DESIGN FOR LOVE

by Murray, Bryan

  Her brain still in overdrive, she sat back and surveyed the scene, checking off in her mind all the minor tasks still to be done before the curtain rolled up on her line.

  Looking around, she could see more than a dozen of the country’s high visibility models starting to arrive for their role with the big fashion houses. Each seemed to be followed by a small army of make-up and hair stylists and fussy, old, prune-faced dressers. Francine could never understand why the latter always seemed to look so round-shouldered, emaciated and each seemed to have the proverbial cigarette forever drooping from their lips.

  At one stage, Serena, a top model, walked by and gave her a friendly smile. “Let me guess, you’re new here at the zoo?”

  Francine smiled and nodded. “I guess so. And now I know why you call it a zoo!”

  “What’s the name of your line?” Serena asked.

  “Classique Fashions.” even as she said it, Francine wondered if it didn’t perhaps sound a rather trite name, but Serena replied.

  “Hmm, I like the name, hope I like the fashions. Good luck!”

  “Thanks,” Francine smiled in gratitude. ‘I’m going to need it!’ she murmured under her breath as Serena was whisked away by a cigarette smoking dresser!

  Outside the Fashion Center, it was as if the September night had finally come to life. The street was absolutely blocked with elegant limos and taxis as the glitz and glamour of New York’s fashion scene started to emerge from their penthouses and mansions.

  Had Francine been able to take in the scene, she would probably have been even more nervous than she already was. Men in Tuxedos escorting women wearing the most expensive fashion names were everywhere as the select few made their way up the ornate steps of the Fashion Center. Out front, the hungry paparazzi were present in full force hoping to perhaps get a slinky boob shot of a super model or an equally curvaceous thigh shot of some celebrity dame exiting her limo.

  However, oblivious to all the glitz and glitter outside, Francine and her team were going through their final routines and sequences, Vince hopping around in the background like a pregnant parrot, emanating squeaks and squeals that the original feathered vocalist would have been proud of.

  Champagne and hors d’oeuvres were flowing out front when Francine took a quick peak through the curtain. There, at the end of the catwalk, she could see the ‘vultures’ gathering. From her viewpoint, they all looked like elegant middle-aged men and women, pens poised to either make or break someone’s heart that very evening. She hoped against hope that it would not be hers.

  Finally, the lights lowered, a fanfare played and suddenly the show was under way. The smooth-talking Compere warmed up the audience with some light-hearted banter, listed the Fashion Houses that would be on display and within seconds the first Model was on the catwalk to initial polite applause.

  To Francine, just to hear the name ‘Classique’ being mentioned in the same breath as Verucci, McGarry, Derona and Iliac, together with other household names in the fashion world, already had her almost comatose with trepidation. The strings she had pulled with help from her father in the form of big favors called in, as well as excellent references from the people who trained her in college, had at least got her to the show. What she did from hereon in was up to her raw talent and a heck of a lot of good luck.

  Vince as usual was a tower of strength at her side. He squeezed her arm to bring her back to reality. “Okay, Princess - this is it - two more fashion houses and its little old us!”

  Francine blinked back into reality. “You’re right, Vince. So, from the top, let’s go over everything one last time!”

  With that, Francine, Vince and the models went into a final huddle before the moment of truth arrived.

  Out in the audience, a newly-shaved, elegant-looking Roger arrived, taking a seat, like the TV hound that he was, that would give him good exposure and light angles. Two older women, elegantly-dressed, amply endowed cleavages to go with it, were already eyeing the young newscaster hungrily. The latter’s built-in radar had also sensed their curiosity as he switched on his ‘this is the good-looking guy on the news’ smile especially for their benefit.

  Closer to the stage and nearer to the beginning of the catwalk, Gerard, looking strikingly handsome as usual in a dark green silk dinner jacket accentuating those piercing eyes, was seated next to Jeri. The latter looked absolutely picture perfect in a deep purple sheath dress that looked like it had been painted on in all the right places, yet flaring beautifully in all the other right places. Together, they made a very striking couple.

