She turns around for good this time and disappears down the hallway toward her room. I stay where I am, still gripping my bag of fabric as my heart pounds to a disjointed beat. I always knew that being with Matt would lead to consequences—I just didn’t understand how much those consequences would hurt when they finally did catch up with me.
18
As I sit waiting outside Lorenzo’s office, my back is killing me and my eyes are burning. I worked all through the night almost every night to finish my one piece—a deep V-neck jumpsuit with a skirt train that I currently have draped over my lap. I’m happy with it. Happier than I thought I’d be. Holly and Marco already had their meetings and are now back at their stations to finish out the last hour of our final day. I’ve been giving Holly space since our awful conversation, so I’m not sure how her presentation went. Marco said he was going to try to talk to her on my behalf, but I asked him not to. I respect how she feels and I don’t want to push her. He also said his presentation meeting went better than anticipated.
My meeting was meant to happen right after his but ended up getting pushed back after Lorenzo got stuck on a call. So here I am, lingering outside his office with Gabriele giving me an unimpressed side-eye as I try to remain calm. I’m looking down at my sketchbook one more time when Lorenzo walks out of his office and appears in front of me.
“Violetta, I’m so sorry for the delay. Please, come in.”
I get up and follow him inside, and he’s all smiles as I sit across from him. Gripping my sketchbook tighter, I smile in return.
“Before we start, I just wanted to thank you again for the amazing opportunity you gave us by letting the three of us work here this summer. I’ve learned so much and I’m incredibly grateful for this entire experience.”
“Of course,” Lorenzo says easily. “No thanks necessary. It was our pleasure.”
With that being said, I hand over the sketches for my collection. I’m filled with fear but there’s excited anticipation fluttering around, too. Maybe he’ll love my designs. Maybe he’ll offer me invaluable feedback. These next few minutes could lead anywhere.
Eagerly glancing at him over his desk, I watch as Lorenzo looks at all of my sketches, then goes back to the first page and looks them over again. I try not to assume it’s the worst-case scenario when I notice his smile falling little by little.
“And do you have any pieces to show me?” he asks, not looking up from my sketches. I somehow manage to keep my hands steady as I hand over my jumpsuit. He holds it up, feeling the material, inspecting the lining and taking a closer look at the tailoring. Offering my work up for critique is always nerve-racking, but this is on another level.
Moments later Lorenzo delicately places the garment down onto his desk and takes up my sketches one more time. My nervous anticipation has now morphed into full-on dread.
“So,” I hear myself blurt out. “What do you think?”
Lorenzo takes a deep breath before placing my sketches down in front of him beside my garment.
“Honestly, I’m a bit confused.” I see the disappointment in his eyes, and it feels like the world is crashing down around me. I try not to show it as he continues, “Based on your attention to detail and what I’ve seen of your past work, I have to say I expected more from you.”
My heart plummets, smashing through the floor and into the bedrock below. I clasp my hands together in an attempt to keep myself grounded. This isn’t good.
“Your fabric choice is surprising,” he goes on to say.
I’m not positive that I’ll be able to speak, but I still give it a try. “I wanted to try something bold.” My voice is weak but I’m glad it’s working at all.
Lorenzo sighs and sits back in his chair. “With this particular fabric, it feels like you’re tryingtoo much, and with these designs,” he says, gesturing to my sketches, “it feels like you barely tried at all.”
I don’t know what being stabbed in the abdomen feels like but imagine it’s something like this.
“I...” I look down at my sketches on his desk. You know when you’re nervous about something and you expect the worst to happen, but then things don’t turn out as badly as you thought, and you wish you never freaked out about it in the first place? This isn’t one of those times. The worst is happening, and all I can do is try to survive the pain. “I thought my line was a more casual take on evening wear. My goal was to create pieces with the same elegance of a gown, but that were more comfortable and accessible.”
“I understand that,” Lorenzo says, “but what have you done to make them fundamentally unforgettable? Looking here, I see five different variations of evening wear, but there’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Your job as a designer is to take something conventional and put your own twist on it or to come up with something completely new and innovative. I don’t see either of those principles reflected in your designs. And I’m sorry to say this, but when I place them beside the work of your peers, it makes me question your taste level.”
I look down at the floor. If it were possible for me to curl up into a ball and die in this very spot, I’d do it. I wouldn’t even hesitate. With that not being an option, I do everything I can to remain stoic. To stay professional. But on the inside... I’m crushed beyond recognition.
“I know I can do better,” I hear myself saying faintly.
Lorenzo must sense how I’m receiving his critique, and he sits forward as his eyes and tone soften. “I believe that. I truly do have faith in your potential. Maybe when you get back to New York, there’s something you can do to reimagine these. It will take effort, but it’s not too late for you to turn these around in time for your competition.”
I nod my head, doing everything in my power not to let the tears in my eyes fall.
“Please don’t interpret what I’m saying as me thinking you’re not talented. You are. But I believe in honesty and in creating realistic expectations.” He pauses, and it’s getting trickier to hear him over the sneering voice in my head that’s calling me a worthless failure over and over.
“Not every job in fashion has to deal with design,” he goes on to say. “You’re a very skilled sewer. And the marketing and social media department have both said you were very helpful during your time with us.”
This is so brutal I can hardly fathom it. I need to get out of here. I need to find a corner where I can fall apart for days.
“Absolutely,” I force myself to tell him, briskly nodding in response. “You’ve given me so much to think about. Hopefully, I can still manage to turn things around, like you said.”
