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The first outfit is a flowy caftan dress, something I’ve seen dozens of times before, but Autumn has done something new with it. The belt gives the model’s waist definition and the slit up the side of the legs is nearly scandalous. The bold, wide trim along the deep neckline is stunning, looking hand-done but not overly delicate. The model flicks the skirt, and it pops dramatically as she turns.
“Ooh,” I hear from behind me, but then I tune out other opinions. I simply want to see what Autumn has created.
Her next outfits are equally interesting, to me, at least. And it has nothing to do with how I feel about the woman herself. Her designs are not cutting-edge, ground-breaking inventions, but they’re new takes on old classics, which is something I can appreciate. And they’d be perfect to blend into House Corbin’s existing style catalog as we move forward.
Jeanette walks last, wearing a sleeveless wrap dress with a wide waistband and a tie that drapes nearly to the floor. The V-neckline cuts to her waist, making the most of her breasts which bounce enticingly as she nearly prances down the runway. At the end, she poses with her arms up toward the ceiling, a brilliant smile on her lips. The twirl of the skirt as she turns to walk back reveals a long line of her leg, giving the look a bit of sexiness.
Bravo, Autumn!
When Jacqueline looks at me sharply, I realize I’ve said that aloud.
“Uh, don’t you agree? The last dress in particular would be wearable by most any woman regardless of age, size, or resort location.”
Jacqueline doesn’t respond to the small joke about Autumn’s collection being the perfect resort wear, which is definitely one way to interpret the Summer of Youth theme.
“Let’s see what else is to come,” she replies.
I need to be more careful. It’s not that communication between competitors and House Corbin employees is forbidden, but it could be construed as a leg up for Autumn, even if we don’t discuss the competition at all. And I don’t want to do anything that would lessen her chances of success because I know how important this is to her.
At the same time, I have every intention of seeing her again.
The last collection is from Beatrice, and it’s quite well done too. Of course, that’s likely because it’s very Parisian. The dresses are short but appropriate, the skirts are long and flowy, and the tops are cotton bustier-type camisoles under oversized linen shirts. It’s mostly solids, with a color palette of mostly pale blues and navy, though her finale maxi dress is a floral print that combines the two with a pop of red.
After the show’s conclusion, I give my notebook with my evaluations to my aunt. “A good start, don’t you think?”
“I think there was a lot of promise in some of the pieces,” she answers evasively. “I look forward to seeing what another week produces.”
I watch as she leaves, Albert at her side, as always. They’re deep in conversation, and I wonder what they’re saying. Which designer they favored, which pieces they loved, and also, which they didn’t care for.
Knowing I’ll be expected to make my way to the after-show cocktail hour to mingle and discuss, I make a quick move to slip backstage. Out front, the show is over, only dissection to be done. Back here, it’s still a madhouse of clothing to be hung up for transport, models getting dressed in street clothes, and cleaning up the general mess.
As a representative of House Corbin, I work my way around the room to shake hands with each designer.
“Good job,” I tell each of them, ensuring that no favor or feedback is given per Jacqueline’s rules.
When I shake Autumn’s hand, I force myself to play it cool. The hand contact is no longer or shorter than with the other designers, the eye contact equally congenial, and my comment given with the same inflection. “Good job.”
“Thank you,” Autumn replies.
I can tell she’s busy, torn between wanting to speak to me and help her models get out of her precious pieces, so I make my visit quick.
Standing back and watching the process of breaking down the show, I make a decision. I grab a piece of paper from a nearby makeup station and scribble a note.
Using the hectic hustle and bustle as a distraction, I step closer to Autumn’s station. I glance around, ensuring no one is paying me any mind, and then quickly slip the note into her bag where I’m sure she’ll find it later.
If you wish to see me, meet me at the corner of Rue Fontaine and Rue Verde tomorrow, 15:00.
I don’t sign it. I don’t need to. She’ll know, and the corner is both close enough to her apartment that she can get there easily and far enough away from House Corbin that we can meet away from prying eyes that might be nearby.
If she wants to.
If not, I will honor her wishes.
Or there’s the possibility she could turn the note in to Jacqueline. That would get me in deep trouble, and my aunt is not the forgiving type.
But Autumn is a risk I’m willing to take.
For now, the ball is in her court.
