“Greta’s one of the top figure-skating and dance costume designers in the country,” I replied as I gazed around the familiar space. “She’s got a team of eight under her, from an airbrush artist to a woman whose sole job is applying crystals to the costumes. She isbig-time.”
“Well, business must be booming.” Neil snapped a camera onto a tripod. “Because this is impressive.”
Greta’s studio took up three floors in the airy loft, and I felt like I’d financed a big part of it. I glanced over to where Ben was laughing with the woman of the hour. Greta Bouchard was a stunning Canadian gold medal ice dancer who’d never been able to find the types of cutting-edge costumes she wanted when she was competing, so she set out to make her own, using influences like Samba dancers from Brazil and drag queens. Greta not only understood how to bring a shred of a concept to life, she also knew firsthandhow a seam in the wrong spot or an uncomfortable arm hole could ruin a skater’s headspace before they even set foot on the ice.
Ben called me over to where he was chatting with Greta. “We were just talking about how we should capture this and we both agree that sitting back and letting the magic happen will work best. I might shout some questions to you as you go through the fitting, but we’re not going to do a formal sit down Q and A. You’re both too busy.”
“I’m back-to-back all day,” Greta agreed. “But this is going to be quick. Just a final modesty check.”
“Oh?” Ben suddenly looked very interested.
Greta snorted. “Yeah, the judges at Worlds thought Quinn looked too, um...nakedin her short-program costume, so we need to Amish her up a little.”
“What, like put a turtleneck over top?” Ben laughed.
“Close!” Greta replied. “The chest area needed some additional beadwork, and we added some extra coverage in the tail region. You’ve seen her costumes, right?”
I expected him to go a little sheepish at the question, but true to form, Ben acted like his lack of preparation was no big deal.
“I actually haven’t,” he said cheerfully. “By design.”
“But how could you miss them?” Greta pushed, clearly a little shocked. “The gold one we’re fitting today waseverywhere.”
It had been my very own “J.Lo in the green dress” moment. Jaws dropped, scandal followed.
I loved that my outfit sparked a debate, because I knew my mom was hating every second of it. She didn’t give a shit about how revealing it was—the only reason she’d dressed me in pastel princess dresses was because it was the brand she’d decided fit me best, notfor any modesty reasons—it was the fact that I’d cultivated this genre-shifting look all on my own.
“Sorry I’m late,” Mel burst in, weighed down with half a dozen bags of god knows what.
“How’s Caleb?’ I asked.
“Fine. He stuck a bead up his nose and I couldn’t get it out. My little genius. Are we good to go?”
Everyone turned to look at me. “Yup, I’m ready. Back in a sec.”
I could hear them all chattering away as I went into the fitting room. I was used to an audience of three people max when I did fittings; Mel, Greta, and maybe one of her seamstresses. Now I felt like I was about to be onSay Yes to the Dress,with a camera crew and everything. I could hear them putting a mic on Greta and figuring out the lighting.
I stripped down and worked the surprisingly thick costume up my body. My mom had always told me that I looked better in silver. Oh, the irony to be claiming gold for myself.
I studied Greta’s changes to the costume, which thankfully weren’t too obvious. A wave of gold crystals now splashed a little higher on my chest, and the seat area was wider, so no scandalized grandmothers in Topeka could claim that I was wearing a thong on the ice.
I pulled on the fingerless gloves dripping with gold beading, which made me look like I was controlling raindrops when I moved my hands through the air. From a distance, I was basically nude and gleaming. The crystals scattered across my breasts and from my hips down looked like dew that might fly off if I moved too quickly. There were strands of the same beading that cascaded down from various parts of the costume, so that when I went into a spin they flared out around me, flapper dress–style.
I took a steadying breath and padded out to where everyone was waiting, purposely not looking at Ben.
“Absolute perfection,” Mel said from her spot just beyond Greta. “Incredible.”
“Thank you.” I did a little curtsey.
“Wow,” Neil said in a low voice.
“Marilyn Monroe!” Hailey chirped. “TheHappy Birthdaydress!”
Greta nodded as she strode toward me. “Yup, that was definitely part of the inspiration, along with Britney in the sparkly nudeToxicbodysuit. But Quinn’s main vibe was Mitzi Gaynor’s nude illusion dress.”
“Who?” Hailey asked.
“An old-timey singer and actress,” I answered as I got up on the little podium in front of the three-way mirror. “Look up the dress, you’ll see how close we came.”
