Lauren's Designs (3 page)

Lauren could not remember ever being as angry as she was at that moment. Not only had he ruined Nella’s usefulness, but he had come on the trip to gloat over Lauren’s failure! Getting her voice under control, she told him, “You’ll have to excuse us now, Herbert. We’re due at a meeting in the Royal Court Lounge—no guests allowed,” she ended sharply as he offered an arm to each of the two women.

Lauren led Dani away quickly. When they reached the spacious room where the fashion shows were to take place, Lauren discovered that none of the other designers was present, just their assistants and models. This did not disturb Lauren; in fact, she was secretly amused at the rather snobbish jostling for prestige it implied.

“I’m in no position to be arrogant,” she told a worried Dani. “It’s my job to see you get the best dressing room and the best help I can give you. At the moment, that’s
me
.”

Dani gave her a long, level look. “You really are a doll to work for, Ms. Rose,” she said, as though just now convinced of the fact. “I always figured I’d rather work for a man, but you don’t pull any tricks and you’re here to help me when I need you.”

“Thank you, Dani.” Lauren suppressed a chuckle. “Now let’s get you set.”

It was easier than Lauren had dared hope, since the assistants, however top-lofty, had to bow to Lauren’s superior status. Carlos de Sevile’s deputy sent off a frantic note to his employer after Lauren secured for Dani the dressing table in the best position in the room; apparently the assistant had quite forgotten that he and his models wouldn’t be backstage when Lauren’s September Song line was being shown. The session was nearly over and the cruise director was assuring everyone of her continued assistance when the flamboyant Spanish designer stormed into the lounge.

“What’s going on here?” he barked, his gaze darting at once to Lauren’s shining gold head. “What are you pulling, Rose?” There was no trace of the fascinating Spanish accent he usually affected.

“I’m just doing my job, buster,” she said cheerfully. “Who wants to know?”

Just for a moment, before he realized she was joking, de Sevile’s expression was ludicrous with surprise. Then his full mouth tightened and he said angrily, “I’ll report you to the judges—”

“For what? I’m just attending to the logistics of the show with my models. We were all invited to come.”

“Carlos de Sevile doesn’t have to be here in person. I have assistants to do such jobs,” he began with insolent emphasis.

Lauren laughed. “So report me for being faithful to my duty and courteous to our hosts,” she suggested. Then she added, “You’ll look like a fool, of course, but that’s nothing new.”

She walked away, her gleaming head high, her violet eyes bright with satisfaction.

An awed Dani spoke softly at her shoulder. “You really told that honcho, Ms. Rose. Aren’t you afraid he’ll hit back?”

“Let him,” Lauren was too elated to be cautious. “Things are tough all over! It really did me good to puncture his hot-air balloon.”

Dani shook her head. “I’ve been in the business a long time, Ms. Rose. Better watch out behind you from now on,” she warned gloomily. “You’ve only got me—and yourself, of course—now that Nella’s out of it. You’ll have to shorten all Nella’s stuff if you want me to wear them, and I’ll need you backstage to help if I’m to wear both sets of dresses. It’s a mess.”

Lauren refused to be downcast. “Let’s join our dancing friends in the pub, shall we? They’ve had a worse knock than we have, and they’re still smiling. I like them, don’t you?”

Dani refused to commit herself. Her own tastes ran to obviously wealthy men, like the handsome fellow in the blazer. “That hunk of man on deck,” she murmured soulfully. “I knew he wasn’t an employee of Cunard. His blazer was a Bill Blass and his shoes came from Gucci. In my book, he’s a ten, maybe even an eleven.”

Lauren grinned and led the way to the cozy Crown and Anchor pub with its very British ambience. She found the troupe gathered around a small table at the rear. Derek got up politely to find two more chairs, but Dani told them she was going down to her stateroom. Derek set Lauren’s chair between himself and his “storm and strife.”

“He means wife, dear,” Violet interpreted. “How did the briefing go?”

Lauren told them about de Seville and got them laughing. Then she insisted upon buying a round. “Why should you, luv?” Derek asked. “We’ve still got our pocket money.”

