If You Only Knew
Page 62
I don’t know. The last thing I want to do is make things worse.
“Mind if I go home early today?” Andreas asks, sticking his head into my office, where I’m sketching a mermaid gown for one of my new clients. “Seth and I have a date.”
“Fine,” I say. “Rub my face in it. Why can’t Seth have a straight brother, huh?”
“He has a lesbian sister. Want to give it a shot?”
“Some days, I do,” I say. “It’d be easier than dealing with men.”
“Tell me about it,” Andreas says.
Alone in my shop.
I have plenty of work, but...I don’t know. Something’s still missing. I’m on autopilot these days. I still love making dresses, but I haven’t been truly electrified in a long time. I’d hoped that owning my own shop would reinvigorate me, but so far, I feel horribly like I’m phoning it in. The dresses are still gorgeous, my brides are still thrilled; I’m probably the only one who knows something’s amiss.
I look at one of the display dresses—this gorgeous, sweet hippie-vibe confection with off-the-shoulder sleeves and empire waist. I loved making that dress. The bride called off the wedding; hence the reason I still have the dress, but it suited her perfectly, and she adored it. The guy was the problem, not the gown.
The bell over the door rings, and in comes my afternoon appointment. Kimber, in to see the muslin dress I made, based on the sketches she (and Mrs. Brewster) approved.
Unfortunately, the Dragon Lady is here, too, her iron-gray hair sprayed into its fiercely chic helmet, her face set in those frigid lines.
“Hello!” I say, hugging Kimber, who beams at me. “So nice to see you both! Come on in to the dressing room. Can I get you coffee or tea?”
“Let’s get this over with,” Mrs. Brewster says. Kimber’s smile twitches, then dies.
“Sure,” I say, ever chipper with my clients. “Now, the dress is obviously going to be in that gorgeous silk we picked out last time. This is just for fit and to give you an idea of how it will look on. I’ll show you the lace choices, and we can get to work making it really special.”
“I can’t wait,” Kimber says, clapping her hands.
Because covering the tattoos was deemed critical by Mrs. Brewster—and because Kimber dutifully agreed—I’ve come up with a very elegant, fitted dress with a sweetheart neckline and a graceful, draped skirt. Three-quarter lace sleeves and lace over the bodice will camouflage most of her colorful tattoos. The back is also lace. The material will be ivory silk and with a very delicate, sheer lace—the wedding’s in July, after all—and with Kimber’s figure and olive skin, she’ll look amazing in it.
“Let me help you get dressed, and then we’ll show you, Mrs. Brewster.”
Mrs. B.’s response is to glance at her watch.
In the changing room, Kimber strips down to her bra and panties, both shocking pink. Her tattoos are rose vines, climbing from her hip bone up her side to twine her neck. She also has angel wings between her shoulder blades and the full-sleeve tattoo. I wouldn’t want a tattoo myself, but I don’t mind them. And they suit Kimber, with her pink hair and studded ears. She has such an innocence about her; she looks like a rock ’n’ roll angel.
“This is so much fun!” she whispers. “I hope Mrs. B. likes it! I really want us to be friends.”
The admission is so honest and sweet. “If Jared loves you, I’m sure she already does. And not to toot my own horn, but this dress is perfect. You’ll look beautiful,” I say. “Here, just slide this over your head. Don’t look. Now, let me zip you up. You’ll have buttons on the real dress, but this can give you an idea.”
Kimber closes her eyes and lets me do my thing.
The dress fits her perfectly, and that figure... Glory be. She’s built like Scarlett Johansson.
“My tatts will still show,” Kimber says.
“I know,” I say. “This is the under-dress...just the bodice and skirt, see? Now, this isn’t your lace—we’ll pick that out today—but I made you a little jacket to give you an idea of how it will look.”
She slides her arms into the sleeves and lets me button the makeshift jacket. “You can pick whatever pattern of lace you want,” I tell her. “It can be a corded lace, which is heavier, or you can go with something really light and airy. I think light would work best, personally, but it’s up to you. And it can be beaded, too, if you want a little sparkle.”
“Oh! Sparkle sounds great!”
I finish the last button. “Open your eyes.”
She opens her eyes, and her lips part, her face at once dreamy and stunned. “Is that really me?” she asks.
“Sure is. You look amazing. Shall we show her?”
We go out to where Mrs. Brewster waits, looking pinched. Her face doesn’t change, though Kimber is beaming.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“I can still see those ridiculous tattoos,” she snaps. “I thought you understood our problem.”
“This lace pattern is only for demonstration,” I say calmly. “We can pick out something with a denser pattern if—”
“No,” Mrs. Brewster says. “The lace won’t work. No tattoos should be showing at all. This is a church wedding, not some civil ceremony. Jared’s father is the minister of the congregation. His son can’t seem to be marrying a...prostitute.”
