We said our goodbyes, and I did my best to answer Kitty’s barrage of questions. My explanation seemed to pacify her, at least on some level, and she left me to my own devices once again. With my heart in my throat, I sprinted back to my workroom, my nerves more frazzled than the loose threads hanging from the hem of Ginger’s dress.
The Way You Look Tonight
Asking a seamstress to mend is like asking Michelangelo to paint your garage.
Author unknown
I stopped by Let Them Eat Cake early Tuesday morning to grab a quick breakfast. Scarlet’s mother waited on a host of customers at the front counter but finally got to me. She smiled and commented on how much she loved my ideas for her daughter’s wedding gown, which totally made my morning.
After ordering a kolache, I walked back to the kitchen to say a quick hello to Scarlet before heading off to work. I found her gabbing with Hannah, who filled her ears with newlywed chatter.
I nibbled on my kolache as the ladies giggled and talked about Hannah’s honeymoon a couple of months back. She blushed as she referred to the wedding night.
After a while Scarlet looked my way. “Sorry, Gabi. Just quizzing Hannah to see what my future holds.” She released a wacky laugh and almost went face-first into the bowl of batter in front of her. The whole thing reminded me of an I Love Lucy episode.
Before long I found myself chuckling too, and all the more when Hannah informed us that the wedding night was definitely worth the wait.
“Ah, love.” Scarlet sighed and poured the cake batter into a pan. “It’s so divine. So . . . perfect.”
“What about you, Gabi?” Hannah gave me a pensive look. “Any love interests we don’t know about?”
At once heat rose to my face. I shifted my gaze downward so that my inability to maintain a good poker face wouldn’t give me away.
“Aha.” Scarlet waved her batter-covered spoon my way. “You have a secret crush. I can tell from the look on your face.”
“C’mon now,” Hannah said. “Fess up. Who is he?”
“Ooo, I’ll bet I can guess.” Scarlet let go of the spoon, and it clattered down into the now empty bowl. “It’s that reporter. Am I right?”
I shook my head. “Please. I hardly know him. We’ve only seen each other a couple of times.”
“That’s all it took with Armando and me,” Scarlet said. “Sometimes God moves really fast.”
I let the God comment slip right by.
“If not the reporter, then who?” Hannah’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, I know! It’s that guy who works at the fabric store. The one who makes the deliveries to the shop.”
“Yep. That’s it.” I smiled and nodded. “You guessed him. Okay, next question.” I somehow managed to steer them in a different direction, and before long we were talking about tonight’s visit to the fabric shop.
A couple of minutes later, Scarlet gave me a “you’re not fooling me” look, and I knew she would be asking me for more details later.
Not that I had details. I really didn’t have much to share. Except for that one really great conversation with Jordan at my house, we hardly knew one another. Besides, I didn’t have feelings for Jordan Singer, not really.
Okay, maybe I did, but they weren’t the kind I needed to be sharing with anyone. I wasn’t the sort of girl who got what she wanted anyway, so why bother?
“You okay over there?” Scarlet asked.
I startled to attention. “Hmm? What?”
“I don’t know, all of a sudden you looked kind of . . . distracted.”
“Nope. Not distracted. Completely focused and ready to get rolling on this dress of yours. So, I’ll see you tonight? We’ll meet at the fabric store?”
“Yes.”
“Awesome.” I offered the brightest smile I could muster. The moment I’d said the word dress, the world seemed right again. Who cared if I didn’t have a sweetheart? Or a designing career? I had my real secret crush—designing—and it suited me just fine.
Suited me just fine. Ha!
Scarlet and Hannah dove back into a conversation about wedding nights—my cue to leave—and I said my goodbyes. I waved to Scarlet’s mother, who was up to her eyeballs with customers, and then headed outside to go to work. Then an idea came to me, one I couldn’t shake.
