Page 43 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“We are now in the Eighth,” Camilo announced before the four of us exploded out of the taxi van like puppies being released out the back door. “This, obviously, is Maison de Couture Barrons.” He waved a hand at the elegant limestone building. My head tipped back as I drank in cast-iron faux balconies on every window and the ornate carved facades. A doorman in smoke gray doorman coat, 19th century inspired, smiled then gave us a quarter bow before pulling open a massive wood door with Maison de Couture Barrons engraved on a small brass plaque. There were no other signs. Claude Barrons didn’t need awnings announcing his business or flashing neon signs.

Stepping through the ornate front door my eyes were overwhelmed with elegance, taste, and refinement. To the left was a curved staircase with black wrought iron railings leading to a second floor. Placed strategically behind red velvet lines to keep dirty fingers off were key looks from the house’s history. The floors shone like glass, the white Italian marble glowing in the soft, natural light provided by tall windows. Stationed at the front doors, just out of sight, I caught a glimpse of suited security hosts. A sweeping gallery-like reception area greeted us, the air rich with the scent of Claude’s signature perfume being pumped through the air. Two client advisors sat at a sleek, minimal desk directing those who had appointments for personal fittings to an elevator one behind the desk. We were told to use elevator two.

Piling into the lift we whispered like school children on a field trip. A thin man holding a small handheld camera was packed in with us. Camilo nodded along at our chitchat, his mind a mile away by the looks. The door opened with a soft ping and we stepped into the area of the shop where the magic took place.

While downstairs was quiet elegance and decorum this was controlled chaos. Rows of dress forms draped in half-finished gowns and pinned muslin prototypes filled the spaces around the large oaken worktables covered with pattern swatches, sketchbooks, measuring tapes, and embroidery samples. Antique mirrors with gilded frames reflected the movement of the sewists carefully hand-stitching garments. Artfully hung between the mirrors were vintage fashion illustrations from days gone by. Bolts of silk, satin, tweed, and lace stood neatly arranged along the far wall, the colors creating a muted yet lux palette. There was open shelving on the western wall with spools of thread in hundreds of colors, boxes of buttons, ribbons, trims all organized with meticulous care. Breathing in I could pick up the subtle scent of pressed fabric, fresh paper, and dark roast coffee. It was a place where craftmanship, elegance, and imagination come together to transform rough sketches into couture. If only I could stay her forever…

Camilo gave us time to drink it in before herding us from this wonderful space through a heavy door, down a small hall, and then into a huge room with velvet curtains, elegant chairs, and a three panel mirror where clients could view garments from every angle. Cameras and sound crew were also packed in here.

We stood right inside the door. The room was quiet save for some classical music flowing in from hidden speakers. Behind us the door opened. Jon, Claude’s PA, entered with a sour glance at the four of us blocking his entrance. He was holding a small take out dish.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as I stepped aside. “Nice to see you again.”

He raked me with a look. “Is it really?”

“Yeah, we missed you.” I was trying. Honestly, really trying.

“Well, for your edification my grandmother passed. Claude, who is kind and generous, gave me time off to mourn.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Are you truly?” He gave me an icy glare then made his way through a curtain with his tiny cup.

My mouth fell open at the shade.

“Bloke does not like you. Probably he knows that his boss wants some prime American meat,” Mickey whispered. I elbowed him in the side so hard he grunted.

The curtain on the middle room flew open, startling us. Soline stepped through the thick velvet drapery wearing the most divine embroidered pink sleeveless mermaid gown I had ever seen. The bustier boning was impeccable, hugging her slim waist while pushing her breasts up perfectly.

“Oh, hello little ducks!” She grinned as she gave us a twirl. We all showered her with compliments on her gown. “What, this old thing?” Her giggle was infectious. Claude exited from a small door on the left, looking so damn good in a trim cut lime green single breasted wool suit. No tie today. White shirt, dark belt, and luxurious dark green loafers.

“Whose design are you calling old?” He teased, stepping up to buss her cheeks. “There are still pins in the hem.”

“Oh pooh, I am found out.” She turned to gaze at us. “Claude has been kind enough to stitch up this stunning gown for me for the César awards in February. We’re hoping to see your work show up on the red carpets soon. As a matter of fact,” she tapped her chin with a long pink fingernail. “Perhaps we will add a little bonus to the grand prize? What do you think, Claude?” He shot us all a look that was hard to read. Then he nodded just once. “Wonderful! I am in desperate need of a gown to wear to the Oscars in March. I will be picking one gown out of the winning designers red carpet trio to wear to Hollywood!”

Oh. My. God.

We all cheered and clapped. That would be huge. Beyond huge.

“So, that should give you all extra incentive to put your best looks in front of the judges for the final runways.” Claude glanced over when Jon, with Pamplemousse on a leash, snuck behind the cameras to lead the dog out of the fitting room. His attention then came back to the camera in front of him. “Since this is the grand finale we are not going to set times for your sketching. You have made it this far so we are assuming you already are working on ideas for your collection. Camilo will show you to the rooms you’ll be utilizing here during your stay. They’re not large, but they are comfortable. You shall be working in the main room with my assistants. They are not to offer any help of any kind to any of you. There is no bedtime so if you wish to work all night then the room is yours. Make use of whatever textiles you wish as well as any notions. Makeup and hair for the models are being done in trailers at the shoot site so you are to provide notes on what you wish for each look. If you have any questions, I will be coming through as before to look over and offer advice on your garments, but in the end the collections are yours. Do as your muse demands. Now, I have a very demanding client waiting on me to take her to lunch. I shall see you all tomorrow.”

“That’s me!” Soline confessed with a wink.

He offered Soline his arm. She gave us a wiggle of her fingers as they exited trough the side door. I looked at my fellow finalists.

“If I die here just prop my bones up in a corner so I never had to leave,” I said which got a rough laugh from them. Pretty sure they all felt the same.

***

At the onset of our final assignment I felt that two weeks for six looks was going to be cake.

After our time knocking out designs in a day fourteen days for a half dozen outfits should be as easy as sewing on a button.

It was not. Ten day in and I was creatively spent. My muse had packed her bags and flown to the Riveria to lounge about on an Olivette while watching movie stars tan themselves on pale gold sands. I’d managed to eke out three day looks easily enough, and two red carpet. The third lux look was just not coming. My sketchbook was rife with drawings I’d scribbled out in bold black marker. There was simply no inspiration left. I was going to burn out badly, lose the chance to get a degree and set my family up for life. Gone. Poof. Just like that.

So, I left the tiny room where the other two male finalists were sleeping to take a walk. Where I was going I had no clue. Maybe I could just walk out into the Seine ala Bradley Cooper and the sea in A Star is Born.

The atelier was quiet now, the sewists all having gone home hours ago. I slipped out of the cramped third floor room which had been hastily turned into a dorm of sorts, tiptoeing around the two twin beds holding Mickey and Enzo. Zara had her own little nook up here. We shared a bath which had also been installed with haste according to Camilo. This had previously been storage space and would be again.