Britches Get Stitches

by Elicia Hyder

  I looked past her to where her Bentley sedan was parked illegally at the curb.

  Jason turned before I could start toward the door. “I’ve got it.”

  “Aren’t you a handsome dear?” she said, eyeing him carefully over the top of her glasses. Her dyed auburn bob was a little frizzier than normal, and she wore a black coat with thick shoulder pads and silver earrings so big they seemed to make her head sag.

  I double-stepped to catch up with them as they walked outside. “What’s in your car?”

  Sylvia opened her back door “Fabric, Grace. Fabric.” She had a raspy southern accent that sounded odd, even to my Tennessee-born ear. Like society had tried to whip the drawl out of her but had only barely succeeded. Everything sounded sarcastic or annoyed, like “What else could I have in the car besides fabric, Grace? Duh.”

  Maybe I should have known, however. It wasn’t the first time she’d shown up with a ream of something fresh off the loom.

  She was the only daughter of Lord Barton Sinclair, a prominent figure in the textile industry. Note, “Lord” was his first name, not an actual title, which really summed up well the whole of her personality, in my opinion. Like true American royalty, the family business had roots dating back to the Industrial Revolution of the 1800s. I’d actually studied them in college.

  A Google search once revealed that Sylvia, or “Sylvie” as she insisted we call her, was eighty-one years old. No one would ever believe it though, as she was somewhere on the plastic scale between Dolly Parton and Barbie.

  The only thing telling of her age was the cane she sometimes carried. Today, it was one with a diamond-encrusted handle; it matched her two-inch high heels. No matter the outfit, I’d never seen her in flats—with or without the cane.

  “Fabric for what?” I asked.

  “The dress I ordered for Alexandria last week.” She stepped back as Jason lifted two large reams of periwinkle satin from her leather back seat.

  My head snapped back. “You mean the dress I already started working on?”

  “It’s not a problem, is it?”

  It was hard to keep my mouth from falling open. “Of course not.” Why would it be? It was only four days of work, after all. Sigh.

  “You know I’ll make it worth your time,” she said, closing the door when Jason straightened with the reams.

  Of that, I had no doubt. Sylvie was a regular in my shop. In the year that I’d known her, I’d made nine dresses for her granddaughter Alexandria. All of them unique. All of them expensive. All of them freaking periwinkle blue—a color she was determined to make me sick of.

  Even so, my personal jury was still out on deciding if her unshakable presence was a blessing or a curse. A blessing because she’d hooked me up with her company’s distributor and a deep discount on fabric. A curse because…well, she was a regular in my shop.

  At least once a week, Sylvie would park in front of my door and saunter inside. Despite the “No Pets Please” sign on the door and my multiple requests to not bring the dog inside, she usually had her dog, Miss Taylor—named after Elizabeth Taylor—in tow. Sylvia would fondle every piece of clothing in the store, detailing to me what was wrong with each of them.

  “Pink pearls would have been so much more delicate for this beading.”

  “You know, Grace, there is such a thing as too much tulle.”

  “This dress would be prettier in periwinkle.”

  She’d ask questions about my life. Offer legal advice about my divorce—she’d been through a few. And she was simply fascinated by the fact that I played roller derby, which I found kind of hilarious considering her snobbish attitude. Mostly, however, she complained and nitpicked my shop and my designs until I wanted to scream.

  But I had to remind myself that the rolls of fabric Jason was holding would be more than enough material for a rack full of dresses.

  As she closed the door, he looked over the mound in his arms at the “No Parking” sign her car was almost nestled against. “Should we wait for you to move your car?” he asked.

  She waved him off. “I’ll just leave it running. It’ll be just a sec.”

  I doubted that.

  Jason looked from her to the “No Parking” sign again, obviously debating whether or not to insist. He was the police, after all. I wondered if he might write her a ticket.

  He didn’t.

  Someone (probably not from Tennessee) laid on their horn as they were forced to go around Sylvie’s car.

  “Are we going to stand out here all day or what?” Sylvie leaned on her cane as she crossed the sidewalk in front of us, her heels click-clacking unrhythmically across the sidewalk. “I need to pick up Miss Taylor in twenty minutes.”

  “Where is she today?” I asked, rushing past her—she was waiting for me—to open the door.

  She stopped so suddenly Jason almost ran into her. Then she pointed a ringed finger down the street. “She’s getting her Estée Lauder fix.”

  My eyes must have gone blank.

  “She’s at the groomer’s,” Sylvie clarified with a huff as she went on inside.

  Jason turned sideways to carry the fabric through the door.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mouthed.

  “Are you kidding? I haven’t been this amused since…last night.”

  I groaned and followed them in.

  Jason put the fabric on the counter, then stepped cautiously out of the way. He was watching Sylvie carefully with a look of suspended amusement, like she was a show pony about to do a trick.

  She grabbed my hand and slammed it down onto the ream. “Feel this blend, Grace. It’s a new fabric we’re calling Sinclair Satin. Isn’t it glorious?”

