Lauren's Designs (16 page)

He smiled for the first time since he’d entered the cabin. Then he came to her and took her in his arms. It was so natural, so sweet, so
right
, that Lauren forgot her resolutions and relaxed against him in perfect peace. After a moment, he rocked her gently, a slight motion, but one that made her very conscious, for the first time, of his hard body against her softness. She caught in a deep breath of the lovely male smell of him, clean flesh, a spicy cologne, fresh linen.

“You smell good,” she whispered.

His body telegraphed laughter to hers, and he drawled, “I think you do too, but it’s hard to tell with so much wine in the air. Come up to my stateroom and we’ll investigate.”

Lauren drugged with the unexpected pleasure of being held in his arms again, was ready to agree to anything when the phone rang.

“Never a dull moment,” she murmured, reluctantly releasing herself from his possessive hold.

He followed her to the telephone and, standing close behind her, took her breasts in his hands. Lauren almost hung up, so keen was the excitement that firm grip roused in her.

“Hello?” she managed.

The next instant she was upright and holding the receiver to her ear tightly. “Why, hello, Lady Winston-Bell,” she stammered.

“I’ve just heard of the dreadful thing that happened to your collection, Mrs. Rose, and your very gallant intention to present the dresses you have left. I wonder if you have time to see me for just a few minutes? I know how frantically busy this morning must be for you, and I can come to your cabin at once if that is convenient?”

“Of course, I shall be delighted,” said Lauren.

When she hung up, she told Mike what was happening. “I suppose she wants to reassure you, or something,” he murmured discontentedly. “
I
wanted to comfort you.”

He was so much like a small boy denied a treat that Lauren grinned. Then, greatly daring, she said, “Perhaps you’d like to invite me to dinner in your suite again?” Third-time lucky, her heart prompted.

“I’m taking you to the Captain’s Dinner tonight,” Mike said casually. “I want to be there when we hear who won.”

“I’d love to go with you to the dinner,” Lauren said. To have him near her, beside her—whether the evening produced pain or triumph—that would be security. The kind of thing a married couple would do, she told herself, but didn’t say so to Mike.

He left, and Lauren hastily checked the cabin and opened the window to assist in dispersing the still-lingering wine odor.

When Lady Winston-Bell arrived, Lauren led her to a chair and sat down across from her. The older woman took no time for idle chatter. “I understand your models were working with some of your costumes when this terrible thing happened. Did you save enough to put on a show?”

“Yes, with the kind of performance I have envisioned,” Lauren said quietly. “I know you don’t want to hear the details, since you will be judging our presentation this afternoon. Maida Hass intends to announce the sabotage, but I do wish to give a modified showing.”

“I am so pleased you are taking the dastardly blow so gamely.” She smiled at Lauren. “I must tell you that I have requested a brief meeting with each designer, so that I may understand the theory, the artistic intention, behind the style of each collection. Would you tell me what you feel is the particular motivation behind your designs?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Lauren answered cheerfully. “I like to believe that a woman does not need to become either a vegetable or a wax dummy on the eve of her thirtieth birthday. She is still the same warm, vital, creative human being she was the day before. If she has taken intelligent care of her body and stimulated her mind, she should be able to function in every way as a woman until she is twice that age.”

Lady Winston-Bell laughed delightedly. “You only give us sixty years, Mrs. Rose? Conservative of you!”

Lauren returned her guest’s pleasant smile. “I was once told that the whole body regenerates or rebuilds itself every seven years. And recently I read that there is a perfect pattern for reconstruction in every cell. Why shouldn’t these patterns continue to create good cells for us?” She chuckled at the look on the other woman’s face. “No, I’m not trying to start a cult; I’m just optimistic, life-oriented, busy, happy. And I seem to be making it work, somehow. But, as for growth, I believe it brings change also. The clothes that suited me when I was five or fifteen or twenty-five are not suitable for me today.”

“In other words, you think a woman doesn’t get older, she just gets better?”

