Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing (35 page)

One of the men at the desk retrieved a heavy stack of contracts and heaved them on top of the table. He opened a thin velvet box, removed a shiny pen, and set it on top of the stack. “I can go over all the details with you, and by this afternoon it will all be official. Photo shoots and fittings begin Tuesday; we’ll have a press conference on Wednesday.”

Scarlet lost her breath and couldn’t speak. She placed her hand over her belly and inhaled slowly. She couldn’t believe her ears. Scarlet imagined holding Nana Eleanor’s hand and walking through Times Square to see her own picture across one of those lighted billboards. Scenes played in Scarlet’s mind of her mother proudly flipping open a copy of
InStyle
magazine and showing the new ad campaign to all her friends. Oooh, and Carly!
Yeah, Carly,
Scarlet thought. She would probably ask
Scarlet to sign the broom that she used to use to sweep the floor. Which she would do, but only after charging Carly a large stack of green to be donated to charity.
Sweet revenge,
Scarlet thought.
Sweet, sweet revenge.

Just as she was about to answer
Yes! Yes! Yes!
—a cold gust of wind blew throughout the room, causing the drapes to flutter and the napkins to drift across the table. Everyone’s heads turned to search the room for a reasonable explanation, but couldn’t find one.

Except Scarlet.

Out of nowhere a strong spirit came over her, as if it were sitting right next to her in the chair, reminding her to stay grounded and think smart. It reminded her of Rosa, or Nana Eleanor. It forced her to set aside her silly fantasies about showing off. This… energy… pushed Scarlet to ask questions. Important questions.

“I’m honored to be considered for this opportunity,” she said. “But I have questions, if you don’t mind. What designs are you rereleasing?”

And so began her long round of rapid-fire questions about design copyrights, domestic manufacturing, importing, and so on. She recalled her conversation with Rosa about their shared business ethics—practices Johnny and his team had no interest in.

To anyone else, the deal would sound promising. But the more Scarlet listened, the more she felt sorry for Daisy.

Johnny wanted Scarlet to be the face of the relaunch, yet he wanted his own creative team to create cheap knock-offs of Daisy’s work and have them mass produced overseas. He wanted to close down the New York production plant in the Garment District and move it to Los Angeles to take advantage of immigrant labor. Of course, neither he nor his staff worded it this
way. They delivered the package in such a way as to make it sound like a win/win situation for everyone involved, even the underpaid immigrant seamstresses they planned to exploit.

Another issue troubled her, but she would wait for proper timing to ask about it. Johnny and his hifalutin team forgot that pretty little Miss Scarlet had two college degrees behind her silk stockings—but she wasn’t about to let on to that. The more she played the naïve ingénue, the more they answered her questions in extensive detail, thinking it would all float over her fluffy, pinned-up hair.

After Johnny’s maid cleaned up their dishes, the men became restless and one of them nudged Johnny as if to seal the deal. Scarlet wiped her face with her napkin and took a drink from her water glass.

“To be honest, coming here is not at all what I expected,” Scarlet said. “If it weren’t for Daisy, none of us would be here, yet you’ve erased all trace of her. She was about creativity, quality, edginess, and self-empowerment. I thought I would come here and feel connected to her more than ever, but I don’t. I feel closer to her when I’m blogging about her. I feel like she is peeking over my shoulder telling me what to type.”

Johnny put his hand up for her to stop. “Scarlet, we are in this business to make money, and times are not what they used to be. Trends change much faster than they did during my aunt’s era. Now consumers want affordable, disposable fashion. That’s what we deliver. You’ll be the Daisy de la Flora of your time, and you won’t have to do anything except pose for photo shoots, attend parties, and make public appearances. Our team will handle the rest. You’ll earn plenty of money to help your family in Arizona, travel, or whatever else you want to do. Trust me, this is a deal of a lifetime. Right now you are a thirty-year-old nobody. We will make you a somebody.”

Scarlet stared up at the black chandelier hanging over the table.

