Apausemeans you’re only a mild inconvenience, not a complete catastrophe. Apausemeans you’re somewhatcompetent, not totally inept. Apausemeans you’re going to Milan Fashion Week.
Every single designer leans forward in anticipation.Whose is it?
“Tolerable, Tessa.” Lamont nods toward the design in front of him.
Mydesign.
He lifts his chin and makes direct eye contact with me. Or, at least Ithinkhe does. Hard to tell behind the glasses. “The aquatic influence isn’t an insufferable direction. Inspired by Gianni’s Spring/Summer ‘92, no?”
More like Valentino Spring/Summer ‘15.
I vigorously nod, biting back the correction.
“It’s a bitwearable, though, don’t you think?” Tilting his head to the side, Lamont draws invisible circles with his finger on my rendering, a sign he’s considering something. I hold my breath, wondering if he’s already regretting his choice.
He flattens his hand on the sketch. “Embroidery.”
My stomach drops.God. No.Anything but embroidery. Anyone buthim.
“I, um, specifically designed it with a pattern, given the time constraints, so embroidery wouldn’t be necessary,” I hedge.
“And that’s why it looks prêt-à-porter.”
Silence. Then… unwrapping? I turn toward the sound and find Peyton slowly lifting a piece of gum into her mouth, wide eyes darting between me and Lamont. I give her a quick “put the popcorn away” look before swiveling my attention back to my judge, jury, and executioner.
Lamont picks up my rendering and taps it on the surface of the desk. “Embroidery will elevate the look.”
As much as I want to disagree with him, I can’t deny that couture beading would look beautiful on the gown. Fortunately for the brand, our tailor is an incredibly gifted embroideryspecialist. Unfortunately for me, I’d rather be buried in a knock-off Juicy Couture tracksuit than spend time with him.
The weight of Lamont’s words sinks like a stone in my stomach. Shifting on my feet, I make one last stitch effort to save myself from The Tailor of Terror. “I’m happy to send your assistant a PDF of the rendering. She can pass it along to him, and I can gather periodic status updates as he executes the embroidery.”
He levels me with a look. “Three weeks, under normal circumstances, is a rush job. And you know how he hates to rush.”
I don’t think the word “rush” is even in our tailor’s vocabulary.
“If you want to go to Milan, you’ll be his shadow until we show. See to his every whim.”
And there it is.MilanFashion Week.An invitation I won’t refuse.
Lamont hands me my design and slides the rest of the renderings across the table. “These would all get me mocked. Next time, lessSound of Musicwith the moods. This is New York, not the Abbey. Tessa, stay.”
He gives the group an indifferent wave of dismissal. The other designers and apprentices file back to their workstations, a few of them glaring at me. Peyton gives my arm a friendly squeeze, and Brooke mouthscongrats. The textile apprentice sulks past me with a haunted look on his face, heading straight for The Supply Closet of Broken Dreams, where he’ll probably stare into the abyss of paper reams until the abyss stares back at him.
Once Lamont and I are alone, I don my brightest smile. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
The corners of Lamont’s lips point downward. “Your designs have potential, but they need elevation. Working with Giovanni will be quite educational for you.”
I nod, but my blood starts to boil.
Giovanni Cattaneo would rather embroider an image of pineapple pizza on a tarp thaneducateme.
Lamont must be desperate, because he rarely makes big decisions without input from his prized tailor, and there’s no way Giovanni would readily agree to this plan. I’m confident that his unenthusiastic response to working with me remains unchanged.
I consider making one last appeal, but Lamont’s disinterested body language—checking his watch likeI’mthe one holdinghimhostage—tells me he’s done with this conversation. He walks back to his office, leaving me on the receiving end of the classic Lamont exit: no goodbye included.
Despite the blow of having to work closely with Giovanni, I’m still floating on a high from being chosen when I slip into my usual spot next to Peyton at the large table in our open office area.
“Congrats, Tess. The envy that’s consuming my body right now is extremely toxic. Girls supporting girls is bullshit. Keep one eye open.” She huffs, but her smile betrays her real feelings, fake silver freckles crinkling on her cheeks.
