“It’s a great idea.”
“And for the official premiere of The Turn of the Screw tomorrow night, my costume shop will be open too.”
The press night production that Lacey had attended was a preview, or a soft opening. Perhaps everyone would be calmer for the official opening, after the glowing reviews came out, she thought. Sokolov seemed less tightly wound than he had been the other night. Perhaps even Gareth Cameron would calm down and stop threatening to kill the leading lady.
“We set up buffet tables in here, we have caterers. The cast serves champagne in costume—carefully, I hope—and they have a meet-and-greet after the show. Let me tell you, it is a lot of work, but these evenings are very popular. And when our generous friends open their pocketbooks, Yuri is most happy.”
“And you?”
“I am happy when they don’t break anything. They always break something. Or spill champagne on a costume.”
“This must be your Lady Macbeth.” He nodded. Lacey focused on an elaborate ball gown, an explosion of black taffeta and gold lace. “Gorgeous. Will it replace the red dress from The Masque, for some lucky actress to wear to the Helen Hayes awards?”
“I have been thinking about that.”
“It’s your decision then?”
“Ultimately, yes. No one else here really cares, you know.” Except Amy Keaton, Lacey thought. He guided her to the center of the lobby. “We have the costume dress from The Snow Queen to offer too. Here she is—the Empress of Winter. Would this do?”
The empress costume Nicky pointed to was the focal point of the collection, set on a pedestal in the center of the workroom. The gown’s long, sleek silhouette featured dramatic bell sleeves that dipped low and a flaring pointed collar as wide as the shoulders. Its inspiration seemed a mix of medieval, Renaissance, and pure fantasy. The costume shimmered in white and ice blue, in organdy and tulle, glittering with faux crystals. A tall ice-blue-and-white headdress ended in dangling elongated “ice” crystals that would make the actress appear tall and regal. And frightening.
Kinetic Theatre did not specialize in the warm and cuddly. All their shows seemed to have an overtone of gloom, even the fairy tales. And Hans Christian Andersen wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs, Lacey thought.
“This is dazzling. I imagine any woman would love to wear it.”
“And some of the men.” He grinned. “So you approve?” It was her turn to no. “That is the answer I wanted to hear.”
He turned and threw open the glass doors to the costume shop. The hard-wood floors inside were polished and the windows, which looked out over the street, sparkled. The space felt light and airy.
“Welcome to my little kingdom, Lacey Smithsonian.”
Sokolov seemed to like using her whole name, the way Gregor and Olga sometimes did. Must be a Russian thing.
Lacey turned around and around, taking stock of the workroom. Bolt after bolt of fabric covered one wall, arranged on multiple shelves by colors, from light to dark in every shade. The materials ranged from bleached muslin, used to make the mockups before the actual costumes, to silks and satins and velvets that invited her to touch. Lacey resisted the impulse. Everything was neat and clean, perhaps obsessively so. She stopped to admire the array of fabrics. She could feel Sokolov staring at her.
“Sorry. Fabric has the power to put me in a trance.”
“I can see that. Don’t worry. It’s charming, really.”
“Do you mind if I take some photos?” She had her digital camera in her purse. “I could always send our staff photographer over later, if you prefer.”
“Not at all. Be my guest.”
She snapped a few shots of the displays and the mannequins. “This place is very organized. You are a perfectionist, I take it?”
“I must confess to a tiny compulsion in that direction. I simply like things organized. Really, it’s so much easier and faster. I don’t waste time hunting for things, nor do my tailors.”
“You produce beautiful costumes.”
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “Most of the work is made here on site.”
His large well-used drafting table was perched near the corner next to the front windows. With his chair against the wall, Sokolov had a view of the entire shop, as well as the streetscape with its old-fashioned apartment buildings and pretty brownstones in a variety of colors and styles.
“It’s a lovely kingdom, Nicky. I adore the view.”
“As do I.”
For the next evening’s event, easels were set up with large poster boards where fabric samples were attached to sketches of costumes, colored in pencil. These also represented ensembles from some of Kinetic’s popular shows and concepts for future shows. The blond wood sewing tables were pushed against the walls, their sewing machines tucked away under covers. Lacey didn’t spot any scissors or any other obvious weapons.
So much for there always being scissors.
“This is a wonderful space,” she said.
“Thank you. When we moved to this location, I had to redesign everything.”
“You did? How was it different?”
“They wanted to shove me in the back in an airless room and put the costumes up here in the light where they would fade. Can you imagine?”
“They don’t understand fabric,” Lacey said. “It’s lucky you do.”
“I think so too.” He laughed. “The closets are in the back, where the clothing is better preserved.”
“Where? I didn’t see closets.”
“We own the building next door too. It connects through a doorway. That space serves as the closets and the scene shop. It’s very handy. I’ll show you later.”
They settled in near the windows. Sokolov sat at his drafting table and Lacey sat in a chair near him. She didn’t mind that her seat was lower than his. If he was comfortable, he’d be a better interview.
“You wanted to ask me questions?” He sipped from his mug.
“It’s what I do.” She pulled out her notebook and pen. “Let’s talk about the process of costuming. How do you begin preparing for a new show?”
