The Seamstress
~ ~ ~
(An Erotic Love Story)
Vanessa Lovecraft
Copyright © 2016 Vanessa Lovecraft
All rights reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form,
stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means
—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—
without prior written permission of the writer,
except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
For permission requests, write to the creator at: [email protected]
* * *
CONTENT WARNING:
This book contains sexually explicit material, adult themes, and strong language
which may not be suitable for younger audiences.
Reader’s discretion is advised.
~ Chapter Selection ~
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1
Over, under. Over, under. With a delicate pace, a young woman worked a thin thread through the broken inseam of a dark pair of khakis. When they arrived to her shop, her first thought was to turn the decrepit customer away. A thirty dollar sewing job for a cheap pair of department store pants didn’t seem like a fair deal in her eyes, but she took them anyway. Business was slow. Money was money. Your credit card, your decision was her ultimate thought, but every time the needle passed through the thin fabric, she couldn’t help but feel a little guiltier.
Over, under. Over, under. Alicia took over her mother’s business, Thimble & Cloth, after her decade-long battle with cancer. It originated from a malignant tumor in her hand, which was overlooked—rather, she denied its severity—and soon enough, it began metastasizing to other parts of her body. With her impending death approaching, and with no future prospects for employment, Alicia decided to become her mother’s apprentice. Within seven years, she matched the master’s ability to sew, and then three years later, her teacher was gone.
Over, under. Over, under. Her mother was stubborn, but honest, and honesty was the foundational concrete of T&C. Over a thirty year period of time, their business faced a multitude of small-town competition, but every one of those cheapskate companies dried up from their own corruption and poor management skills. “It isn’t hard,” her mother would tell Alicia. “You make your prices fair, and you do the work accordingly. You’ll work hard, you may not make a whole lot of money, but at least you’ll stay afloat.” She tried to follow her mother’s character; tried to abide by that advice, but those words had since become antiquated. That was over twenty years ago, and the tides were now rolling against her. Being able to keep herself alive had superseded the thought of keeping the business alive. Every night, over the sound of her grumbling stomach, she thought about selling Thimble & Cloth—the only tangible thing she had left of her mother.
The needle was pulled through one last time, and the excess thread was snipped at the knot. It was a perfect job, but a tinge of guilt was still glaringly visible in the work she had just done. Thirty dollars. Thirty dollars for that. For her own sanity, she knew she had to say something, even if it meant losing money.
The next morning, the elderly gentleman entered her store with a small cup of coffee in hand.
“Hello. I’m here to pick up. Last name, Davis.”
“Mr. Davis, yes sir. Here you are. I encourage you to give them a look-over before confirming your payment.”
“Alrighty, then.” A smile grew on his face as he turned them inside-out. “See, now. We already have a problem off the bat, miss.”
“Huh? I’m so sorry, can I see them again?” Alicia bent over the counter to get a closer look.
“Well, see here? You’ve done such a good job that the rest of the pants look horrible in comparison.” He let out a throaty laugh, and coughed a few times. “I’ll leave them here, and you go ahead and finish the whole deal, how does that sound? Make ‘em perfect for me.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
“Sorry?”
“The first time you came in I almost denied you service because I know these pants aren’t that expensive. This one job alone was probably enough to cover a brand new pair of pants like these, and I should have told you that. I’m sorry. You don’t have to pay for this if…”
The man interjected with a soft, endearing tone. “Oh no, no, no. See, miss, I’m a silly old man, with a silly old mindset. I cannot, and will not, throw away a perfectly fine pair of pants because of a little hole. Even if it cost a little more to hang onto them, you know? Just can’t do it.”
“Ok, but I should have…”
“Nonsense. Look here, see? Look how wonderful of a job you did. Hell, I’d say that’s worth double what you want. Don’t sell your talents short, young lady. If you have the time, I would like you to re-do all of the important stitching on these, and make ‘em perfect for me. I know you can do that. I insist.”
He pulled out a wrinkled, hundred dollar bill and set it on the counter before Alicia could respond. “It might be…it might be more than that if I was to re-do everything.”
“No, see, this is just for the first job. I want you to keep the change.”
With a wink of an eye, and a tap of his cane, he turned to make his way toward the door. Dumbfounded, Alicia could only muster up a quiet “thank you” as she slid the Benjamin-faced bill into her register.
“Oh, one week! They’ll be ready in a week!”
“Yes ma’am!
He’s senile, she thought. What would mom think of this?
That night, she worked until her hands trembled. An entire customization job was new territory for her, and she was fearful of making a mistake. But she did it. Day in, day out. Over, under. Over, under. Every pass of the needle through the thin fabric gave her a sense of progress. No guilt this time, only progress. She stopped momentarily when the blister on her index finger broke, but a Band-Aid allowed her to continue working. For some reason, after years of monotonous toiling, this was the first job which made her feel important. It fulfilled something inside of her; a deeply rooted desire to create. This was no longer an act of sewing, it was art. She was painting a canvas with her thread.