  “It’s exquisite.” It really was. Silky and smooth, cool but cozy. I couldn’t begin to imagine how much it would cost by the yard if I had to buy it myself. “Sinclair Satin? Is it proprietary?”

  “Of course. It’s a silk charmeuse imported from China with just a touch of spandex”—she patted her hips—“for a little forgiveness around the holidays.”

  I blinked. “Wow. I wish I could just make up new fabrics as I needed them.”

  “All you need is a loom and credit card.”

  “Right.”

  She leaned toward me, and the unmistakable scent of Elizabeth Arden caught my nose. “It’s worth starting the dress over, I think. Yes?” Before giving me time to answer, she squeezed my hand. “I know! You can sell the other dress you started to someone else. You can even call it The Alexandria.”

  “That’s a lovely idea,” I said with a pinched smile.

  She released my hand. “Of course it is. Goodbye, Kiara.”

  Kiara stepped over beside me and waved. “Goodbye, Sylvie!”

  Sylvie paused by Jason, who had resumed his spot on the couch. “Thank you again, handsome.”

  He winked at her. “You’re quite welcome.”

  “Oh, and Grace?” Sylvie looked back, leaning heavily on her cane. “Can you have the dress ready by Thanksgiving instead of the first of December? I’m willing to pay double for the rush and to cover the cost of the fabric you already used.”

  Double. The dress was already more than most car payments. I thought of the “Final Notice” bill that was sitting in my apartment. “Sure, Sylvie. I can rush it.”

  She smiled as much as the fillers around her mouth would allow. “Thank you, Grace.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’ll be sure to bring Miss Taylor over to say hello sometime this week!” she called on her way to the door.

  I reached toward her. “That will be quite—”

  “See you then!” The doors chimed and closed behind her.

  My shoulders slumped with a sigh.

  Jason looked back toward the door. “I have new retirement goals now.”

  I laughed. “It’s like she lives on a different planet. I’m sorry.”

  “Definitely not a big deal. Who was that?”

  “Are you familiar with the seven rin
gs of hell?” Kiara asked, leaning against me.

  I laughed. “Her name’s Sylvia Sinclair.”

  “I feel like I know her.”

  “I’m sure you’ve written her plenty of citations. I think she believes that ‘No Parking’ sign was put there to hold her spot.”

  “You’re probably right. Well, I guess I’ll take off.”

  I walked over and gave him a side hug. “Thanks again.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He paused and looked at me seriously. “Don’t ever hesitate to call if you need me, Grace. I’m your friend too.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Kiara, it was nice to meet you,” he said, waving to her.

  She waved back. “You too.”

  When the door closed behind him, Kiara spun toward me. “Hello, Officer Eye Candy. Who the hell was that?”

  “A friend of Clay’s.”

  “You oughta be making that man a friend of yours. He’s beautiful.”

  “It’s definitely not like that. He almost had to arrest me in the middle of last night for stealing my dog.”

  She squinted and turned her ear in my direction. “Excuse me?”

  “Clay got Bodhi in the divorce.”

  Her jaw dropped. “No!”

  “Yes.”

  “So you dognapped him?”

  I pressed my lips together.

  “Girl, you’re crazy. That’s hysterical.”

  I picked up the reams of fabric.

  “Here, I’ll help,” she said, following me to the workroom. “You’re really not going to name that stupid periwinkle dress The Alexandria, are you?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Thank God. Did that old bird just say she’d pay double for the new dress?”

  “She sure did.”

  “Wow. I wonder if she would adopt me,” Kiara said.

  I laughed. “You’d sell your soul to be a Sinclair?”

  She put a hand on her hip. “With that kind of money, I could buy a new soul.”

  I laughed and hoisted the reams onto an empty space on the shelf.

  “Speaking of money, I was wondering if I could pick up some more hours around here,” she said.

  I thought for a moment. “Well, I could honestly use all the help I can get. I’m absolutely swamped between my derby schedule and getting ready for the holiday rush. Black Friday will be here before we know it.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. And it would really help me out. I’m trying to save up to go to New York over Christmas break.”

  “To plan your escape from Tennessee?” I asked with a smile.

  “No. To visit my cousin in Brooklyn. I’ve always wanted to see the city at Christmas.”

  “I went once with Clay. I dragged him all over Manhattan looking at the Christmas displays in the store windows.”

  “I’ve only seen them in pictures.”

  “You’re going to love it.”

  She gripped my arm. “We should do that here.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes! We’ll pick a theme, decorate the front window, and the customers will pour in!”

  “Kiara, didn’t I just say I don’t have time for anything right now?”

  “Let me do it. Maybe I can get some friends to help me. It would look great on my resume if we can make it a success.”

  I leaned against my work desk, tapping my finger over my lips as I considered it. “I do need to decorate for the holidays.”

  “And what could it hurt? You know I have an eye for these things.”

  That was true. “What about the money? I’ll level with you. I’m strapped right now.”

  “Let me come up with a plan and a budget before you say no. If we can’t afford it, we can’t afford it. And I’ll put the hours toward my internship.”