  As the refreshments and libations continued to flow freely, the very selective audience became more relaxed and appreciative of the cascade of quality fashions unfolding before them.

  When it finally came to the heart-stopping moment when Francine’s creations made their debut, she heaved a sigh of relief as her upbeat music, pleasantly contrasting models and her use of vibrant colors, appeared to keep the upbeat tempo and polite applause still alive, even if the applause did seem a little less vociferous than that awarded to the bigger fashion houses.

  Francine worked frenetically behind the scenes, tuned in to every sound from the audience, finally proving to herself that thus far, she was holding her own in world-class company.

  In a brief moment of self-indulgence, she permitted herself a quick glance at the ‘vulture pit’, only to see the non-committal faces of all there, some of them making notes.

  What would have gratified her more, however, would have been if she could have seen the slow, nodding look of appreciation spreading over the face of a certain member of the audience, a man in a dark green dinner jacket.

  Next to Gerard, Jeri gave his arm a squeeze and she whispered in his ear. “What do you think now about Classique Fashions, Mr. Doubting Thomas?”

  He smiled accommodatingly. “Hmm, not bad!”

  “Only not bad?” she prodded his arm reproachfully

  “Well, all right. Reasonably good, it’s, it’s just…” his voice trailed off.

  “Just what?”

  “Well, so far, darling, there’s nothing that jumps out at me, catches my attention.”

  “My, aren’t we the picky one?”

  He looked serious for a moment. “Look, darling - I need about 6 more pieces to make the Spring Collection complete. I’ve seen one with Verucci and one with Iliac - but I’m still four short and I’m afraid that our Miss Dubois hasn’t made sufficient impact yet, okay?”

  Jeri pouted. “Okay.”

  Finally, to polite applause, Francine’s last creation left the catwalk as she and Vince hugged each other in satisfaction. Vince was grinning, his voice back to normal. “Well, Princess. It looks as though we may have perhaps made it past the New York vultures!”

  Francine gave him a hug. “I hope so, Vince, but I’ll tell you more after the reviews are out in the morning. So, let’s get the girls ready for the finale. I need to change before we hit the catwalk.”

  Vince shoved her in the direction of the changing rooms. “Well, get to it, boss, there’s only one more house to go before the finale.”

  Francine nodded and headed for the corner of the changing area. She had agonized over what to wear herself in the traditional walk down the catwalk by each designer and their models.

  Having been blessed with a beautiful figure, with a straight posture and curvaceous, arching breasts, she had decided to leave her shoulder length auburn hair down and at Vince’s suggestion, she had selected one of her own designs. It was a delicate teal colored sleek pant suit with matching shoes and a white silk blouse enhancing what was still left of her Texas summer tan.

  As she gave herself a final look over in the mirror, behind her reflection, she saw Serena approaching. The tall, elegant model smiled. “Nice job, girl,” she eyed the outfit that Francine was wearing. “Your design too?”

  Francine nodded.

  “Pity one of the models didn’t wear it,” Serena grinned. “Wouldn’t mind one like t
hat myself.”

  Francine turned to face her, a warm smile on her face. “In that case, consider it done. Just leave your card and measurements with my guy Vince - you can’t miss him.”

  Serena grinned. “Let me guess, the Rainbow Man with the chrome dome?”

  “That’s Vince. Just tell him you spoke to me. We’ll have it made up and send it to you with the compliments of ‘Classique’.”

  Serena gave her a hug. “Great! And I’ll make sure I wear it and spread the name. Good luck, gotta go, bye.”

  “Bye.” Francine smiled as the tall, elegant model disappeared. ‘Now, there’s a body and face I could use in my fashions!’ she mused as Vince came rushing in, a look of appreciation on his face when he gave her the once over.

  “Wow, you look great, Princess. First time you’ve let your hair down in a while. Definitely suits you!”

  “Thanks, Vince. All the girls ready?”

  “Yep. Just gave them the once over. I spoke with the organizers, the final walk will be in about five minutes.”

