Chapter 8
TESSA
Fern turns her phone toward me while I'm pinning a velvet cat ear back onto its headband.
My own face fills the screen, and I stop with the pin between my fingers.
In the photograph, I'm stepping out of the club bathroom in my red devil dress, tucking a ribbon beneath the bow behind my head. The crooked mirror is visible through the open door. Whoever took it caught the smile I was still wearing before I came back to find Peggy looking for Beatrice.
Heat spreads up my neck. I remember being happy in that corridor, keeping the last few minutes to myself. Now there's a caption underneath.
Some vendors offer a very personal service. Ask Hem & Havoc about their private fittings.
Our business is tagged. The post is on the autumn event promotion account, between a drinks offer and a picture of pumpkins stacked beside a velvet chair.
I set down the pin before I stick it into my thumb.
“Where did you get that?”
“It was posted this afternoon.” Fern draws the phone back. “I've already had a client ask about it. After the trouble at your shop, I need to think about whether I can keep recommending you.”
The club's fitting room is warm from the steamer.
Over her shoulder, black lace dresses hang on the rail we've borrowed while our window is replaced.
Seeing them steadies me a little. We got them here.
We finished the orders after someone put a gun through our front door.
Now this woman is looking at me as though I've arrived late with a hangover.
Peggy comes around the worktable and opens the post on her own phone. Her thumb moves across the screen, saving it before she looks at Fern.
“Someone's using your promotion page to insult one of your suppliers.”
“Several people work on the events.” Fern slips her phone into her bag. “I'm talking about how it looks. My replacement package is ready if this becomes a problem.”
She's wearing a cream jacket with sleeves that have never been near a steamer. Along one arm she carries a clear garment cover, folded so I can see a black dress inside. Its lace collar has a plastic spider glued to it.
She's brought the replacement with her.
I pick up my headband. One ear leans sideways when I put it on, and Peggy reaches over to straighten it. Her fingers press against my temple for a second before she lets go.
I'd put on our black velvet cat dress to show a client how the detachable accessories change a simple outfit. It ends above my knees, with a little tail clipped at the back. Ten minutes ago I felt cute. Now I'm aware of every inch of leg below it.
I hate Fern for making me think about covering them.
“Melanie's here,” Matvei says from the doorway.
He steps aside for our four o'clock appointment. Melanie is the client hosting an October costume party, and she's carrying the shoes she wants to wear with her widow gown. Fern moves to greet her before Peggy can.
“We're reviewing a few options,” Fern says. “I brought something simpler as well.”
Melanie looks at the garment cover, then at the gown on our dress form. “Is there a problem with mine?”
For a moment I hear the shot that broke our window. My shoulders pull up before I make them relax. There was a problem. We brought her dress out through the back of the shop with guards watching the street, and I've spent most of today replacing a torn panel by hand.
“It's ready to try,” I say. “Peggy will help with the back.”
Once they're behind the screen, Fern puts her alternative over the empty chair. The plastic spider catches the light. I turn toward our worktable before I say anything that will cost Peggy a booking.
Beside the pin tray, my tea has gone cold. I take a mouthful anyway, tasting bitter orange through the sweetness. The cup knocks against the saucer when I put it down.
I want Bogdan. The thought arrives so plainly that I have to look toward the doorway. On Thursday he sat beside me while I repaired his jacket, then walked me to the car carrying my sewing. I've been thinking about asking whether he's upstairs all afternoon.
I can still ask when the fitting is over.
Peggy pulls back the screen. Melanie steps out in black silk with a narrow train trailing behind her. The lace sleeves reach her wrists, and a veil rests loosely over one shoulder while she waits for me to attach it.
“I love it standing up,” she says. “I'm worried about the stairs at home. And sitting down.”
Fern lifts the covered dress from the chair. “This one would be easier.”
Melanie's fingers close around the silk at her hips. In the mirror, I see her look from the train to the simpler dress. She's already preparing to give up the part she wanted.
I move behind her and lift the train, feeling for the covered loop beneath its edge. The button is hidden among the beads at her lower back. When I fasten them together, the silk falls into a soft fold clear of the floor.
“Try it now.” I move the chair in front of the mirror.
Melanie lowers herself cautiously. The fold slides to one side, and she sits without the hem pulling at her legs. She crosses her ankles in the shoes she brought, then looks up at her reflection.
