9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
“Fuck! Damn it! Mother humping hunk of junk!” Several sets of eyes fell on me as I gave my sewing machine a solid thunk. “Come on, don’t do this. I am so fucking behind!”
I gave the handwheel another crank. It moved freely so there wasn’t a mechanical jam.
“Have you checked for a thread jam?” I threw a dark glare at Enzo Moretti, our Italian designer.
Enzo rubbed me the wrong way. He walked around as if he were better than the rest of us starving designers because he had a job at a small textile plant in Milan.
Not in a fashion house mind you, just a plant that with automated looms so fuck his superior attitude.
Amazing how it took so few days for opinions to form.
“Of course. I unplugged it as well. I checked the bobbin case and cleaned it. I plugged it back into a different socket. Nothing. It’s dead.
And I have one hour left to finish this trench coat so I can work on the other garments tomorrow so unless you’re going to offer some advice that’s not condescending then mind your own machine. ”
His dark eyes narrowed. The cameras were hovering nearby, eager to catch my imminent breakdown and /or a fight brewing. Nothing drew viewers like tears or fisticuffs. Just ask any professional wrestling manager.
“Easy mate. Just get in touch with the school’s maintenance department,” Mickey called from his machine in the back of the cramped sewing room.
Somehow the producers had managed to stuff sixteen machines and four sergers into this glorified close.
It was an engineering marvel. “I can go do a bit of hand-sewing if you want to sneak onto mine.”
“No, that’s too much to ask.” I rose with a huff, my back cracking, my nerves shot.
We’d been at it for ten hours straight. My design was far from done and now my machine had shit the fucking bed.
Mickey’s offer was incredibly generous. I’d not accept it through.
Each of us had been assigned a machine. Mine was number three.
If I moved to his machine it would set him back as well.
I’d have to change the thread, alter the stitch settings, tinker with the foot pressure.
Nothing made a sewer madder than to come back to find their machine had been dicked with so I declined gracefully then went to find someone to call maintenance.
As it was eleven at night the school maintenance department probably had a skeleton crew so who knew how long it would take.
Camilo met me in the hall outside the sewing room to assure me that as soon as a small problem with one of the toilets in the dormitories was fixed they’d get to my sewing machine.
I expressed some doubts about an overnight dude having the electrical knowledge to fix a top-of-the-line machine like the Juki I’d been using.
Once more I was assured that at the very least my machine would be in working order in the morning.
Camilo apologized profusely. I accepted it.
It wasn’t his fault my machine was bricked.
“I’m heading to the quad to chill out. Off camera,” I told the talent wrangler before making my way to the small outdoor area.
At night the square was even more charming.
Soft white lights hung in graceful arcs in the lower boughs of the sycamore, swaying ever so gently in the cool night air.
The space was empty amazingly. Just me, the tree, and the sounds of a vibrant city that hummed all day and all night.
I copped a squat on the first bench I found, pulled my hoodie up, and fell forward to rest my elbows on my knees. How I wished I had my phone. Talking to my mother right now would lessen the incredible stress.
The arrival of a small brown dog coming over to sniff my boots brought my head up. Claude ambled over to where I was decompressing, the glow of the ivory lights above made his salt-and-pepper hair burst to life.
“Should you not be working?” he asked as he approached then paused to stand looking down at me. Pamplemousse darted off to check out a small bush.
“My machine isn’t working.” A look of understanding settled on his face, easing some of the tense lines that had been furrowing his brow. “Should you not be in bed?”
“Yes, at my advanced age I should, but production meetings ran late then I had to sit with members of the academies’ board to sift through some matters that, it seemed, could not wait until morning. I was going to have a cigarette. Do you mind?”
He pulled a silver cigarette case from his interior suit pocket.
“I’d rather you didn’t. They’re smelly and will kill you,” I said and got a long, dry look accompanied by a weary sigh before he tucked the case back into his pocket. “Thanks. You can sit down and chill if you want.”
