The Dream Dress

by Janice Thompson

  After a couple of minutes, he released a slow breath and gave me a brusque nod. “So, zat’s it zen? Zis is vhat I get for all I’ve done for you?”

  “Demetri, please let me explain.”

  A wild-eyed look came over him, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “Explain how you stole one of my designs and called it your own?”

  “W-what?” Was he kidding?

  “Explain how you talked one of my brides into using it under false pretenses?”

  “Demetri, no! I would never do that. Please give me the benefit of the doubt here. It’s the least you can do.”

  “Zee very least. Not zat I owe you zat, you . . . you . . . traitor!”

  “The truth is, I design wedding gowns too. I-I always have.”

  “Puh-leeze.” He rolled his eyes. “Where are zeese sketches she refers to? I have no doubt you’ve copied one of my designs and called it your own. When I have zee proof, you vill not only lose your job, you vill find yourself on zee end of a lawsuit.”

  “This is ridiculous!” Anger welled up inside me, and I felt as if I would cry. “How can you accuse me of this with hardly any explanation? You know me better than that.”

  “Obviously I don’t know you at all. I never even knew you vere a so-called designer.”

  So-called? Ugh!

  “It’s true, Demetri. I’ve wanted to talk to you about this for ages. And for your information, I didn’t show Nicolette my designs. She found my sketchpad and—”

  “Gabi, just go.” With a wave of his hand he dismissed me.

  “Go? Where?”

  “Wherever liars and traitors go.” He gestured toward the door. “I vill be here phoning my lawyer. You can expect a call.”

  Shivers ran down my spine at that announcement.

  “I can find another material girl, no problem. Zay are a dime a dozen.”

  “Exactly.” I pressed my balled-up fists against my waist and faced him head-on. “Material girls are a dime a dozen. But girls like me, girls who excel at wedding dress design—we’re harder to come by. Much harder, actually. You go ahead and call an attorney, Demetri. When you see my sketches—which are nothing like anything you’ve ever designed—you will know in an instant that my designs are my own. So there!”

  Courage grabbed hold of me in that moment. Underneath Demetri’s ever-present glare, I held my head high and marched back to my office, where I packed up my things, including my dress forms, and lugged them one by one out to the car. Kitty and the Dynamic Duo looked on, their wide-eyed stares now boring holes through me.

  Sure, I’d left before. And I’d come back at his bidding. But this time . . . no, this time would be different. There wouldn’t be any returning to the scene of the crime. For while I’d envisioned myself hard-pressed under Demetri’s thumb, unable to fend for myself, I now realized the opposite was true.

  He wasn’t the boss of me.

  And that suddenly felt mighty good.

  I Won’t Dance

  Part of the joy of dancing is conversation. Trouble is, some men can’t talk and dance at the same time.

  Ginger Rogers

  One good thing about leaving my job at nine o’clock in the morning—it meant I had the rest of the day free to work on Scarlet’s dress. When I arrived home, I bared my soul to Mimi, who pacified me with chocolate. Truffles, to be precise. Oddly, she didn’t look worried about my lack of income. In fact, judging from the carefree expression on her face, she didn’t seem particularly troubled about anything.

  Before settling in to work, I telephoned Mama and gave her the news. I could tell she had her concerns, but she offered nothing but sympathy. After that I decided to call Jordan to fill him in. I hated to interrupt his workday, but I knew I couldn’t make it through the rest of the morning without telling him. He answered on the third ring, sounding a little breathless.

  “Hey, Gabi, I was just thinking about you.” His cheerful tone served as a direct contrast to my somber mood.

  “Hey,” I managed.

  “You calling from work?” he asked. Before I could answer, he added, “I’m at the gym. On the treadmill, actually.” That explained the breathlessness.

  Well, no point in beating around the bush. Might as well come out with it.

  “I . . . I got fired this morning.”

  “What? Again?” He laughed but then grew serious. “I’m sorry, Gabi. You mean, for real?”

