30. Denise
Chapter thirty
Denise
"E xceptional lines, Ms. Jeffries, and I love the subtle luster the cashmere brings," Mr. Maxwell gushes as he circles my finished dress. He continuously adjusts the bright red frames up and down his nose as he inspects the garment; a sure sign he loves it. I bite back a smile.
"Please also create this look in plum and copper. I know the ladies will eat this up!" He flips the hem of his argyle cloak with a flourish and proceeds to the next designer's station, leaving me in a grinning stupor.
He likes my dress! After months of redesigns and remaking the prototype in several different fabrics, my dress is done . And not only does Mr. Maxwell love the final look, but he wants it in two additional colors!
Despite being in February, with spring and summer around the corner, the upcoming New York Fashion Week will focus on Fall and Winter lines. I created a tea-length cashmere gown in a floral pattern of deep pinks, purples, and browns. It has a boat neckline and puffy sleeves that end at the elbow. It's a look best suited for a formal evening event, and the cashmere will lend warmth in cooler weather. In a solid color, people will be able to dress it down, perhaps for work, or to pair it with a statement necklace that might be overpowered by the floral option. I made a dress I would personally want to wear, and after so many late hours and scrapped designs, I'm proud of what I achieved.
"Not just one, but three dresses in the show? You better watch your back," Julie jokingly warns. One of her designs was also chosen; a cropped jacket in charcoal tweed with a matching skirt that hits just above the knee. Just like my design, I would totally wear hers with pride.
"Want to join the rest of the design team for drinks? We're heading to South Soho Bar once Mr. Maxwell is done making the rounds."
I consider Julie's invitation while trying not to sigh. What I really want to do is go home, snuggle with Clawdette, and rewatch a few of my favorite "Project Runway" episodes. I give her a placative smile.
"I was kinda hoping—" I start, but she cuts me off with a wave of her hand.
"No. No, no, no, Denise! You've been dodging drinks for weeks , and you need to bond with your team. If for no other reason than to hold your win over Merrick. Whoever told him corduroy cargo pants were the next big thing was seriously unhinged."
We both giggle behind our hands, trying not to disrupt the garment review. Julie takes hold of both my shoulders and softens her expression.
"In all seriousness, we miss you. We're all just trying to find the joy after what happened with Cynthia." She looks me in the eye earnestly. "You've seemed more down than most."
My shoulders droop a bit, and my face falls with the weight of everything. Now that the designs are locked, I can finally breathe.
"I won't lie; all that definitely threw me for a loop." I consider whether to divulge more. Over the past few months, some of the other designers have become close friends, Julie especially.
"My brother…," I clear my throat. "Cynthia isn't the first person I've lost to suicide. It was so unexpected, and then there was some personal stuff that happened." I trail off. "It's been tough."
She squeezes the hands still holding my shoulders.
"I'm so sorry, Denise. But that's all the more reason to come and have a few cocktails with us. Maybe make a new friend at the bar who can help you blow off some steam?" she suggests with a mischievous grin. If only she knew what a slippery slope blowing off some steam can be.
"OK, OK," I grumble. "I'll come for one drink." When she does a little happy dance, I add, "Just one drink, Julie. I'm so exhausted, I could sleep for a month. And definitely no dick."
She smiles ruefully.
"Well, if you won't have any, I'll take yours. My dry spell's been going on so long, my coochie's liable to catch fire soon."
We giggle again and pack up our stations before heading to the bar.
Design lock was three days ago, the show is in two weeks, and today, I am meeting with the Kendra Gray. Kendra fucking Gray! I gave her booking agent my portfolio and the details for the show and then almost choked on my lunch when she actually responded.
She's not just a wildly popular plus-size model. She's a style icon in her own right. Her Instagram inspired several of my everyday looks.
I wipe my clammy palms on my wool slacks and take another sip from my water glass. It's already almost empty, and she isn't even here yet. Get it together, Denise!
I flip my phone over on the table to check the time when a harried woman bursts into the restaurant. It's Kendra . Her hair is plastered to her forehead,—clearly she got stuck in the rain without an umbrella—but she still looks stunning. Like a light-skinned Philomena Kwao with freckles across the bridge of her nose. And tall . Most models have to be at least 5'7", but Kendra is past 6', towering over a group of businessmen standing by the bar.
