Page 47 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

I picked up my head to look at him with confusion. “What the fuck are you even talking about right now?”

“Not a bloody clue but it got your head up. Keep it up. I got work to do.” He clapped me on the shoulder then heaved himself to his feet. My sight lingered on his floppy boots – my mother would have a cow over those untied shitkickers – until they disappeared behind a cloud of organza.

My gaze flickered to the crew. Feeling miserable to my core I held up both middle fingers. They eased back a few feet but kept recording. Fucking A this reality television sucked. There was no thing as a private moment to break the fuck down. I was never doing another show like this ever again.

“I’m fine,” I snarled as I pushed to my feet, shoulders set as if cast in stone. Mickey was right. Putting up with all of this bullshit for weeks would be for nothing if I strolled now. My mother would still be stuck working double or triple shifts. I’d still be tossing cow feed into the back of pickup trucks owned by homophobes. My dreams would be nothing but mist. I’d be known as a quitter. And then there was Claude who had given up so much to ensure I’d be able to compete to the end. The stupid, noble, gorgeous man.

I made my way to my table, Claude’s sewists watching the theatrics as they worked, and picked up my grandmother’s shears and returned to cutting and pinning. There was no looking away, no sniffling, no dabbing at dewy eyes. That shit had to be shelved for later. Even when Zara returned there was no emotion shown on my half. She averted her eyes for the rest of the day. I kept mine on my dress. The one that reminded me of Mom, my sisters, and Claude who had all given so much to see me succeed.

The day of the final runway I’d be sure to wear the old hat of Dad’s that was crumpled up in the bottom of my suitcase. Kenny Graham’s boy did not raise a son who quit. Cried on occasion? Yes. Quit when things got hard? No.

Chapter Eighteen

Four days later the final four designers stood at the base of the Eiffel Tower.

She was still the most impressive thing I had ever seen in my entire life even if my heart was hollow. There was no runway set up per say. No elevated stage but lots and lots of red carpet was being rolled out. Wearing a repurposed drape suit, also known as a zoot suit from the 30’s, in a deep plum. Dad’s hat sat atop my head.

We had an hour before shooting began. The crew was frantically attending to last minute things. Our models were in trailers, dressed in the first of our three ready to wear designs. Chairs were spaced under the yawning girders of the famed tower for the guests, press, influencers, and other VIP. Rumor was the wife of the French president was going to be in attendance for the evening part of the show. Soline and Claude had great pull and admiration in this country. Hell, all over the world.

Claude. This whole affair seemed lackluster without him here. I’d gotten used to seeing him every day, and mostly every night. I missed the tilt of his head as he examined an article of clothing, the small smile that he gave me when we were alone, the brush of his fingers to mine during those long moonlit nights. I missed him coming into the workroom to critique our clothes even when he was a little brusque. Every damn nuance of this show was muted without him. God help me I even missed Pamplemousse barking, snapping, and being a tiny shit in a sling all the time. There were ten hours left. The day show popped off at noon, the evening show at eight. Four designers, three outfits. I’d know the outcome by ten at night. Then I’d be on a fucking train to Avignon. Claude and I had things to discuss. First though I was going to kiss him and tell him just how much I loved him. He could close the door in my face if he wished but I wasn’t hiding or holding back anymore.

As I checked my phone – yes they’d been given back to us today hallelujah – for the twentieth time a familiar loved voice rang out. I spun and there was my mother rushing at me with Camilo on her heels.

“Kinder!” Mom yelled, making show crew heads snap around. I bolted to her, lifted her up and over a tangle of cables, and gave her a twirl. She cried and laughed as we went round and round. “Oh honey, stop. I’m going to barf up the fancy breakfast burrito they served us on the plane.”

I let her down, keeping her in my arms, just to breath in her sweet honeysuckle scent. “I’ve missed you so much. Things have been so hard,” I whispered. Mom patted my back, her cheek on my shoulder, while whispering little tender things as she did when I was small and skinned my knee.

“Let’s go sit at a table over there and catch up,” Mom whispered as she gave my back a final pat. “This lovely young man has my bag. He met me at the airport with a sign and everything just like I was someone important.” Mom smiled at Camilo who smiled back then wheeled her secondhand case to one of the little food stands around the esplanade.

“You are someone very special,” I told her, taking her hand to guide her to a round table with a single flower in a slim vase.

“Let me go get you two something to nibble on,” Camilo offered, parking her bag beside her as we made ourselves comfy on wrought-iron chairs. The air was chilly today. Mom looked tired, obviously, but thrilled. She tipped her head back to gaze skyward through the girders.

“Imagine us sitting here in Paris about to sip some espresso and enjoy a fancy French éclair all due to your talents,” she lowered her chin to gaze at me as if I hung the moon and stars. Which I so did not. “The twins are heartbroken that they couldn’t come but the show would only pay for one plane ticket, plus they have school. Ivy is such a dream offering to take them to her house while we’re here. Have you spoken to her yet?”

“No, not today. It’s still early over there. I’m going to Facetime her after the first show is over.”

“Oh good. She’s been like a bike with no wheels since you left. Oh that looks marvelous. Thank you Camilo!”

Our treats were placed before us then he hustled off to attend to one of his thousands of jobs that never ended. I imagined the entire crew would be happy to see things wrap. Hopefully they got some downtime. God knows we all needed it.

“So, Kinder, tell me everything.” She stirred a thin packet of sugar into her coffee as I poked at my éclair. Even with a sweet tooth it just didn’t appeal. More than likely a case of nerves and yearning. I’d not eaten well since Claude had departed. Sleep was fractured. All I’d done was sew and plot ways to get to his country cottage if I lost. “Honey.” She tapped the back of my hand resting beside my éclair. My gaze moved from the baked good to her. “Honey, what’s wrong? You look like you do on the anniversary of your father’s death.”

Shit. Well, yeah, loss was loss. “Nothing that bad, honestly.” That was the truth. I knew where Claude was. I knew I was going to him if I had to walk across France like a vagabond or hitch a ride in the back of a French chicken farmers rattling old truck. “I just…” I stared into eyes so full of love and had to let it out. Everything came gushing out as if I were one of those opulent fountains at Versailles. Mom ate at her éclair with one hand while grasping my hand with the other. When I ran out of steam, or water if we’re going to stick with the fountain theme, there were tears wetting her lashes.

“Kinder, I’m so sorry you’re hurting. What Claude did was quite noble.” She gave my fingers a squeeze.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s the fourth Musketeer overflowing with chivalry and honor.” I wanted to be mad about it but I couldn’t. Well, I was but not. My head was still working it all out obviously. “I love him, Mom. I do, honestly. I guess people will say that someone with so little experience can’t know what love is but I do, and I feel it.”

“Does it feel as if your heart has been torn from your chest without him?”

“Yeah, it so does.”

“That sounds like love to me.”

I sighed as a golf care flew by with Xavier behind the wheel yelling at whoever would listen. I would not miss him. “After you win I think we should make our way to his little cottage and have a nice talk with him.”

“Mom…”