  “Yeah, for real.”

  “What happened? Wait, hang on. I need to get off the treadmill.”

  “That’s pretty much what I did. Well, the proverbial treadmill, I mean.” I gave a weak laugh.

  I spent the next few minutes filling him in. With a knot the size of a golf ball in my throat, I choked out, “I can’t go back. I mean, even if Demetri begs, I really can’t go back this time.”

  “Good for you. Hold your ground, girl. You don’t need him anyway.”

  This prompted a “how in the world am I going to survive?” outpouring from me.

  Jordan listened in silence but had his say at the end. “I don’t have all of those answers, Gabi, but I know someone who does. Have you prayed about it?”

  A lengthy pause followed. “I . . . haven’t. But I will.”

  “Good. Because no one can really tell you what to do. But I’m sure the Lord has a plan, and I’m convinced it doesn’t include going back into that little closet and working with Ginger and . . . Hem-ry.”

  “I told you, he’s not Hem-ry.”

  “Right, right. Stitch?”

  “No.” I sighed. Time to come clean. “His name is Demetri.”

  “Right. I know your boss’s name is Demetri.”

  “No. The male dress form. I named him Demetri because I enjoy sticking pins in him.” I groaned as I realized how awful that sounded as I spoke it aloud.

  Jordan busted out with a laugh so loud that I had to pull the phone away from my ear for a moment. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said once he calmed down. “Seriously.”

  “Not really that funny, actually. I keep thinking that I need to forgive him, and I try, but every time I do, he pulls another stunt and I’m back to being mad at him again.”

  “Oh, trust me, you’ll have plenty of people in your life willing to annoy you daily. Ask me how I know.” He paused. “But I still think it’s for the best that you’re out from under Demetri’s thumb. You didn’t need to be there. You’ve crossed out of Egypt and into the Promised Land, Gabi. It’s scary, sure, but God’s got your back. And I know he has a plan. Just promise me you won’t let him sucker you in one more time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if he offers you your job again, you won’t take it. Don’t go back to Egypt. To slavery.”

  “Oh, I won’t, trust me.”

  “Good. Remember this day. Circle it on the calendar so you never forget the day you stepped into the water. And leave behind some stones in the river to remind yourself not to go back.”

  “Stones?”

  “Yes. Pretty sure I remember this story because of the tie to my name. The Israelites left twelve stones in the Jordan River as a reminder of what God had done when he stopped the flow of the water so that they could pass over. Kind of a cool way to put the past in the past.”

  “So, you want me to find a river and drop some stones in it?” Maybe the Gulf of Mexico would do instead.

  “No.” His voice grew more serious. “I want you to rename the dress form. Call him Hem-ry or Stitch or Fred, but don’t ever call him Demetri again. Let go of the past, Gabi. Forgive and move on.”

  Forgive and move on.

  Those words propelled me long after I ended the call with Jordan. As I fidgeted with the beautiful front panel of Scarlet’s gown, working and reworking the beading design until I had it just right, I pondered his words.

  Don’t go back to Egypt.

  I should embroider that on a sampler and hang it on my wall. Then, if and when the moment of temptation came, I
wouldn’t go back. I would look at the words and remind myself that my current unemployed life, no matter how scary, was the Promised Land. Well, the outskirts of the Promised Land, anyway. I could trust God with my future.

  Passion to work on Scarlet’s dress now fueled me. I pinned the paper pattern to the expensive fabric and observed the cut-out pieces. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get much of the sewing done before Scarlet and her aunt arrived at 6:30, but I did manage to make considerable progress on the bodice.

  All the while, I prayed. In fact, I filled God’s ears—not with complaints but with heartfelt ponderings, good and bad. This one-on-one time brought an energy I hadn’t known. The songs on the radio helped too, even steadying my trembling hands as I worked.

  When I didn’t pause for lunch, Mimi brought me a tray with a sandwich and apple slices. “You need to keep up your strength,” she scolded.

