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Simon peels Chloe off as they come through the curtain, and I’m doing my best to keep my anger under control when I see her.
“What the hell was that?” I snap as I push her to my workstation.
“Calm down. It wasn’t bad, the shoe thing was barely noticeable,” Chloe tells me, sounding completely unfazed.
“Not. That. Bad?” I repeat through clenched teeth. I take a deep breath, on the verge of a scream. I’m about to stab her with the scissors in my pocket. I’m about to—
No, don’t ruin this any more than it already has been, I tell myself. I can’t fix the dress issue when it’s already walked and been seen, so the main thing I need to focus on is the presentation for my finale piece. I don’t have time for anything else right now because my second look, the red va-va-voom gown, is already out on the runway.
I help Chloe into my mourning dress, doing up the hidden zipper and quadruple-checking this time to make sure that every stitch and seam is perfect. I give her explicit instructions, reverting to the make-shift sign language I used with Jeanette in case Chloe doesn’t understand my accent... though she’s been responding to me very clearly in English. Using my fingers, I tell her, “Walk down the runway as gracefully as you can manage, one foot in front of the other. No touching Simon. I don’t want oil all over my gown.” I hold my hands up in emphasis. “No hands on Simon.”
After that, I go so far as demonstrating a semi-reasonable model walk myself. “Got it?”
Chloe’s lips quirk as though she’s trying not to laugh at me. I might not be the best walker, and I’m definitely not built like a model, but at least I’m not an uncoordinated rhinoceros trying to make it in runway fashion.
“Oui?” I ask. There’s a lot more I’d like to say, but I stick with the bare minimum because I’m not sure Chloe can handle anything else. Hell, I’m not sure I can handle anything else without going crazy.
“Oui.”
I let her go back to the line-up, giving myself a single, solitary second to breathe and send a prayer to anyone listening that this show isn’t totally fucked.
“Uhm, hey... Autumn?” Molly says, interrupting my moment.
“What?” I grit through clenched teeth.
“Sorry, but what’s up with your designs?” Molly recoils as I snap glaring eyes to hers. “I saw them yesterday, but now they’re... well, look.”
Molly points to the backstage monitor, and I see that my fourth look, the green satin pantsuit, is walking. Except it’s notmypantsuit. It looks like the lapels have been trimmed to next-to-nothing skinny, the buttons are undone, and the jacket is swinging dangerously close to a full frontal on the model, and the pants are also rough cut at the hem like Chloe’s dress was, making them a full three inches shorter than I intended.
“What the fuck?” I shout, even louder than before. If the music wasn’t thumping, I’m sure the audience would hear me.
“Your other pieces were...” Molly starts, but seeing the flames rising in my cheeks, she points again.
My va-va-voom dress with the thigh slit is now extra wide and extra high, completely scandalous to the point that the model probably flashed vajayjay with every stride down the runway, and the white bridal-inspired gown has skin peek-a-boos cut in it like the first dress did.
Nothing in my collection is as I intended it to be. They’re all... ruined. And so am I.
How did this happen? Everything I’ve worked for stripped away in minutes.
I run to the monitor, needing to see my last piece walk. Hopefully, if one out of five designs is right, that can be a tiny light of saving grace. It has to be enough.
Except...
Chloe and Simon reach the end of the runway. Simon stops, standing with his legs spread wide and his arms at his side, but I’m looking at Chloe and my mourning gown. The zipper on the side, that I know I locked into place, is half-undone, and a wide swath of Chloe’s bronzed skin and side boob are peeking out.
“No,” I whisper, my hands covering my mouth.
That’s it. The last nail in the coffin. I’m zero for five and utterly humiliated.
I don’t think anything could be worse. But instead of turning to walk back, Chloe aligns herself at Simon’s side and grips his face in her hands before planting a big, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. He freezes for a split second and then... kisses. Her. Back.
I’mthis closeto stomping my way out there myself, but Molly physically holds me back. “One second... wait one second and then I’ll create a distraction for you to destroy her.”
I don’t process what she’s saying. I don’t even truly hear her. The only things keeping my feet rooted to this spot are Molly blocking me and the anger and hurt building from deep in my soul, swirling up to the surface.
Chloe finally releases Simon after what seems like an eternity but is probably only two seconds, and then she smiles, holding his hand as they strut back. As they come through the curtain, everyone backstage begins clapping in celebration of a good show, congratulating each other and hugging friends.
I stomp up to Simon and Chloe, barking, “What was that?”
