The Gift of Fashion

by Taki Drake

  Drawn from her contemplation by Nicholas’ return to the never empty bag, Genevieve watched with bated breath as the next thing that appeared from the sack was… A basket.

  For a moment, the Clothier froze, wondering if this was the gift or the package. That question was answered by a cry of joy from Henri. “Please, oh please, is that one for me? It is so Parisian, so French it makes me homesick.”

  Nicholas laughed, saying, “Yes, indeed, my friend. It is for you. It is the iconic shape of a French basket, deep enough to hold things in their proper position, yet possessing the ability to be closed in the middle top, keeping its contents safe.”

  Henri had already slithered over to the basket and was busy exploring it. His voice was muffled as it echoed up from the base of the basket, “It’s lined! It’s even lined with French patterns. Oooh, in the bottom is layered lace. Merci! A thousand thanks!”

  The image of the tape measure with his head down into the bottom and his backend flipped up on the top of the basket tickled Genevieve’s sense of humor. Covering her mouth with her hand, the Clothier attempted not to laugh out loud. She didn’t want to hurt Henri’s feelings, but he just looked so funny!

  Once again, Nicholas reached into his bag of gifts. This time, it was a box wrapped in fabric and laced with a ribbon tied in an elaborate braid. Pausing for a moment, Nicholas drew a deep breath before he turned to Gingher.

  Holding out the package to the fabric shears, Nicholas said with a slightly wavering tone, “Thank you, my friend. Not only did you surmount your own shyness to offer your services, but you were kind enough not to ridicule me for having let myself go. Your magic pulled the dullness and despair from not only my hair but my soul and has let me shine.”

  The shears rose in the air and twirled around in front of Nicholas. Swooping toward the old man, the handle of the shears softly slid down his cheek in a gentle caress. Genevieve felt tears come to her eyes and only force of will kept them from sliding down her cheeks. This moment was too precious to stained with tears.

  The serious and tender moment lasted only a short time before the excited fabric shears zoomed through the air like a raptor on a kill dive to effortlessly slice through the ribbon and fabric. With a little help from his friends, Gingher soon had his package unwrapped. Everyone froze in surprise.

  The gift was a consummate work of art. Heavily jeweled, it looked like a cross between an expensive jewelry case and a sword sheath. Gingher was speechless. He slid his tips in and out of the sheath spinning around in sheer joy.

  Both Nicholas and Genevieve had soft smiles on their face as they watched the shears playing. In a quiet tone, the old man said to the Clothier, “It was made by a very young student jeweler by the name of Gustav. He’s actually Russian but is learning the craft from his uncle, a Frenchman. I thought it was a perfect gift and it’s very unusual. Very few people make jeweled items like this. Most of the fancy jewelers make either personal adornment or decorative items like boxes or eggs.”

  Genevieve answered him, equally quietly, “You know it’s perfect, don’t you? It doesn’t matter if that young man ever does another piece, becomes famous or not. This is something selected specifically for Gingher. The fact that you picked something so appropriate makes him feel special, and that is one of the biggest gifts you can give someone.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. It’s amazing how much your life can turn around when you find the right shape for it.”

  The Clothier and Nicholas stood in companionable silence for a few minutes as each of the assistants admired their own gifts and those of their friends. Their joy in their own items was no greater than the emotion they displayed in their enthusiastic compliments for each other’s new possessions.

  Chapter 11 – Humor and Gratitude

  Nicholas leaned over and pulled another package from his bottomless bag. This one was wrapped in plain paper and secured with twine. With a strange smile on his face, the old man handed it to Genevieve, saying, “I will leave this one in your care. Feel free to give it to her whenever you think appropriate.”

  The woman held the package and stared at the old man briefly, trying to understand why he wore such a strange smile. Looking down at the package, she realized the source of that expression. Written clearly on the outside of the box were the words, “Do Not Open Until” and a series of stick figures. Above it to the left of those instructions was the name of the recipient, Star Child Grace.

