Bead-Dazzled (17 page)

“That’s unfair.” Emma liked the way Carmen looked. “Anyway, why do we care how the models look in front of a camera? I don’t think many people will want to take pictures at Allegra’s show, will they?”

“Pictures?” Paige tossed the phone across the desk towards Charlie and reached for a glass bottle of healthy green juice resting near her telephone. “Why would people take pictures of a video?”

“Video?” Charlie and Emma repeated at the same time.

“I’m feeling confusion here. I don’t like to feel confusion. Goin’ Green does not do live fashion shows. Do we not know this?”

“We do not.” Emma shot Charlie a questioning look.

Charlie shrugged.

“All the fashion shows at the benefit are filmed beforehand by the designers. They all run at the same time on different screens around the large room,” Paige explained. “Do you really believe I’d be sitting here so calmly if I knew you’d agreed to a
live
fashion show? Do you think I’d ever allow you to do something so huge and potentially disastrous at this point? We are building Allegra Biscotti’s career, not taking it down with one bad turn on the catwalk.”

“A video is
molto bene
,” Francesca interjected.

“It is good,” Paige agreed. “My advice—go small and simple. You don’t want your audience focusing on lots of wobbly, inexperienced models. Make the clothes the focus. Clean. Crisp.
Simple.
Got it?”

“Totally,” Emma said, relief flooding her body. “If we can film this, I don’t need all those models. I can just use Holly over and over. I know her measurements. I’ve designed for her forever. And Holly’s really good with hair. She can give herself different styles for each outfit. It’ll be perfect.”

“We hope. Which one is Holly?” Paige flipped through the photos again.

“She’s not in there.” Emma showed Paige a photo of Holly on her phone. She’d taken it in September at the farmer’s market in Union Square. Holly held one large sunflower and wore white T-shirt with torn, cropped jeans and a pair of navy Espadrilles. With her hair in a ponytail, she looked totally classic, casual Holly.

“Nice shoulders. Long legs.” Paige handed Emma back her phone.

Did that mean Paige liked Holly? Emma decided to take it as a “yes.”

“And your designs?” Under her desk, Paige tapped the toe of her nude-suede, red-soled Louboutin pumps. Emma recognized this cue. Tapping meant Paige was losing interest.

Quickly, Emma pulled her sketchbook from her bag and stood alongside Paige, as she flipped through the pages. “So my palette is mossy green, a deep beet red, gold, and then a range of browns and buffs,” Emma began as Paige nodded. “I made my own natural dyes to work with the ‘Goin’ Green’ theme.”

Paige was silent. Not bad silent, but not good silent either. Just not so patiently listening, so Emma kept going. She started with the dresses. The high-collared tunic with a bead-encrusted collar in beet red. Then the mini slip dress with strands of beads for straps. Paige made an approving murmur and flipped to the next page, which revealed the high-waisted pants in buff with a wide leg. She’d come up with a cool-looking geometric design, which was now the beaded belt buckle in the faux belt that wound around the high waist of the pants.

“I’m thinking this would go with a cropped tank in gold with very subtle beading,” Emma explained, showing a fitted jacket in the moss green.

Paige pursed her mauve-glossed lips, still being disconcertingly quiet. The silence was broken by the sound of wheels squeaking by Paige’s open door.

“Oh, Maddie! I need you,” Paige called suddenly as a young woman with strawberry-blond curls rolled a clothing rack by the doorway. Although the January temperatures outside were frigid, the rack showcased dozens of shorts: sailor shorts, high-waisted shorts, shorts with color-blocked pockets, bubble shorts. “Lose everything not in the citrus family.”

Maddie fingered a pair of navy linen shorts with gray piping down the side. “Even these?” she asked.

“Does that look like a citrus fruit to you?” Paige snapped. “Lemon, lime, and tangerine. Citrus is the direction for the July issue shorts spread. Call around to the designers. I need citrus shorts before six tonight.”

“But it’s almost five now—” Maddie started.

Paige sighed. “Okay, six-thirty then. Good?”

Maddie widened her eyes, debating whether or not Paige was really asking a question. But Paige had already turned back to Emma’s sketches. Maddie hurried away, the wheels of the clothing rack squeaking in protest against her speed.

“Your designs are nice,” Paige announced, closing the sketchbook.

“Nice?” Emma repeated.

“Nice.”

“I was hoping for ‘wow.’” Emma said, disappointed.

“Well the ‘wow’ isn’t there yet. Everything is pretty and wearable. But very safe, very quiet. You’ve got to pump up the volume on these to get to ‘wow.’” Paige stood abruptly and headed for the door. “I have a citrus problem to solve now.”

