2. Once Upon a Vision #2
“You have an eye, Ms. Courtenay. For what I don’t yet know. And given that I’ve read your CV and found no visual artistic pursuits of any kind in there, I am intrigued by it. Do you draw?”
Chiara’s amusement remained evident in her tone, but the eyes had turned shrewd on a dime, assessing, as if looking right through Vi, who really wanted to explain her nascent attempts at photography mostly hidden from her family who’d deride them for their amateurism, but the words did not come.
She wasn’t any good at any of that, anyway.
And when she shrugged, unable to really voice how much that eye for things and drawing had gotten her into trouble and ridiculed as a child, the shrewdness was replaced with understanding.
The soft, warm expression of a person meeting one of their own.
Like knowing, like recognition. Of what, Vi had no idea, but the gaze made her want to confess all her sins and some that weren’t her own at all.
She shook her head and took a deep breath. This was getting absurd. How would Chiara know? How could she see? Chiara’s sketch showed so much skill and talent, there was no way… Distracted by her own musings and worries, Vi missed Chiara moving closer to her.
And then, just because it seemed to be Vi’s lucky day—her falling flat on her face already forgotten—she was suddenly enveloped in those gentle, willowy arms herself, Aoife cackling next to them, and Chiara’s voice, low and so warm, murmured in her ear.
“We will have to explore this penchant of yours. It’s quite ingenious that you’ve given me direction with one word. That, with one glance, you saw and understood that something that was inside of me yet eluded me.” And there was that word again. Understanding .
Her brain wanted to latch on to it, except all her senses were overwhelmed.
That hunger, that starvation-like longing for a touch, was currently being sated with soft skin gliding over hers as Chiara’s fingertips cheerfully ran along the nape of her neck, making her want to sob. How long had it been?
Vi stood very still in Chiara’s embrace, afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. Afraid to make a sound, because this surely had to be a dream and she would wake up at any moment alone in her bed.
Chiara’s voice had her by the throat.
“You’ve given me something precious today, so you deserve a hug as well.”
“Aww, this is so sweet. The newbie gets a very warm welcome indeed, as I see. Are we celebrating something?” And just like that, the dreamlike state was broken like glass into jagged, painful slivers, as a loud, abrasive voice she’d heard just half an hour earlier interrupted.
Frankie swaggered in, her boots loud on the polished, oaken floors. Vi stilled, apprehensive about whatever would come next, but Frankie made no other comment about Chiara still holding her in her arms and instead zeroed in on the sketch.
“Not this again!” The unpleasant voice rose, scratchy and rough. “I thought you were hugging it out because you finally managed to figure things out for the next spring concept. And you’re still stuck on this crap? Is this you being hyper-focused again? Just take something and stop this, Chiara!”
Hyper-focus?
As she was trying to form cogent thoughts among the confusion and the cotton clouding her mind, Vi could swear she heard Aoife actually growl.
Before anyone could say anything, Chiara let go of Vi and moved towards Frankie, who raised her hands in surrender and leaned in to give her wife a rather long, sloppy, and thoroughly inappropriate kiss, considering Vi’s proximity and Aoife’s presence in the room.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just a lot of stress.
Nothing came to me either, even if I did lock myself in the office, and we’re getting rather close to the start of the campaign for the spring collection.
Poise and the rest of those scavengers will be knocking on our door any moment now, and I’m not telling them that the best fashion house in Europe doesn’t even have a concept to draw from. ”
If Chiara had been serene and radiant before, all open smiles and joyful laughter, then Vi thought the light had been turned off the moment Frankie metaphorically stomped all over the sketch. Her eyes were shadowed as she slowly and carefully took the paper out of Frankie’s hands.
“We will figure things out.” Chiara’s tone was resigned, conciliatory even, as her eyes returned to their earlier sadness. “We always do. How was your day?”
And now Vi did feel like she was indeed intruding. On something she not only had no business being privy to but also had no wish to see. As if reading her thoughts, Aoife tugged on her arm and unceremoniously dragged her out of the room.
The last thing Vi saw was Frankie enveloping Chiara in an awkward embrace, to which Chiara reluctantly submitted, before relaxing into her wife’s arms and wrapping her own around Frankie’s shoulders.