  Genevieve uttered a short laugh, and said to Nicholas smilingly, “You know that this will drive her mad with curiosity, don’t you?”

  “I am counting on it!”

  The Clothier carefully placed the package in an open area on the shelf against the side of the room. She thought to herself, It will be very interesting seeing how Star Child Grace reacts to both package and the note to wait. I wonder what language that is at the end of the sentence. Something about it says that it’s ancient.

  Nicholas cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention toward him. When he saw that he had the audience that he wanted, he turned toward Genevieve and said, “I wanted you to know that I can feel the difference in how people respond to me. Before, when I walked by people, I got waves of fear and distrust. Now, people are pleased or happy. I know part of it is how I look, but the rest of people’s reaction comes on how I present myself.”

  Genevieve could feel her cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “I am very pleased that it has made that big of a difference. I know we helped, but it wouldn’t have worked without your commitment and efforts.”

  Nicholas smiled happily at her, and said, “I had a lot of fun shopping for you. There were so many things that I could think of to get you, but I restricted myself to a few.” With that, he reached once more into the bag and pulled out a wrapped sandwich.

  Genevieve’s mouth started to water immediately. She knew that smell. How on Earth had he known that Farley’s was her favorite delicatessen? It was the one place that she would treat herself when she needed cheering up. Three blocks away from where she had worked, it was on her walk home, and she had planned on stopping there the day that she stormed out of her old job at the House of Bertrand.

  Her hands trembling, the Clothier unwrapped the sandwich. Hot pastrami on rye, still steaming. <> said Doucet.

  Genevieve was too busy biting into the perfect mouthful in the center of the sandwich to answer him. Closing her eyes, she was lost in bliss. Tentatively, almost as if he were afraid of rejection, Doucet slipped into a closer consciousness, and she knew that he was sharing her sense of taste and smell.

  << Yum! I can see why you love it! >>

  As if summoned by magic, which he may very well have been, Najeer was suddenly in the studio. Sniffing appreciatively, he asked, “May I please taste a small amount. If I can, I will try to learn how to make that dish for you.” With an emotional wrench so hard it hurt her down to her toes, Genevieve broke off part of her sandwich and handed it over to the Cook. She felt Doucet’s greed in her mind and knew that if the BHB started serving the sandwiches, her days of cooking supper were limited.

  The Clothier turned to thank Nicholas, only to find that the smiling man was holding out a newspaper to her. With a definite twinkle in his eye, he said, “I thought you might like to see how the ad looked and so I brought you both the newspaper that talks about what the ad is being used for and a color copy so that you can see how nicely the clothes that you made me came out.”

  “How wonderful!”

  Genevieve took the paper and immediately went over to the work table and laid the newspaper and the color image out so that everyone could crowd around to look. Even Isaac rumbled his way across the floor and stretched slightly up so he could see the beautiful color image of a cheerful, happy man holding a glass with a red and white sign above it. The caption underneath the picture said, “My Hat is off to the Pause that Refreshes!”

  The sign on the wall behind Nicholas’ f
igure said “Coca-Cola.”

  Everyone was complimentary about how well Nicholas appeared. His rosy face and big smile went very well with his cheerfully curly hair and beard. Henri was very curious as to who the artist was and if the business meeting was as significant a success as Nicholas had hoped.

  “Oh, it was. I interviewed with this really friendly guy by the name of Archie. We hit it off and spent lots of time talking. In the end, he simply told me I was hired. I understand that he was trying to get people to be cheerful this time of year and I’m all for spreading cheer. They had me come back the next day. That way I could meet the artist who was going to do sketches.”

  “Monsieur, the artwork is quite well done. Who is the artist?”

  “A guy named Haddon. He was a bit shy, but once he warmed up, he didn’t quit talking the whole time he was sketching me. Then Archie and I went for a really nice lunch, and when we came back, the first illustration was done. There were a couple of small changes and the next day they placed the ad in a magazine.”