I lay the veil over her hair. Fine netting softens the light across her face, with tiny black beads bright beside her cheek. When she turns her head, the beading moves with her. I watch the pleasure reach her mouth before she tries to hide it.
“Can I eat through this?” she asks.
“Lift it from here.” I show her the side opening. “You can manage a glass without taking it off. A burger might need planning.”
She laughs and tries it, drawing the net back with one finger. In the mirror her shoulders lower. She's starting to move as though the gown belongs to her.
Fern lowers the garment cover against her thigh.
The room grows quiet while I adjust the sleeve at Melanie's wrist. I'm near the place where the torn panel joins the original seam.
Under my fingertips the repair lies flat.
She won't have to spend her party worrying about it, and I won't have to remember the sound of glass every time I look at this dress.
Melanie stands, turns and takes a few steps toward Peggy. The train stays clear. Coming back, she stops in front of Fern.
“I'm keeping this one. Please leave the order as it is.”
Fern smiles without putting down her alternative. “Of course. I only wanted you to have a choice.”
Peggy is already opening the booking on her tablet.
I kneel to check the hem against Melanie's shoes, giving myself a few seconds with my face turned away.
Relief makes my eyes sting. Our work is still good.
Someone tried to make a joke of it this afternoon, and Melanie is standing here wanting the dress.
When Peggy takes her behind the screen, Fern touches my elbow.
“One fitting doesn't settle the rest of the season.”
I look down at her hand until she removes it.
“Then we'd better keep the appointments.”
She leaves with the plastic spider showing through its cover. I wait until she's past Matvei before I release the breath I've been holding.
By the time Melanie leaves, the evening lights are coming on in the main room. Peggy hangs the gown in its bag, still talking about how quickly Fern packed up her alternative. I laugh with her, but my attention keeps returning to the stairs beyond the bar.
“Go,” she says, following my glance. “I'll finish here. I'm meeting someone afterward.”
Her smile changes as she checks her phone. I'll ask about that later. Right now I slip out of the apron I wore for the fitting and tell Matvei I'd like to see Bogdan.
He speaks into his radio before taking me to the staircase. Behind us, Peggy stays in the fitting room with a guard outside. I hear the beat of music starting below as we reach the upper landing.
Bogdan's private box opens over the main room.
From here, the bar is a long strip of amber light beneath the brick wall, and the empty booths look softer than they did when I was down among them.
A curved velvet seat follows the edge of the box.
Beside it, a low table holds a silver bucket with a bottle chilling inside.
Bogdan stands beside Klim. His shirt sleeves are rolled back, his jacket laid over the seat. When he sees me, he puts his glass down without finishing his drink.
“Come in, Tessa.”
Matvei stays by the landing as I cross toward him. On Klim's phone I recognize the photograph before he lowers it.
My pleasure at seeing Bogdan falters. I hadn't wanted to arrive with that picture ahead of me.
“Peggy sent it,” Bogdan says.
I look at him, waiting for a joke or a question about what people might say. He turns to Klim instead.
“Find out who put it there. Keep a copy before they remove it.”
Klim nods and leaves us. Bogdan waits until I'm beside the table, then takes my hand. His thumb moves gently over my knuckles.
“Did someone say something to you?”
“Fern thinks it's bad for business. She brought a replacement dress to our fitting.”
His grip stills. “Did the client take it?”
“She took mine.”
He smiles at me, and some of the afternoon's misery goes. I want to tell him about the train, about the way Melanie looked at herself after I put the veil on. I want him to know why keeping that order mattered even with his men outside and his money replacing our ruined stock.
“We'd nearly finished her dress when they broke the window,” I say. “She never saw the damage. Today she sat down in it and started laughing because she could actually move.”
“I'm glad you came to tell me.”
He draws me beside him on the velvet seat, where I catch the sharp scent of orange peel from his glass on the table. The cushion gives beneath my legs, and I unclip the tail to sit properly, leaving it over the arm. His smile widens when he notices what I'm doing.
“A working costume,” I explain.
“You've finished work.”
“Mostly.”
His hand stays around mine. Below us, someone tests the lights over the dance floor, washing the empty space red before turning it gold again. The bar where we met is directly below us.