“Mind if I go home early today?” Andreas asks, sticking his head into my office, where I’m sketching a mermaid gown for one of my new clients. “Seth and I have a date.”
“Fine,” I say. “Rub my face in it. Why can’t Seth have a straight brother, huh?”
“He has a lesbian sister. Want to give it a shot?”
“Some days, I do,” I say. “It’d be easier than dealing with men.”
“Tell me about it,” Andreas says.
Alone in my shop.
I have plenty of work, but...I don’t know. Something’s still missing. I’m on autopilot these days. I still love making dresses, but I haven’t been truly electrified in a long time. I’d hoped that owning my own shop would reinvigorate me, but so far, I feel horribly like I’m phoning it in. The dresses are still gorgeous, my brides are still thrilled; I’m probably the only one who knows something’s amiss.
I look at one of the display dresses—this gorgeous, sweet hippie-vibe confection with off-the-shoulder sleeves and empire waist. I loved making that dress. The bride called off the wedding; hence the reason I still have the dress, but it suited her perfectly, and she adored it. The guy was the problem, not the gown.
The bell over the door rings, and in comes my afternoon appointment. Kimber, in to see the muslin dress I made, based on the sketches she (and Mrs. Brewster) approved.
Unfortunately, the Dragon Lady is here, too, her iron-gray hair sprayed into its fiercely chic helmet, her face set in those frigid lines.
“Hello!” I say, hugging Kimber, who beams at me. “So nice to see you both! Come on in to the dressing room. Can I get you coffee or tea?”
“Let’s get this over with,” Mrs. Brewster says. Kimber’s smile twitches, then dies.
“Sure,” I say, ever chipper with my clients. “Now, the dress is obviously going to be in that gorgeous silk we picked out last time. This is just for fit and to give you an idea of how it will look on. I’ll show you the lace choices, and we can get to work making it really special.”
“I can’t wait,” Kimber says, clapping her hands.
Because covering the tattoos was deemed critical by Mrs. Brewster—and because Kimber dutifully agreed—I’ve come up with a very elegant, fitted dress with a sweetheart neckline and a graceful, draped skirt. Three-quarter lace sleeves and lace over the bodice will camouflage most of her colorful tattoos. The back is also lace. The material will be ivory silk and with a very delicate, sheer lace—the wedding’s in July, after all—and with Kimber’s figure and olive skin, she’ll look amazing in it.
“Let me help you get dressed, and then we’ll show you, Mrs. Brewster.”
Mrs. B.’s response is to glance at her watch.
In the changing room, Kimber strips down to her bra and panties, both shocking pink. Her tattoos are rose vines, climbing from her hip bone up her side to twine her neck. She also has angel wings between her shoulder blades and the full-sleeve tattoo. I wouldn’t want a tattoo myself, but I don’t mind them. And they suit Kimber, with her pink hair and studded ears. She has such an innocence about her; she looks like a rock ’n’ roll angel.
“This is so much fun!” she whispers. “I hope Mrs. B. likes it! I really want us to be friends.”
The admission is so honest and sweet. “If Jared loves you, I’m sure she already does. And not to toot my own horn, but this dress is perfect. You’ll look beautiful,” I say. “Here, just slide this over your head. Don’t look. Now, let me zip you up. You’ll have buttons on the real dress, but this can give you an idea.”
Kimber closes her eyes and lets me do my thing.
The dress fits her perfectly, and that figure... Glory be. She’s built like Scarlett Johansson.
“My tatts will still show,” Kimber says.
“I know,” I say. “This is the under-dress...just the bodice and skirt, see? Now, this isn’t your lace—we’ll pick that out today—but I made you a little jacket to give you an idea of how it will look.”
She slides her arms into the sleeves and lets me button the makeshift jacket. “You can pick whatever pattern of lace you want,” I tell her. “It can be a corded lace, which is heavier, or you can go with something really light and airy. I think light would work best, personally, but it’s up to you. And it can be beaded, too, if you want a little sparkle.”
“Oh! Sparkle sounds great!”
I finish the last button. “Open your eyes.”
She opens her eyes, and her lips part, her face at once dreamy and stunned. “Is that really me?” she asks.
“Sure is. You look amazing. Shall we show her?”
We go out to where Mrs. Brewster waits, looking pinched. Her face doesn’t change, though Kimber is beaming.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“I can still see those ridiculous tattoos,” she snaps. “I thought you understood our problem.”
“This lace pattern is only for demonstration,” I say calmly. “We can pick out something with a denser pattern if—”
“No,” Mrs. Brewster says. “The lace won’t work. No tattoos should be showing at all. This is a church wedding, not some civil ceremony. Jared’s father is the minister of the congregation. His son can’t seem to be marrying a...prostitute.”
