Page 42 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

Seemed life enjoyed twists as much as reality TV directors.

***

The runway was lit from below, spotlights on the five models as they stood on short pedestals, still as statues. Claude was in the wings, the judges in their seats, and the students in their section.

The other four designers had had their turns, now it was mine. Standing beside Monique I lifted a hand to help her step down from her plinth. Soft oohs from the students watching as my model – a student herself – moved down the catwalk like a goddess. Esme handed me the same microphone that the others had used to describe their work and inspiration.

“I’ve chosen Hermaphroditus as my inspiration,” I explained to the judges as Monique paused, rolled a shoulder, and threw the crowd a look of supreme exaltedness. “As you can see my design explores duality with the bleeding of traditional masculine and feminine aesthetics. I wanted to create a dual nature column gown with tailored elements. A strong shoulder, soft waist instead of corseted, with a flowing train on one side in shades of alabaster, gold, and pearl silver. I chose duchess satin for structure, silk crepe for the fluid draping, and organza overlays for transparency. A clean neckline combined with minimal decorations for a slim silhouette from the front which bleeds into a gradual transition from rigid tailoring to fluid fabric. Pearl cuff earrings to match her cuff bracelets, sleek hair, and pearlescent makeup which has been styled to show ambiguity and elegance instead of overt gender coding.”

Monique then returned to her podium where she struck a godly pose. The students applauded politely as they had for the previous designs. The judges put their heads together, whispering in French as we five stood on stage beside our models sweating bullets. I’d been trying to prepare myself for the cut since Claude and I had our little meeting in the bathroom earlier. If I were sent home being this close it would gut me. Mom would tell me to be proud that I had made it this far in a brutal competition but platitudes wouldn’t pay the rent.

The auditorium fell into silence when Soline rose from her seat, her silver pantsuit hugging her curves to perfection.

“This was a very difficult decision as you all did incredible work with this final assignment. Throwing a little monkey wrench into things to see how well you handled stress didn’t throw any of you off task. Well done! Fashion is hard work. Long nights, endless tension, and the knowledge that what sells well in the spring may well be out of style in the fall. Still, you five are the best young designers that we have seen in many years. Choosing just four was superbly challenging. When I call your name please step away from your models.” She held up a tablet that held our futures on its screen. “

The air felt thinner than normal as she paused to create more tension. If things were any more tense I’d faint.

“Zara please step forward,” Soline said. Zara stumbled into the center of the catwalk.

“Mickey, please step forward.” My roomie leaped up next to Zara.

“Enzo, please step forward,” Soline announced, lowering her tablet to watch Enzo join the other three. I threw Esme a look of support.

“Kinder, please step forward.” It took a second for the words to register with my brain. When they did I felt a weight the size of the Eiffel Tower – which I had yet to see in person – lift from my shoulders. I went to Esme, gave her a hug, and then joined the other weepy, giddy finalists in the center of the catwalk. “You four are advancing to the semifinals. Esme, I’m so sorry but your design for this assignment had design issues that we could not overlook. We’re looking forward to seeing more of you in the future. Que Dieu vous bénisse et bonne chance.”

“Merci, merci,” Esme whispered, her voice thick, before she waved to us then left the stage. Claude met her in the wings, placing an arm around her quaking shoulders then leading her to some privacy.

The four of us joined hands and took bows to applause from the students. The judges rose as well, clapped politely, and then turned to watch Claude reappear.

“Congratulations designers,” he said, smiling at all of us with pride. “Your designs throughout this competition have been outstanding. Now the real work begins,” he said, pausing to help Soline up with a polite hand. She now stood beside him in front of us. Cameras and microphones moved around, Xavier off to the side, scowling at something on one of the screens he was watching. He barked to someone to add less lighting behind the screen then waved at us in exasperation. “After a sound night’s sleep, and some celebrating in your rooms, we’ll be moving production from the academie to my atelier.”

We all gasped as one. To be able to work in Claude Barrons studio where he and the artisans working under him created his famous fashion lines was a privilege that none to my knowledge had ever experienced before. That faint was close to happening.

“There you will have two weeks to create a collection that will consist of three day looks which must be ready to wear, marketable, and above all else practical yet still stylish as well as three red carpet looks. We’re looking for couture-inspired elegance, dramatic statements, and lux out the backside,” Soline added with a little wink.

“We’ll be displaying your collections in two parts. One during the day, the other at night, all under the majesty of the Eiffel Tower,” Claude explained.

All four of us squealed. Finally. Finally! The Eiffel Tower. I’d dreamed of visiting it and now, finally, would be able to not only see it but show my clothes beneath it. Someone needed to pinch me.

“So, my little ducks, enjoy the goodies in your rooms, sleep well, and be ready to move to some swanky digs tomorrow morning!” Soline exclaimed as she, Claude, and the judges all shook our hands and kissed our cheeks before sending us to our rooms. We all met in Zara’s as it was the cleanest of the three. Enzo even came over, his joy over being in the final four seemingly outweighing his dislike of me. We popped corks on champagne, feasted on berries and chocolates, and toasted all the others who we’d met who had been sent home. It had been grueling, and it was far from over, but the more bubbly I drank the less heavy the worries became. For a few hours…

Chapter Sixteen

Even though we were able to sleep in – our rides to Claude’s atelier wouldn’t be here until noon – I was awake at seven.

Guess the old gotta be at work at eight rhythm was still strong in my head half a world away. Or, and this was at least half of it, I was excited. Two weeks to create six looks in the environs of one of the world’s most famed designers was still a little unreal to me. Rolling to my side I watched the half-nude boughs of the sycamore tree in the quad drooping down under the weight of a cold fall rain. Droplets ran down the window. The sound of rain should have been lulling me back to sleep but I was too keyed up. Mickey was on his side, the snoring now just a low weed-eater running on bad gas sound instead of a chainsaw.

How long I laid there I had no clue but as I did I began planning. Well, dreaming actually. Dream planning. Was that even a thing? Whatever. I let my mind wander to some frothy future where my family was here in France, rich as Crocues, and wellfed as spring lambs. No more box mac and cheese, no more discount baked goods, no more terrible livery hot dogs. We had a little house. Mom was tending to flowers in window boxes, the twins were in tasteful school private school uniforms, and I was hard at work in my new design space on the second floor of our tasteful home that had a view of the Eiffel Tower. Oh, and Claude was there as we were happily wedded. Pamplemousse was there too but only begrudgingly. One big happy family under one roof. No worries about robbing Peter to pay Paul. No crushing bills bowing my mother’s back.

“Please,” I whispered as the rain continued to steadily fall. Who I was beseeching to grant my wish I had no clue. Still, it could happen.

It could happen. All I had to do was win the final assignment and everything would be sunshine and kitten whiskers.

***

By twelve-thirty we four were on our way.

Leaving the academie behind we chatted like magpies, nerves high, as we made our way to the golden triangle. Where else would Claude Barrons have his workshop? The Golden Triangle was renowned for being the epicenter of French haute couture. Several famous designers had their work spaces slash showrooms here. We passed high-end real estate and lavish hotels that looked like palaces. The driver pulled over to one empty space along the curb in the 8th Arrondissement Maison.