Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing (19 page)

They all migrated through the museum to the cafe while Marco found them a cozy spot in the sculpture garden seating area. For the next hour, Scarlet sat with each student and instructed her how to sketch a body and limbs. The exhaustion slowed her down, but she pushed herself. She wanted to give 100 percent attention to everyone—especially Olivia, who seemed to have chilled out. When Scarlet finished with Mary Theresa, she noticed Rosa was nowhere to be found. She mentioned it to Marco and the pair excused themselves from the group to go look for her.

Backtracking through the coffee-bar area, they assumed Rosa used the bathroom and got lost. When they didn’t find her, Scarlet asked the barista. He squirted whipped cream on a mocha and tilted his head in the direction of the fashion gallery.

They found her.

Leaning over the red velvet ropes in front of Daisy’s display, Rosa lovingly traced her fragile hand down the front of the gown while an elderly man rested his palms on her waist. They must have felt Scarlet and Marco’s presence because they both turned their heads to face them. Scarlet ran over with Marco right behind.

“Hey, kids,” Rosa said. “If you don’t mind, we’re heading out. I’m not feeling too well tonight.”

Y
our home makes my place look like a boring sheet of graphing paper,” Mary Theresa joked as she stepped into Scarlet’s house. “It’s cute, and fits you perfectly. I feel like I’m at my nana’s.”

“That’s because you’re at
my
nana’s; this is her house. I rent it. Glad you like it,” Scarlet proudly replied. She tugged a long gold silk scarf from her coatrack and handed it to Mary Theresa. “Here at La Casa Santana, glamour rules. Tie this baby around your neck and come on in!”

Rocky and Lucy let go of their mother’s hands and bolted a few steps across the wood floors to Scarlet’s vintage sofa.

“It smells yummy in here,” Rocky announced, letting his head fall back and sniffing as hard as he could.

Scarlet picked him up and playfully plopped him on the couch, and then Lucy. “It is yummy, little dude. You’re smelling my nana’s tamales, and my personal favorite, pumpkin chocolate-chip loaf. I popped it in the oven especially for you and Lucy. It’ll be ready in a little bit.”

The kids tickled each other and tossed their jackets on the floor before pulling out their Nintendo DSs. From one second
to the next, silence. Scarlet raised her brows at Mary Theresa in impressed astonishment.

“This is the first time I’ve let them have those game devices since their father left,” Mary Theresa whispered while she fluffed the scarf. “It’ll keep them busy for a while.”

Right after the museum excursion, Mary Theresa had begged Scarlet until she agreed to let her come over and streamline Scarlet’s operation process. Mary Theresa might not have been managing her marriage at the moment, but she still excelled at organizational skills.

Scarlet gave in and invited her and the kids over at seven that night.

The house resembled a sweatshop. Stacks of fabric swatches and measuring tapes littered the chairs, tangled balls of trim covered the end tables, and paper sketches were thumbtacked all over the walls. Mary Theresa became secretly excited at the thought of clearing Scarlet’s mess. Mary Theresa whistled a tune as she cleared the kitchen table of stacks of paperwork and marched them into the sewing room. She hadn’t whistled since childhood. Life was breezy when she could forget her drama and focus on someone else’s. And she loved being in charge again. Scarlet did her best to keep up with Mary Theresa’s aggressive directions of “Take this and set it over there, group these by date, rubberband these and stack them in this box.”

They eventually made it to Scarlet’s busiest spot in the house—the sewing palace (formerly a cozy guest room). Scarlet had managed to squeeze in two dress forms, a changing area, a chaise longue, a sketch table and light table, plus racks of fabric, trims, and buttons. And her sewing area, of course. The only open space was a skinny walkway that led to the center of the room. The rest was overtaken with see-through boxes of material.

While the room appeared very artsy and overflowing with creativity, Mary Theresa knew it could be more efficient. Scarlet approved, and they worked nonstop, breaking only for dinner and to check on Rocky and Lucy.

Mary Theresa marveled at a dress rack in the corner as she filed the final box of papers. “These are gorgeous dresses. Whose are they?”

“Mine. I made them. I have a fashion show every month for First Fridays,” Scarlet boasted as she lifted two dresses to show them off. “They’re made from blank silk scarves. I prep them one at a time, so no two are ever alike. I draw on each one with wax resist, then dye it and stamp all over it with my own carved graphics of Aztec icons. Once the fabric is washed and pressed, I close my eyes and skim it up and down my cheek until I see the dress it wants me to make. I call them my Mexibilly Frocks.”

Mary Theresa took one dress from Scarlet’s hand and held it up against her body. “Gorgeous. I don’t know too much about fashion, obviously,” Mary Theresa said, pinching her cream-colored sweater vest, “but you could go really far with these. Has your family seen these? I think they would change their perception of what you do and why you do it.”

