The First Year

by Genevieve Gannon

  Saskia opened her cupboard to assess how many cuffs she could make from the supplies she had on hand. She was going to have to let Andy know she needed to make a big withdrawal to pay for more silver. She set about making some cuffs with what little she had, all the while trying to figure out what had prompted this surge of interest, and how she would manage to keep up if the orders kept rolling in.

  *

  ‘What do you think?’ Andy asked, sipping his coffee.

  He and Krystyn were sitting in Cumulus, sated by a three-course lunch, the Bright Box affidavit on the table between them. The front page was speckled with salt and grease from their whitebait entrée. The bill would be more than two hundred dollars, but it was worth it. Krystyn had shed her prickly cloak of animosity and had even smiled during the main course.

  ‘At first glance it’s definitely winnable.’ Her tone was pragmatic but optimistic. To Andy, it sounded like music. The tension in his shoulders began to dissipate. ‘There are some potential weaknesses. I’ll have to take a closer look.’

  ‘By all means. I want you to take the lead on this.’

  Krystyn looked at the document hungrily, as if it was one of Cumulus’s famous charcuterie boards.

  ‘Harris specifically said he wanted you on it.’

  Her face softened. ‘He said that?’

  ‘He ordered me to put you on it.’ Andy wasn’t lying, he was paraphrasing.

  ‘Let me spend the evening going over it. We’ll meet tomorrow and talk strategy.’

  ‘I knew you’d be able to do it.’

  She smiled quickly then returned to her poker face. ‘Let’s discuss it at Grossi Florentino.’

  ‘Does 1 p.m. work for you?’ he said.

  The cost of lunch was a small price to pay for Krystyn’s expertise.

  *

  Saskia slipped Bess E. Bee’s silver cuff onto her peg and worked as fast as she could. With each piece she made she was getting quicker, and the detail was getting finer. It still took time and patience though. A wave of fear hit her, what if the orders kept coming? There was no way she could hand craft thirty cuffs a day. The idea of it made her feel faint and slightly nauseous.

  Another email appeared. Pennelope J of Port Macquarie. Saskia scanned the text . . . Loved the cuff . . . No local stockists . . . Could Saskia post one out? And a new detail: I saw the cuff on Instagram.

  Saskia frowned at the screen. Social media was a mysterious beast. She figured it must have been Annie, who was selling the cuffs now and whose account @AnnieChenBridal had a robust following.

  Saskia scribbled a note on the corner of her ledger to invite Annie over for dinner to say thanks. She took a breath, pleased to have solved the mystery. Then she put her head down and got back to work.

  Day 96, Thursday, January 15

  Andy dug his fingertips into Saskia’s scalp and lathered the shampoo into a foamy mass. The morning shower together had become a ritual after Saskia discovered inviting Andy in was an effective was of separating him from his electronic devices.

  ‘Feel good?’

  ‘Yes.’ She closed her eyes. Hot water rained down around them. ‘My neck aches from bending over my workbench. I don’t think I’ve ever been this stressed.’

  Andy slid his hand down so that it was around the base of her neck, putting pressure on her ropey muscles.

  ‘You do feel tense.’ He began to rub her shoulders.

  ‘I’m being buried under orders.’

  He shuffled around her so they were facing and put his palms to her cheeks. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  They kissed amid the steam and water. Saskia drew closer to Andy and clung to him. His flesh was warm and she felt a pulse of desire. ‘You leave so early, and I work so late,’ she said. ‘It’s like we’re in a long distance relationship.’

  ‘I know, but it will pass.’ He trailed his fingers up and down her slippery back. ‘And it will be worth it. Your jewellery line is going to be a phenomenon.’

  She rinsed out her hair and began soaping up her body, trying to distract herself from the vague sense of guilt his words caused. All she felt towards his work was resentment, and yet without his ability to generate a large income she’d still be spending her life clearing tables at the gallery cafe.

  ‘Why don’t you have a night off?’ Andy said. ‘Krystyn and I are going to take some suits out for dinner. Would you like to come?’

