the inner self for the world to see. I didn’t come from a huge fashion house or famous name. I’ve been sewing and designing clothes since I was old enough to dress a Barbie. My dream to attend a fashion school were dashed when my father died unexpectedly with no health insurance leaving behind my mother, me, and my little twin sisters. Working at nights to sew, to sketch, became my new normal but I never stopped making clothes. I’ve dressed myself, my family, and my friends. I built my vision from scratch, and every piece I make reflects where I’ve been and where I’m headed.

I’m the kind of designer who’s not scared to push boundaries or get locked into one style, but I also understand wearability and emotion. I want people to wear my designs and feel powerful, unforgettable, and totally themselves.