* * *
“… that bloody...” All the way down to the second floor production studio, Vi was catching snippets of mumblings coming from Aoife who was now several steps ahead of her, despite Vi’s much longer legs.
“… had I not sworn to shut up… disrespectful bitch…”
As they finally entered Aoife’s space, Vi decided to take matters into her own hands. “Hey, that seems to be a fascinating subject you’re discussing there, Ms. Sullivan. Do you want to share with the class?”
Aoife barked out a loud laugh before settling into an ergonomic chair by one of the shiny sewing machines.
“You’re a funny one, kid.” She lifted her legs onto the corner of the desk and gave Vi a long once-over. “Thought you’re one of those pompous royals. Then, after your amazingly executed belly flop, I thought you’re some talentless klutz who nobody wanted and who’s been hoisted on us—”
Because this supposition was so damn close to the truth, Vi felt her breathing go shallow. She touched her sternum and tried to look anywhere but at Aoife, who was still watching her closely.
“—but after seeing you with Chiara…” She trailed off, and Vi all but hyperventilated. Did she have to be this transparent?
“Look, I confess. It’s true. She was right.
I did have posters…” Vi rubbed the back of her neck, absolutely certain her complexion was giving away how embarrassed she really was.
The curse of the redheads. “What’s not to worship?
C’mon, the first openly lesbian supermodel?
The first openly lesbian supermodel to marry the first openly lesbian fashion designer and actually do it legally by eloping to the Netherlands?
“So I had a poster of her on my wall in college. So what? I take pride in being who I am, and I take pride in admiring the people who came before me…” She trailed off as Aoife was now staring at her owlishly, blinking eyes almost glazing over.
“Well, this is way more than I ever wanted to know, and I have nobody but myself to blame. How about we never, ever mention your puerile fantasies or whatever it is you were trying to tell me here under the guise of ‘respecting your queer elders’, because she’s only forty and I’m three years older than her, and I am nobody’s ‘elder.’” Aoife got up slowly, cracking her spine with gusto, and made her way to the small fridge secreted away behind a panel in the corner of the studio and pulled out two beers.
Deciding that she’d already said more than she ever wished for another human being to know, Vi accepted the bottle, took a big gulp, and kept her mouth shut after that. It was five o’clock somewhere, and she chose to follow Aoife’s lead.
“What I meant to say, before you shared all your teenage angst with me, Courtenay, is that we have been trying to figure out what she’s been drawing for months.” Aoife took a long pull and went on, still giving Vi a closed-off look.
“She has a process, you see. One that is very involved. It’s post-its and reminders and apps and journals and all the other small and big details that make her function and create the way only she can.
And we have all pitched in, to help, to facilitate, to somehow streamline this process that had seemingly stalled, because she just couldn’t move on from that one design.
And you waltzed in, took one look and said bloody ‘wedding.’ I wanted to hug you.
I would, but you’re tall and that would just serve as a reminder of how short I am, so no.
Chiara already gave you enough material to feature in your dreams. In technicolor. ”
Vi wanted to grit her teeth and say something that would perhaps cost her the only friend she had made here so far.
Something along the lines of, ‘maybe you all should just accept a person the way she is and not give her grief about how her talent manifests itself…’ Instead she shut her mouth, shoved the thought farther into her already overthinking brain and chose to move on. It had been an amazing hug.
She gave Aoife a cheeky grin and received a giggle in response.
“Okay, okay, I’ll lay off. But listen. You’re a smart kid.
Frankie really thinks you will give her an in with the Kingdom of Savoy monarchs, which is none of my business.
But she also assigned you to me. And since we already established you’re bright but pretty much useless, sewing and pattern-cutting wise, you will spend a lot of time among these walls doing all the crap I don’t want to do. Running errands. Gopher . Get it?”
Vi nodded, stoically choosing to keep her silence. She took another swig of beer, which she might have enjoyed on a good day, but today it slid down her throat like lead.
“My point is, you’ll realize very quickly who is who and what is what around here. And you’ll learn that, when Chiara gets her creative juices flowing, Lilien Haus makes great fashion.”
Vi filed all that information away, her previous assumptions confirmed, and put the half-finished bottle in the trash, mindful not to tip it, before finally getting her courage up to speak again.