  ‘On a dinner date with you and your ex?’

  ‘Sas.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ She silently rubbed shampoo through his hair, dragging her fingers upward so it stuck up like blond cacti spikes. ‘Is there going to be a lot of self-important men?’

  ‘And some self-important women.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘It’s vital we impress this company.’ A shadow of worry passed over his features.

  Saskia could picture herself, po-faced, eating uncooked slimy fish while legal conversations raged around her. She and Andy hadn’t had a night out alone together since they got back from their holiday.

  As if reading her mind, he said, ‘I know we haven’t had a proper date night in a long time. How about you come tonight, then tomorrow we’ll go to Royal Stacks and have a burger and brisket blow-out to compensate for all the late nights.’

  She sloughed some foam from her hair and slopped it onto his head. ‘Who are you meeting?’

  ‘Bright Box. Maybe it would be good for you to meet them too.’

  ‘Those vultures who pick Melbourne’s creatives dry?’

  He shrugged. ‘You could come and ask them questions. See how they run their brands. You might pick up some tips. Then you can use their tactics to beat them at their own game.’

  Saskia had a pile of work to get through. She also needed to visit her metal guy. Her supplies were dwindling.

  ‘I suppose it could be educational,’ she said.

  ‘And we’re going to Rosa’s Kitchen. It’s Italian so you won’t have to endure sashimi like last time.’

  After Andy left, Saskia drove to her supplier and bought a small quantity of gold sheet. Before going back to the studio she had to pick up more gas for her torch and drop into the post office. Postage was becoming a significant cost and she was going to have to start charging for it.

  When she sat down to work, she found she was feeling sluggish. She still had a backlog of orders to fill, but no new ones had arrived. When her final email order was filled she’d be back to square one. A week ago she had been striving towards something. Then her big break with Alicia Lomez had evaporated. Harem could have provided her with a constant presence in the marketplace. A prestigious affiliation. Now she wondered if she was going to spend the rest of her life making cuffs to order, lurching from feast to famine, barely breaking even. At lunchtime she called Annie.

  ‘Any word from Alicia?’

  ‘No, Sas, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Maybe I should call her.’

  ‘Be patient. She has a lot of artists vying for her attention. She said she was interested, let her do this on her own terms.’

  Saskia frowned, restless. ‘It’s probably a blessing she cancelled. I’ve been swamped by email orders since you put the wreath cuff on Instagram. Not that I’m not grateful—’

  ‘Instagram? I didn’t put the cuff on Instagram.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘No, but I should. It’s a good idea.’

  ‘That would be great but could you hold off a bit? I’m still working on the last batch.’

  ‘They’ve been popular but I still have plenty in stock. I can promote it through the store account.’

  ‘So they’re selling?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve already sold five. People are coming in just for your cuff. Unfortunately, none of them decided to casually purchase a wedding dress. But maybe one day, when they need one, they’ll think of me. There’s four hundred dollars here for you now, based on the agreed 20-80 split.’

  ‘You have the money right now?’
r />   ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Just sitting there?’

  ‘It’s in an envelope. Do you want to come and get it?’

  ‘Would that be okay?’

  ‘Of course! It’s your money.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll come over and we can discuss our next move.’

  *

  Saskia waited until she was back from Annie’s to tear open the envelope. There was no need to count the money, but she wanted to see it. She wanted to feel each crisp note and know that she had earned it. As she slid a fingertip over the bills a powerful sense of fulfilment welled up in her chest. This could pay for materials. She wouldn’t have to use Andy’s earnings.

  Her work had always given her a quiet satisfaction. But now, empowered by her profits, she was eager to create and see how far she could push herself, see how much faster and better she could get.

  By six o’clock, as she put down her ninth cuff for the day. Having worked through without a break, Saskia was ravenous and looking forward to a three-course meal. Andy had promised Italian and she was craving gnocchi in cream. The metallic tincture of the studio clung to her hair and her skin so she raced home to clean up. When she dropped her shirt and jeans on the bathroom tiles they shed metal filings like soot. She scrubbed her nails.

