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“Oh, honey.” Victoria squeezes my shoulder. “I’ve been blocked before. It passes, I promise. You just need to find something recreational to get your mind off the fact that you’re blocked. Fill the well, as we say. Physical activities are good, too. It’s a shame you don’t have anyone to, um...get physical with.”
She winks, then steers me inside.
On her production floor, she continues, “When I started out as a designer, I made a decision I wasn’t going to do this if I couldn’t make my clothes here in the States.”
“Stella gets her clothes made in Kansas,” I tell Victoria. “She wanted her clothes to be American-made, too.”
The whir of sewing machines, bolts of fabric on worktables, and happy faces on the seamstresses are exhilarating.
“This is Marisol. She sewed all your dresses with the new patterns you showed me how to make.” Victoria cups the shoulder of a woman sitting at an industrial machine.
“Thank you.” The woman, who’s about fifty, with dark hair and olive skin shoots to her feet and hugs me.
“For what?”
“For what you do!”
“I told her this is your specialty.” Victoria smiles.
“For making clothes for women like us that don’t look like tents.”
Now I get how Stella feels when she hears this kind of praise.
“Clearly, I know how it feels.” I motion to myself.
“You’re beautiful!” She fusses over me.
“You are, too!” I smile at the seamstress. “And thank you for sewing these dresses just for me.”
“Let me show you the fitting room.” Victoria, who’s beaming, brings me to a set of metal stairs.
This entire warehouse is very utilitarian with its open metal-beamed ceiling and exposed brick. It has so much character and is very old-industrial New York.
“Are you and Theo coming to the concert tonight?” I ask Victoria.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Date night with the kids. Here, this will work for tonight. I’ve been to Cassidy Hall.”
I go breathless when she unwraps the knee-length dress. It has a sheer bohemian top with black velvet appliques down the front, a leather belt at the waist, and a burgundy silk flare skirt.
“This is beautiful.” It will also pair well with my black Prada pumps, which are shockingly comfortable.
Victoria emailed the altered designs with the app, but I suggested a few more tweaks, and she nailed it.
I then try on two gowns and three cocktail dresses. They fit perfectly, too.
I won’t need that awful shapewear!
Victoria re-wraps everything and waits with me outside for my Uber back to Manhattan. We make small talk about the weather, and I wonder if I should mention that Ashton and Ford seem to be working things through.
Although, I caused a fight between them last night.
My car shows up, and Victoria helps me load thesix dresses wrapped in plastic.
She gives me a hug that nearly brings me to tears, how she seems to care about me so much after just meeting me.
I worried my faith in humanity had been stripped since being blindsided by Michael, but this experience has shown me it hasn’t.
The ride back to the city is lengthy because of a traffic jam, and I worry I’ll be late.