I walked down the Strand to the local confectionery and purchased a box of sweets—fudge, chocolate-covered caramels, truffles, local taffies, and more. Then I pointed my car in the direction of the hospital, not the bridal shop. Demetri would fuss at me, but I didn’t care.
Sure enough, he fussed. Still, as he laid eyes on the truffles, his personal favorite, he seemed to forgive me for invading his personal space. I didn’t want to make him more uncomfortable, so I remained standing. No point in him thinking I might overstay my welcome.
“I got a call on my cell from zat reporter.” He gestured to his phone. “I didn’t take it. But Kitty told me he stopped by zee store yesterday unannounced.”
“Yes, he’s wanting to ask you more questions, I think.”
He groaned. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“Of course not. But you don’t need to run from him, Demetri,” I said. “I suggest you do the opposite, in fact.”
“Zee opposite?”
“Yes, give him a real story. A heartfelt story. Jordan is a great guy. He won’t use your situation to hurt you in any way.”
Demetri grunted. “Puh-leeze. Ve are in zee wedding business, you know. Ve live to stab one another in zee back.”
“Not everyone lives to do that,” I said. “Some of us just want to help others. Jordan falls into that category.”
“Jordan.” Another groan followed. “Now zee two of you are on a first-name baze-ese? Kitty told me you looked like a couple. Is it true?”
“A couple? No way.”
“Good.” His dark brows slanted into a frown, but this did not weaken my resolve.
“I think you should call him, Demetri. I really do. He’ll do right by you. I know he will. And you’ll have the advantage, because you called him, not the other way around.” I picked up his cell phone and handed it to him, impressed at my boldness. What could he do from the hospital bed, anyway? Throw a bedpan at me?
Demetri stared at the phone for a moment and then put it back down. “Give me zee mirror.” He pointed to a crystal-encrusted hand mirror on the bedside table. I reached for it, mesmerized. “If zat reporter is coming, I must look presentable.” He glanced in the mirror and groaned. “Vell, as presentable as possible.” He licked his fingertips and then used them to shape his already perfect brows.
I couldn’t help but notice the intricate crystal design on the mirror. “This is beautiful, Demetri,” I said as he passed it back my way with a grunt.
His eyes seemed to fill with sadness. “It vas my mother’s.” Total silence followed. I’d never heard the man comment on his mother before. Strange.
“Well, it’s lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It is from my homeland.” His eyes took on a faraway look, and I thought maybe I’d lost him to his memories. Just as quickly he snapped back and reached for his phone. Seconds later, he and Jordan were engaged in a jovial conversation, one that seemed to end on an upbeat.
I headed out of the hospital minutes later, after promising Demetri approximately a thousand times to keep spirits up among his employees. Strange how concerned he seemed about all of us. I’d never seen him as a father figure, but perhaps he felt that way after all.
When I arrived back at Haute Couture, I found Kitty distracted with a phone call. “It’s Nicolette,” she mouthed, then covered the phone with her hand. “And she wants to talk to you.”
“M-me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have any idea.” Kitty pressed the phone behind her back and whispered, “Whatever you do, don’t tell her about Demetri. He’d be humiliated if she found out.”
“What if she asks to speak t
o him?”
“Tell her . . .” Kitty’s eyes narrowed. “He’s on a European vacation.”
I pulled the phone out of Kitty’s hand and groaned as I whispered, “That one’s already been done, remember?” I turned my attention to the phone with a polished “Hello?”
“Gabi, this is Nicolette.”
“Yes, Kitty told me you—”
“I need to talk to you. Soon. I’ll be in the area this afternoon and would like to drop by.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I hope you’re able to give me a few minutes of your time. I know everyone’s in a tizzy about my decision not to wear Demetri’s gown, but I think maybe there’s an answer that all of us can live with.”
“Really?” I breathed a sigh of relief in preparation for whatever she might say.
“Yes. So can you make some time for me later this afternoon? I’ll come by just before you close. Maybe quarter of five?”
“I’ll be here,” I assured her.
Her brusque “See you then” brought the call to an end.