“Something like that. Didn’t Shakespeare say, ‘ripeness is all?’ Aren’t the greatest vintages
mature
ones? Life gives us time to learn to appreciate the rarest wines, time to build relationships that are strong and able to weather the storms.” Lauren caught herself up. “Do forgive me, Lady Winston-Bell. I am giving a lecture rather than answering simply.”

The older woman rose gracefully to her feet, her smile warm and reassuring. “You’ve told me exactly what I wished to hear: your philosophy of design. No wonder your own clothes are so beautifully simple and suitable. And so pretty.”

Lauren thanked her and saw her to the door. Then she sank down into a chair and wondered what other surprises this day would bring. She immediately jumped up, shocked that she could, even momentarily, have forgotten that September Song would be presenting an unusual fashion show within two hours. She hurried to don the simple, elegant violet silk dress she had chosen for the occasion.

The next two hours were hectic, but the enthusiasm of her team carried them and Lauren toward the moment of truth. Ten minutes before the Royal Court Lounge was opened to the public, Lauren knew they had done all that eight human beings could do. Even the small orchestra, having heard of the destruction of most of Mrs. Rose’s costumes, seemed determined to support her with their most careful and spirited playing. Maida was quietly helpful, making sure that coffee and broth were available, checking the stage and the curtains she had had installed across the arch.

Lauren stood at a lookout behind one of the side screens. At this moment, it seemed to her that for all their efforts her team was doomed to fail, not through any fault of their own, but because there would be no audience to evaluate the designs. The judges were already in place, their small table and scoring sheets before them. Besides the three of them, so few people sat in the comfortable chairs that Lauren’s heart sank. Had someone spread the word among the first class passengers that the show wasn’t worth bothering about? Was it known that her costumes had been ruined? Lauren resolved that her show would go on if only these few people watched it.

And then Herbert strolled in, with his youthful girlfriend clinging to his arm. Lauren saw him glance around as he sat down near the runway—in a position to gloat, thought Lauren—counting the poor attendance with satisfaction. Just you wait, Herbert Masen, just you wait.

There was a stir at the entrance. People began to stream into the room—well-dressed, laughing people. Soon the seats were comfortably filled, and still new arrivals entered and searched for places. Lauren could hardly believe her eyes. And then she saw Mike, big and darkly handsome in a lounge suit that had surely been made in London. Mike Landrill was shepherding the influx of guests, smiling broadly. Lauren couldn’t believe the warmth of the feeling of gratitude that rose within her. Mike was acting like a partner. No, more than a partner. She turned to the troupe and caught Derek’s eye. There was determination in her own.

“Ready?” she called to him.

He nodded, grinning.

Lauren gestured to the leader of the musicians. The strains of “A Pretty Girl Is like a Melody” drifted gently through the lounge. The curtains drew slowly back, revealing a boutique at night. Two artificial mannequins on platforms were revealed, dressed in costumes that gleamed and glowed softly in the dim light. The mannequins posed rigidly, their makeup indicating that they were lay figures. Slowly the lights brightened. A baby spot focused on one figure. It was Nella. Her red hair glowed in the light. She was wearing a sheath of bronze silk that clung lovingly to her splendid figure and enriched the luster of her air. As with most of the September Song dresses, this one had no busy details or ornaments to distract the eye from the pure, flowing line of the design and the body in it. While the murmur of pleasure was still rising from the audience, a second spotlight came on, revealing Dani in the jewel of Lauren’s collection.

Dani looks like a princess, Lauren thought. The way most of us dream of looking. Her head of glistening black curls was held proudly. The small body wore the lovely dress with such verve that, even frozen into position, the gown shimmered. There were audible gasps of appreciation as the musicians paused for a moment before moving triumphantly into “Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing”.

The ivory velvet of the bodice was artfully sewn with pasted sequins, gentle yet erotic. From the waist, soft floats of chiffon to pastel colors flowed to Dani’s ankles, and though they were, of course, motionless now, Lauren knew how they would sway and shift enchantingly as the wearer walked or danced, revealing a brief tantalizing glimpse of thigh or ankle. The costume was a celebration of femininity. The audience loved it, applauding generously.

