Jared’s studio was over a vintage clothing shop in Morningside Heights. Rick had to stand out of the way when two bulky delivery men came down the narrow stairs. There wasn’t room for anybody to pass, let alone men of their size. He jogged up, expecting the space above to be just as cramped. An open-plan explosion of color awaited him.
Windows lining the street ran three-fourths of the length of the wall, letting the morning sunshine spill across the polished hardwood floor. Stacks of fabric were everywhere, but directly in the path of the sunlight, though there was more than one mannequin standing ready and waiting to be dressed. At the far end of the long room sat a series of sewing machines, with a large drafting table standing at command next to them. On the wall nearest Rick, page af
