Where Dreams Are Written

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2Melanie sat in Perrin’s design studio because, sadly, she had nowhere better to be early on a Wednesday afternoon.

It was soothing to at least be surrounded by the process of fashion design: her high stool at the green rubber cutting mat-topped table, the sewing machines lined up along the wall, the wall of cubby holes filled with hundreds of fabrics all neatly folded and organized by the rainbow, the bright steel rolling rack of designs in progress, and the small changing area behind a gaudy Victorian screen. Even the designer sitting across from her doodling away at her sketchpad made it feel so normal when her world was so impossibly not.

Perrin looked elegant, she always did. No matter how crazy her designs, the tall slender blond made her clothes look exquisite and sexy. And Melanie had not missed that the two of them looked enough alike that what looked enticing on Perrin looked good on her as well. Melanie had a bit more chest and a couple of inches in height, but they were much the same. She’d worn a number of Perrin’s pieces that had garnered attention, including the fabulous gown for the opening night of Carlo’s opera just four weeks before.

Perrin looked far better than Melanie felt: dressed in a French peasant blouse, a modern-sleek skirt, and mid-heel sandals, she looked so alive and youthful. In that outfit she shouldn’t, but she did. Was it the simple headband the same color as the skirt? Or the contrast of the styles? Melanie wasn’t sure. But this look that no designer in their right mind would put together was light and fresh.

“You would have made a good model, Perrin.”

Perrin vibrated with a vivacity that would play well on the runway.

“No. As much as I enjoy being a spectacle sometimes, I actually don’t enjoy being in front of crowds like that. I like to grab their attention at a restaurant or on the street, but what you do…” she made a mock-shiver with her shoulders, “I’ll leave that to someone else.”

Melanie had always liked the runway. Enjoyed knowing that she could absolutely command the space so that viewers were dazzled and unable to look elsewhere. Some walkers felt they should be merely perfect “hangers” for the clothes they were paid to display. Melanie didn’t agree. It was her job to make a designer look so exceptional that the show ended with people lined up to place orders.

“I like that énergie of throwing myself into the walk. It is the magic of a twenty-second declaration of power and control. There, I can unleash that which I must hold under such careful control in the rest of my life.” Though she was grateful that she had no show at the moment. Or a shoot. One of the reasons she was so marketable was that she could take that twenty-second runway energy and provide it on demand throughout an eight-hour session in front of the camera. Right now, she didn’t know if she could even bring that energy up for a candid.

She felt as if she never would again. As if… The next images were so morose that Melanie really needed a subject change. The last thing she wanted was to impose on her friend.

“You know to throw me out if I’m in your way?”

“Why would I ever do that? You’re always welcome here. Actually, I’d love to work on some designs with you again. That dress we made for you for the opera opening, that was so much fun.”

“It was,” Melanie agreed. Perrin had made her the smash of the opening. And, in turn, Russell made sure that the dress received national attention as part of his marketing support for the opera and for Perrin.

“Besides, you aren’t bothering me at all.” Perrin began drawing a sketch of something that might have been a large hamster. “I just can’t focus to save my life. I never thought I’d be married at all; not really. Always figured I’d find a way to screw up any relationship before it really stood a chance. Now, suddenly I have a husband, two kids, and a dog. I now can’t imagine how I lived without them all these years.”

Dog. That’s what the sketch was. “Un peu alarming, n’est-ce pas?”

“More than a little bit. We’re having such a fun time settling in that the kids are almost melting down. And me too. We all just have to keep our head in the game. Bill has one more opera before the summer break. Once it’s over and the kids are out of school, then we’ll get our honeymoon.”

“South of France? A Caribbean island?” Melanie had done many shoots in both and wasn’t sure which she’d prefer.

“We were thinking of Disneyland. The kids haven’t been in years, not since their mom died, and I’ve never been. It sounds like fun.”

Melanie laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Perrin made it sound fun, and, of course, it would be with her involved. She pictured Tamara charging around Disneyland with her brother. And her parents. Melanie had only been a few years older when she landed her first magazine cover. Teen Vogue had offered her one great prize in addition to the exposure; it had shifted her thoughts into plotting her escape from her mother. Disneyland. How different their worlds were. How glad she was for Tamara.

“Perhaps I shall stow away in one of your valises.”

“Nah, all dark and cramped in there. You wouldn’t like it.” Perrin’s smile made Melanie feel welcome and as if she belonged here. Which she did as much as anywhere. She should be getting out of Carlo’s hotel room—she really didn’t want to spend another night there—but she had nowhere else to go except back to her apartment in New York. There was nothing to do there either. She’d blocked out a long window of time for the swimsuit issue and now had nothing to take its place. But that didn’t mean she should impose.

“I should leave so you can work on something other than a dog coat.” Melanie began to rise but Perrin waved her back down.

“I’m interviewing a seamstress in a few minutes anyway, several of them I think. I just can’t keep up. Before the success of the opera we were already selling stock far faster than I could sew. And with a family now, it’s completely overwhelming. I won’t miss sewing the same thing over and over anyway; I’d rather design. But the business side and marketing and everything else is so overwhelming I can’t think. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give up some control, but I hate doing that.”

So did Melanie, yet another thing they had in common.