A tiny chill went over Lauren’s skin. Those were her two best designs. She had given her strongest cards away, and the show was just beginning. Normally the greatest design was saved to crown and climax the showing. Then she shrugged and forced herself to relax. Nothing in this performance was normal, routine. She had better keep her mind on the job of helping the performers into and out of their costumes.

A change in the music announced the entrance of the cleaning women. The lighthearted, irreverent “With a Little Bit of Luck” caused laughter as Violet, Polly, and Dolly strolled in, impudently examined the gowns of the rigid mannequins. Although she was seeing it from the back, Lauren had to chuckle at the hilarious mime Tony had created for the women. Their heads were swathed in cloth, to protect the elaborate coiffures they would need to display after they donned the beautiful gowns from the collection. Their work clothes disguised the essential undergarments. They mimed around the mannequins, peacocking absurdly with their brooms and dusters, until one of them, Violet, made a decision. Calling the other two close, she mimed a proposal to which the others heartily agreed. Then, very carefully, they pulled the stand bearing Dani back behind the screens.

At once Lauren was ready to assist Dani out of the costume and put Polly in it. While this was happening, Dolly and Violet pulled Nella’s platform behind the screen as Polly prepared to go on stage.

Tongue in cheek, the musicians played “Here She Comes, Miss America” as Polly danced on stage. Then, followed by a pink spot, Polly danced down the runway, apparently in a dream of joy. This was well received; the applause was generous.

By the time Polly had returned to the stage, Violet was out, dressed in the bronze silk, which flattered her newly bronzed hair. Her movements, at first awkward, to carry out the idea of the cleaning woman’s inexpertness as a model, gradually changed as the music swelled into “Where Is Love?” And then Derek and Tony entered, in black leotards and tights with large security-guard patches on their shoulders. Polly and Dolly came running in, dressed in delicate afternoon gowns. There was a mimed chase as the guards attempted to catch the women. For this amusing scene, the orchestra played an hilarious mélange of classical czardas, a pizzicato from “Sylvia,” which cried out for the tiptoeing choreography Tony had chosen, and then an absurd segue into “Camptown Races”. The audience, tickled with the mood music, enjoyed the dancing tremendously.

Then the tempo changed. The guards caught the cleaning women and held them, but instead of an official grip, the contact became a slow dance of invitation and acceptance. For this, the orchestra played Viennese waltzes. The men slipped away behind the screens and changed into formal evening wear, reentered the stage, and bowing, requested the pleasure of the dance. Violet, in the bronze silk, was the first led out, by Derek. The two tall dancers swayed and swung to the music as though in a dream. The man’s head was bent adoringly over the woman’s. They smiled. The women in the audience loved it.

Then, as Derek returned his partner to the stage, Tony moved down the runway with Dolly. Derek followed with Polly in the jewel dress. Their sensuously rhythmic movements displayed Lauren’s designs perfectly. Tony had choreographed this part of the dance to emphasize the beauty-in-motion of the long chiffon “leaves”. Again the audience received the effort with enthusiastic applause.

And then, to the dismay of most of the audience, the lights began to dim. At first the dancers did not notice; then, as the music took on a gentler note, they seemed to become aware that the party was over. To the rather mournful notes of “Good Night, Sweetheart”, the guards returned the cleaning women to the stage and brought back the platforms. By this time Nella was again robed in her bronze dress and the men carried her out and placed her on her platform. A musician sounded twelve strokes of midnight on his chimes. The pensive mood was most delightfully and unexpectedly broken by the hasty entrance of the guards bearing Dani—in her exquisite bridal underwear! As they set her on her platform, the baby-pink spot lighted her delicious contours, to the guards’ obvious consternation. Tony rushed backstage, caught the evening cloak Lauren was holding ready, ran back on, and flung the cape about the pretty figure just as the last note struck. The audience loved this little scene, especially the men.