Bead-Dazzled (18 page)

“Let’s try something a little edgier on you,” Emma announced to Girl B.

A throat cleared behind her. Without turning, Emma knew it was Marjorie. Her perfume gave her away. “Hi.” Emma kept draping and pinning the fabric. An asymmetrical neckline definitely added some oomph to the design.

“Hi, darling. Hate to bother, but it’s coffee time.”

“Already?” Time zoomed when she was creating.

“Actually, it’s late. I waited for you out front….”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, holding a pin between her teeth as she nipped in the side. “One sec.” Part of her deal with her dad was that she sat in for Marjorie at the front desk when she took breaks. Marjorie had been with Laceland for over twenty years, and this entitled her to a lot of breaks.

Emma stood back, crossed her arms, and checked out the shape of this dress. She liked how it was turning out. She needed to figure out the proportions for an uneven hem—longer in the back, shorter in the front. “What do you think, Princess Pleats?” she asked Marjorie.

“Hmmmm.” Marjorie’s eagle eyes took in the two garments. “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” Interesting was worse than nice. Interesting meant Marjorie didn’t have the heart to tell her they were bad. “They’re that horrible?”

“Oh, no. Not horrible. Lacking. That’s it. Not exciting.”

“You aren’t getting the whole picture,” Emma said. “There are going to be beads. Strands of beads for the straps, embellishment around the waist, a hint of sparkle around the neckline.”

“Beads will
probably
help,” Marjorie agreed. “Lots of beads.”

“Lots of beads,” Emma repeated. “Where am I going to get lots of beads?” She suddenly panicked. “I don’t have the money for all the shiny beads I’m going to need.”

“Then lose the beads,” Marjorie suggested.

“No way! The beads pull everything together.”

“You think?” Marjorie titled her head, unconvinced. She walked to the cork board and peered at the sketches “Even with the beads, I’m not feeling it.”

Marjorie’s wrong, Emma told herself. But a part of her, the Allegra part, knew that Marjorie was right.

“I’m ready to do the desk,” Emma said, suddenly grateful to leave The Girls, the sketches, the fabric, and the dresses that just weren’t working behind for a few minutes.

“If you need my help—” Marjorie began.

“No. I’m good.” Emma’s tone was cold as she walked to the reception area.

“I’m only trying to—”

“It’s fine. Better to hear the brutal truth now.” Emma slipped robotically into the desk chair, avoiding Marjorie’s concerned gaze. Marjorie shrugged helplessly, reapplied her coral lipstick, grabbed her black satchel bag, and disappeared into the elevators.

Emma sighed. She felt horrible for being so rude. She wasn’t angry with Marjorie. She was angry with herself. Emma knew this collection could be great. She just needed to figure out how. She was also upset about Jackson. She was missing her chance with him.

Opening the cluttered desk drawer, Emma busied herself organizing the take-out menus and throwing away dried-out pens. Her gift to Marjorie to make up for her rude behavior.

“Greetings!” Charlie stumbled out of the elevator, moving to the beat of the tunes blaring out of his neon-green ear buds.

Usually she loved having Charlie around, but today, after hearing her designs were yawn-worthy, she wanted to escape to the privacy of her studio and puzzle through solutions by herself.

“I am a genius.” Charlie plopped an old mail carrier’s bag that he’d traded his musical-loving mailman for a signed cast album of
Wicked
onto the counter. Charlie used the postal bag to haul his schoolbooks. “A creative genius. A business genius. An all-around genius.”

“How so?”

“We’re filming a fashion show, no?”

“Yes,” Emma agreed. At the mention of it, her stomach twisted.

“And Paige said she’d convince one of her photographer dudes to do a favor and film it, right? And she said she’d find some raw space to mount the runway and all, right?”

“Right.” Emma was grateful that Paige had these connections.

“As I see it, you need a whole lot more than that. You need rockin’ beats, you need graphics, you need production value.”

“I need a lot,” Emma agreed. Starting with a “wow” collection. She couldn’t really get past that item on the very long list. Maybe she just needed an excuse to get out of this whole crazy show. Maybe Allegra needed to get stuck in Milan, she thought.

Charlie wasn’t about to let Emma go down that particular road. “I present you with the rawest, most-cutting edge tunes direct from the streets of the city.” Charlie pulled a set of mini-speakers from his bag and hooked his iPod into them. “I’ve spent the last two days searching out artists who are just getting their groove and who will record for free to get their sound out there. Yes, Emma, once again Charlie brings talent for free.”

Emma grinned. “Our magic word.”

“I’ve narrowed it down to three finalists. Mango Meltdown is an alternative band of college students from NYU, The Oregon Trail are three guys with a folksy-reggae vibe who I found practicing by Chelsea Piers, and Ruthie Lake is a soulful singer-songwriter girl from the subway. I’ve downloaded all their tracks.”

Charlie switched on the first song. A haunting melody that gradually took on a funky beat filled the reception area. “Check out the synthesized raindrops along the baseline? Perfect, huh?”

Emma nodded as her cell rang. She gazed at the screen.
Jackson.

Her stomach did a little flip.

“Hey,” she greeted, trying to control her excitement.

“Hey. What’re you up to?” He sounded nervous.

