The Fashion Designer

by Nancy Moser

  “And your friends Iris and Jane from the Tuttles’ bakery,” Edna added.

  “Iris is about to give birth. But perhaps Jane.”

  “And seven other girls right here in the neighborhood. Most will think it’s a lark to wear such pretty clothes.”

  “That’s the spirit. Let’s gather some models.”

  “Perhaps if they agree, we could take their measurements right then and there,” Maude suggested. “That way I could start making the patterns.”

  “Sean and I are due for a visit to the Tuttles anyway,” Annie said.

  “There’s no time like the present,” Edna said.

  Maude took up her hat. “I agree. You head to the Tuttles’ this evening, and Edna and I shall gather some models of our own.”

  The heady aroma of fresh bread greeted Annie and Sean as they entered the Tuttle bakery.

  Upon seeing them, Mrs. Tuttle squealed and rushed around the counter to give Annie a hug. “It’s been far too long, girlie.” Then she held Annie at arm’s length and studied her. “Tá tú ag iompar clainne.”

  “What?”

  “Yer expecting, ain’t ye?”

  “I’m impressed,” Sean said.

  “So it’s true?”

  “It’s true,” Annie said. “How did you guess?”

  “After having five of my own, I have a sixth sense about it. You’re looking rather peaked and worried.” She touched Annie’s chin. “That means you’re having a girl.” She winked at Sean. “That all right by you?”

  “I am fine with either gender,” Sean said. He turned to Annie. “Peaked? Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “If a mother-to-be is glowing, it’s a boy. If they look haggard, it’s a girl. If you’d like to do the ring test, I could tell for sure.”

  “The ring test?”

  “You give me a strand of your hair and I attach a ring to it. Then you lie down and I dangle the ring over the baby. If it starts to make a circle it’s a boy; if it swings side to side, it’s a girl.”

  “Who thinks of these things?” Sean asked.

  “Wise people with years of experience,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

  Annie remained skeptical. “So the ring correctly predicted the gender of all five of your children?”

  “Three out of five.” Mrs. Tuttle shrugged and their attention was drawn to Jane coming forward from the rear of the bakery, wiping her hands from washing pots and pans. At the sight of them, the girl beamed.

  “How nice to see you!” Jane gave Annie an embrace. Then out of habit she put her raw hands behind her back. While staying with the Tuttles, Annie had taken over Jane’s washing chores for a short while until she was hired at Macy’s. She knew the backbreaking endless work of it.

  Mr. Tuttle finished helping a customer then locked up for the night. He handed Annie and Sean two rolls. “Last o’ the day.”

  “Come sit,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “You can eat, and we can have a visit.” While Mr. Tuttle started covering the leftover loaves, the rest of them moved to the back of the narrow shop and sat at a table.

  “Where is Iris?” Annie asked. “How is she faring?”

  “Well enough, though she’s down to the wire. It will be any day now.”

  “That’s why she’s upstairs helping with the children and not down here,” Jane said. “She’s getting so big it’s not proper for her—”

  “Jane!” her stepmother said. “We don’t say such things.”

  Jane reddened. “But it’s true. You yourself said Iris shouldn’t be out where customers could see her once she couldn’t hide it anymore. Annie understands. And she’s like family.”

  Am I going to have to hide away too? “Thank you for the sentiment, Jane. Indeed, you are all like family to me. If not for you taking us in after we ran away from service…”

  Jane nodded. “We still miss Danny.”

  Mrs. Tuttle crossed herself. “To think he would have been the uncle to Iris’s babe.”

  Annie welcomed the comfort of Sean’s touch to her arm. Being in this place, among these people, with the aroma of bread in the air, made her remember what life was like just a short year ago. She, Iris, and Danny had cut and run from their jobs as servants, impulsively giving up the known and venturing into the unknown of the city, hoping for a better life—or at least a more exciting one. Two girls of nineteen and seventeen, and a boy of twelve.