“With the script of course, once the play is selected. I sit in on the first cast read-throughs. I look for nuances and listen to the actors deliver their lines, study their interpretation, and ponder how to express all of that in my costumes.”
“Who selects the plays?”
“The artistic director picks the plays. Yuri. Mostly. At least he thinks he does. It’s important for him to think so.”
“And the costumes?”
“I design the costumes, the overall look of the wardrobe and the production. Occasionally I am busy with another project and they job in someone else, but as the resident designer, I do most of the shows. Once I sewed much of it too, but these days I’m less hands-on with the day-to-day sewing. Before I begin to sketch, there are endless discussions about the setting and time period, the look and feel.” He paused for some coffee. “With Shakespeare for example, directors always play with the time period, like a signature. Victorian, the Twenties, the Third Reich, the Old West. Or give me a break: the future. Always a big concept.”
“You don’t like that?”
“Sometimes, but it is a fight, the setting. Every single time we decide on a Shakespeare play.”
“Have an example?”
“Elizabethan settings for Elizabethan plays are so passé, Yuri says. Me, I like it, because it is rarely done. Of course Kinetic is known for our daring Shakespeare productions. Yuri must have it different. Provocative. Far-fetched. Crazy. It must have a point that hits you over the head with a bat. Tell me, why must Richard the Third always be portrayed as a Nazi or a Fascist? Everyone in black and gray. So boring. The Tempest must be set on Mars like Forbidden Planet, or in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina. Yes, Yuri wants to set it in the French Quarter next spring. Prospero will be a Doctor John-type voodoo wizard, Caliban his Creole slave. Ariel is a psychic. Miranda is a showgirl.” Sokolov shook his head as Lacey s
miled, taking notes.
“And with Romeo and Juliet, why does it always have to be set in the Fifties with motorcycle gangs?” he went on. “A mixed-race couple. A same-sex couple. I have no objection, but it is quite the fashion, so it is overdone. Fine, I say to Yuri, why only black and white people? Be brave. Paint the Capulets green and the Montagues purple! That would at least be colorful.” He sighed and reached again for his coffee.
“That too would be a statement.” Lacey had to stifle a giggle. “Interesting, though. Does Yuri interfere with your work?”
“Of course he does. It’s his job. The artistic director is the prince of our little island, the boss. He has a PhD, he has done everything, he can do everything I do, costumes, makeup, music, choreography, set design, more. But I am better at some of those things. That is all I am saying, though perhaps you shouldn’t put that in your article.”
“Perhaps not.”
He again sipped his coffee, then waved his cup. “It’s all been done. Really, all these concepts make me tired. Trust me. Kinetic Theatre produces classic stories with original music and dance. We don’t need another concept. I am always telling Yuri, we don’t need this concept, that concept. This is one concept too many. Sometimes two, sometimes three too many. Then it’s just concept, concept, concept. You lose the play.”
“Are they always so dark? The plays?” she asked. “I mean, your examples all seem to be dark.”
“We have presented comedies and they are very popular, but few and far between. Like Chekhov, Bulgakov, Gogol. Perhaps it is our Russian character, you know what I’m saying?”
“A professor once told me the reason Russian novels are so long is because the Russian winters are endless and gray and cold.”
He clapped his hands. “Excellent analogy. Perhaps that is what makes us so somber. Winter always comes again. You have studied Russian history?”
“Only a little, in high school. Napoleon said he wasn’t defeated by Russia, but by General Winter. I was defeated by Russian history.”
“There is a lot of it. Like winter. And winter in Russia is something I don’t long to experience again, but perhaps it is in my bones.”
“When did you come to America, Nicky?”
He paused. “About fifteen years ago. I was lucky that Yuri had a job waiting for me.”
“You’re an actor as well. And a dancer?”
He put both hands up. “Only occasionally. A small role with a few lines is my preference. A little cameo turn. Make a plot point, get a laugh, get a tear, get off the stage. Like the Apothecary in Romeo and Juliet, my kind of part. But it’s instructive to put yourself in the actor’s shoes now and again.”
“You don’t feel the need to take a leading role?”
Now he laughed. “An actor’s life is not for me. I am content on the edge of the stage. I am not perhaps as serious as Yuri. Yuri is all theatre, all the time.”
“And Yuri decides the parameters of a production, including the setting?”
Sokolov picked an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve and flicked it into the air. “We have many discussions. I plant my seeds. Often he sees it my way.”
“When you design the costumes, time and place are important, as well as the script. What else do you consider?”
“The colors. The texture. The characters. The time of year, summer, winter, fall, or spring. Sometimes a play has more than one season.”
“And the fabrics, how do you choose them?”
“So many variables. How will they evoke the characters, whether he or she is rich or poor, rough or smooth, someone from the nobility or the working class. A doctor dresses differently from a lawyer or a teacher. I look for the essence of each character. Because our shows involve dance, I have to think how the materials will move, if they will stretch, how they look under the lights. I have to know how well they hold up and still look good when the curtain falls. And even if a character has no money, I never do the costume cheaply, and that is always an argument with Yuri.”
“Your costumes are gorgeous. But aren’t they a little heavy to dance in?”