  She arrived at Rosa’s Kitchen in the dress she had bought for her meeting with Alicia.

  ‘Here she is,’ Andy said, getting to his feet. ‘This is my wife Saskia. She’s a jeweller.’

  ‘A jeweller?’ one of the Bright Box men barked. ‘We have a few of those working for us.’

  Krystyn smiled and took Saskia’s hand, pressing it, rather than shaking it. ‘Good to see you again,’ she said, exuding warmth. ‘Lovely dress.’

  Krystyn sipped from a long-stemmed wine glass while Saskia exchanged greetings with the others at the table. The man who had barked at her was the chief executive and founder, John Barrett. As soon as Andy introduced him, Saskia realised she had seen his shiny face on the pages of the weekend newspaper supplement in an article titled ‘Melbourne’s Most Influential People’. Independent designers she knew had branded him a parasite. Once Saskia was settled, the dinner meeting resumed. She reached for the bread basket and began to question whether she should have come.

  ‘As I was saying, there are clear differences here and here.’ Krystyn circled a photograph of a floral fabric design.

  Andy cut in. ‘Overall the likeness is quite close, but the subject is something found in nature. It’s not a logo or an original drawing.’

  John Barrett leaned over the table, swivelling the document so that it was facing him. ‘She’s got nothing on us. Nothing,’ he growled.

  ‘We agree,’ Krystyn said.

  Saskia felt something resembling jealousy as she watched Krystyn and Andy work in tandem. Not a romantic or territorial jealousy, but envy of the natural affinity they shared as co-workers striving towards a common goal.

  Andy was going into detail now, talking about copyright and fair use. Saskia had sat through many of these meetings before. They could have been conducted in Swahili for all the sense they made to her.

  She had gleaned that there was a dispute over a design. They were talking about percentages of similarities and the probability of coincidence. It reminded her of the time Annie had called her in tears a few months earlier. Saskia had gone to the bridal studio straight away and in an unusual display of emotion, Annie had thrown her arms around her and cried on her shoulder.

  ‘Just look at it,’ she had said, directing Saskia to the mass-market bridal shop downstairs. In the window was a dress that closely resembled one of Annie’s signature designs.

  ‘They’re selling it for six hundred dollars less than I do. How can I compete with that?’

  ‘Can’t you do something?’

  ‘They changed it just enough so that it’s not a copy.’

  Bright Box’s CFO Francine Marsh was stirring her martini with her olive toothpick. ‘What are our odds?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Krystyn said. ‘Odds?’

  ‘How do you rate our chance of winning? What are the risks?’

  ‘There are always risks,’ Andy said.

  ‘She’s asking for three hundred thousand dollars, a patently ridiculous amount,’ Francine said.

  ‘And even if she wins, the judge won’t necessarily award her that much,’ Andy said.

  ‘He may rule in her favour but award far less. Or . . .’ Krystyn said.

  ‘Or?’ The Bright Box trio leaned forward.

  She shrugged. ‘Or he may decide she deserves more.’

  ‘More?’ Francine looked concerned.

  ‘Usually we just throw some money at the problem and it goes away,’ John Barrett said.

  ‘Usually?’ Saskia said.

  Five heads swivelled to stare at her, shocked, as though it was the salt shaker that had spoken.

  ‘You’ve had someone accuse you of copyright breach before?’ Andy asked.

  Barrett waved his hand. ‘We’re a big company that’s getting a lot of press. People want a piece of us.’

  ‘Foxy Frocks has gone to the trouble of having a lawyer draw up an affidavit. I don’t think she’s going to accept five thousand dollars,’ Andy said.

  ‘But three hundred thousand . . .’ Francine began.

  ‘It comes down to this,’ Andrew said. ‘They can’t prove House of Hiraani ever saw these designs. The roses are remarkably similar, but as Krystyn says, they’re roses. Her capacity to prove the originality of her design is severely limited.’

  ‘So we can win?’ Barrett asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Andy and Krystyn spoke together. ‘We can win.’