  But the exhilaration of freedom waned quickly when their money was stolen, followed by the ache of growling stomachs and weary bodies. They’d huddled in an alley that first night, second-guessing their decision. The Tuttles took pity on them, gave them a roof over their heads, food in their bellies, and jobs to earn their keep. The entire family was the salt of the earth. And the butter and the sweet.

  “In October it will be a year since Danny’s death,” Jane said quietly.

  Annie remembered the day when Gramps had brought Danny’s body back in the wagon. He’d been killed by a man who’d been obsessed with Annie, killed for standing up to him, all four-foot eight, eighty pounds of Danny against a man with evil in his heart.

  Mrs. Tuttle put a hand on Annie’s. “He’d be ever so pleased with your new one on the way, as well as his sister’s. Remember what he always said?”

  Together the three women repeated Danny’s wisdom, “Make the most of today!”

  Annie could still hear his voice and see the dimples of his smile and the twinkle in his eyes.

  Sean brought them out of their melancholy. “He’d be proud of all of you.”

  Mrs. Tuttle slapped her hands on the table. “That, he would be. He was always the encourager, bless his soul.”

  Speaking of encouragement…Annie turned to Jane. “Actually, other than a visit, I have come to ask Jane a favor.”

  “Me?”

  “You. Specifically you.” She was glad to give Jane some special attention as the girl received too little of it. “My friends and I are starting a fashion design business, and we are having a fancy party to show off our dresses. We need models to wear them. We wondered if you would be interested.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” Annie said. “Would you like to take a go at it?”

  “Would it take her away from work?” Mr. Tuttle called from the counter.

  “It would be in the evening. October the first.”

  Jane bit her lip, but there was a flash of pleasure in her eyes. “I would love to.” She looked to her parents. “Could I?”

  Annie was ready to argue if they said no. Jane was a wallflower because she never got out. Her entire world revolved around family and the bakery. Although she was not the prettiest of girls, Annie expected there was an inner beauty that could be tapped.

  Mr. and Mrs. Tuttle exchanged a long look. Finally he nodded. “If it doesn’t interfere with yer work.”

  Jane jumped to her feet, nearly toppling her chair. “When? How?”

  Annie laughed. “I’m glad you’re excited.”

  “What about me?” Mrs. Tuttle stood tall and smoothed her hands over her sturdy torso. “I’d like to wear a pretty dress too.”

  Annie wasn’t sure what to say. Mrs. Tuttle wasn’t stout, but she had a mature figure, far from lean. And yet…she represented an enormous segment of women.

  Annie looked to Sean and could tell he was considering it. “We are designing for all women,” he said.

  “Indeed we are,” Annie said. “Yes, I think you would make a delightful model.”

  Mrs. Tuttle turned toward her husband. “Hear that, hubby? I’s going to be a fancy model.”

  “Hmph,” he said. “Model, maybe, fancy, never.”

  Instead of taking offense, Mrs. Tuttle laughed. “Don’t mind him. And he’s right. What happens next?”

  “We are starting to sew the dresses, so what I need are some measurements.” She drew a measuring tape from her reticule, along with a small piece of paper and a pencil. “Perhaps we could step into the storeroom?”<
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  Just then Iris appeared from upstairs. She was enormous, her hand supporting her belly as she walked. Her attire was almost comical, as she wore a skirt pulled up under her bosom, making the front of it ride high enough to see her ankles. Her blouse—that Annie recognized—was only buttoned halfway down, the splayed ends tucked under the skirt. She wore an apron over the whole of the ensemble, a white flag that did nothing to enhance her condition, but rather drew attention like a banner marking a spot.

  Annie rushed to greet her, their embrace awkward.

  “Sorry, I can’t give you a proper hug,” Iris said.

  Mrs. Tuttle stepped forward. “Annie’s expecting her own.”

  Iris’s eyes grew wide. “I’m so happy for you! And you, Sean. Congratulations.”

  “Where is Thomas?” Annie asked.

  “He’s out delivering with Gramps.”