Paige’s office fell silent once she left. None of them said anything. Emma leaned against the taupe-leather guest chair and studied the black-and-white framed prints that lined the walls of Paige’s office. Marilyn Monroe in her famous billowy-white dress. Audrey Hepburn in a long black Givenchy column dress. Jackie O. in her pillbox hat and stylish suit. Michelle Obama in her one-shoulder inaugural Jason Wu gown.

These were all famous
wow
fashion moments. Emma had
nice
.

She had to rethink her whole collection. She had to turn nice into
wow
.

Or, at least, into
very
nice.

SO YESTERDAY

F
riday afternoon. The weekend stretched deliciously before Emma with the promise of uninterrupted hours to design, redesign, and hopefully start to sew. Homework could wait. She had no intention of peeking into her school bag until Sunday night. Emma cleared off her large, metal work table and rolled out the bolts of newly-dyed fabric. Her dad had transported them home from the office during the week so she could dye all of them, and then he taxied them back again to Laceland. He refused to let her dye anywhere near his inventory of lace.

“Here we go!” she called to The Girls. Still naked, they watched with anticipation. This was usually Emma’s favorite part—bringing her sketches to life. Only now, she had to transform “nice” into “wow” as she did so.

She pinned three designs to a corkboard near the table. On each page, she’d scribbled notes in the margins—colors to use, trimmings to buy, and the amount of fabric she’d need.

Humming the chorus of a decades-old pop song playing in the warehouse when she’d entered, she turned her attention to the fabric. The yellow turmeric was as vibrant as a golden sunrise. The purplish-red of the beets reminded her of tart yet sweet pomegranate seeds. The mossy green from the kale called up grassy meadows in the early spring. She inspected the various brown and tan fabrics from the coffee beans, and her first thought was of crinkled brown paper bags.
Bag lady.
Not a good association for clothing. She’d have to be careful with this color. Other than the iffy browns, she was really happy with her palette, and she knew she’d made the right choice in salvaging that gorgeous, dreamy silk.

Using special fabric shears, Emma measured and then cut the exact number of yards of fabric she’d need for the slip dress. That was the only sketch she’d showed Paige where she sensed any kind of positive reaction. Maybe she should just do a whole line of slip dresses in different colors, with different colored strands of beads for the straps. That could work! She began to drape the café au lait silk on a dress form.

Several times, she stepped back or circled around, to view the dress from all angles. Each time, she adjusted the fabric to hug Holly’s body in the most flattering way.

Holly.

Suddenly, Emma realized that she never officially asked Holly to model for her. Never asked her at all. She knew Holly would say yes, but asking was the right thing to do.

Plucking her cell from its place next to the strawberry-shaped pin cushion her Grandma Grace had given her when she first learned to sew, Emma texted her friend.

Holly responded in seconds. She was good that way. Always attached to her phone. Always reachable. Unlike Emma, who often got distracted and forgot to reply.

LUV 2!
Holly answered.
when?

Emma wasn’t sure when they’d film the fashion show. She hadn’t gotten that far in her planning. Truthfully, she hadn’t looked past this afternoon.

She told Holly she’d need her for a bunch of fittings and, she guessed, a rehearsal or two.

K, but I have v-ball,
Holly texted.

Emma had forgotten that Holly had joined the school volleyball team. Coach Devlin had stalked Holly for months, nagging her to be a part of the losing team. They needed a spiker, and a spiker had to be really tall. Even though Holly wasn’t particularly athletic, she was perfect for the spot.

Thx!
Emma texted.
Gotta c u in teeny v-ball shorts!

@ bball now. Everyone here. come 2 game!!!!!!

Emma cringed. There was a basketball game happening now in the Downtown Day gym. Jackson would be playing. She’d caught him staring at her during class yesterday when he thought she wasn’t looking, but they still hadn’t spoken. She found it hard to write him off. He was so cute, and she knew deep down that he wasn’t an Ivana-boy. Charlie would scream if he suspected she felt this way.

She considered going to the game to see him.

“Stop it!” she commanded herself. She turned to Girl A. “Don’t let me think about Jackson now. It’s your turn for a fabulous outfit. For a
wow
outfit.”

Not 2day,
she texted Holly. If she were truly like Jackson’s super hero drawing, she’d zoom to the gym on her magic zip-line and make things right between them and zoom back and finish her Allegra work—all in the blink of an eye.

She sighed. She had no magic powers, and the first dress still needed a lot more work.

She was unsure of the neckline. Should she go for a curvy sweetheart neck or a wide boat-neck that dipped right below the collarbone? Using special fabric chalk, she marked seams and other sewing instructions directly on the fabric. She’d leave it like that for now and move onto the second slip dress.