  He looked at her for a moment and then gave her a spontaneous hug. “Hey, girl. We did it! We actually got through the show without mishap. Now we just wait. Jeez, I hate this part!”

  “Me too.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Out in the audience, the last of the models for the Verucci line, the last and most prestigious fashion house to participate, had just finished to tumultuous applause.

  Gerard was busy making notes as Jeri looked on wide-eyed. As the applause died down, the Compere continued her smooth repartee.

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure you’ll all agree that this was a superb collection of fashions from a number of outstanding designers. In the tradition of this event, we always insist that these beautifully talented and creative people get to receive their own special accolade from their peers and so, here, surrounded by their own beautiful, elegant models are the people who made this special evening possible.”

  Behind the curtains, Vince had shepherded all Francine’s models around her as they waited for their call.

  “So, first of all, ladies and gentlemen, here is the inimitable Enrico Verucci with his charming, elegant models!”

  The crowd rose to their feet in spontaneous applause as the debonair Enrico cruised down the catwalk surrounded by beautiful, stunningly-dressed women.

  As the applause finally died down the Compere continued, “And now, let’s hear your appreciation of ‘Classique’ Fashions, an exciting new design house, headed by its designer/owner, Ms. Francine Dubois!”

  The heartwarming applause, at least to the finely tuned ears of Francine was like pure adrenaline as she made her way down the catwalk with all her models stepping jauntily alongside.

  As they approached the ‘vulture pit’, she could see the polite applause from at least a third of those seated there, but even if not a single person were applauding, it would not have made a scrap of difference. Francine was on a cloud, a cloud that nobody was going to knock her off!

  When they turned and headed back towards the stage, Francine noticed Gerard for the first time. He was standing there smiling at her, a strange look in his eye as though he were suddenly seeing her for the first time. Francine had not realized that this was the first time that the handsome business tycoon had actually seen her with her hair down, looking more beautiful and radiant than ever.

  Next to Gerard, Jeri was applauding wildly as Francine gave her the tiniest of waves before they went back through the curtain.

  But why wasn’t Gerard applauding? Did he not like her fashions? Was she still not measuring up in his eyes? All of a sudden, it didn’t seem to matter as Vince was pushing a bubbly glass of champagne into her hand with a huge grin on his face.

  “Well, Princess,” he beamed. “That sure beat the hell out of the Dallas Show!’

  She smiled ruefully. “And then some!” she hugged all the models briefly and then saved the biggest hug for Vince. “Well done, you guys!” she beamed.

  Almost as she finished speaking, it seemed as if the Press were now on the move. Reporters and photographers were buzzing around everywhere backstage with Verucci and Iliac in the far corner being totally besieged as flash bulbs popped non-stop.

  As the champagne and caviar continued to abound, Francine found herself being confronted by one of the middle-aged fashion mavens she had noticed in the ‘vulture pit’. He fixed her with a beady eye, almost like a bird about to dissect a worm. Francine in turn, flashed her best smile.

  The man was down to earth, matter of fact, a no nonsense kind of reporter who looked like he had done this a thousand times and each time it had become more boring.

  “Christopher Matlin - New York Times.” he began.

  “How do you do, Mr. Matlin.” Francine answered politely.

  “Chris will do,” he sounded the soul of brevity. “So, first time, hey?”

  She kept her best smile switched on. “First time for what, Chris?”

  A twinkle appeared momentarily in his eye before it disappeared. “First time in New York, I mean?”

  She kept smiling. “Yes, that’s right.”

  He stroked his chin lazily, as if thinking out loud. “Not bad, Kid. Not bad!” he continued stroking. “Needs a bit more polish, more pizzazz, but okay! You heading for Monte Carlo?”

  Inwardly, she was screaming with joy as outwardly she tried to keep a polite calm face. So he thought it was okay. Heck, she would take ‘okay’ any day over the inconsiderate Gerard Cinclare’s mention of needing ‘major surgery’ back in Dallas.

