The Fashion Designer

by Nancy Moser

  She sat with full reluctance bordering on a pout. “My party was not a failure.”

  “No, it was not. But there was a mismatch between the fashion and the customer.”

  “My friends simply need more time to place their orders.”

  Annie didn’t want to be cruel, yet she didn’t want Eleanor to base her future on false facts.

  Luckily, Mr. Sampson did it for her. “I heard comments during the party,” he said.

  “Comments? You haven’t told me about any comments.”

  “I didn’t wish to crush your dreams.”

  Her eyes widened. “Crush?”

  Annie hated to witness Eleanor’s pain. “I’m very sorry.”

  Eleanor stood again, waving away their words. “This can’t be.” But then she settled in front of the fireplace and faced them. “Tell me. Tell me what was said. I need to hear it.”

  Annie looked to Mr. Sampson. He would know how much to say.

  He cleared his throat. “The ladies commented that the dresses were pretty but too simple for their needs.” He hurried on to add, “I feared there would be no orders, which is why I forbid you calling from Chicago. If you’d known about this earlier, you never would have been able to enjoy our time with family.”

  “You babied me.”

  “I protected you.”

  Eleanor leveled Annie with a look. “If you had created the dresses I had in mind…”

  Annie returned to her original argument. “But those wouldn’t be the dresses we talked about. Those wouldn’t be the dresses that sparked our collaboration.”

  “Some collaboration. You did what you wanted to do.”

  Ouch. “You’re right. But I based my decisions on our initial vision. Our target customer was a working woman, providing them fashion that was pretty but functional. At a reasonable price.”

  Annie watched Eleanor’s face and saw her mind at work. It was fascinating to see her eyes flit about then finally calm. Eventually, she nodded. Once.

  “You are right.”

  “I am? I mean, you agree?”

  Eleanor held out her hand to her husband. “Oh, Harold. Why did you let me flutter away with Eleanor’s Couture?”

  He stood and took her hands in his. “I couldn’t stop you. You know that’s true.”

  She nodded. “I made a fool of myself.”

  “You gave your friends the chance to see new fashion. I know they enjoyed the party.”

  “I cringe when I think what they are saying in private.” She sighed deeply. “But alas, it is what it is.”

  “That’s a commendable attitude, my sweet.” He kissed her forehead.

  After a moment’s pause, Eleanor broke away from his touch and stood alone in front of Annie. “I admit my fault in this, my wild hare. But I’m afraid I can’t continue to be a part of—of whatever you’re doing with the fashion, Annie.”

  What did she mean?

  Annie asked the question aloud. “What are you saying?”

  “I no longer wish to be a part of our collaboration. Keep whatever money we’ve given you, but there will be no more funds.”

  Even though she’d recognized this possibility, to have it fully happen…“But—”

  Eleanor’s declaration seemed to sap all her energy. She turned back to her husband and fell into his arms.

  “There, there, sweet wife. It’s over now.” He cocked his head toward the door, indicating Annie should leave.

  Somehow she did. Somehow she walked through the gates of the mansion. Somehow she crossed the street, and somehow Annie sat upon the steps of St. Patrick’s.

  Words demanded release. “They can’t do that!”

  Three pigeons flew away.

  They could do it, and they did do it.

  And it was Annie’s fault.

  “So that’s where we stand.” Annie looked around the workshop, as though gauging the power of her story.

  “Well then,” Edna said with a sigh.

  “Well then.” Vesta’s thoughts scurried wildly. When there had been no orders, when Annie had gone to the Sampsons to tell them the bad news, Vesta had prepared herself for some sort of repercussion. She’d been around businessmen her entire life. With failure came harsh consequences.

  Or new opportunities. Since she’d privately predicted the Sampsons might financially bow out, she’d come up with her own solution. Her heart began to beat faster, but before she could say anything…

  Maude stood with a flurry of waving hands. “Come now, ladies. Don’t you understand the essence of Annie’s words?”

  “I do,” Edna said. “We have no more money coming in.”

  Maude waved the phrase away with a hand. “No, no—”

  “Don’t ignore it,” Edna said. “It’s an enormous point.”

  “It is. But not the most important one.”

  Edna sat back, crossing her arms. “Enlighten us.”

  “The point is,” Maude said, looking at each in turn, “we are now free.”

  “Nothing’s free,” Edna said, shaking her head.

  “We are free to become the business we want to be.”

  Annie’s face softened with relief, and she pulled Maude into an embrace. “I knew I could count on you to see the silver lining.”

  “Silver,” Edna huffed. “That’s what we need.”

  Vesta raised a finger, needing to know one more thing. “Is Mrs. Sampson going to continue with Eleanor’s Couture on her own?”

  “I don’t think so,” Annie said.

  “She must have been crushed.”

  “Gutted,” Annie said. “But her husband is there to help her through it. He saw the writing on the wall even before the soiree. He’ll be there for her, no matter what.”

  Vesta smoothed the fabric of her skirt against her legs. “I envy her that.”

  Annie put a hand on Vesta’s arm. “Is Richard giving you trouble?”

