Page 35 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Perhaps we should change the subject,” Claude offered after we’d veered off a discussion about my challenges as a queer youth in a small backwater town to the night my father died.

“No, its…” I plucked the bottle from his hand while Pamplemousse did his best to dig out another vole in the flowerbeds. The groundcrew at the academie must curse that dog violently. I took a belt, allowing the wine to wash over my taste buds before swallowing. “It’s fine. You’ve shared some deeply personal things with me.”

“Yes but none involving such a terrible loss. Yes, my parents have moved over but they were older and riddled with health issues. Papa was very obese and Mama smoked.” I shot him a look. “Yes, I know, I should quit. I just…it’s so comforting.”

I understood that. “Perhaps you should find something you enjoy to replace that urge. Gum works pretty well they say.”

“Ugh, gum chewing is like a cow working a cud.” His pert nose wrinkled. “Mm, well, perhaps, when this show is over, I could swap a kiss for a smoke?” He gave me a quick little naughty glance that made me smile.

“Perhaps.”

“Then I shall consider it. For you.”

I nodded as my sight went from him to a leaf tumbling down to land on the walkway. There were more of them every night now, dead and dry, brown, their lives done.

“Dad was walking to a job interview when some drunk ran off the road, up onto the curb, and hit him. I like to think that he never knew what hit him as he was facing away from the car coming up behind him but my rational brain tells me that he had to hear the car thumping up over the curb before it hit him.”

“Oh, Kinder, my deepest condolences.”

“Thanks.” I took another swig of wine. “It was like…man, I can’t even describe the depth of the loss. Mom was a wreck. She and dad were a true love match. The twins were young and didn’t really get the whole concept of death they just wanted to know where daddy was all the time. We…” another taste of the grape to fortify myself. “We went through some bad shit. Mom fell into a deep, dark depression. The girls were crying all the time. I just wanted things to go back to how they’d been before that creep had killed my father. But that was never going to happen. Bills piled up, utilities were shut off, we were evicted. It was…yeah, it was bad. We ended up in a shelter for a while. Took us a while to get back on our feet. Mom got some help, counseling pro bono at a clinic, got some meds, and slowly we pulled ourselves out of that pit of grief.”

His hand claimed my free one, lean fingers slipping between mine. “And now here you are, in Paris, a proud, accomplished young designer with a bright future ahead of you. I am sure your Papa is looking down with glowing pride.”

“Yeah, I like to think so. He’d have been okay with me being gay and wanting to make clothes I think. He had a really open heart. He never once gave me grief for sewing with grandma instead of being outside throwing a football or any of that stereotypical masculine shit. He always teased me about making him something pretty to wear. I never got the chance.”

Obviously the wine had weakened my spine for I tipped to the side like a tree whose roots had rotted. My head came to rest on his shoulder.

“Oh, mon pauvre.” He gave my hand a squeeze. There was no need for translation. The sympathy was clear in his soft tones. “Life is so hard at times. They say the challenges we face make us stronger. Likely so but that strengthening is painful. Thankfully, there are good times among the bad, happy days, lovely nights spent with a handsome young man who has captivated you in ways that you cannot recall being captivated before.”

I picked my head up just enough to be able to see him. There was no way not to steal a kiss at this moment. A gentle press of lips to lips, a rustle of sighs, a moment of rapture.

“I’m captivated too,” I whispered then let my temple fall back to rest on his shoulder.

I floated back to my room that night, giddy on expensive wine and the blush of romance. Not even the roaring snores of my roommate kept me awake because as soon as my head hit the pillow I was out like a light.

***

Étoiles de Style was a grueling taskmaster.

I woke up the next morning with a sour taste in my mouth and a killer wine headache. Mickey gave me a look that I had trouble understanding as I shuffled around our mess of a room like a zombie, chewing aspirin tablets like they were breath mints.

Camilo brought the six of us who remained to the quad where Soline and Claude were waiting. They were both wearing odd clothes. No, not odd just…out of place on adults. They seemed to be in school uniforms of some sort. Claude looked adorable with his knobby knees showing while Soline’s long gazelle-like legs were shown off to full advantage. Crew members with headsets and lanyards moved us into a line, standing to face our host and advisor. Claude’s gaze met mine. A tender little twist of his lips was his way of reminding me he was captivated.

“Good morning!” Soline yelled. I winced. “Can you imagine that we are one challenge away from the finals?” She held up one neatly manicured finger.

We all shook our heads. To be honest all of us, even the shitfully sour Enzo, could believe we were near the end. Every single one of us was mentally and physically exhausted. We’d been cooped up for several weeks, pushed beyond our limits, and had yet to visit the Eiffel Tower.

“It’s been a wonderful debut season,” Claude said, Pamplemousse looking rather putout about having to wear a dark blue woolen vest to match Claude’s old-fashioned knickerbockers. “And the best is yet to come. Today’s challenge is one that feels right at home here in the academie. Shall we bring out the models?” He asked us and we all nodded. Soline grinned then reached for a gold bell. She rang it once, twice, thrice. The side door opened and five young girls marched out into the quad, each in uniforms that matched the one Soline was wearing. None of them were older than ten. A tall matronly woman in a dark gray suit accompanied the girls out, taking a stance beside Claude. She was very severe in look and clothing. Ten adults filed out to stand on the sidelines.

“Oh shit,” Mickey whispered. He glanced at me with a funny look. “Children’s wear.”

“Looks like it,” I softly replied while the girls gathered round Soline and Claude. Giving the others a fast peek I saw that every designer wore a look of dread.

“These girls are students from Institut de Bellecour, a girl’s finishing and etiquette school here in Paris. We are thrilled to have them here to model your designs!” Soline announced. We all smiled widely and said hello to the girls. “You will have one day to give each girl a redesigned uniform and an outfit to wear after school. The requirements for the uniform are that the outfit must maintain a sense of prestige and tradition. It must include the school’s colors and crests. It must be comfortable for a full day of classes, and it must appeal to the girls while satisfying the school administrators. We will have Madame Adnet as a guest judge this evening. The girls parents will also have to approve the afterschool look and will be present at the fittings.”

Ah, that was who the random adults were. Cool. I had no worries about any of the requirements.

“We’re going to assign you a model randomly. After you meet with your model to sketch designs we’re going to send you to the workroom to get designing. Remember that being a designer means you will be working with many different clients of varying ages, sizes, and means. Knowing how to craft outfits for young and old with taste and love is paramount to success. Sew well,” Claude said as he patted a tiny blond girl on the head, making sure to angle Pamplemousse away from the child as best as he could.