Melanie enjoyed watching the interview. She started as an observer. But she could see Perrin hit a wall far too soon. So, Melanie asked a question, eliciting Perrin’s near-panicked relief. After that, they both ran the interview.

Karissa was smart, quiet, and loved to sew. She knew her own limitations, had tried designing and simply not taken to it, but she loved the feel of a well-crafted garment and appeared to know what that meant. Her interview dress was a piece of immaculate construction of her own doing, but not much imagination.

Melanie too knew her own limitations. She’d only ever loved one thing, the business and process of modeling. Some models enjoyed nothing more than the clothes. Others wanted the fame, going for the bad press with wild flings and parties when they couldn’t generate the good press.

She’d tried, in the safe seclusion of her Upper East Side apartment, to both design and sew. The Sudanese supermodel Alek Wek had done just that and created her fabulous line of Wek handbags, one of which sat at Melanie’s feet. While Melanie had managed some bit of skill, neither had held her interest nor sparked her imagination.

Perrin was all set to hire Karissa on the spot, but Melanie suggested one last step. Karissa was sent to the fabric racks and then the other end of the big cutting table to reproduce one of Perrin’s designs, but in a size four instead of a size two—using no pattern but the dress hanging before her.

Raquel, Perrin’s store manager, had lined up four candidates who arrived at half hour intervals. The next two seamstresses didn’t make it as far as the sewing test: one due to poor skills, and the other one had irritated them both so much that they’d simply shown him the door. Even Karissa had sighed quietly with relief from her assigned sewing machine when the bombastic East European was gone.

The last one, a young gay man named Clem, arrived in a flamboyant suit that bordered on the ridiculous, jacket lapel points almost up to his ears and Capri-length suit pants in dark pinstripe with white socks and cordovan shoes, but the construction was amazing even if the taste level was a bit bizarre. He landed at the machine beside Karissa to create a size six. In moments they were chatting and teasing each other, despite the competition of the interview.

“Do you need two?” Melanie had taken Perrin aside after she watched Clem ask for guidance from Karissa and how easily they each gave and took direction.

“I don’t know, really. Let’s go out front and ask Raquel.”

The front of Perrin’s shop was such a treat; a 1950s diner of chrome and red leatherette, populated by amazingly well-attired mannequins. Melanie always made a point of spending time here each trip to tour the display booths. Everything had changed once again. Prohibition was back, and she’d added Cotton Club and speakeasy posters to the décor. Glam flapper dresses, updated with modern colors sat next to Zoot suits rethought for women.

The best of it were the two booths at the end where she always did her wedding displays. There, snuggled together, looking as if they were waiting for their ice cream, were the sleek wedding dresses. They had the lace shoulders, sleek profiles, and tea-length hemline of the 1930s, and the elegance of Perrin’s Glorious Garb. A mannequin poised as a waitress was shockingly attractive in the demure pink satin that didn’t feel the least bit demure.

Melanie forced her attention back to Raquel—a striking and buxom redhead, an exemplar of the tradition of that name. With an admirable efficiency, she laid out the orders. Already there was a two-week wait for dresses and business suits that weren’t in stock in a particular size. Wedding dresses were booked for two months out.

Melanie glanced at the store’s racks, they’d been sufficiently ravaged that Perrin’s Glorious Garb was in danger of becoming a custom-to-order shop with nothing to satisfy the impulse or tourist buyer. When a customer strolled in, they needed to be greeted with an abundance of options. A glory of them. Not the almost painfully thin displays she now had.

“Deux,” Melanie informed Perrin.

“But that’s two salaries.”

“You need two.”

Raquel nodded agreement then set out a sales chart representing the last four quarters.

Melanie inspected it for several long moments. She’d rarely seen such a growth curve. She shared a look with Raquel and they both laughed.

“I know! I’ve been telling her.”

Melanie turned to Perrin, “You had need of two seamstresses two months ago. How have you been doing this by yourself? You’ll need another in a month. They’ll pay for themselves twice over based on these orders. Restocking the racks and working on the new designs... Assurément! Deux. Let us go and see how it is they do.”

Neither was done, Perrin’s designs weren’t simple. But based on the work so far, and with Melanie’s confirming nod, Perrin hired them both on the spot with instructions to return tomorrow and finish the dresses.

When the buoyantly giddy pair had been turned over to Raquel for paperwork and the studio was once again quiet, they dropped onto stools to catch their breath.

Melanie was thrilled. The depression that had skirted close beside her for the last two days, as it always did whenever she contemplated her past, had been driven back down into the depths where it belonged.

As they chatted back and forth, oddly about the coat design for Figaro, Perrin’s opera-named Cairn terrier presently asleep in a small doggie bed under the table, Melanie had mentioned her need to get out of the hotel room she’d shared with Carlo.

“Oh, you must stay in town until your next contract. Please Melanie? We’ll have so much fun.” Perrin had grabbed her phone without awaiting a reply and called Mama Maria.

In an eyeblink, Melanie was a bit befuddled to find herself heading off to check out of the hotel. Maria would meet her in half an hour in Pioneer Square. Angelo had a condo there, at the south end of downtown, that he had lived in before marrying Jo. Maria had, in turn, lived there before marrying and moving in with Hogan.