  “I know, but I’m working against a deadline. Scarlet is coming this evening with her aunt.”

  Mimi responded in Spanish, something about how life was for the living. She disappeared into the other room, but I thought I heard her talking to someone on the phone, so I rose and tiptoed out into the hallway, curiosity getting the better of me. Mimi rarely called anyone these days. But judging from the lilt in her voice, she seemed to be having a grand time talking on the phone today.

  I strained to make out her words. Only when I heard her speak the name Daniel did I realize who was on the other end of the line. Wow. I didn’t mean to listen in but just couldn’t help myself. Her girlish giggles totally threw me.

  I’d just turned to head back to my workroom when she ended her call. She came walking out into the hallway, singing a happy tune in Spanish. Until she saw me. Then her cheeks turned a lovely amber hue.

  “Oh, Gabi. There you are. I thought you were working.”

  “I took a break.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Her nose wrinkled and she fussed with a framed picture on the wall, straightening it. Only, it was already straight, so she actually made it crooked. “Did you . . . I mean, I was on the phone.”

  “So I heard.” I gave her a knowing look.

  “Well, it’s time for my show.” She headed into the living room, and I followed on her heels, unwilling to let this go. I watched as she took a seat in her recliner and then fidgeted with the remote. Seconds later the TV popped on. Mimi adjusted the channel until it landed on Doña Bárbara. As the familiar theme song played, she settled back against the chair and seemed to relax.

  “I’m glad you’re making friends at the church, Mimi,” I said over the music. “Really glad.”

  She watched the screen for a moment. When she turned my way, I noticed her eyes were filled with tears.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “It’s just . . . my story.” Her words in Spanish were laced with emotion. She gestured to the television.

  “What about it?” I asked.

  An outdoor scene filled the screen—a lovely woman walked alongside a stream with a handsome man at her side. The man swept her into his arms and gave her a kiss.

  “It’s not real, I know,” Mimi said, “but the characters have become almost like family to me.” A sheepish look came over her. “It’s silly, I guess. But I feel like I know them. It’s not healthy, I suppose.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Lots of women get addicted to these shows, Mimi.”

  “Still, I think I really miss having a big family and lots of friends around. I don’t talk about it much, but being a homebody isn’t much fun, especially in my . . . condition.”

  “You should get out more. Do more.”

  “That’s what I’ve decided. I’m not saying I’m giving up my show.” She cringed. “Not sure I’m ready for that. But I need to start interacting with more real people.”

  “People like Rosa? And Laz?”

  She grinned. “Yes, all of the Rossis are wonderful. And Scarlet’s mama too. I talked to her about her work at the bakery, and it turns out we have a lot in common.” Mimi muted the television as a commercial came on. “I have a handful of friends at my church, but we’re not as close as we used to be. You’d be surprised how many can’t even go anymore because they’re not able to get around.”

  Her words made me sad, but I didn’t know how to respond in a way that would make her feel better about the situation.

  “I think maybe I’ll try out that new church for a while,” she said, then turned the volume up a notch. “It’s different.”

  “Really? You liked it?”

  “Still can’t quite get used to the music, but the people are so friendly.” Her cheeks turned pink. “Very welcoming.”

  “Mimi, are you trying to tell me something?”

  “No, no.” She shook her head. “Well, maybe. I mean, I’m old, but I haven’t completely given up on the idea of falling in love again. Your grandfather, God rest his soul, was the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. But he’s been gone for over twenty years. Maybe it’s time I . . .”

  “What?” I asked, unable to hide my grin.

  “Well, maybe I need to open myself up to the possibilities, that’s all.”

  My thoughts shifted back to Daniel, how he’d helped her out of the car. Offered her his arm. There really were some good men left, just like Jordan had said.

  “And another thing.” She released a sigh. “I have to start taking better care of myself.” She pointed to her ample midsection. “It’s getting harder and harder to get around. I don’t think I can go on living like this, carrying around all of these excess pounds. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I have to get in shape. Otherwise I won’t be here to hold my great-grandchildren in these tubby arms of mine.”