“Here’s a secret. Usually, the principals act more than they dance. But yes, I always take the weight of a fabric into consideration.”
What about adding weight to a dress to make it hang correctly? For example, sewing Lenin medals in the hem? Or would that tip my hand? Lacey felt the tiny bulge of the spray bottle in her pocket. Let’s hold off on that question.
“In fact,” Sokolov went on, “whether the fabric will clean well is the biggest challenge. The cleaning bills here, they are monstrous. Yuri always complains.” He gazed out the window. “Yuri is my cousin, did you know that?”
Lacey tried to keep the surprise out of her expression. The men were of a similar build, but they didn’t look alike. “No, he didn’t mention it. Then again, I don’t know him very well.”
“He wouldn’t mention it. Families. You understand?” Sokolov seemed amused, as if Yuri Volkov would be annoyed.
Ah yes, families. Lacey thought of her mother and glanced at her beautiful diamond ring. She would have to tell Rose Smithsonian about her engagement soon. The sooner the better. “Yes, I understand about families.”
“Beautiful ring you have.” He noticed her glance.
“Thank you.” Every time she admired the way the diamond was tucked into the gold filigree of the antique setting, it warmed her heart. “It’s rather new to me.”
“It looks like an heirloom. You are engaged?”
“Yes.” She touched it with her finger.
“An engagement ring. It’s true.” He seemed rueful. “The good ones are always taken.”
“That’s not true. I’m not available anymore, but I have very beautiful and accomplished friends who have nothing but trouble with men. And it was no picnic for me.”
“Perhaps you are right, yet I suspect there is only one Lacey Smithsonian,” Sokolov said. “I sense a fascinating story there. The way you consider that ring.”
Lacey gave the ring a little polish. “I’m just very different from my family. I haven’t told them about the engagement yet. Now you tell me, why wouldn’t Yuri mention your family connection?”
“It’s Yuri’s way, and we are not very alike either. And maybe he doesn’t want people to think I get special treatment as family.”
“Do you get special treatment?” she inquired.
“Obviously. Because I am excellent at my job and because I demand it. Not because I am related to Yuri. Or maybe just a little.”
Sokolov was certainly confident of his place in the Kinetic universe. There was no lack of ego there either, Lacey noted silently. However, humble people rarely made news. Wait, I’m forgetting Mother Teresa and the Pope.
“You were telling me about your process,” she said. “Do you create the lights and set too?”
“Not the set, not anymore. I used to do the light plot myself. With the costumes I have a lot to do. Now I just oversee lighting and sets with the other designers. And the music and sound design, the choreography, that is another universe entirely.”
“You work freelance jobs too?”
“Maybe once a year or so. It creates new challenges to work with other companies. I usually find chaos and then they give me a free hand.”
“You’ve won Helen Hayes awards,” she said.
“You do your homework, so you know enough about me. I have a question. Is it true what they say about you?” He put his hand on her arm and stared intently. “You have something different, some special sense about clothes.”
“It’s not anything supernatural, if that’s what you mean. Anyone could see what I see if they only looked. Clothes have their own language.” Lacey gently took her arm back. “I’m merely amazed that people don’t realize what they say with their attire, or they think they say nothing. But every outfit tells a story. And too many people don’t want you to see who they are, but their clothes give them away. If only you bother to read them.”
“It’s a joke, really.”
Sokolov lifted an eyebrow imperiously. “I don’t believe that.”
Lacey played with her pen. “I have friends who say I have what they call ExtraFashionary Perception. As if it were a psychic thing. It’s not. It’s a joke.”
“Amusing to them, perhaps. But not a joke. You do have a sixth sense. You are a style psychic.”
She shook her head. “Not me. I’m not psychic.” Marie was psychic, and it seemed Russians loved psychics. Most of the time, Lacey was glad she didn’t have those abilities.
“Maybe just a little bit,” he said.
“I try to pay attention, that’s all.” She wanted to get the interview back on track, and off her. “Nicky, could you tell me about the production of The Masque of the Red Death. I know it was a long time ago.”
“Yes, long ago and not so long ago.” He jumped off his tall drafting chair. “Tell you what. Do you want to see the closets?”
“Of course.” She drained her coffee and stood up. “I’d love to.”
“Why are you so interested in the scarlet costume and that production?”
“Because they have a mythology. And because the production has a strange reputation. You can partly take credit.”
“You are talking about the actresses, yes?” He gestured for her to go ahead of him through the costume shop back into the upper lobby. He shut the glass doors behind them.
“Yes, how did that start? Your tradition of loaning out the dress?”
“With an actress who had small parts here. Not a great talent, but she was lovely to look at. She used to help out in the costume shop. She told me she had no money, nothing to wear to the awards. Wasn’t there one dress in the shop that she could borrow?”
“You took pity on her.”
“You could say that. I was tired of hearing her whine. I knew she would show off the dress well and that it would add to its notoriety. You could also say she slept with me. She did, but that had nothing to do with me lending her the dress.” He paused and reflected. “She was the only one where that happened. You have my word. Actresses. It is not practical to sleep with such flighty women.”
The Masque of the Red Dress Page 29