“Ready to kick-start your new life, Scarlet? We want to debut you and the campaign this Friday at the Met’s gala for my aunt.”

“Do you know if Daisy will be there?” Scarlet asked. “Is there a chance in all of this… that I could meet her, maybe have tea with her?”

Johnny let out rolls of laughter and gave a roaming glance to his staff. “What is it about that old woman that people are attracted to? Here’s the truth: My aunt is batshit loca, a recluse who is only popular now because back in her time she had a loud mouth, a bad reputation, and a tacky sense of design. House of Tijeras is about the future. Come on board, Scarlet.”

Johnny’s lawyer removed the top contract and walked it over to Scarlet. She set it in front of her, and he placed the pen in her hand.

It didn’t matter what the contract said; she had to take this job. How could she not? She came to New York hoping to learn more about Daisy de la Flora, and now she could carry on her legacy.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Memories and images flooded her mind: ten years of heartfelt blog posts; preaching to her sewing class about letting go of rules; little victories; the fight with her father at the hospital; Rosa and her work in the sewing factories; her sister’s confession; the texture of Marco’s skin; dancing to Sam Cooke; making love. She could hear Marco’s voice telling her about his brother and the bad feeling he had about her trip. And she remembered the hurtful things she’d said back to him.

Most of all she heard Rosa’s haunting words from the night at the record shop:
If you do it, Scarlet, you will not be the woman I thought you were.

Scarlet cleared her throat.

“I’ll need time to review this with my family and my attorney. There will be changes, because I don’t want to just be a face; I want to be involved in the business. I’ll need two weeks,” she said. “I’ll give you my answer then.”

“Sorry, Scarlet.” Johnny chuckled. “This offer expires the moment you leave the room. If you don’t sign, we’ll find someone else who will.”

Scarlet used both her hands to push the contract away from her. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Tijeras, but I decline. In fact, I’m withdrawing myself from the Emerging Designers Program as well. I’m flattered at your interest, but Casa de la Flora is not for me.”

The men grumbled and Johnny pressed his hands on the table so hard, Scarlet could see his brown knuckles turn white. “You signed the contract for the program, which states we own everything you produced and/or used of your own creation while under our terms. That means your blog, your glue, your design career, your relationship with Eva—”

“That is incorrect,” Scarlet said, summoning her inner Mary Theresa. Scarlet had read the JSED contract several times with a magnifying glass, and there was no such clause. “My lawyers will be in touch to close this out. Thank you for your time, Mr. Tijeras.” She scooted her seat away from the table.

“Not so fast,” Johnny said snidely. “You have a debt to repay.”

“What?” Scarlet asked. “For the thread I used in the student sewing center?”

“For ruining an original Daisy de la Flora gown,” he said. “The entire inner lining is ripped beyond repair. That dress is valued at fifty thousand dollars.”

“Fine, send me the bill—and the dress,” Scarlet said, standing up to leave.

“You need to be out of your room and off the premises by four p.m. today,” Johnny ordered coldly before stomping out of the room.

He stomped back in.

“Louisa, you too.”

*   *   *

Around the same time that Scarlet hot-tailed it out of Johnny’s breakfast meeting, Mary Theresa lay curled up in heavy white sheets next to her husband.

Last night was a complete, magical, blissful blur.

It must have been Scarlet’s zebra-toed platform shoes that had cast a spell on Mary Theresa strong enough to turn her into
Maresa
.

After leaving the bar, she and Hadley flirted all the way to his room—a luxurious deluxe two-bedroom suite with a roomy terrace and fireplace. They had barely made it into the suite when Hadley unwrapped Mary Theresa’s dress, swooped her up, and carried her to his bed.

One two-hour Sade playlist later, they emerged smiling and satisfied, arm-in-arm, draped in tan microfiber bathrobes. Hadley called room service to deliver champagne and a decadent dinner. He lit the fireplace and the couple spent the rest of the evening holding each other, sharing stories about how the last two months had changed their lives.