Emma tried to hear over the male voices harmonizing lyrics about shining stars. “Nothing. Well, working at Laceland.” If he wasn’t going to mention the movies, then she wouldn’t go there either.

“Is that Holly?” Charlie asked, tapping his hand on the desk as if playing a drum.

Emma shook her head. “Jackson,” she mouthed.

Charlie rolled his eyes then aggressively dialed up the volume.

“You there?” Jackson asked. “What’s with the music?”

“New band.” She motioned to Charlie to turn it off. Charlie ignored her.

“We won the game. A bunch of us are going to Java Joe’s. Do you want to come?”

“Movin’ down, movin’ down, oh yes, movin’ down,” Charlie sang along to chorus, as if he were part of the band.

“Is that Charlie?” Jackson asked, his voice barely coming through over the combination of Charlie and the band’s vocals.

“Yeah. He’s playing this new band he found for me,” Emma answered. “About Java Joe’s…” Java Joe’s was a coffee place with oversized purple velvet sofas near the school.

“You sound busy.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced out the words. “Yeah, that’s it. I am.”

“I hear it.” Jackson paused and silence filled the line. “You’re always busy.”

She didn’t want to be too busy for him.

“Another time?” Emma said hopefully.

“Sure, another time,” Jackson agreed, not so convincingly. Emma clicked off her phone, a small pit in her stomach. Months ago, when she had hours and hours to hang at Java Joe’s and even go to a basketball game, he didn’t even know she existed. Now that she had Allegra and a fashion show, Jackson suddenly showed interested. Holly would say it was some kind of cruel joke. That their karmas weren’t in sync or something.

“Why are you talking to him?” Charlie demanded.

“It’s complicated.”

“With him, I doubt it.”

“Don’t be mean,” Emma warned. How could she explain that she still got that breathless, fluttery feeling when she thought about Jackson? And why should she have to? What did Charlie know about Jackson anyway?

“Fine. Your mistake.” Charlie raised his arms to show he was backing off. Or least, he was pretending to back off. Emma knew he’d never stop giving his opinions. “New topic. Music. Reaction? Opinion?” Charlie asked.

“I’m not loving these Mango guys’ chorus,” Emma confessed.

“Chorus? Mango Meltdown stopped playing ages ago. Can’t you hear Ruthie’s acoustic guitar?” Charlie sounded outraged. “Are you even listening?”

“Not so much,” Emma admitted. “I’m kind of distracted. Just leave me all their samples, and I’ll listen on my own later and choose one.”

“And what about me?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t there some Swedish film you’re dying to see at Film Forum?”

“You’re sending me off to a depressing movie? Fine, Em, you don’t have to like this but your musical taste stinks, no offense. I mean your playlists are so two years ago. You can’t choose this music by yourself.”

“My taste is fine. The music has to go with the fashion and I know the fashion, so I can do the music, too,” Emma said.

“It’s not only your decision,” Charlie protested. “I’ll stay here with you. I found these—”

“That’s it. I just need time alone. Then I can figure it all out. Allegra’s my baby. I can do it myself.”

“If that’s how you want it.” He grabbed his bag and left the iPod and speakers behind. “Tracks fifty-six, fifty-seven, and fifty-eight. I can’t wait to hear your choice,
Allegra
.”

Charlie stalked across the hall and pushed open the door to the stairs, his sneakers pounding down the eleven flights.

Emma rested her head in her hands. She wished she could go somewhere to cocoon herself away from all the negativity—that her designs were lacking, that she was never around, that her musical taste was so yesterday. If she could do that, she was sure she could get everything on track. But where did you hide when you lived in a small apartment, worked in a corner of a warehouse, and lived in a city of eight million people?

If only Charlie had come by at a different time, she thought—or on a different day.

Since she arrived at Laceland this afternoon, she’d managed to annoy Marjorie, Jackson,
and
Charlie. But the good thing, she reasoned, was Charlie was Charlie. They’d had plenty of fights before, and he never stayed angry for long. She’d let him cool off this weekend while she designed like crazy and by Monday, everything would be perfect in both Emma and Allegra’s worlds.

BOSSY

E
mma worked all weekend, taking risks with the silhouettes and the detail, traveling only from her bedroom to Laceland and back again. She’d shut off her phone and refused to boot up her laptop—a total disappearing act.

Unplugged and focused.

Cocoon central.

Instead of going to school on Monday, Emma stayed in hiding. She loved how the clothes were looking. She’d managed to drape six dresses, even though she wouldn’t use all of them in the end. She’d gone longer, flowier, listening to the fabric that was begging for long and dreamy, not short and flirty.

She cleared off a corner of her work table and took a bite of the tuna wrap her dad had brought back from the deli around the corner. Lunch tasted a whole lot better out of the Downtown Day cafeteria. Hiding is good, she decided.

Not that she was really hiding.

Her mother taught at her school and her father worked where she’d stowed away. There was no chance she could skip school without being busted. But they’d totally surprised her this weekend, giving her the space she needed. Her mom made her favorite gooey grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches and let her eat in her bedroom, which was unheard of for Joan Rose. Her dad found paperwork to do on a Sunday, so there was an adult at Laceland while she worked in her studio. And they’d agreed to let her skip school today. Truly mind-boggling. It was the one and only time she’d ever asked for a day off, and they must have sensed her desperation.