9. Chapter Nine #2
“It’s just me being as honest as you have been.
” He gave my hand a squeeze as we sat there under the fairy lights gazes locked.
“Your clothes are fucking awesome. You have great presence, a simple but elegant way about you that pulls people closer. I want to get to know you better.” My eyes flared.
His did as well. “No, I mean…the audience will want to get to know you better.” He pulled his hand from mine as he cleared his throat.
My hand felt chilled now. “Your aura is one of trust and compassion. Your losses have made you strong but you’ve kept a gentle soul.
Not an easy thing to do when life throws such terrible things at us. ”
His expression grew tight once more. “I saw you and Carlton arguing along the Seine earlier.” One salt-and-pepper brow winged upward.
“I wasn’t snooping. We saw each other as I was sketching and you…
well, you started to come over then your ex appeared.
I couldn’t help but glance over a few times. Looked like quite a fight.”
“Hmm, well, I cannot be angry. When one argues in a public place one is going to be seen.” He sat back, breaking the cozy bubble that had enveloped us, and crossed one leg over the other.
“Carlton and I have had words many times. Our marriage did not end pleasantly as the world knows. Let us just say he likes to be controlling. I am not a man to be curbed in any way. We have not gotten any closer since the divorce. With him still serving on the school board our paths cross more than I would like but there is little to do other than grin and bear it. So, that is what I do unless he decides to be a connard which, to my chagrin, he seems to revel in. He needed to be slapped down. What you saw was me slapping him down verbally. To do so physically would have resulted in me being arrested surely.”
“Connard means what exactly?”
“Asshole.”
“Right. Hey, I just learned my first French cuss word,” I said. He laughed gently.
“I hope I can teach you more than just dirty words while you are here, Kinder.”
“That would be amazing,” I confessed. He studied me intently.
“It would indeed. Let me see what I can do to hurry you back to your garment.” He pulled out his cell, tapped it, and made a short call to someone.
What he said I had no clue as it was all in French but when the call was done he gave me a tempting crooked smile.
“They are heading to the sewing room now to solve your machines issues. You have thirty minutes left before you’re to stop for the day.
Go. Make the most of that time. I will see you tomorrow and I expect to be wowed by your fucking awesome clothes, Kinder. ”
“Thank you, Claude. For the call, the talk, and just…well, for giving me this chance.”
He inclined his head before pulling out his silver cigarette case. “Go before I light up to stink you out.”
I chuckled then stood before darting back inside. I threw a look back at him. His gaze remained on me until the door was closed between us. I had to take a second to catch my breath while willing the erection I was sporting to go down. No wonder they say nights in Paris are magical…
***
We arrived at our little classroom at eight the next morning.
I had so much work to do and so little time. I prayed the next few hours were going to be free of interruptions so I –
The door opened just as I got to my station and Claude walked in, cameras moving around the room to capture his arrival and our reactions. He looked like I felt. Exhausted. So much for no interruptions.
“Bonjour, les designers,” our advisor said as he lifted Pamplemousse – sporting a tiny vest in the same dark blue checkered wool material that his master’s suit was made from – and gently placed him to the floor.
The dog rushed around smelling all of our ankles before snuggling down into a ball of castoff muslin in the corner.
“Bonjour, Claude,” we all replied like school kids responding to the teacher. Which we all kind of were to be honest.
“Apologies for missing my critiques of your work to date yesterday. Though life is a whirlwind it’s a wonderful one.
” His smile seemed a tad forced but I chalked it up to fatigue.
“So, I will see what you have created so far now.” We waited with bated breath to see who he would advise first. Seemed this morning it was Enzo Moretti’s turn to be number one.
Lucky him. Mickey and I exchanged looks of relief across the room while we fiddled with adding pins to the cushions strapped to our wrists. “Tell me what you are creating, Enzo.”
Claude folded his arms over his chest as the sound of hallways filling with college students moving to their first classes of the day slipped into our quiet workroom. His head tipped slightly to the left as his critical eye ran over the black silk gown.
“It’s an interpretation of the thoughts of the man in the painting as two women are trying to lure him into a marriage he does not wish to enter,” Enzo replied.
Oh. A black wedding gown. Well that was certainly one way to interpret the painting.
“So this is a wedding gown.” Claude reached out to touch the lacy creation.
Enzo nodded, back straight, certain about his marvelous design.
“It’s boring.” Enzo’s black brows flew up his brow.
“It lacks passion. You need a fashion moment. Something more sculpted, fitted at the waist. Add some sleeves and please, by all that is holy, add some color. Even if its piping around the sleeves. We are not designing for Morticia Addams.”
Ouch. Shit. That was rough. Enzo stared at his gown as if lost. Which I’m sure he was.
Starting over now was a no-go. We only had a few hours to work in fittings, model makeup and hair consults, and last minute fixes before we were to show our work.
Claude then turned his attention to Zara, our outspoken contestant from Uganda.
He picked her design apart as well, then moved onto Rafeal, and then stopped at Ayumi’s station where he informed her that her box dress was saying nothing to him at all.
“Please walk by, please walk by,” I heard Suki praying as Claude moved through the room sniping at all of our work.
He did not walk by sadly. He stopped beside Suki’s dress form which held a beautiful, fitted pantsuit with a lined cape.
He gave her hell over a sloppy hem before those brown-green eyes flickered to my outfit.
“You have a lot of work to do, Kinder. Perhaps you should not be standing here playing with pins and instead be trying to decide just how many coats a woman should be forced to wear.”
“Two if it’s really cold out,” I replied which made one of his expressive brows climb.
“May I remind you elegance is not seen. It’s felt in what you choose to withhold. Perhaps you should withhold a coat?”
“I’ll consider it,” I said which got me a flat look that was both hot and annoyingly smug.
“Do so.” He made his way to gather up his grumpy dog then stopped at the door to give all of us he had eviscerated one final look.
““You do know that the models are arriving in an hour? Looking around this design studio I am tempted to say that the models should be creating the outfits and you all should be wearing the clothes. They could not have done a worse job then you all have done today.”