24. Zoe
Chapter Twenty-Four
ZOE
“ I love the texture of this fabric,” Valerie says as she runs her fingers through one of the suits. It will look fabulous on him; the dummy wears it well, but he will wear it best,” she chuckles, and I smile, nodding.
“Thank you; your words mean the world to me.” At this point, she knows I’m not just saying it, it is the truth. I strut over to the dummy, slipping the pin in my hand into my plain green dress. “I was thinking of using the stones from this point to this point, like on the sketch, but unlike the sketch, I want to take it to the back and add some on the pants.”
She steps back and studies the suit and pants, her index finger resting on her chin. “Hmm,” she closes her eyes. “You can scatter it across the pants.” Her eyes are still closed, and I’m grinning at her being in the same room as me.
Ettore set up the sewing room, and it’s something divine.
It still has black-tinted glass walls, yet somehow, sunlight pours in. I have a large table in the middle for cutting, dummies lined on one side of the room close to the wall so anyone outside can see whatever is placed on them, and more than four sewing machines lined up in front of a table by another side of the wall with a rack for well-organized sewing materials.
Then, there is my side of the room: a sewing machine on a table set a little away from the rest, racks for sewing and sketching materials, and stacks of fashion magazines. I was stunned when I came in here this morning, but what had me shocked was the headphones resting on my table.
The people assisting me went to take a lunch break when Valerie arrived.
“You have to see it all up here,” Valerie says, taking her index fingers to the sides of her head. “And I’m seeing perfection already,” she smiles and exhales a breath of satisfaction. “Well done,” she tilts her head in my direction.
“Thank you.” The feel of warmth spreading through me forms a smile on my face.
Ettore rescued me from the Bratva’s clutches and gave me a life I had long stopped dreaming about. He changed it, but in a way that set it back on the path I was on before everything.
He has given me something to wake up every morning for—a life worth waking up to, a purpose. I will forever be indebted to him.
And maybe this is my life. Created to only exist through servitude. This is not freedom, but it is heaven compared to what I have endured.
Valerie moves around in her tight blue jeans, silver pump heels, and stylish white crop top, which she covers with a tattered blush off-the-shoulder sweater. If my understanding is right, she has been dressingto convey her feelings.
“With your support, we can reach the sales goal,” she pulls out a stool and then picks up a container with some materials. “And with the money from the sales, I can sponsor your first collection,” she sits and then begins to play around with the things in the container.
“Yes,” I almost screech my excitement at the possibility.
I scuttle barefoot to her, a little hazy from working all night long. I take the packs of buttons she broughtand mentally match them to the suit they fit best.
I've managed to prepare just one, but it lacks the pants and buttons. As a team of five, I'm confident that by tomorrow, we will have resolved that issue as well as haveanother one ready.
“And then you can get back into the fashion world,” I clap my hands, some of the buttons flying off.
“I have no passion for being back in the fashion world,” she sighs heavily. “I had my time,” she snorts. I guess the world has moved past certain things and people,” she points at herself and her outfit.
Nonsense.
“What is wrong with your outfit?” I search for anything that could make her think it’s not good enough. “It’s chic, and so is the model.”
She laughs, “Oh, yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she tuts.
“I can see Rihanna rocking that; it looks like her style, but it would be perfect for an album cover for Taylor.” I can just imagine it.
“Hmm,” she nods, “I made it inspired by her Folklore album.”
“See, voguish housewife sweater from the early eighties,” I continue my quest to influence her. “You just need one big event to showcase your work.”
She laughs, “Like the Met Gala coming up.” She shrugs carelessly, and it strikes a flame inside of me.
“That is so, so perfect!” I screech, “Your pieces from the Opposite In Motion collection fit the theme 'Artistic Alchemy' perfectly,” I stand, pacing as I imagine seeing Valerie Moore at the Met Gala. It’s been forever. I had read about the theme from one of the fashion magazines Ettore gave me a few days before.
She smiles sadly, her blue eyes going cold. “It’s no longer my world, Zoe.” She shakes her head. “No one attending would want to wear any of my old pieces.” She chuckles dryly as if remembering something traumatic. “No, I can’t go there.” She dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand.
What makes her think she is obsolete?
I know she is my idol, and I cannot stop fussing about her, but more than that, I was at her store the other day, and it was Disney World for fashion. I couldn’t close my mouth when she took me through her last collection.
It is ideal forthe Met Galatheme. She applied some sort of technique to the fabrics that gave the impression that the designs were painted on. The majority were ombrés.
“I can list a handful of celebrities who would go wild when they see that collection,” I sit, leaning on the table. “Rihanna, Lady Gaga,” I start to list, “We can also try…”
“Rihanna is always dressed by Guo Pei,” she punctures the bubbles of my excitement, “And Lady Gaga?” She looks at me like I have lost my mind. “She's loyal to Brandon Maxwell. Who doesn’t know that?”
I lift my hand, “Well… me.”
She cackles, shaking her head at me, “Clearly.”
“Why not Zoe?” Ettore, who just walked in, says.
The coldness of his husky voice sends shivers down my spine.
“She could attend the Met Gala wearing one of your designs,” he moves closer to us and stops by the long end of the table.
I’m startled for several reasons, other than his suggestion of me attending the Met Gala. That in itself is enough to make me hyperventilate, but somehow, it doesn’t compare to the effect he is now having on me, which seems to be increasing every passing second.
“Me?” I point at myself, and he nods. “No,” I shake my head at the craziness and then imagine the crowd. It would be too much. And also, “I could never attend alone. It would be too scary.” Then I remember the ticket fee, and it sounds even more terrifying. “I can’t attend at all. The tickets are seventy-five thousand dollars each. It's way too expensive.”
I’m hyperventilating and my heart might give out any minute from now.
It’s too much for me.
I can’t attend the Met Gala. I don’t deserve that yet. And I’m not sure I will ever be deserving of that.
He shrugs, then shifts his focus to Valerie, “Why don’t you go with her?” Did he hear me talk about the ticket price?
“I can't,” Valerie waggles her fingers in the air. “My ex-protégée will attend, and I swore I would never see her again.”
Are they listening to me at all? Are they seeing that I’m turning blue from holding my breath for too long?
Valerie lifts what she has been playing with. “But this can fit in there,” she says, pointing to one of my sketches, the one that would need a lapel. Somehow, in the short while of this conversation, she has been able to create magic, and yet she thinks she is out of trend.
I digress, shifting the focus away from me. “What happened, Valerie?” I sink lower, trying to meet her eyes, but she won’t lift from the lapel in her hands.
“A bitch called life,” she smiles sadly, “I will…” She points at the door, “I need…” She stands and excuses herself, but not before I catch the tears bubbling in her eyes.