  She replied in a friendly, low voice. “As a matter of fact, yes, we’ll be in Monte Carlo. I take it you’ll be there also, Chris?”

  He gave a wry smile. “You’re damned right I’ll be there,” then he looked around and leaned a little closer. “A word of advice, Ms. Dubois.”

  She looked him straight in the eye unflinchingly. ‘Here it comes!’ she braced herself.

  In a quieter voice he simply added. “The finale needs work. Try and come up with something that’ll knock ‘em dead in the aisles!”

  She smiled, at least inwardly, knowing full well that if her special red dress had been ready, she would indeed have had her big finale right there, whether or not it would have knocked them dead in the aisles was another matter. Keeping a straight, interested face, she put a friendly hand on his arm, lowered her voice a little further. “Thanks, Chris, I’ll work on it. See you on the Riviera, then?”

  He gave a half-smile and mumbled the words. “You bet!” before he wandered off into the crowd, scribbling in a small note pad as he went.

  ‘Whew! That wasn’t so bad!’ she mused, only to be immediately besieged by a blowsy woman from the Chicago Tribune who apparently didn’t like a single item in her line!

  CHAPTER 14

  And so, almost an hour after the show had ended, the reporters had their headlines and all the movers and shakers had moved on to one elegant party or another. Francine and Vince finished packing the clothes they brought and were ready to leave.

  Up to this point, Francine had looked in vain to see if Gerard was heading in her direction, but he had been nowhere in sight. She also looked for Jeri who had seemed quite enthused earlier when Francine had walked past her on the catwalk.

  So, where was the self-assured Mr. Cinclare? Just as she was about to leave the Auditorium, she heard a familiar voice behind her. It was Jeri.

  “Francine, hang on a second?”

  Francine stopped to let the elegant blonde catch up. “Hi, Jeri.” was all she could manage, still looking around for signs of her protector/tormentor, but he was still nowhere in sight.

  Jeri approached and gave her a big hug. “Everything looked great, Francine, just great!”

  “Well, thanks, Jeri,” she managed perhaps a little too stiffly. “And Mr. Cinclare’s opinion, since he doesn’t seem to be around?” she could have bitten off her tongue for asking the question, but there it was out and beyond retract
ion.

  Jeri’s lovely face suddenly clouded over. “Oh, he liked it all right, Francine, but when it was over he had to rush to another meeting.”

  Francine took it in stride. “Oh, I see.”

  Jeri sounded almost apologetic. “I’m heading over there now to join him, then some dinner party or other later. I stayed on to place his orders and now I’ve got a cab waiting. Just wanted to tell you it looked great. Bye.”

  Francine gave a lame wave of her hand. “Bye.” was all she mumbled as Jeri disappeared. Now she felt totally deflated. He had instructed Jeri to place his orders, but none of them were with

  ‘Classique’! ‘Damn it!’ was all she could manage to herself as Vince walked up, pleasantly tipsy, an almost empty glass in his hand.

  “Guess what?” he cooed.

  “What?”

  “We’ve already had three orders for the pant suit!”

  Somehow, the normally good news left her totally cold, unenthused, and empty. “Yes, but we didn’t get a bean from Cinclare!” she pouted.

  He put his arm around her reassuringly. “So what, Princess?

  That’s his loss. So, come on, snap out of it. You know, I really think we made a start tonight!”

  She managed a brave smile. “I think you may be right. Now, how about another drink?”

  “That’s my girl.” he purred as he ushered her towards the bar. When they reached the bar, Francine looked around suddenly realizing that she had not seen her erstwhile boyfriend until she spotted him in the far corner in polite, laughing conversation with the two well-endowed, older women, both elegantly dressed and almost jumping out of their cleavage to get at Roger.

  Vince also noticed the scene and whispered a little venomously in Francine’s ear. “Looks like our boy has him an audience!”

  Francine had also noticed the body language going on between the two women and Roger as the latter looked up and saw Francine and Vince watching him. He flashed his beaming smile, excused himself from the two women and came over.