  I thought to argue the point but didn’t want to change her mind. The weight loss idea was a good one, and she’d never mentioned it before.

  Suddenly I remembered something. “I saw in the church bulletin that Scarlet is going to be starting some sort of weight loss group at the church when she gets back from her honeymoon. Might be fun.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I’ll join a gym. Take up racquetball.” She pretended to swing a racket and then laughed. “The hardest part of all will be watching what I eat. I love my food.”

  At this statement, she remembered that she needed to thaw out a pot roast for tonight’s dinner. I reminded her that Scarlet and her aunt would be coming by, and she nodded.

  “That’s fine. It’s big enough for all of us.”

  She headed to the kitchen, and moments later I heard pots and pans rattling. Her story continued to play on the television, but with the volume so low I couldn’t make it out. Not that I needed to. There was no point in getting swallowed up by a fictional world when some very real people needed my attention.

  With that in mind, I headed to my workroom to dive back in to Scarlet’s dress.

  Funny Face

  From the manner in which a woman draws her thread at every stitch of her needlework, any other woman can surmise her thoughts.

  Honore de Balzac

  In late afternoon I finished the bodice of Scarlet’s dress. After that I connected the skirt pieces and then pinned them to the top. By the time Scarlet and her aunt arrived at 6:30, I had the beginnings of what I felt sure would be a lovely gown with a fairy-tale feel to it.

  Bella surprised me by showing up a few minutes later. She greeted the ladies and then dove into a story about what a rough day she’d had. I didn’t bother to interrupt to tell them I’d been fired. Didn’t have to. Mimi Carmen took care of that for me.

  We talked for a bit about my situation, but I eventually turned the conversation back to the bride-to-be, who deserved the attention. I led the ladies into my workroom, and Scarlet squealed with glee when she saw the dress for the first time. Tears sprang to her eyes, in fact, a sure sign that I was on the right track with the gown’s design.

  “Oh, Gabi, I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you have. You absolutely have. It’s just
what I saw in my head.”

  “The fabric is just how I thought it would be too,” Wilhelmina added. “Absolutely lovely. It looks so rich.”

  It is rich.

  Bella stood in front of the dress form, examining my beadwork. She turned to give me a curious look. “Gabi, did you do this by hand?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of it? I mean, the fabric didn’t come beaded . . . at all? It’s your design? Your creation?”

  “Right. I did it all. I created a little scroll-like design and just sewed them on by hand.”

  “It must have worn you out.” She clucked her tongue in motherly fashion.

  I didn’t tell her that I’d stayed up half the night working on it. Neither did I mention that I’d overslept this morning as a result of the exhaustion.

  Scarlet’s excitement had her bouncing up and down now. “Can I try it on?”

  “Well, it’s not really at a point yet where you can tell much. The middle part is just pinned together, and there’s no zipper yet or anything. And all of the edges are raw. No hem, nothing like that.”

  “I know, but it doesn’t matter. Please?” She assumed the begging pose, hands clasped together in front of her. “If I get jabbed with a pin, it’ll be so worth it. I won’t say a word, I promise.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  With Bella’s help, I got the dress from its pedestal and slipped it over Scarlet’s head. I took several clips and closed up the opening in the back where the zipper would be placed. Then I stepped back for a look. Wow. Sure, I still had a lot of work to do, but so far so good. Seeing it on Scarlet made me want to do a little jig.

  She stood a little straighter and gazed at her reflection in the mirror, a lone tear now trickling down her cheek.

  “Don’t you like it?” I asked.

  “Like it? I love it. Absolutely, without a doubt, love, love, love it!”

  “I think it’s going to be perfect when it’s done,” Bella said. “I can just envision Scarlet walking down the aisle in this glorious skirt. There’s just the right amount of volume to be princess-like but not over-the-top.”