  There was a series of thuds from the flat above, causing them all to look upward. Then a cry.

  “That would be little Joe,” Iris said.

  “You’re still caring for the five of them?” Annie asked.

  “It’s not so bad. The older two will be in school soon. Though it is odd that all five will be the aunts and uncles of our baby, when they are but babes themselves.”

  So it was with mixed families. Mr. Tuttle had lost his first wife—the mother of Thomas and Jane. So there were at least ten years between the two of them and their five half-siblings.

  “I needs to sit.”

  Annie led Iris to a chair where she sank down with difficulty. So this is how I’ll be…

  Iris adjusted her makeshift maternity clothes around her middle. “Sorry for the way I look. It’s mighty hard finding something to wear anymore. I look like I’m trying to cover a barrel with a napkin.” She nodded to Annie’s middle. “At least you’re in the early part of it.”

  For now.

  “Tell me all the news of your life,” Iris said.

  While Sean and Annie told her about the business, the inkling of a new idea skittered through Annie’s thoughts. It was an idea so preposterous that she couldn’t let it land and take root without letting some time pass.

  That time came a little while later, after she’d taken the measurements of Mrs. Tuttle and Jane, and said her goodbyes.

  She and Sean rode the streetcar home. “You’re quiet, which either means you’re angry or planning something.”

  “The latter. Maybe.”

  “What?”

  Her thoughts were in the early stages that she normally wouldn’t share until they were more fully formed, and yet, perhaps they shouldn’t be formed. If so it was best to put an end to them sooner rather than later.

  “Did you notice Iris’s awful clothes?”

  “I felt sorry for her. She’s obviously very uncomfortable.”

  “She is. But it’s more than her physical discomfort that I found alarming. It was the shame she felt regarding her appearance.”

  “You are going to be in her condition in a few months.”

  Annie hesitated. She didn’t want to be rude, but…“I don’t want to look like her. Surely there are maternity garments that can fit a woman’s changing figure.”

  “Are there?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Even if there are, I was thinking that maybe we should add a few such outfits to our line.”

  He scoffed. “Not only are you asking ordinary women to be your models—including the rotund Mrs. Tuttle, but now you are going to show up at the soiree with a model wearing maternity garb?”

  “Well, yes. Why not?”

  “Did you ask Iris if she would model? She can barely walk.”

  “The model can’t be Iris. She’s due any day. But I’m sure we could find some woman in the neighborhood to do the honor. Or maybe…maybe I could model whatever we come up with.”

  Sean removed his derby, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. “When do you plan to tell the Sampsons about all this?”

  “Never?”

  “Surely you jest.”

  “That’s too long?”

  “You’re going to surprise Eleanor? That will not go over well.”

  Annie looked out the window as they passed ordinary women, the women she wanted to dress. “If I tell her, she’ll try to stop us.”

  “Probably.”

  “I don’t want to be stopped. This new idea feels right. God opened this door. It’s our responsibility to walk through it.”

  “That’s what you said about our initial affiliation with the Sampsons. That was a door we walked through. So is this another door? Is it God’s door? Or Annie’s?”

  Once again she took solace in the view.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sean entered their flat while Annie was at the table, sketching. “I’ll be right with—”

  But then a smell assailed her, forcing her to turn to him. “You smell like fish.”

  He held a package wrapped in newspaper. “With good reason. I bring you dinner.”

  She breathed in and out a few times to gauge the thought of it against her sometimes queasy stomach and was relieved to find no adverse reaction. “Thank you for that. I do need to eat. But let me finish this design first.”

  He put the fish in the ice box and pulled two potatoes from his pockets, along with a cone of green beans.

  She pointed at the beans. “Let me nibble.”

  He handed her the newspaper cone and she pinched off the end of a bean and began to eat it. But then her attention was drawn to an advertisement.

  She dumped the green beans on the table.

  “What are you doing?” Sean asked.

