“A hundred percent,” Hailey quietly agreed.
“Okay, so I think we’re set with this one,” Greta said as she turned off the music. “I’m glad you’re pleased. Next.”
I gave myself one last look in the mirror. It wasmyvision, and it was perfect.
A few minutes later I was back on the little podium in my other costume, basking in more fawning.
“It’s like Versace and McQueen had a baby,” Hailey said with awestruck reverence.
Her on-the-nose take shocked me, because she didn’t look like she cared about fashion. But then again, she was dressed for workthat involved crawling on the floor and standing with her arms over her head for extended periods of time. The unisex Henley and cargo pants with a million pockets were probably a job requirement.
“You nailed it,” I replied. “We were going for Versace’s safety-pin era mixed with McQueen’s overall fierceness.”
Ben was now standing beside Neil, more focused on the shot than me.
Which, rude. I might not be as naked, but the “Bulletproof” costume was just as hot.
“Do a slow pan down,” Ben coached in a quiet voice. “Make sure to get all the detailing in close-ups.”
There were plenty of amazing stylistic decisions to take in. While the gold one was over-the-top sexy, this one was sexy in an angry way, like I was a dominatrix and my black skates were my weapons of choice. The slashes in the bodice made me look like I’d been in a knife fight, and the remaining costume was barely being held together with swatches of sparkling oxblood red whipstitching. My left arm was encased in black illusion netting from my shoulder to my wrist, while my right had strips of black fabric crisscrossing around it. The bottom of the costume consisted of tatters of fabric, dotted with black crystals that reflected the light. The effect of the thing was that I’d been through a battle and lived to tell.
Which was basically my life story.
“I added some detailing on the train,” Greta said as she fussed with the trailing pieces coming off the back. “A few more layers of sheer fabric, plus extra crystals. Does it feel okay?”
“Honestly, I can’t even tell the difference.”
I smiled as I studied myself in the mirror. I liked this version of myself too. A soldier facing one last skirmish.
“It’s perfect,” I said. “Thank you.”
Greta moved closer to me. “Did you see the little addition in the bodice of both pieces?”
“No, I didn’t notice anything new,” I said, staring down at the front of the costume in the mirror.
“It’s on the inside, right here,” she said, crossing both of her hands over her chest. “I stitched a little heart in each one, cut from my Turin costume. For good luck.”
My eyes welled, and I tried not to look at the camera because it would make me feel self-conscious. “You destroyed your Olympics outfit for me? But it’siconic. Greta, you shouldn’t have.”
She swished her hand at me. “The pieces are dime size, I didn’t destroy a thing. Just a little good luck token, so you’ll know that we’re with you.”
I sniffled and nodded. I hated that I was already breaking down during what was only my second official taping withThe Score. And at a freaking costume fitting, which wasn’t even dicey territory! How the hell was I going to act when Ben was firing questions at me during the sit-down portion? And the home visit?
I knew shows lived for this kind of weepy content. I could already envision the promo shots featuring a close-up of my brimming eyes.
But damn it, I couldn’t stop the tears.
“Thank you,” I said in a shaky voice. I reached out to grasp her hands. “What a gift.”
Greta’s chin trembled. She squeezed my hands. “You’re not just doing this for yourself. Your win is a win for all of us. And we believe in you, Quinn.”
I hope that I managed to look stoic for the camera, because her offhanded comment woke up the doubt monster inside me. I knew all too well that I had the world’s expectations on my shoulders once again. My country. My teammates. My coaches and supportteam. The skating governing organizations. I knew exactly what was expected of me, and how it felt to leave all of them disappointed by my performance.
“Hey, hey,” Greta chastised as she stepped up on the podium to give me a hug. “It’s okay, you’ve got this! Dry those eyes.”
I squeezed her back and turned my face so the camera couldn’t capture just how emotional I was feeling.
“You guys are makingmecry,” Mel said. “Group hug!”