  She avoided Annie’s gaze. “He still doesn’t understand what good I do here.”

  All the ladies piped up with words of affirmation.

  Affirmation. What an extraordinary phenomenon. “You’re very kind.”

  “You’re very needed here. We could not have done this without you.”

  “Sean could talk to him,” Annie said. “You should have told us he was making things difficult.”

  He makes all things difficult.

  It was time for her idea. “Actually…” Vesta straightened her shoulders. “I would like Sean to talk to him but about something else.”

  “What else?” Annie asked.

  “Money. My money, to be exact.”

  “You have money?” Maude asked.

  Vesta nodded. “My grandparents left me an inheritance. A fairly sizeable sum, if I remember correctly.”

  Annie’s face looked hopeful. “Do you think Richard will fund our business?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  She loved being able to say what came next. “I will fund our business. It’s my inheritance. It’s my money. You and Sean take me home tonight, and together we’ll speak to Richard.”

  There were hugs all around.

  It felt wonderful to be able to finally contribute something tangible to the cause.

  After Sean got home from work and was filled in on the day’s drama, he, Annie, and Vesta left for the Culver residence in Brooklyn. Their mood was hopeful as they traveled over the Brooklyn Bridge under the cover of many prayers.

  “I remember the first time you and I crossed this bridge,” Annie said, pointing to the walking level above the level that carried carts and automobiles across. She pointed toward the East River flowing under them. “We spoke of our dreams on that walk.”

  “I remember,” he said. “It was New Year’s Day, this very year.”

  She shook her head. “That is hard to fathom. So much has happened in 1912.”

  “What did you dream about?” Vesta asked.

  Annie put a hand to her chest. “On my part? Not much
. At least not at the time. I am a woman of facts, and the fact was, I came to America as a maid, ran away from service, found a job at Macy’s—”

  “Met me.”

  “Met you and let you lure me to Butterick, where I met the Sampsons.”

  “It was like you were given stepping stones.”

  It was an apt way to put it. “From there I went to Paris and became engaged.” She kissed Sean’s cheek. “I was saved from being on the Titanic and decided to take a chance on becoming a fashion designer.” She looked at Sean. “A step which is now in jeopardy.”

  He shook his head.

  “Don’t shake your head. Everything I said was true.”

  “I’m not challenging the facts but the dream.”

  “Ah yes,” Annie said. “You are the true dreamer.”

  “What are your dreams, Sean?” his mother asked.

  “I dream of knowing I made a difference. I dream of knowing there is a definite reason I was born, a reason I exist now—not a hundred years from now. I dream of knowing that a portion of God’s greater plan gets fulfilled through me.”

  “Your selfless dreams shamed me then, as they shame me now.”

  “That was never my intent.” He pulled her hand around his arm, and she felt his warmth through her jacket. “I merely wanted—and want—you to see with a larger scope. Think beyond our jobs—which may or may not have much to do with our true purposes. Our lives can touch people. That is why we all exist.”

  Vesta smiled lovingly at him. “I am so proud to be your mother.”

  Annie saw him blush. “And I am so proud to be your wife.” She kissed his cheek and remembered one last thing. “You said that God made us different, you and I. You fantasize and I organize.”

  “And together we make a whole.”

  “I envy you both,” Vesta said. “It’s like you were meant for each other. Unfortunately…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “No, Vesta,” Annie said, for she could tell that something significant was on her mind. “Finish your sentence. ‘Unfortunately…’”

  Vesta hesitated. “I shouldn’t.”

  “You should,” Sean said. “Tell us.”

  She continued five full steps before she relented. “Unfortunately, Richard and I do not share an intertwined connection like you do. He is what he is, and I am what I am, and rarely do we meet. Never, actually.”

  “Surely that’s not true,” Annie said.

  Oddly, it was Sean who answered. “Surely, I believe it is.” He relinquished Annie’s arm to take his mother’s. “I know you have not had an easy life with him—that Father causes tension where we all would prefer peace.”

  There were tears in her eyes as she looked up at him. “Somehow it comforts me to know that you’ve noticed. I’ve often felt quite alone.”

  “Forgive me for noticing but not acting,” Sean said. “When I was younger I didn’t think it was my place, and when I was on my own, I became absorbed in my own life.” He swallowed hard. “And—and I left you to deal with him alone. I’m so sorry, Mother. I abandoned you.”

  She patted his arm. “Don’t be silly. You grew up. You set off on your own path, just as you should have. Part of it is my own fault. I avoid conflict at all costs. I should have been stronger, should have stood up to him.”

  “Perhaps,” Sean said.

  Vesta looked at him, surprised. But then she nodded. “It is nice to have this sort of conversation, as adults. You are a fine man, Sean. A fine son.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. “And I could not ask for a finer mother.”

  Annie was moved by their connection. She’d never felt any type of closeness with her own parents. Disdain, anger, and control had ruled. There’d been no love—especially after her brother Alfie had died. Through it all Annie had been forced to think in terms of survival. Facts took precedent over emotion.

  Sean broke through her memories with a glance. Then he told Vesta, “You are not alone anymore, Mother. For Annie and I are with you.”