  She unfolded the cone, smoothed the paper, and read the advertisement aloud. “‘Maternity Corsets. Lane Bryant is the largest house in the world selling maternity apparel daily to thousands of expectant mothers.’”

  He looked over her shoulder. “There’s a picture of a woman wearing a corset. In a newspaper. I’m shocked they allow it.”

  “So am I, but the point is, they did. And the larger point is that I need to go to this Lane Bryant and see what they are offering in maternity clothes before I create clothes for our line.”

  “Where is the store?”

  She looked at the ad. “Twenty-five West Thirty-Eighth Street. I think that’s close to Fifth.”

  “Not too far. Do you want me to come with you?”

  She shook her head adamantly. “A man in a maternity shop? I think not.”

  “I agree. Go tomorrow and take Maude along.”

  It was agreed.

  Annie looked down at the noted address then at the nine-story building in front of her. “Twenty-five West Thirty-Eighth Street. This is it.”

  Maude nudged her. “You could just read the sign above the door.”

  And there it was. LANE BRYANT. Annie put a hand to her midsection. “Why is my stomach tight with nervous knots?”

  “I have no idea. As far as anyone inside knows, we are just shoppers. You are expecting, you know.”

  “But I would like to meet Lane Bryant. The courage she showed by placing an advertisement for corsets…”

  “Lane might be a man.”

  Annie shook her head adamantly. “A man would never think of creating maternity wear. Lane has to be a woman.”

  Maude shrugged. “She might not even be here.”

  It was true. And yet, Annie had a feeling she would meet Lane Bryant, and a deeper feeling that it would be an important meeting. If Maude had asked her to dissect her feelings, she would have been at a loss, but that didn’t make them any less real.

  “Let’s go.” She took Maude’s arm, but Maude seemed to be looking toward a woman with a blue hat going into a brownstone a half-block away.

  “Do you see someone you know?”

  “No,” Maude said quickly. “Not at all. Let’s go in.”

  Once inside the shop, Annie was immediately impressed by the beautiful clothes on display. She fingered a luscious crepe.

  “May I he
lp you ladies?” a clerk asked.

  “I—we—were wondering if Mrs. Bryant was here.”

  “Mrs. Malsin, you mean,” the woman said.

  “I’m sorry, I thought—”

  A thirtysomething woman stepped toward them. “There’s no reason for you to think otherwise,” the woman said. “I am Lena Bryant Malsin. And you are?”

  “Annie Culver. And this is Maude Nascato.”

  “Nice to meet you. What has brought you into Lane Bryant this day?”

  Maude quickly said, “She’s expecting.”

  Mrs. Malsin beamed. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

  Although Annie was eager to see the fashion, she didn’t want to proceed under false pretenses. “I am indeed with child, and yet, I am also here for another reason.” She noticed some customers listening in. “Can we talk somewhere private, please?”

  “About what, may I ask?”

  “About fashion.”

  The woman’s wariness turned to pleasure. “I can think of no better subject. Come with me.”

  They were led to a small table and chairs in the back of the store. Mrs. Malsin moved some fabric swatches aside. “Please. Have a seat.”

  Once they were settled, Annie began. “Miss Nascato and I are starting our own line of women’s fashion.”

  “Congratulations. Who is your customer?”

  Such a direct question. Annie suddenly found it hard to pinpoint.

  Maude intervened. “We’re not sure as yet. We are presently working on designs that will be showcased at a fashion soiree at Mrs. Harold Sampson’s home next month.”

  Mrs. Malsin nodded once. “For the upper crust then.”

  “Yes. And no,” Annie said.

  “You must be more definitive, Mrs. Culver. That is one of the keys to success: define your customer then design for them.”

  “I fear that’s the root of it,” Annie said. “Although we have the backing of Mrs. Sampson, and though our current designs are being made in silk and organza—as she requested—I am not sure she and I—”

  “We. Not sure that she and we,” Maude corrected.

  Annie took a fresh breath. “I’m torn between designing the clothes she wants us to design and designing the clothes we want to design.”