Calla laughs in fond exasperation. “It’s not worth arguing with you, but…” She purses her lips as she studies the toile. “You’re using the rose silk with the aquamarine floral print, right?”
I nod. “That’s the plan, but I could probably talk her into something else.” Or Calla could. When it comes to matching fabrics to designs, nobody’s better than Calla. I can’t count the number of times I’ve asked her for something specific, and she’s come back from the wholesaler with something completely different, assuring me that it’ll be perfect… and she’s right.
“No, I think that’ll be good…. Hmm, what if you widened that neckline flounce by a quarter inch? Then it would?—”
“—drape more softly,” I finish, grinning in relief as the puzzle piece clicks into place. I’ll change the toile, just to be sure, but I know she’s right. “Thanks, Cal. How would I cope without you?”
“Keep thinking that because I’ve got both good and bad news.”
I grab my seam ripper from the worktable and get started pulling off the flounce that needs to be changed. “Oh? Which am I going to hate more?” The thing with having an anxiety disorder is that sometimes “good” news can feel not so good. The chance to dress Pamela McLaren for a wedding that’s going to be featured inVogue? Amazingly good news. Meetingand convincing her that Phallacy is the designer she wants? Worst. Thing. Ever. Thankfully, she’s kind of awesome, and our meetings haven’t been too bad for me.
Calla doesn’t answer, and I stop ripping and turn to face her. Her wary expression doesn’t bring me comfort.
“Calla.”
“It’s not that bad,” she assures me.
“Which? The good or bad news?” It’s an attempt at a joke, but it falls flat.
“The bad news is that I didn’t like the green silk/wool blend Kim had, so I got something else for that suit. It’ll look better, trust me.”
Of course she did. “Is it still green, at least?” The stylist specifically asked for green.
“Yeah, I’ll show you,” she promises. “I left it on the cutting table.”
“Okay, so… the good news?” The bad wasn’t so bad, which means I’m truly dreading this next part.
She grimaces. “New client.”
Dread forms a cold, nasty ball in my stomach. A new client means meeting a stranger who might or might not be kind about me not speaking much. Calla’s always my champion in these situations, and she’s told more than one potential client that we’re not interested in their business because of the way they treated me, but that doesn’t make me feel better about any of it. Especially since we’re still trying to get established.
I wish Calla could handle all of the client-facing stuff, and she does do most of it, but the thing about designing custom is that I need to meet the client to know what would work best, and they want to meet the designer. It’s so much easier working on the seasonal collections… though the runway shows are a nightmare.
In other words, if I want to keep doing what I love and getting paid for it, there’s no way to avoid people.
It takes me a minute to work up enough spit to speak. “A big client?” I hope so. It doesn’t make it easier, but it makes the effort worthwhile.
She nods. “Margaret Haywood.”
My jaw actually drops. “Margaret Haywood?” There aren’t many people who would have been lower on my list of guesses. Not because she isn’t iconic and fabulous, but her fashion couldn’t be further from what I design and still fit the Hollywood vibe. Although, some of the stuff she’s been wearing lately has surprised me. My mind races through our most recent collection, picking out the options that would suit her best. “Are you sure?”
Calla’s expression lightens at my reaction. “Yeah. Her stylist is?—”
“Griff Pevensy.” Another person I never expected to be working with—not anytime soon, anyway. Damian Ward, the owner of Style Me and Griff’s boss, might have been the first A-list stylist to take a chance on us, but Griff has a different aesthetic for his clientele. He’s a big believer in clean lines and solid colors, and while I’m not opposed to those, my signature style is usually… softer. He’s also notorious for playing it safe with designers—nobody new or “risky,” which leaves us out for now. He does have one or two clients I think he might—one day, when we’ve proven ourselves—dress in one of my designs, but Margaret Haywood isn’t one of them. “That just makes it more unbelievable.”
She shrugs. “I talked to Griff ten minutes ago, and he says Margaret’s open to a gown that’s a little new and different for her. He wants to come meet us both and talk about it.”
My knees feel a little weak. “A gown?” I repeat. She wants a gown… not daywear? Not a few new pieces for her wardrobe from our latest collection?
Calla nods again. “A gown.”
But… didn’t she just finish the tour for her latest movie? Maybe she’s been invited to something else. “Does she have a premiere coming up?”
“No, honey.”
Oh fuck, she wants it for awards season. It’s still early, but the buzz is buzzing, and Margaret’s movie is definitely a top contender in multiple categories—including Best Supporting Actress for her performance. I’ve seen it, and she was amazing.
Oh my god, Hollywood icon Margaret Haywood wants to wear one of my designs when she accepts an award.