He gave the quad a glance before lowering his thin ass to the bench. He exhaled slowly as he settled, his head tipping back, his gaze moving to the brightest stars in the sky. The light pollution washed out any smaller celestial bodies. Maybe he was just staring at the lights in the leaves.
“What seems to be wrong with your machine?” His question a moment later startled me out of the funk I was feeling. I looked over to find him now focused on me as opposed to the dark Parisian sky.
“I don’t know. It just quit. I checked everything that could be stalling it but found nothing.”
“Perhaps it is just overheated. Return to it in a few minutes to see if it runs again. They are getting older and more temperamental. Much like me some would say.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “I’m not sure you’re that temperamental.”
“Ah, precious angel-faced man, you have known me for two days. I’m sure after a few weeks your opinions will change.”
“No, I doubt it. To be fair all of us creatives are emotional Suki said this morning. I just threw a fit because my machine was being a bitch so…”
“Perhaps that’s true.” He gave me a tentative smile.
“What were you working on when the machine stopped. I have yet to do my walkthrough and for that I apologize. The board members have been particularly trying today, some more than others. Perhaps I will do one as you all arrive in the morning to offer my thoughts.”
“I was working on the overcoat. It’s a massive design. I’ve never attempted to make a coat this tailored or worked with cashmere before. It’s driving me nuts. I have to keep such careful tension on the machine.”
“Yes, it’s a moderately challenging fabric.
Its softness combined with its tendency to stretch requires gentle handling.
” Pamplemousse returned then begged to be picked up.
Claude did so, tucking the pooch into his little doggie bag with only his head sticking out.
“Double check your presser foot pressure when you return to it, also make sure your seams have some give. A narrow zigzag stitch may help. I commend you on experimenting with new creations, textiles, and designs. Several of your fellow designers are locked into their little bubbles. If you are afraid to experiment here, with such a grand prize to be won, where will you do so?”
“Thanks. I’m feeling so inspired here. Paris just feels…” I drew in a deep breath then let it out. “It feels as if I was destined to be here,” I said as I glanced up into the boughs of the sycamore.
“I’m glad to hear that Paris has won you over. Tell me of your design. What was your process of thought for it?”
I leaned back then turned slightly on the bench to face him. While the tree was beautiful to look upon it paled in comparison to this man. Pamplemousse burrowed into his tote, a tight golden ball of fur, with only the tip of one ear showing.
“The painting we saw…” I bit down on the inside of my cheek.
“The man’s eyes. They looked really pained to me.
Like he was trying to hold in a scream of agony while the girls in their bonnets chatted about some tidbit of gossip or new shoes.
It made me feel the same as it did when my family had a big loss. ”
“Yes, the death of your father. You have my condolences on your loss. I lost my father four years ago so I can understand the hole that losing a parent leaves.”
I tipped my head slightly. “How do you know about my father?”
“It was at the end of your audition. Your mother added a small addition explaining how your father died and how you took over being the man of the house at a tender age. It was touching.”
“She…ugh, yeah that’s not surprising.” I wanted to be mad, and maybe I was a little aggravated, but she had meant well.
“I didn’t want to have that be a large thing in my reel because I didn’t want to be picked because people felt sorry for me.
I wanted to be chosen to be a contestant because my clothes are fucking awesome. ”
He smiled softly before placing a hand atop mine resting on the bench beside the sleeping dog. His touch was warm and gentle. My gaze flew from our hands to his face. And then I was lost as surely as if someone had dropped me off in the center of Paris with no map.
“We did not choose you out of sympathy. We chose you because you have fire, desire, and skills which set you above many of the others who applied. Your face is…” He wet his lips as I struggled to remember my name.
“Your face shows your emotions. It’s a charming trait, one that is not seen much anymore in this jaded world. ”
“Thank you,” I whispered. My mouth was dry, my heart racing, and my cock thickening. “That’s really nice to say.”