  “That is extremely rapid for an artist. Most of the painters I know take much longer.”

  “Maybe it’s different when they’re doing artwork for newspapers and magazines. Anyway, I had other things to do around there, and so I ran a few errands. I did a little shopping, and then went back to make sure that I could get the finished picture and grab some things that I knew Genevieve particularly would like.”

  Turning his attention to the Clothier, Nicholas suggested that she looked on the back page where there was a black-and-white copy of the ad and some very nice commentary. Scanning it quickly, Genevieve saw that the writer particularly had mentioned the excellent work with the garments and how fashionable they were. Smiling with pride, she read that section aloud to her team.

  They were all very gratified that their work was recognized, and Genevieve’s companion bond with Doucet hummed with their joint satisfaction.

  With a slight clashing of gears, Isaac asked Nicholas, “It looks like you were drinking the beverage. How good is it?”

  “I thought it was a lovely beverage, but I’m afraid that it’s never going to catch on. The idea of bubbly flavored water, even if it has interesting flavors, is very different than what most people drink. I just don’t see it making any inroads on the commercial beverage market at all. Nice idea though.”

  Isaac ruminated for a little bit, before saying, “I think you might be surprised. It’s about time for something radically different to appear.”

  While they were talking, Genevieve was flipping through the newspaper, glancing to see if there were any articles or news items about something that she knew. The first thing that caused her shock was the date of the newspaper. It was years after her disappearance.

  Her face must’ve reflected her shock because Yoko immediately asked what was wrong. Stammering a little, the stunned woman pointed to the date and asked, “How could time go so quickly there when it hasn’t here?”

  Nicholas rushed into speech, saying, “I did warn you. This place is separate in space and time, and some of the other dimensions go faster, and some go slower.”

  “I remember. It just was a shock, and I think I’m okay. It means that pretty much everything I knew is gone.”

  Still slightly disoriented by the reality that had just slapped her in the face, Genevieve continued to flip through the pages of the newspaper. Freezing in shock, she stared at the picture at the top of the second to last page. She knew that face. It was Bertrand, the man who had stolen her work and had finally driven her out of her job and to the Badger Hole Bar.

  Eyes round with interest, Genevieve read the article. As she moved down the page, a smile appeared on her lips, and her grin grew wider millimeter by millimeter. She read through the story twice just to make sure that she had not misunderstood. When she was done, her precise movements to re-fold the paper and place it carefully on the table did nothing to fool Doucet who was chortling in the back of her mind.

  Apparently, her disappearance after the fight with the bully had made Bertrand a suspect in her disappearance. Although the authorities could not convict him of any crime associated with her, the investigation into his activities had uncovered other criminal acts.

  Taken to court for the discovered crimes, the self-important bombast and bully had been fined all of his money and thrown in jail for years. According to the news article, Bertrand’s wife and children had left him, and he was in poor health. His most recent plea to be released had just been denied.

  << Both justice and karma are relentless in their pursuit of balance, >> said Doucet.

  Genevieve’s smile was hurting her face, but she didn’t care. It eased her soul to realize that the person that had tried to steal her ideas and refused to give her credit for them was not allowed to profit from his crimes. The Clothier felt a sense of closure, of completion. The burden of her anger evaporated, and she felt younger and freer.

  Chapter 12 – It is the Thought

  Nicholas called her name, and she turned to look at him, noticing that he had a good size box in his hands. Startled, she cried, “You can’t possibly have more gifts for me. I did not do something that requires all of these presents.”

  “The gifter is the person who is allowed to judge what’s appropriate to give or not give. It’s not the gifts themselves, it’s the thought that really counts. And my thoughts about you are that you deserve to be presented with things that make you feel good. So that is what I did.”

