18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Four days later the final four designers stood at the base of the Eiffel Tower.
We had an hour before shooting began. The crew was frantically attending to last minute things.
Our models were in trailers, dressed in the first of our three ready to wear designs.
Chairs were spaced under the yawning girders of the famed tower for the guests, press, influencers, and other VIP.
Rumor was the wife of the French president was going to be in attendance for the evening part of the show.
Soline and Claude had great pull and admiration in this country. Hell, all over the world.
Claude. This whole affair seemed lackluster without him here.
I’d gotten used to seeing him every day, and mostly every night.
I missed the tilt of his head as he examined an article of clothing, the small smile that he gave me when we were alone, the brush of his fingers to mine during those long moonlit nights.
I missed him coming into the workroom to critique our clothes even when he was a little brusque.
Every damn nuance of this show was muted without him.
God help me I even missed Pamplemousse barking, snapping, and being a tiny shit in a sling all the time.
There were ten hours left. The day show popped off at noon, the evening show at eight.
Four designers, three outfits. I’d know the outcome by ten at night.
Then I’d be on a fucking train to Avignon.
Claude and I had things to discuss. First though I was going to kiss him and tell him just how much I loved him.
He could close the door in my face if he wished but I wasn’t hiding or holding back anymore.
As I checked my phone – yes they’d been given back to us today hallelujah – for the twentieth time a familiar loved voice rang out. I spun and there was my mother rushing at me with Camilo on her heels.
“Kinder!” Mom yelled, making show crew heads snap around. I bolted to her, lifted her up and over a tangle of cables, and gave her a twirl. She cried and laughed as we went round and round. “Oh honey, stop. I’m going to barf up the fancy breakfast burrito they served us on the plane.”
I let her down, keeping her in my arms, just to breath in her sweet honeysuckle scent. “I’ve missed you so much. Things have been so hard,” I whispered. Mom patted my back, her cheek on my shoulder, while whispering little tender things as she did when I was small and skinned my knee.
“Let’s go sit at a table over there and catch up,” Mom whispered as she gave my back a final pat.
“This lovely young man has my bag. He met me at the airport with a sign and everything just like I was someone important.” Mom smiled at Camilo who smiled back then wheeled her secondhand case to one of the little food stands around the esplanade.
“You are someone very special,” I told her, taking her hand to guide her to a round table with a single flower in a slim vase.
“Let me go get you two something to nibble on,” Camilo offered, parking her bag beside her as we made ourselves comfy on wrought-iron chairs. The air was chilly today. Mom looked tired, obviously, but thrilled. She tipped her head back to gaze skyward through the girders.
“Imagine us sitting here in Paris about to sip some espresso and enjoy a fancy French éclair all due to your talents,” she lowered her chin to gaze at me as if I hung the moon and stars.
Which I so did not. “The twins are heartbroken that they couldn’t come but the show would only pay for one plane ticket, plus they have school.
Ivy is such a dream offering to take them to her house while we’re here. Have you spoken to her yet?”
“No, not today. It’s still early over there. I’m going to Facetime her after the first show is over.”
“Oh good. She’s been like a bike with no wheels since you left. Oh that looks marvelous. Thank you Camilo!”
Our treats were placed before us then he hustled off to attend to one of his thousands of jobs that never ended. I imagined the entire crew would be happy to see things wrap. Hopefully they got some downtime. God knows we all needed it.
“So, Kinder, tell me everything.” She stirred a thin packet of sugar into her coffee as I poked at my éclair.
Even with a sweet tooth it just didn’t appeal.
More than likely a case of nerves and yearning.
I’d not eaten well since Claude had departed.
Sleep was fractured. All I’d done was sew and plot ways to get to his country cottage if I lost. “Honey.” She tapped the back of my hand resting beside my éclair.
My gaze moved from the baked good to her.
“Honey, what’s wrong? You look like you do on the anniversary of your father’s death. ”
Shit. Well, yeah, loss was loss. “Nothing that bad, honestly.” That was the truth.