When Mary Theresa awoke in the morning she found a note on the dresser: He was at the gym and would be back by lunchtime. He signed it with a heart and a P.S. “Change into your new outfit; it’s time for golf practice at 2!”

She kissed the note, reset the Sade playlist, and went to the TV room to find breakfast. After searching through the compact fridge, she came across a half-eaten sub and decided it would do.
Mary Theresa picked at it as she wandered around the seating area, fighting a battle between critical thinking and blind faith.

On one hand, it elated her that she and Hadley had reconnected without terms or agreements. No mention of home, therapists, work, stress, bills, parenting, or in-laws. She didn’t have a single guarantee, but she had hope they both wanted to bring what they shared last night back home.

And on the other hand was Hadley’s current living situation. Every other week he sent her $800 from his paycheck, which came from a job she knew nothing about. Sure he called the kids every night, but never once had he invited her to bring them for a visit. As much as she loved last night, she had to ask some questions today. She showered, got dressed, and spread out across the couch to watch television until Hadley returned.

Twenty minutes later, Hadley punched his card in the slot and entered. “I’m back,” he sang out. He sauntered over, bent down, and gave her a juicy kiss. “How about massages after golf today?”

Mary Theresa glanced down.

“Uh-oh, I know that look.”

She rubbed his arm and looked up into his eyes. “I wish the kids could be here today. Wouldn’t that be nice? All four of us together again?”

Hadley stared across the room at the framed photos of Rocky, Lucy, and Mary Theresa. “Yeah, that would have been cool.”

“Hadley,” Mary Theresa said, “what would have happened if I didn’t show up yesterday?”

Hadley rubbed his hand around his head, sat down next to his wife, and held her hand. “I’d be here by myself, like always.”

Mary Theresa scooted closer, practically on his lap. “Let’s go home today, surprise the kids, shack up in our own bed… want to?”

“Oh, honey, I can’t. I have a big workload this week; the drive would drain me,” he said.

She crossed her legs and slouched into him. “Have you thought about coming home? We miss you so much. I want to show you something….” She hopped off the couch and pulled out her Little Victories papers from her purse and handed them to him.

After reading them one at a time, he smiled and nodded. “These are great, Mare. I can tell you put a lot of thought and heart into them. And I love that. I miss all you too,” he said, still staring at the papers.

“Last night was amazing,” she said, “but honestly right now all I can think about is why you’ve never invited us here. Yesterday I sat at the bar and watched the families splashing around in the indoor pool. Doesn’t being around that make you miss us?”

“Well, I’m working. This is not playtime for me; you remember what it’s like.”

“Hmmm… OK,” she said, pulling strands of her hair behind her back. “At least your assignment is over next month. We can hang on until then.”

Hadley fell back on the couch’s armrest and scrubbed his face with the backs of his hands, as if he had bad news and wanted to postpone the delivery. “They really like my work, the site has increased sales by a mile, and… they’ve offered me a full-time position.”

“What?” Mary Theresa said as she sprang from the sofa.

“Mare, think of the pay. And look at the fringe benefits: medical, dental, 401(k). Our whole family will stay free at any hotel in the chain!”

“What did you tell them?” she asked.

“Nothing yet. I didn’t expect it, honest. They gave me until the end of the month,” he said. “I was going to call you this
week. I had my speech prepared and everything. But when you showed up looking like a Brazilian bombshell and strutting around here in your flesh-colored skivvies, it made me rethink it all. I miss you. I miss my family.”

Mary Theresa knew this play. He wanted to butter her up as a diversion. “And what do you think now that I’m dressed? Do I have to strip naked to get you follow me home to your children?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” he kidded. “Look,” he said, crouching forward, “work is everything to me now. It feels good to be appreciated for something other than stirring Spaghetti-Os and chauffeuring kids to school. Being here gives me time to focus on meeting all my deadlines without a zillion distractions.”