  Dropping the box down on the worktable, the old man stepped back and with a gesture invited her to open the box. Unable to think of a single solitary thing that she would’ve expected him to buy her, Genevieve lifted the top of the container and looked in.

  Memories came crashing back. There was a drawing of her mother and father, one of the few pictures that she had of them. Scribbled by a traveling artist, it had been a treasured possession. She remembered leaving on her last morning on Earth and touching the fragile sketch in farewell, as she did every morning.

  The rest of the contents were odds and ends that had been in the small room she had rented. They were mostly items of remembrance, a tea set from her grandmother, small souvenirs of life with her husband, and some of her old, beloved tools. Each one of them felt like another thread that held her together.

  The Clothier was shaking, and she knew that she must look terrible, so great was her pent-up emotion. Doucet flooded their companion bond with reassurance and love. The feeling of having a big brother there to support her was something very new and another gift to be treasured.

  Desperately attempting to regain control, Genevieve looked at Nicholas with tears pooling in her eyes and let her soul peek through. She knew it was the right thing to do when she saw how the old man’s eyes welled with tears, even while his smile grew greater.

  Keeping that intense emotion for too long was impossible. Carrying that weight of feeling, that sense of connection to another person was more intimacy than Genevieve could possibly bear. Something needed to break the tension, but she was helplessly caught in its thrall.

  Luckily, Nicholas was not so entrapped. Reaching one last time into his bag, he brought out the one item that was guaranteed to snap Genevieve back into the Clothier.

  Fabric. Nicholas was holding an arm full of gorgeous, flowing silks. They were unlike anything Genevieve had ever seen, even in her well-supplied studio. She barely had her hands on them when she was piled on from all directions.

  Henri was sliding through the fabrics, slithering the edges of his tape measure through brilliant reds and gorgeous purples. Yoko rolled her pincushion shape from fabric to fabric, humming to herself.

  Isaac was excitedly chattering to Gingher about what they could make with such beautiful material, and the fabric shears was almost incoherent with anticipation.

  Forgotten was any melancholy or sad memory. Genevieve and her team were all pumped up and ready to go again. Energized by the beauty and variety of the fabrics that N
icholas had brought, they moved immediately into a design session with energized conversation and inventive brainstorming.

  Nicholas sat and watched them for a while, pleased with their reception of his gifts and happy that his last one had been the perfect finish for their evening. As he sat there, he noticed that there was a pile of garments over on one side that looked like they were constructed from the fabrics that Genevieve had planned for him.

  Ignored by the chattering teammates, he made his way over there and realized that the garments were indeed his. It was quite evident from the sign printed in Genevieve’s neat handwriting, attached to the bundled garments. Smiling to himself, he picked each of the bundles up and placed them back into his bag. Even though there were many garments, they all fit.

  Talking quietly to himself, he said, “Every time I use this bag, Papa, I think of you. It has been a wonderful gift.”

  Finally breaking free of their design frenzy, Genevieve noticed that Nicholas was packing up. She immediately rushed over to him, practically wringing her hands to say, “I am so sorry that we have been ignoring you. Please don’t feel like we are trying to kick you out.”

  “Don’t be silly, Genevieve. It is nothing that you have done to force me away. You all been welcoming. I feel that anytime I come back, I will be received with joy.”

  “All of us would be happy to see you again,” she said to the accompaniment of the rest of her team encouraging Nicholas to stay.

  “No, I’m very sorry, but I have a very complicated delivery that I have to take care of. This is my busiest time of year, and I have a big responsibility. I’ve never been late on my deliveries, and I don’t want to start with this one. After all, winter is my preferred time of year for contracted services. I don’t get overheated and the nights are longer.”

  Henri asked, “Do you have to deliver at night? That seems very strange.”

  “Well, this delivery contract is a very important one, and the idea was that the goods were to be delivered in the evening while most people were asleep. That way when they get up in the morning the things that they’ve been waiting for are there, and they get to start their day off with a happy note.”