I knew where Claude was. I knew I was going to him if I had to walk across France like a vagabond or hitch a ride in the back of a French chicken farmers rattling old truck.
“I just…” I stared into eyes so full of love and had to let it out.
Everything came gushing out as if I were one of those opulent fountains at Versailles.
Mom ate at her éclair with one hand while grasping my hand with the other.
When I ran out of steam, or water if we’re going to stick with the fountain theme, there were tears wetting her lashes.
“Kinder, I’m so sorry you’re hurting. What Claude did was quite noble.” She gave my fingers a squeeze.”
“Yeah, I know. He’s the fourth Musketeer overflowing with chivalry and honor.
” I wanted to be mad about it but I couldn’t.
Well, I was but not. My head was still working it all out obviously.
“I love him, Mom. I do, honestly. I guess people will say that someone with so little experience can’t know what love is but I do, and I feel it. ”
“Does it feel as if your heart has been torn from your chest without him?”
“Yeah, it so does.”
“That sounds like love to me.”
I sighed as a golf care flew by with Xavier behind the wheel yelling at whoever would listen. I would not miss him. “After you win I think we should make our way to his little cottage and have a nice talk with him.”
“Mom…”
“Nope. Don’t try to talk me out of it. I’m going with you to make sure this man is good enough for my son.”
“Mom, he’s good enough, trust me on this one.” She arched a slim brow. “He is. I need to do this by myself. We need time alone just him and me to work everything out.”
“Hmmm. Work everything out. Is that what you kids are calling having sex now?”
“Mom…”
“Fine. Fine. I won’t go with you to work everything out but you make sure to tell him that while he may have passed muster for me he hasn’t for me yet.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Good. Now, eat that éclair. You’re too thin.” She motioned to the untouched confectionary with her gaze then waited, eyes pinned on me, as I took a bite. “Good. You’ll need the sugar. It’s going to be a long day and you, my child, are about see all your dreams come true.”
“I love you,” I said around a mouthful of cream and dough.
“I love you too. Eat.”
It’s true what Rudyard Kipling said about God not being able to be everywhere so he created mothers. This woman was nothing short of a miracle.
***
Thirty minutes later I was in the thick of it.
Models, makeup, hair, confessionals, sound checks, press, and my mother.
The esplanade was packed. Designers, pop stars, movie icons.
I saw hundreds of famous faces from our little temporary production trailers which were serving as dressing rooms, hair and makeup stations, and wardrobe storage.
The logistics of what the producers had to go through to secure this boggled the mind.
Permits, permission from God and all his angels, coordination with police, city officials, and park management.
The cost had to have been enormous. Then add in the location prep.
The crew had laid down temporary flooring.
There was lighting and sound, power generators stashed in hidden spots.
That was just what I was seeing from the trailers.
Security and crowd control were in full force; barriers had been erected so we could work and film around the huge amount of foot traffic that arrived daily at one of the world’s busiest tourist destinations.
There were easily a hundred and fifty crew members here today. Mind blown.
“Kinder, we have zipper issues,” Mom said to my left, pulling me from the chaos outside. I closed the trailer door, drew in a shaky breath, and turned to find my gorgeous plus-size model Nash looking like someone ran over her dog.
“I’m so sorry,” Nash began to cry big wet tears as I gently touched her shoulder to get her to turn to show me the back of her ready to day look.
The white tailored suit featured a lace bustier that was paired with a cropped jacket and slacks with lace details.
The lace had been repurposed from a discarded dress at Claude’s shop.
The Barrons label did not deal in much in the way of upcycled materials.
He would have to work on that. I’d tell him so when I tracked him down.
“This fit you yesterday,” I said, taking both sides of the bustier to pull them together. Nash gasped then began to whimper apologies as I stood there amid two other models needing final touches with a busted bustier in my hands.
“I’m so sorry. I got my period last night then my boyfriend was being a dick so I…I hit the chips hard.”