I turned to Kitty, suddenly feeling much better about the situation. “She’s coming to see me at 4:45.”
“Why?” Kitty paced the space behind the counter.
“I’m not sure, but she said there’s an answer to the problem, so I’m thinking she wants me to alter the dress again, maybe make it more to her liking. Do you think Demetri will mind?”
“I don’t know.” Kitty bit her lip. “But it would help him save face if she decides to wear the dress after all.” Her face lit up. “Yes, I think this is just the news Demetri needs to brighten his day. I’m going to call him and let him know that she’s coming in. You just . . . just . . . do what you can to make her happy, promise?”
“I always do.”
“I’m sure Demetri’s pride won’t be too wounded. Just keep her smiling, and then we won’t have to worry about the reporter finding out anything. He won’t notice if the dress goes through a bit of a transformation. Somehow I doubt he pays much attention to dress design, anyway. You know? Men rarely do.”
You might be surprised.
I didn’t say the words aloud but certainly thought them. Jordan had not only paid attention to Nicolette’s gown, he’d paid specific attention to my sketches as well. Talk about someone who noticed the details. He would know if her dress was changed, no doubt about it. Should I do as Kitty said and not tell him? Just let it ride?
I went about my business, but thoughts of Nicolette’s impending arrival were never far from my mind. She entered the shop at exactly 4:44, one minute before expected.
She brushed past me in the break room and mumbled, “Gabi, I need you,” as she breezed toward my little closet. I followed on her heels. When we arrived inside, she turned to face me, her gaze falling on the sketchpad on my desk. “Oh, good. It’s here.”
“W-what?”
She reached for the sketchpad and held it close. “This. You see, I’ve been fretting over this for days.”
“Over my sketchbook?”
“Yes.” She groaned. “Well, no. Not the sketchbook, exactly. I’ve been fretting over how to go about getting what I really want without hurting Demetri’s feelings. But I think it’ll be okay. I mean, you already work for him, right, so how mad can he be?”
“R-right.” What that had to do with anything, I couldn’t be sure.
“Perfect. We can still tell the reporter that the dress came out of Demetri’s studio. He won’t have to know that it’s not technically Demetri’s design.”
Okay, now she’d lost me completely.
I twisted a strand of my hair between my fingers as my nerves took over. “Nicolette, I’m not sure I get your meaning.”
“Then let me make it clear.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat as she opened my sketchbook and thumbed through the designs inside. “What are you doing?” My hoarse whisper felt more like a yell. I reached to close the door, terrified that Kitty might peek inside.
“It’s awful, I know, but I saw your sketchbook that day I came to your workroom for a fitting.” She glanced up, giving me a sheepish look. “There was a sketch . . . it was sheer perfection—a one-shouldered number with a ruffled skirt. Absolutely breathtaking and exactly the sort of look I was going for from the beginning.”
I knew the gown she referred to, of course. I’d sketched it, after all.
She went into a lengthy dissertation about the dress, about how perfect it would be for her new figure, how the fabric would be ideal for her skin tone, how the featherweight ruffles at the bottom captured her zeal for life, her fun-loving side. I realized she’d not only seen my sketch, she had spent serious time analyzing the complexities of the gown.
She continued to thumb through my sketchbook until she landed on the design in question. “That’s it!” She let out a squeal and pointed. “That’s the dress I want.”
“B-but . . .” I glanced at the design, my thoughts now tumbling madly. “It’s not an actual dress. Not yet, anyway. It’s just in my imagination.”
“I figured.” Her nose wrinkled. “And that’s a problem, I guess, since my wedding is just a couple of months away. So how fast can you take it from your imagination to the altar?”
“Nicolette, I don’t know. It’s not just the timing. Demetri will kill me.” Murder me in my sleep was more like it.
With a wave of her hand she appeared to dismiss that idea. “Don’t be silly. You work for Demetri. The dress will be produced in his design studio. Why would he kill you? Having your own line will just bring more attention to him. Surely he can see that.”