Alicia was skilled at her work, no doubt, but these cheap khakis embodied something greater than just a skill. No machine could replicate what she had done. After the last cut and tie, she took the liberty of removing a few small stains, most of which were probably invisible to the blurry eyes of Mr. Davis. Voila. They looked better than brand new. In fact, they looked better than brand name. Overconfidence aside, when Alicia inspected her final product, she deduced that these were far superior, quality-wise, to any luxury item she had ever worked with. To call it her magnum opus seemed pretentious and unmerited, but it was truthful. What other seamstress had she known which could have produced such a remarkable level of craftsmanship? Mom. She could have done it. But that was her humility speaking. Deep down, beneath her layers of quiet uncertainty, Alicia knew she had surpassed the ability of her own teacher. Mom would be proud, she said under her breath as she lay her head down for the night.
Three days later, Alicia found an extra spring in her step. The coffee tasted better than normal, the sunlight felt temperate and welcoming, rather than irritating to her sleepy eyes. Keys, wallet, phone; off to work again, but with a brighter perspective. When she arrived to her shop, Alicia ensured the pants were still flawless—they were—and took an extra step preparing them for Mr. Davis that afternoon. With some string and tissue paper, she wrapped them like a present, and atta
ched a paper tag which read: For Mr. Davis, the inspirer. The second part of the note was a tacky afterthought, but Alicia concluded that it was an important addition. With the present ready, she went back to work on her secondary projects, and waited patiently for the old man. His reaction! Goodness, she couldn’t wait for his reaction. She worried for a moment that he would keel over and die from excitement, considering how enthralled he was with the first job. Manslaughter—that was certainly not something she wanted on her record. She giggled at the thought.
The afternoon dragged on at at a grueling rate. There were no customers in sight. Mr. Davis, she thought, must have been too busy to come into the shop that day. Alicia reached for the land-line to call him, but before she had a chance to dial the number, a black sedan swung into the driveway, and parked in front of her store. Her heart fluttered with a spark of enthusiasm, which became short-lived, seeing as the car did not belong to Mr. Davis. In fact, this car was an anomaly in the small suburb which T&C was located. Usually the streets were composed entirely of economy cars and all-wheel drive winter vehicles, but this car was different. It was much too luxurious to belong to anyone from the area. With intense curiosity, she watched out the window, waiting for the mystery driver to reveal himself. The driver’s side door opened, and a well-dressed man exited with upward confidence. The suit he wore complimented the deep, charcoal color of the car he was driving, which told Alicia that this man meant business…quite literally. She assumed he was a business man, who must have been visiting from the city. He approached the door. She put on her customer service face.
Welcome chimes jingled as he made his way into the store. Alicia greeted the gentleman with a warm smile, which turned to nervous, quivering lips when she got a good look at his face. My god, he was a handsome devil, fitted suit and all. Was it Fendi? Burberry? By the looks of the thin lapels and tapered trousers, he certainly knew how to dress himself. Although he had a medium build, she could tell by his posture that he was athletic, and his comparably broad shoulders told the rest of the story. She repressed her natural introversion to the best of her abilities, but her pseudo-charisma fell flat when she let out a squeaky “hello.”
God, I’m so stupid. That was so stupid.
“Hi there, just need someone to look at this jacket here. A few buttons popped off, and the inside pocket tore a bit.”
“A-alright, doesn’t look too difficult to fix.”
“Perfect, estimated time I could get it ba…”
“Are you from out of town?”
What am I doing? Why did I just interrupt him?
“Yes. Doing some personal work for my investment company.”
Just as I suspected.
“Figured. Your car and all. Really nice.”
“Thanks, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Are you busy this weekend? I have a whole lot of nothing going on Saturday, and I would love for someone to show me around the area.”
This isn’t actually happening.
“I…my goodness, yes, I’d love to. I try to organize myself a bit on the weekends, but I’ll make an exception this time. Did you want to get dinner somewhere?”
Alicia, Alicia. Dinner? He didn’t ask for a date, you idiot.
“That would be wonderful. Can we meet here? Six sound like a good time?”
“Works for me. I’m sorry, I never got your name though.”
“Andre.”
“I’m Alicia. Nice to meet you.”
“The jacket; sorry, how much are your prices?”
After making his transaction, Andre left T&C with a smile, which was reciprocated on Alicia’s behalf. When his car pulled out of the lot with a roar, she began thinking about the oddities of life. How interesting it was that the life of a boring twenty-something seamstress can go from dull to magical in just a few days. She discovered her passion. She procured a prospective spouse. Don’t get too excited. But she couldn’t help it. Andre was interested in her, God knows why, but she saw it in the way he looked into her eyes. The way he spoke to her. Gentle, yet flirtatious. The thought of marriage were impossible to expel from her imagination. One date. I better grab some new perfume. She decided to pick up something on the way home—something with an unpronounceable French name. It smelled fruity, like blood oranges.