  “Absolutely,” Annie said with complete sincerity. She shoved aside the memories of her own family’s lack of love and embraced the chance to love her mother-in-law. It was as though she’d been given a second chance.

  Another second chance.

  Reaching Brooklyn, they turned toward the Culver home.

  Toward another person who was ruled by facts: Richard.

  When the three of them arrived at the Culver home, Richard was not yet home from work. It was probably for the best, for it gave Vesta time to tell the cook there were two more for dinner and time for her to do some digging, as she tried to find the papers regarding her inheritance.

  Unfortunately, she believed they were somewhere in Richard’s desk, in his study, which was his private domain—with Vesta emphasizing the word private.

  That being the case, Annie was nervous that the three of them would be caught snooping.

  She checked the clock on the mantel. “What time did you say he usually arrives home?”

  “Six thirty.”

  “It’s six twenty-eight now.”

  Sean closed a drawer and stepped toward the door. “We’ll have to have the conversation without the papers, Mother. We don’t want to risk—”

  “Risk what, may I ask?”

  His father stood in the doorway.

  They all froze. Vesta held a stack of papers. “Richard.”

  “Vesta.” He nodded to the other two. “What, may I ask are the three of you doing in my study?”

  Vesta let out a small whimper. But to her credit, she stood tall and held the papers to her chest. “I was looking for the papers regarding my inheritance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…because…”

  Sean came to her rescue. “Because the fashion event at the Sampsons did not go as well as we’d hoped.”

  “Our ties have been cut,” Annie said. “They are no longer our patrons.”

  “Which led me to offer the money from my inheritance,” Vesta said. “I believe in their business. I see it firsthand, every day. I want to help it succeed.” Richard crossed the room, took the papers from his wife, returned them to a drawer, and shut it with a decided click. “No.”

  “What do you mean?” Vesta asked.

  “No, we will not give money to further fund this failure.”

  “It’s not a failure, Father. We simply had a different vision for the business. The Sampsons wanted to cater to their wealthy friends. And we want to create clothes for the masses.”

  “Who have no money to pay for them.”

  Annie took offense. “We will price the dresses so they are affordable.”

  “Garnering little profit.” He shook his head and sat at his desk. “As a businessman myself, it would seem the Sampsons have the better take on the situation. If you must design clothes, design them for people who can pay for them.”

  Sean stepped toward the edge of the desk. “But also as a businessman, and as the owner of a dry goods store, I know your customers are not wealthy but are ordinary people with modest incomes.”

  “I am providing goods that people need to survive. Not dresses that are…frivolous.”

  “Our clothes are not frivolous,” Annie said. “That is why they will sell. They are fashionable but functional. And frugal.”

  “Cheap.”

  “No, Richard,” Vesta said. “Now you’re being rude.”

  “And you weren’t rude, rifling through the personal items in my private study?”

  Could they come out and begin again?

  “We apologize for that,” Vesta said.

  “As you should.” He took a cigar from an oak humidor and lit it, tainting the air with its foul odor. “If the failure of your fashion event isn’t a sign from God to stop this foolishness, I don’t know what is.”

  “It’s a sign we need to go back to what we originally planned,” Annie said. “Mrs. Sampson was the one who led us astray. We let her, because she and Mr. Samp
son were the money. But we quickly came to see that we needed to return to our initial vision.” She thought for a short moment about telling him of her revelation at the window but decided that as a facts man, he would not respond well to any talk about feeling God’s direction.

  “I’m asking you to trust us, Richard,” Vesta said, taking a spot at the other corner of his desk. “The three of us have worked long and hard on this business. Yes, God closed a door with the Sampsons but—”

  “To be precise, I closed the door on them before the fashion show,” Annie said. The astonished look on Richard’s face made her wish she’d not been so forthcoming.

  “In what way?”

  “I chose to stick with our initial plan and didn’t bow to Mrs. Sampson’s lofty aspirations.”

  “A stupid mistake,” Richard said. “Wealthy women spend money.”

  “It was a necessary decision,” Sean said. “But yes, a decision that has caused us to need funds. I really wish you’d back us, Father.”

  “No.”

  Vesta pointed to the drawer. “Which is why I have offered to use my inheritance money.”

  He leveled her with a look. “Your inheritance money?”

  Vesta swallowed. “The money my grandparents left me.”

  Richard puffed on the cigar, sat back, and sent smoke rings through the air between them. “You have no money, my dear.”

  “Of course I do,” Vesta said. “They left me nearly ten thousand dollars.”

  “Which transferred to me, as your husband—by law—as soon as we married. What was yours became mine.”

  “You could let her have it, Father.”

  “I could. But I will not.”

  Vesta’s voice broke. “I don’t care about the law.”

  “I do.”

  Silence settled around them like a fog. Vesta looked at Richard, and Richard looked at Vesta—who was the first to look away.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” She ran out of the room.

  Annie ran after her. She heard Vesta’s footfalls on the stairs then a door closing. Annie followed her upstairs. She knocked. “May I come in?”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come then.”

  Annie found Vesta sitting on a bed, her shoulders slumped, a handkerchief dabbing her eyes.