Page 48 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Nope. Don’t try to talk me out of it. I’m going with you to make sure this man is good enough for my son.”

“Mom, he’s good enough, trust me on this one.” She arched a slim brow. “He is. I need to do this by myself. We need time alone just him and me to work everything out.”

“Hmmm. Work everything out. Is that what you kids are calling having sex now?”

“Mom…”

“Fine. Fine. I won’t go with you to work everything out but you make sure to tell him that while he may have passed muster for me he hasn’t for me yet.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Good. Now, eat that éclair. You’re too thin.” She motioned to the untouched confectionary with her gaze then waited, eyes pinned on me, as I took a bite. “Good. You’ll need the sugar. It’s going to be a long day and you, my child, are about see all your dreams come true.”

“I love you,” I said around a mouthful of cream and dough.

“I love you too. Eat.”

It’s true what Rudyard Kipling said about God not being able to be everywhere so he created mothers. This woman was nothing short of a miracle.

***

Thirty minutes later I was in the thick of it.

Models, makeup, hair, confessionals, sound checks, press, and my mother. The esplanade was packed. Designers, pop stars, movie icons. I saw hundreds of famous faces from our little temporary production trailers which were serving as dressing rooms, hair and makeup stations, and wardrobe storage. The logistics of what the producers had to go through to secure this boggled the mind. Permits, permission from God and all his angels, coordination with police, city officials, and park management. The cost had to have been enormous. Then add in the location prep. The crew had laid down temporary flooring. There was lighting and sound, power generators stashed in hidden spots. That was just what I was seeing from the trailers. Security and crowd control were in full force; barriers had been erected so we could work and film around the huge amount of foot traffic that arrived daily at one of the world’s busiest tourist destinations. There were easily a hundred and fifty crew members here today. Mind blown.

“Kinder, we have zipper issues,” Mom said to my left, pulling me from the chaos outside. I closed the trailer door, drew in a shaky breath, and turned to find my gorgeous plus-size model Nash looking like someone ran over her dog.

“I’m so sorry,” Nash began to cry big wet tears as I gently touched her shoulder to get her to turn to show me the back of her ready to day look. The white tailored suit featured a lace bustier that was paired with a cropped jacket and slacks with lace details. The lace had been repurposed from a discarded dress at Claude’s shop. The Barrons label did not deal in much in the way of upcycled materials. He would have to work on that. I’d tell him so when I tracked him down.

“This fit you yesterday,” I said, taking both sides of the bustier to pull them together. Nash gasped then began to whimper apologies as I stood there amid two other models needing final touches with a busted bustier in my hands.

“I’m so sorry. I got my period last night then my boyfriend was being a dick so I…I hit the chips hard.”

I said nothing. The woman was upset enough. Yelling at her now would only make things worse. She was bloated. We’d work around it. Stress rode on the hip of a fashion designer like a dog in a sling. God I missed Claude. I totally got how Nash felt. I’d eaten enough junk over the past few days to try to ease my melancholy heart to sink a damn ship. I was bloated too. Only thing was I didn’t need to stick to exact measurements like fashion models did.

“No problem. We’ll make this work.” I took the bustier to a corner, sat down, and with a pair of trusty seam rippers began working at a side seam. Nash dried her eyes as I worked, whispering with the other models about how truly terrible men and menstrual cycles were.

“Okay, let’s try this.” I rushed to wrap the bustier around her. She tucked her breasts inside, inhaled, and with some gentle persuasion we slowly got her zipped up. “Good. Fine. No sour cream and onion chips can defeat us.” I eased her arms into the jacket. With the puffiness of her tummy it was not going to button properly for that fitted jacket. “New plan. When you hit your stop do not take the jacket off for any reason. The judges will see the shoddy seams. Just open it slightly to show the bustier and your amazing cleavage then finish your walk.”

Mom yelled yay over in the corner as she was giving a skirt a last minute steam to work out any wrinkles from being packed into a garment bag.

The trailer door opened. “Models to the runway. Designer to their seats,” Kris, one of dozens of crew members, barked. They were stressed just as we were. This day was going to be horrendously long. Two shows, hundreds of shoots and reshoots, celebrities…

“Okay,” I ran over to help Monique into the freshly steamed skirt, button her up in the back, and then give the blouse she was modeling a final onceover. “Gorgeous. Let’s go.”

I followed my models out into the cool fall day. The Eiffel Tower stood majestically behind us as we made our way to the rapidly erected backdrops with art deco images of the Paris skyline. There we joined the other designers who all looked as keyed up as I felt. Mickey was pale as curd, Enzo was chewing on a pen cap, and Zara was eating the cuticle around her thumb. She yet had said one word to me or would meet my eye. I was torn on how to deal with her so the silence worked for now.

Soline met us wearing a stunning blue suit fitted to perfection. Wide lapels, a silk slip of a blouse, and wide bell bottom slacks. She was to beautiful it robbed me of my breath for a moment. She gave us all a warm smile.

“Hello my little ducks! Are we excited?” Soline asked. We all groaned like we all had food poisoning. “Poor darlings. Nerves are a good thing though as they sharpen your focus and give you energy. Which you will need to get through this most amazing day!”

How was she always so chipper? I wanted to puke. “So, this is the day. By nine this evening we will have a winner of Étoiles de Style. I wanted to take a moment before I lose you to your destinies to tell each of you how proud Claude and I are of you all. He wishes he could be here but as you know he is indisposed temporarily but his heart is here.” Her gaze darted to me then was quickly pulled away by producers and sound men and a dozen other staffers needing her to step out to open the show.

“I’ll see you after the show. I love you,” Mom whispered before joining the rest of the friends and family that were here for Mickey, Enzo, and Zara. They were escorted to the front row on either side of the judges. She got to sit next to a famous soap opera starlet. That would give her something to talk about for years. I smiled then softly burped. Anxiety burps were a thing.

“Good luck,” I said to my fellow contestants. They all said the same thing back, even Zara, and then we were told to be ready. Soline made her entrance to thunderous applause from the hundreds of VIP guests.

“Bonjour!” She called into the mic to which everyone seated and those on the other side of the fencing barriers replied in kind. “Welcome to the finale of the very first season of Étoiles de Style! We are so very excited to have you here for this day of fashion and fun. Sadly my dearest friend Claude Barrons, who has been the advisor for our new designers all season was not able to attend the shows today due to illness.”