“Anna, you’ve got to come downstairs” were the first words Alicia spoke when she returned to her duplex that evening. Anna was her quiet roommate, also in her twenties, who had ultimately given up on the idea of love. After graduating from college, her long-term significant other broke all contact, and moved to California with another girl; no explanation given. She and Alicia got along so well because the same thing had happened to her a few years back, albeit, not to such a severe degree.
“Trying to get some sleep up here, I hope this is some damned good news.” Anna bounced down the stairs in her pajamas and ruffled her hair a bit.
“You won’t appreciate the subject matter, but you won’t believe it either. I met someone today.”
“No. Oh please no, Alicia, you know how I feel about this kind of stuff. Spare me.”
“I knew you would say that, but hear me out.”
“Alright.”
“He’s handsome, he’s fit, and I don’t want to sound like one of those girls, but he has money. He owns an investment company and drives a beautiful car.”
“Oh, so you’re gold digging now. Congrats.”
“Not the point, Anna. He was interested in me. In me. That’s never happened before, you know that. I’m always the instigator, never the instigated.”
“And?” Anna’s blank face told Alicia that she wasn’t impressed.
“Well, we’re going on a date this Saturday.”
Anna gave her a thumbs up and began walking up the stairs.
“Wait, c’mon. Anna, I want you to help me.”
She paused mid-step. “Look, I don’t want to be involved in your little love life there, Alicia. Sorry, but you’re on your own.”
“The dress, Anna.”
“Did you just say…?”
“Yes, I want to borrow it.”
“If you want to give him the wrong impression, then sure, you can borrow it.”
“I know what I’m doing, Anna. I think I know what I’m doing.”
The dress was given the nickname of the “Velvet Devil” following Anna’s otherworldly experience she had one evening when wearing it. After a couple years of romantic solidarity, she decided to purchase this dress on a whim, and go out for an evening with her friends. In ten minutes she had attracted the attention of over twenty men, most of which were much older than her, and after the seventh forced pick up line, she decided to call it a night. I blame the dress, she told Alicia. It’s sexy and flattering, but it’s certainly not worth that kind of trouble. Excuse me while I take a very long shower.
In Alicia’s mind, it was worth that kind of trouble. There was no way that she was going to release a catch like Andre that easily. Truly, Andre’s money was not her main goal, but it certainly was not a negative attribute. It meant he was proactive. Independent. He would be able to take care of her, both financially and emotionally. The very idea made more than just her skin tingle with excitement.
2
Saturday morning approached with creeping anticipation. It was Friday now, and Mr. Davis had still not returned for his pants. Better call him once more. Another car swung into the driveway as soon as she picked up the receiver. Not Andre, to her disappointment. No, this time the car was much more recognizable. An old man with a wooden cane crept out of the driver’s side, and straightened his back with a wince. Mr. Davis had arrived. Alicia double checked her tissue paper wrapping job, and hid it the present behind her back as he wobbled through the shop’s door.
“Young lady, I can’t tell you enough how excited I am for these pants. Couldn’t make it in yesterday ‘cause I got lunch with my nephew, and yadda yadda, you know how life is.”
“No
worries at all. Here you go, I even wrapped them up for you.”
“By God, has Christmas come early? I love it young lady, thank you so much.”
“You have to read the tag before you can unwrap it.”
“The inspirer. How in God’s name did I manage to acquire such a title as that?”
“I hope your new pants can answer that question for you.”
Mr. Davis unwrapped the soft white tissue paper with delicate excitement, and upon revealing the first exposed part of Alicia’s masterfully stitched inseam, he let out an audible gasp. In his eyes, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed, which absolutely perplexed the dumbfounded seamstress.
“I take it you like them?”
“My dear. Oh, my dear. A’right, a’right. The wonderful job that you’ve done on these pants is reminding me of something, and I must tell you the story, I simply must. Do you have time to hear me ramble?”
“Certainly.” Alicia responded with a warm smile.
“When I graduated high school—oh, so many years ago, now—I developed an affinity towards fashion and clothing. Obviously this is no longer the case, seeing as I’m currently wearing socks with sandals, but anyway. I became interested in fashion, so I moved to Europe under the guise of studying English abroad. My friends back in the states would have mocked me endlessly had they known the real reason for my move. During my time there, I met a beautiful woman who was passionate about starting her own clothing line. We both fell in love. We married soon after, and she used to tailor my clothing, sometimes against my wishes. And she would try to teach me; my god, I could never get it down. Much harder than it looks. My point…my point is that I’ve never seen such a wonderful customization job since hers. It’s amazing, really.”
“Oh, well maybe you could bring her by the shop one day, I’d love to show her around.”
“Oh dear, I’m afraid not. I lost her a long, long time ago. She was a free spirit—had a mind of her own, and one evening she slipped out of our room while I was sleeping, and left me alone in Paris. Never saw her pretty face again.” A small tear began to build in the corner of the old man’s eye. He dabbed it dry with his sleeve.
The Seamstress (An Erotic Love Story) Page 1