The others laughed ruefully, but Lauren insisted. “You see,” she explained, two dimples very much in evidence beside her soft, wide mouth, “I’ve got a proposition to make.”

“To me, I hope,” teased Tony, the younger man who was the lead dancer and choreographer for the troupe.

“To all of you,” Lauren said soberly. “You know that one-half of my team is out. I can’t take Nella’s place, since our figures and coloring are so different, but mostly because I’m needed backstage to help with costume changes and accessories, as Dani has just reminded me.” She looked at each of them in turn: Derek was lean, handsome, silver-haired, fortyish; his wife, Violet, was buxom and tall, her hair dyed a silvery blue; Tony had a hard, young-old face crowned with dark hair and must be, she thought, about thirty-five years old. Then there were the twins, one fair and one dark as Dani, in their late twenties with slender dancer’s figures, no hips and no bust. But at this moment they were all alike in the keen interest and hope on every face.

“I’d like to hire you to put on my show for me,” Lauren said quietly.

There was a moment of stunned silence as all eyes sought Derek, their manager. He frowned. “All of us? But we’re not—uh—mannequins,” he began, doubtfully.

“All the better,” Lauren launched eagerly yet quietly into her plan. “I’ve drawn the worst spot on the program, Thursday afternoon, when both the audience and the judges will be bored by the presentations. But for me, Thursday’s a good time because it gives us a chance to work out a show that might catch their attention. I got the idea at dinner tonight.” She beamed at them. “You’re dancers. You move beautifully. You’ve got stage presence and a kind of witty gallantry about you—”

The men bowed solemnly across the table at her, and the women smiled. Lauren went on. “I thought, when I saw some of the scenery backstage tonight, that I’d set the scene in a modish boutique, with Dani as a lay figure wearing our showiest dress. It’s ivory velvet with a pastel sequin bodice and a multipetaled chiffon skirt. The petals move and separate as the model walks. Oh, it’s perfectly modest—almost.” She chuckled at their expressions, then continued, “I thought I’d have three cleaning ladies come in to do their nightly thing, and fall in love with the dress. They can lift or help her down from the stand, then admire her as she displays the dress. When she’s back on her stand, they move her into an alcove and one of them—whichever the dress fits—comes out wearing it.”

She caught the flare of interest in the dancers’ eyes. “The other two, doing a double take, then come out wearing my creations, and the three dance along the runway to suitable music, admiring one another and themselves. Do you like it so far?”

“We like it,” Tony said firmly. “Where do Derek and I come in?”

Lauren gave him a broad grin. “I knew you’d back me up,” she crowed. “You’re such good sports, and I’m really in a spot.”

“Knights-errant, that’s Tony and me,” Derek hammed it up. “So what do
we
do?”

“You are night watchmen who come to check out the activity in the dress salon,” Lauren told them. “You dance the ladies once down the runway and back to the stage, using steps you, Tony, have choreographed to display my dresses to their best advantage, with appropriate music. Then you men lead the women offstage and lift Dani back to her stand. She’ll be wearing my most seductive lingerie. Derek will hastily bring out my high-style evening cape and whirl it around to cover her.”

“A little humorous mime there,” Derek decided, grinning.

“I love it,” Violet gasped.

All the others were equally enthusiastic. “We can handle both the dancing and the mime,” Tony said without false modesty. “We’ll need to see the costumes, get an idea of the kind of music and dance steps that would show them off to best advantage . . .” he paused, pondering.

Lauren could have hugged them all. “If you’re free to come to my suite right now. I’ll show you the dresses. I haven’t anything for you men to wear, though.”

“Chauvinist,” Tony gibed.

Derek smiled. “No problem, we’ve our own costumes. I’ll work something out,” he said thoughtfully.

They followed Lauren to her suite, where she glanced into the models’ bedroom. Nella was asleep. Dani, as she might have expected, was not present. Lauren led the troupe to her own bedroom and locked the door.

“Just a precaution,” she told them. “It’s really important that no one—not even my own employees—get any idea of what we’re doing. I can’t be sure they wouldn’t mention it to the wrong people, and we’d have de Sevile screaming to the cruise director or someone.”