“That’s what Bella said.” Why I spoke those words aloud, I could not say. I hadn’t meant to bring Bella into this.
“If anyone knows her wedding dresses, it’s Bella Neeley.” Nicolette’s smile exuded confidence. “Now I have to have it. I’ll pay whatever price you like.”
Cha-ching! Maybe I could stop worrying about the rent for a change. Let Mama cut back on her hours. A world of possibilities opened up as I thought it through.
“Demetri can keep the money I’ve already given him, so everyone will be happy. See?” Nicolette giggled, and for the first time I saw her as a giddy bride, not a debutante with something to prove to her friends. “Well, everyone but Daddy. He’ll have a fit, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“I really don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes, Gabi.” Nicolette placed her free hand on my arm. “We’ll make things right with Demetri, I promise.”
“How?” There weren’t enough prescription meds in the state of Texas to cover this one.
“I don’t know, but we will. I’ll handle it.” She gazed at the sketch again, and her expression shifted from concern to pure bliss. “You just get busy and make me the dress of my dreams, okay?”
I swallowed hard, unsure of how to answer.
“Yoo-hoo! Ginger!” From outside the door Jordan’s voice sounded. “I went to visit Demetri at the hospital, and he said I should swing by and check on things at the shop.” Jordan’s volume increased, and I could tell he was getting closer. “I told him I’d be glad to.”
“Demetri’s in the hospital?” Nicolette clamped a hand over her mouth, then pulled it away, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I-I-I . . .” Aye, aye, aye.
Jordan entered the room, all smiles until he saw Nicolette standing there. Then he managed a wide-eyed “Oh no.”
Yep. My thoughts exactly.
The Pleasure of His Company
If Fred Astaire made a great dancer out of Ginger Rogers, it is equally true that Ginger made a successful romantic lead out of Astaire.
Lincoln Barnett
For a moment, none of us spoke a word. Jordan glanced at the sketchbook in Nicolette’s hands and then up at me with a look of terror in his eyes.
She slipped the sketchbook onto my desk, her gaze shifting to the door. “Well, I, um, I’d better go
. I’ll talk to you later, Gabi. Just think about what I’ve said.” Seconds later, she disappeared from view.
Jordan’s nose wrinkled. “I’m so sorry. Do you think she . . . ?”
His words faded away as I nodded. “Yeah, she heard you. She definitely heard you.”
“Me and my big mouth. I guess I just assumed you were alone in here. Forgive me?”
I nodded again, albeit slowly. If only I could slow the rate of my heart to the same pace. Right now it felt like it was competing in the Indy 500.
His brows unfurrowed as he gestured to the dress forms. “Not that you’re ever alone with these two present. They are your ever-faithful companions.”
“True.”
“And I’m pretty sure they have a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy, right?” He put his finger up in front of the male dress form and said, “Shh!” then gave me a weak smile. “See? Hem-ry’s not talking.”
I could tell Jordan really felt bad about what had just happened, and I sure didn’t want to make things any worse by making a big deal out of it. Still, my heart kept right on racing. “His name’s not Hem-ry,” I managed.
“Yeah, I know.” Jordan looked back at the dress form and then snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it!”
“What?” I asked.
“Stitch.”
“Excuse me?”
“Stitch.” He gave me a smug look.
“Is that a mandate or something?” I brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear and gazed at him, more confused than ever.
A boyish grin lit Jordan’s face as he pointed at the male dress form. “That’s his real name, isn’t it? You call him Stitch.”
“Ah.” I bit back a laugh, and my concerns over Nicolette faded as I stared at Jordan’s twinkling eyes. “No. Not even close, sorry. Good try, though.” And just the right thing to calm my nerves at the moment.
My response didn’t seem to make Jordan happy, though. His dark brows slanted in a frown, and the lines of concentration deepened under his eyes. He plopped down into the chair across from me. “I was sure I had it. It’s got something to do with sewing, right?”