  Day 103, Thursday, January 22

  The zip on Saskia’s black wool dress itched. She tried to keep her shoulders back so the offending seam wouldn’t come into contact with her skin, but it was impossible while she was hurrying along Sydney Road, and the irritation combined with the muggy air was unbearable. She furiously dug her nails into the spot where it was tickling and scratched and scratched and scratched until she reached Annie’s studio and pressed the buzzer.

  ‘You’re late,’ Annie hissed as she pulled Saskia out of the heat into the vast, cool showroom.

  ‘Is she here?’ Saskia squinted into the boutique. Its red velvet curtains were drawn to keep the sun out.

  ‘Not yet.’ Annie bustled her out the back where light flooded in through high windows.

  ‘I bought coffee.’ She passed Annie a bag of beans. ‘And, some artsy cups.’

  ‘These are nice,’ Annie said, admiring the hand-painted crockery.

  ‘They’re yours. A gift. For setting this up. Annie, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.’

  She flicked her hand. ‘You shouldn’t be spending money on me. You should be putting it back into the business.’

  ‘Without you there wouldn’t be a business. We can’t have you serving coffee in champagne glasses on an occasion like this.’

  It had taken a month to reschedule the meeting with Alicia Lomez. Since cancelling the last time she had become even more difficult to reach. Over December she had organised a design festival that had gained some traction in the media, thanks to a controversial potter who made mugs with anatomical handles. As a result, Alicia’s work had been featured in Frankie magazine and she’d been profiled by Elle. Saskia had read the articles, comforted that Alicia genuinely was busy, and trusting she would call when her schedule allowed.

  Then a week ago, Annie had run into Alicia buying falafel at the Half Moon cafe in Coburg. Annie was wearing Saskia’s cuff, which Alicia noticed and remarked upon.

  ‘This is the designer I was telling you about,’ Annie had said. ‘Come by the studio and she can show you what she can do. She’s very talented but she needs guidance.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Alicia replied. ‘All these young designers want to be the next Paloma Picasso, but they do the work in their evenings for a year or two then give up. I’ve ha
d my heart broken by too many young protégés who have decided twelve hours in a studio for minimum wage isn’t worth it, and have thrown it all in for steady pay and superannuation.’

  ‘Not Saskia,’ Annie insisted. ‘She works full-time on her brand. She’s the real thing. Just come meet with her. You won’t be disappointed.’

  *

  Saskia arranged her items decorously on Annie’s cutting table. In addition to the original cuff — which she had named the Hero Cuff — she had created a sunray cuff, called the Sol Invictus cuff after the Roman Sun God; the Icarus ring, which imitated feathers and was inspired in part by the almonds on the Queen of Sheba cake; a gladiatorial armour cuff, a vine cuff, and some other as yet unnamed pieces that echoed the Roman monuments she had seen on her honeymoon.

  ‘Remember to emphasise that you want to make this your career,’ Annie instructed as she moved the pieces around to show them off at their best angle.

  ‘I’m so nervous. Why am I so nervous?’ Saskia said, wiping her palms on the sides of her dress.

  ‘I have an idea.’ Annie ran to a set of drawers and took out a handful of wedding dress off-cuts. She folded and twisted them until she had created a shimmering cushion for each of the pieces of jewellery to rest against. She played with these for a minute or two.

  ‘It looks so professional,’ said Saskia.

  Annie stepped back with her hands on her hips. ‘This is what I do.’

  Thirty minutes later Alicia still hadn’t arrived.

  ‘Where could she be?’ Saskia asked as she surrendered to the tickling between her shoulder blades and bent forward to scratch furiously.

  ‘I’m sure she won’t be long,’ Annie said, dialling.

  ‘Hi, Alicia, it’s Annie . . . Oh, no, that’s okay… Oh, I see. I see. Uh-huh. No, don’t apologise. We understand . . . Of course . . . Well, good luck with it. Bye.’

  ‘She’s not coming, is she?’

  ‘Her manager called in sick so she had to stay at the shop.’