“We understand all about professional caution and jealousy,” Polly said quietly.

After removing the padlock, Lauren zipped open the rack cover from her new collection. Each costume was kept immaculate in its own cover. Quickly Lauren stripped these off and began matching sizes to her new models. To her relief, Violet was just a little heavier than Nella, and about the same height.

“We’ll take you to the hairdressing salon and have your hair colored light auburn, if you don’t mind too much?” Lauren asked.

“Of course she doesn’t.” Derek grinned. “It’s about time she roused my interest with a new color.”

His wife swatted at him. “Enough of your sauce. You could use a new look, too.”

“No, I love that silver—so good with formal black,” Lauren said. “Do you men have black tights? Then, with security guard patches, that should do for your first entrance. Evening dress for your subsequent appearances, I think.”

“They’ve got tails
and
dinner jackets,” Dolly volunteered.

A few minutes later Lauren sat back on her heels from pinning up a hem and sighed her satisfaction. “I must be the luckiest dress designer in the whole U.S.A.,” she breathed, beaming up at them. “Dani’s things will fit the twins perfectly, with the hems shortened just a tad, and the seams taken in. I thought
models
were slender. Dancers must really diet.”

Through indulgent laughter, Polly worried, “That means you’ll have to take in all the—uh—”

“Corsages is the polite word, I think,” Derek suggested.

“Bodices,” Tony corrected him primly.

This was received with laughter by the women, then Lauren said, “Dressmaking is my business, after all, and alterations are a big part of it. September Song clothes aren’t styled for immature figures. Actually, you twins are younger than Dani, and less—ah—mature. . . .”

This time it was the men who chuckled. Derek said, with mock complaint, “I really cannot permit that canard about my wife’s figure, Mrs. Rose. Our English word for her is buxom.”

“Especially in the corsage,” Tony added.

Violet mimed aggression at them both. Lauren found she was feeling very close to them all. They were gallant in disaster. She thanked them again for their help, explained carefully about the age group for which she designed, and apologized to the twins. “You’re supposed to be between thirty and thirty-five. Can you mime it?”

“We can act the part—and enjoy it in those clothes,” Polly promised eagerly. “They’re an inspiration to be thirty.”

“To wear those dresses,” Dolly agreed. “I’d pretend to be seventy.”

The troupe expressed satisfaction with the salary Lauren was able to offer them. They were eager to get started, and began to point out various dresses and suggest music and choreography. In fact, Tony had already found an old envelope in his pocket and was making notes.

Derek ushered the dancers into the corridor. “We’ll be up half the night,” he said mock lugubriously. “When Tony gets started setting a dance . . .”

“We’ll be in touch tomorrow,” Violet promised, “to show you our ideas. Thank you.” She pressed Lauren’s hand and went after her friends.

Closing the door gently, Lauren leaned against it, trembling with the aftereffects of tension. She had committed herself and her livelihood to a group of unknown talents. Charming and professional as they all seemed, how could she know whether their dancing and mime would enhance her costumes or make them look ridiculous? The trembling became a violent shaking. Lauren gasped for breath. Suddenly the cabin seemed to close in on her, to be airless. Catching up her coat, Lauren left the room, locking the door behind her, and made her way up to the deck.

It was dark and windy, and at first she thought she was alone. She walked quickly to the rail and grasped its comforting hardness with shaking hands. She forced herself to breathe deeply, desperately seeking to absorb the tranquility promised by the vast, quiet ocean and the clear moonlight.

And then she became aware of a human presence behind her, felt it with a sharp alertness, an immediate sensory perception that struck into her consciousness like a dazzling light. The first assault was to her sense of smell. A tantalizing mixture of spice and the musky redolence of a man’s clean, warm body drifted to her nostrils. Next, there was the moisture of breath against her neck, and the heat radiating from a large body close to her back. Her own skin, in spite of her coat, was cold in the night air; the contrast between her chill and this new warmth was disturbing. Lauren stood very still. She had never been so sharply aware of another person in her life. She turned slowly to face whoever was standing behind her.