She scans the restaurant before meeting my gaze and smiling in recognition.
"Hi!" she says, making her way towards me from the hostess station. "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was an accident on Broadway and I opted just to run the last four blocks."
I stand to shake her hand.
"Oh my goodness! I would've rescheduled," I offer apologetically. "You didn't have to ruin your outfit."
She waves me away like I'm being ridiculous.
"Nonsense. It's just a little water. I'm sure my driver will be outside by the time we're done."
We both settle into our seats and the server whisks by to take our drink orders, fumbling a bit when he sees Kendra. I smother a laugh.
"What?" she asks.
"The server," I gesture towards the blonde twenty-something I can see blushing from our table. "You must be used to people fawning all over you."
One side of her mouth quirks up.
"Guilty. It happens more when I have a big campaign, but you know as well as I do that men in the city have no problem letting a woman know what they think about how she looks. They catcall as much as the Italians."
I smile in response, though I've never been to Italy. It's on my bucket list, though.
"So," she starts, smoothing her damp hair out of her face, "tell me about the dress. I assume you brought pictures?"
I nod and snap into professional mode, pulling my portfolio from my bag and opening it towards her. She takes it, admiring the details and flipping to see a few of my other designs.
"This is beautiful, Denise. I'm not at all surprised, given what my agent showed me, and everything I saw on your social media."
I blush profusely.
"Oh, wow. Thank you, Ms. Gray."
She looks at me like I'm crazy and shakes her head.
"No way. Call me Kendra. We're going to be working together, after all."
I gasp and clutch the cloth napkin in my lap.
"We are?"
She nods this time, a wide grin on her face.
"Of course! The dress is gorgeous, your work is flawless, and, c'mon; it's Bailey Maxwell. I'd be crazy not to want to walk in one of his shows. There are so few designers who cater to us fuller-figured ladies."
I practically swoon, struggling to find my words.
"Thank you so much, Ms.—" I clear my throat and start again, "Thanks so much, Kendra. You wearing one of my designs has been on my vision board for literally years . I'm so honored."
Shit! Creepy, much? Apparently, being around my idol makes the filter between my brain and my mouth malfunction. Luckily, she laughs instead of storming out of the restaurant to file a restraining order.
"The honor is all mine. Seriously. I've been watching you ever since your time with Tory Burch."
I sputter, utterly shocked. Thankfully, the server brings our cocktails and I'm saved from embarrassing myself further.
"Do you ever plan to release your own line?" she asks, and I try not to squeal. I take a calming breath before answering.
"Yes, actually. I'm…blown away that you'd ask. I've been playing around with the idea of a line for all the different plus-size body types. You know, like not just hourglass, but pear and apple too?"
Kendra bobs her head approvingly and I gulp down some of my amaretto sour to keep from leaving my body. Kendra Gray likes my idea!
"You need to do more than just play with the idea, honey. Draw up some designs. Put together a business plan. The more designers we have for fuller bodies, the better. We're not going anywhere."
"You're right about that," I agree, and stifle the urge to pinch myself.
After years of struggling and paying my dues, it feels like things are finally falling into place to create my dream line. To go from being on a design team to the designer whose name is on the label. Sixteen-year-old me making her own clothes from thrifted materials would probably pass out if she saw me now.
I just have to figure out how to put together a business plan. Designs are one thing, but I've never had a head for the numbers.
Cory could help , my heart offers, and it doesn't even surprise me anymore. She's been chiming in with ways I could talk to him or run into him since the day he left. Or, more accurately, since I sent him away. Like an idiot. At least I can admit that now, but Dr. Jamison may need to help me with these intrusive thoughts.
Over drinks and shared tapas, we discuss more about my line, then about her experiences as a plus-size model. As expected, she put up with some truly heinous treatment from both clueless designers and fellow models. They called her every name in the book. Told her she'd never make it without losing half her body weight. And now, not only has she worked with all the major plus-size labels, but designers are making extended sizes just to work with her. She's had billboards in Times Square twice already.
Bigger bodies aren't new; we've always been here. With my line, and maybe with the help of Kendra Gray, we can finally take our rightful place in the spotlight.