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CHAPTER24
AUTUMN
“Who runs the world?”Molly chants.
“Girls,” we answer dutifully and distractedly, our voices sounding more like a flat drone than a hoorah anthem.
“Sing it with me now... we run this mutha... we run this mutha.”
I’ll give her credit, Molly is working hard to keep us all hyped. So we do as she orders, robotically singing along with her, but mostly, we stay focused on our labors of love.
But with less than twenty-four hours till showtime, we’re all feeling the pressure. I’ve already had to slip a small finger condom over my pinkie because I keep poking myself with a needle and I’m not ruining this fabric by bleeding on it. Yori threw up a little while ago, saying she has an ‘angry stomach’, but we figured out she meant butterflies in her belly. Molly’s singing is getting more and more off-pitch. Beatrice took a break to go cry and smoke a little while ago, and Katarina is literally snarling at her outfits and speaking to them in Russian in threatening tones that would have Stalin pissing his pants.
Shit!
There I go again, stabbing myself in the finger. I can’t help it, I’m shaking with nerves, excitement, anxiety, and giddiness.
I love my collection. Every single piece of it has poured forth from my soul, and I feel like I’ve done justice to the theme ofAmourwhile showcasing my own style. Of course, whether Jaqueline Corbin or any of the fashion judges feel that way remains to be seen.
The models have already left for the day, their final fittings complete, so now we’re planning an all-nighter, Sisterhood of the Sewing Pants style with more of Molly’s forced karaoke, a dinner buffet break, and lots of support as we finish our last-minute tweaks.
“Ugh!” I groan. I drop the skirt I’m working on to grab another Band-Aid and a fresh finger condom. “Why can’t I sew the one time I need to?” I ask, not expecting an answer.
Beatrice laughs. “If you figure it out, please tell me because I am having the same issue.” She smacks the sewing machine she’s currently arguing with before beginning to curse at it in French. “Merde inutile. Je prendrai plaisir à te frapper avec une batte.”
I don’t know what she’s saying, but the evil glint in her eye makes me suspect she’s threatening dismemberment to Maude, as we’ve come to call that particular, and persnickety, machine.
Holding up my freshly re-bandaged hands, I tell Beatrice, “Normally, I’d be down to back up whatever you’re planning, but I would leave DNA all over the place right now. I can be your alibi, though.” Grinning, I add in a saccharin, innocent voice, “Officer, Bea was with me the whole time. Right by my side.”
I go over to her, hooking my elbow through hers, and when she stands, we spin each other in a circle. Switching elbows, we turn a circle the other way, laughing and smiling.
“Oh! I needed that.” Bea plops back down to her seat, seeming ready to take on Maude once again, given the steely eyed gaze she throws it now. “Merci.”
The door to the workroom opens, and expecting it to be dinner, I let out a whoop. “Ding-a-linga-ling, dinnertime, bitches!”
I’m grinning as I turn, but somewhere in the space of the quick second, I see that Molly and Katarina have looks of horror on their faces. Yori hasn’t looked up from her work, but something tells me she would too, though I don’t know why.
Completing my turn, I find not our dinner delivery, but Jacqueline Corbin.
Her face is pinched, her lips pursed, and her eyes narrowed as they look down on me. And that has nothing to do with the height difference but rather with the power dynamic. I bet she’d manage to look down on just about anyone, though, not only young designers or ones she’s doing her damnedest to keep away from her nephew.
I get it. Simon and I don’t make logical sense, but when he’s with me—and inside me—that doesn’t seem to be an issue for us.
I try to remember that as I meet Jacqueline’s eyes. “Sorry, I thought you were the dinner delivery.” I keep my tone friendly, apologetic, and not the least bit embarrassed, which is a tough combination to pull together.
“Indeed,” she sniffs. “I wanted to ensure that we’ll be ready for tomorrow’s big show. There will be many eyes upon House Corbin, and you. Do not let me down.”
She pauses, and I realize that nothing she said was a question. It’s not ‘are you ready?’ but rather ‘be ready and don’t embarrass me.’ She’s here to twist the screws and increase the pressure already on our shoulders.
“Also, I thought of a fun little twist I wanted to inform you of.” Her eyes scan down the line-up, landing and staying on me. “For the final show, with theAmourtheme, it only seemed appropriate to have your models escorted down the runway. We will have a group of male models headed by my nephew, Simon.”
The five of us gape at her, though I suspect for different reasons.
“Male models? Do we need to dress them as well?” Katarina asks.
Thank God she’s asking the important questions, because my brain is stuck on Simon walking with a bunch of hot models down the runway. It’s his job, I know it is. That doesn’t make me any less jealous. Or less insecure.
I fiddle with the necklace around my neck, twisting it around my finger to remind myself that I have nothing to worry about. Not with Simon, despite my self-doubt trying to creep in and whisper in my ear.