  Truth be told, I really needed all of her remaining internship hours spent making dresses, but it would be good for her to learn something different. After all, she could already make my gowns almost as well as me. She’d also already mastered the most cutting-edge avenues of retail marketing, so I figured a little old-school advertising might be good for her.

  And her excitement was inspiring. It almost sparked a little joy and hope inside my shriveled heart.

  “OK. Come up with a plan, and if I can swing it, the answer is yes.”

  She clapped her hands together. “Can I get started on it right now?”

  “What were you working on before I got here?”

  “I just finished those bloomers you asked me to do.”

  “All of them?” I asked, surprised. I’d only shown her the day before how to make them.

  “Three of each size up to eighteen months, correct?”

  I nodded.

  “All done.”

  “Impressive.”

  “So is that a yes?” she asked.

  “After you do a quality control check on the dresses Margaret turned in.”

  She clapped her hands excitedly.

  “And keep an eye on the store while you’re at it.” I looked at the periwinkle fabric again. “I’ve, unfortunately, got a lot more work to do.”

  Five

  “So Clay called the police again on me yesterday,” I told Monica the next morning. We were gearing up in the parking lot of Centennial Park, home of a true-to-scale replica of the ancient Parthenon in Greece. Random, I know.

  We’d skated the paved loop every Sunday morning since we started Fresh Meat. Except once when it rained and once when her oldest daughter, Maisie, had the flu.

  She tied the laces of her left skate. “You’re kidding me.”

  I snapped the chin strap of my shiny black helmet. “Nope. He was pissed that I broke the lamp and drank that bottle of wine.”

  “What a dick.”

  “Right?”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “His friend Jason came by again to tell me.” I looked up toward the building as a thought occurred to me. “And I think to check on me after the exchange with Clay.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah. He even put away Bodhi’s stuff so I didn’t have to see it.”

  “How thoughtful,” she said, putting a hand on her chest.

  “I know.”

  She turned toward me. “You don’t think he likes you, do you?”

  “God, no. That’s just the kind of guy he is.”

  “Maybe that’s the kind of guy you need in your life.”

  I laughed. “Kiara thinks so too. She’s calling him ‘Officer Eye Candy’ now.”

  Monica stood on her skates. “He’s cute then?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Never really thought about him that way before. He and Clay are really close.”

  “He’s obviously not so loyal to Clay if he’s coming by to check on you. Maybe you should see where it goes. Be a little spontaneous. I think it would be a very healthy thing for you.” She tapped her chest. “I should know. I’m a doctor.”

  “You’re a doctor of music, Monica.”

  “Still, I am pretty smart.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Monica was the most intelligent person I’d ever known. She had a bachelors and masters in music history, and had recently completed a PhD in musicology, whatever that was. I’d once tried to read her doctoral dissertation, something about sounds and memory and cognitive processing. I failed.

  “Your gear stinks,” she said, scrunching her nose.

  “I know. I was going to wash it yesterday when I got home, but then Jason came by and I got busy at the store. I’ll do it tonight.” I stood from the bench and skated with my bag across the sidewalk to my open trunk. I dropped it inside and slammed it.

  I skated back to Monica and pointed to her bag on the ground. “You done with this?”

  She strapped on her helmet. “Yeah.”

  I toted it back to her SUV, and when I stuffed it in the back and closed the hatch, she hit the lock button on her keys from the bench. She stood and straightened the sleeves under her
elbow pads as I skated back over. “You know, it’s about to be too cold to skate out here,” she said.

  “Yeah. I hear it’s supposed to be in the mid fifties by this time next week.”

  She shuddered. “I’m not looking forward to that. I don’t have so many layers of insulation anymore.”

  “No you don’t,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Feel this.” She poked her thigh. I did the same. “Feel how tight that muscle is now? I’d forgotten there were even muscles under there!”

  That was one of the things I loved most about the sport. Derby was about what our bodies could do—not what they looked like.

  “How much weight have you lost now?”

  Monica turned to the side, put her hands on her hips, and cocked a knee forward. “Seventeen pounds.”

  I clapped my wrist guards together. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Come on. You ready? I’ve got lunch at my parents’ house at noon, so I can’t stay too late today.”

  “I can’t either,” she said as we started down the path. “I have choir practice this afternoon.”

  I grabbed her wrist. “Oh my god, I need to buy tickets!”

  “You’d better hurry. They do sell out, you know?”

  “I know. I’ll get tickets today. I don’t know how you do everything that you do, Mon.”

  “To be honest, it helps that we’re down to two practices this time of year. Between the school concerts and my chorus group, this is my busiest season.”

  “I’ll bet, and you have Derek and the girls to take care of.”

  “Well, Derek certainly carries the load of the family.”

  I sighed. “You guys are all my relationship goals wrapped up in one happy couple.”

  She laughed. “How so?”

  “He’s perfect.”

  “He’s really not. I mean, he’s great, but nobody’s perfect.”

  I started counting on my fingers as I skated in front of her to pass an old man walking his dog. “He supported you through your bazillion years of school. He packed up his practice and moved out of state when you were offered the job here. He keeps the girls all the time—”

  “He’s a good dad, and he supports me like an equal. That’s what marriage is.”