“Yup,” Scarlet replied, hanging the dress back on the rack. “They came to my first few runway shows. But I guess they weren’t impressed, because they haven’t been back since. I can hardly wait until I make it big and they
have
to give me props.”

“But you have made it big!” Mary Theresa handed the dress to Scarlet, circled the center of the room, and raised her hands to the air. “Consider the success of your blog and the clothes you make. I wish Rosa were here; she’d say something wise and profound.”

Scarlet put the second dress away and adjusted the copper lampshade on top of her sewing table. Something had been pricking at her curiosity since the last class and she wanted to run it by Mary Theresa.

“Speaking of Rosa,” Scarlet baited, “something she did gave me the chills. It happened the other day at the museum in front of Daisy’s dress. It got me thinking.”

The tone of her voice piqued Mary Theresa’s interest. “What are the details? I’m good at connecting the dots.”

“I think our fabric vetrana is hiding something,” Scarlet said, tapping her finger on her cheek. “And I’m going to get to the bottom of it tomorrow, even if it costs me a day of work.”

“I’ve always found her to be very mysterious. Tell me what you know.”

Rocky’s and Lucy’s footsteps pounded across the hallway until they reached the sewing room and screeched to a halt. “Can we have our chocolate pumpkin pies now, Scarlet?” Rocky asked.

Lucy clenched her head. “Chocolate-
chip
pumpkin pie, Rocky!”

“Pumpkin chocolate-chip
loaf
. It’s like dessert bread,” Mary Theresa explained, glancing at Scarlet.

“Let’s go eat,” Scarlet said, leading the way out of the room. “The story will sound better with a cup of decaf French Roast. And by the way, mujer, you’re taking a Mexibilly Frock home with you. I don’t care if you never wear it, I just want you to have one. Consider it my Christmas gift.”

Friday, December 23, 11:05 p.m.

Embrace mystery!

Hola, my darling Daisy-inspired divas!

Today’s passage is dripping with mystery. Yes, the spirit of Agatha Christie has crept through the lace that lines my brain. As I type this, my mind is stacked with odd-shaped nuggets of clues that don’t fit. But I
know
they are meant to fit together. Therefore, in the middle of working three jobs in my quest to raise my Johnny Scissors tuition, I’ve retrieved my proverbial magnifying glass. I glued crystals around its frame, and am determined to discover a big reveal. I do believe, my dear Watson, I’m on to something GRANDE! Sorry, dixies, these lips are sealed.

In the meantime, let’s chat about the concept of mystery: secrets… the unexplained… the unknown…

Intrigue!

As the high-strutting glamorpusses that we are, we each have a mystery within us. Mysteries are alluring.
Think Greta Garbo, Grace Kelly, Bettie Page, and of course—Daisy.

Did you know in her early years, Daisy encountered some kind of tragic incident that changed the course of not only her life and career, but also personality? I don’t have actual verification, but I read about it on several message boards. Some say a car crash, others a bicycle accident. Different people from different backgrounds have shared similar specific details, yet no one knows for sure. Believe me, I’ve searched. I’ve read every single biography and article on Daisy only to find nada. Some industry experts claim the stories are untrue, just made-up tales by the suits at House of Tijeras to ring up extra sales.

I believe the stories. I’ve never met Daisy, but I feel connected to her. If it weren’t that I look like a walking clone of my mother’s younger self, I’d swear I was Daisy’s long-lost daughter.

Many say the above-mentioned calamity is what shaped Daisy’s design and business direction. Certain loyal historians even claim it is what triggered her into early stages of secrecy, which ultimately led to her life in hiding.

Now, here is my challenge to all of you. I want you to discover the mystery within you and put it out there right under everyone’s schnozzolas. Maybe it is not as tragic as our beloved Daisy’s, but think about a secret that resides in your soul. Create something based on it. Maybe it already exists, like a pair of earrings you wore the night your boyfriend broke your heart, or a gift your secret crush gave you. Perhaps it’s the silky drawers you’re wearing under your 501s. If you have no mysteries, then at least sport a fashionable floppy hat to hide half your face!

Something.

Anything.

Keep them guessing.

As for me, I have to mail off two of my Mexibilly Frocks to a customer and then I’m off to solve a mystery! Nancy Drew has nothing on me!

S
carlet didn’t mean to sneak up on Rosa, she really didn’t. She also didn’t mean to spill homemade chicken soup all over the pristine marble floor of the woman’s swanky loft. Daisy made her do it.

The night before, Daisy fluttered into Scarlet’s subconscious and practically ordered her to drop in on Rosa. So, whipping up a batch of Nana’s healing chicken caldo, Scarlet looked up Rosa’s registration form and copied the address—a fancy block of million-dollar lofts in central Phoenix called Châteaux on Central. When the housing market collapsed, the property owners went bankrupt.