by Carmen Reid
With English words and sign language, she managed to order several metres of all the material she thought would be useful.
When the man rang up the total, Annie drew her euros from the TV petty cash envelope. She would phone Tamsin as she walked back to the church and explain what was going on. She had a feeling Tamsin was going to love this. It should make for great television … Annie hoped.
The Tamsin phone call over and as positive as she’d expected, Annie arrived back at the church in an excellent mood to find hustle, bustle, more people and a growing sense of energy.
A fat black dude in a bowler hat and – despite the gloom of the church – sunglasses was setting up a music deck not far from the pulpit. Annie hoped that wasn’t in contravention of any religious taboos. She was a bit hazy about religion. Certain Sundays in the year had been spent in nondescript C of E churches when she was young, but her mother had never been much of a fan of church-going and Annie had followed in her footsteps. Religion was something she associated only with school, like learning Latin. For Annie, vicars were like hospital doctors, people you seemed to have to deal with only in emergencies.
Anoush’s mother had a mop in her hand and was busy washing the floor between the rows of pews; Svetlana was on her phone; Elena was on her phone. Rich was nowhere to be seen; maybe because he’d gone to collect the lighting he’d promised to find.
Svetlana spotted Annie and ended her call, tucking the mobile into the tiny handbag dangling from her wrist. She approached Annie with her arms held out and once she had her friend in the embrace, she told her: ‘I think maybe this could work. I think maybe we will pull this off. Everything will be saved and I think in very big part is because of you.’
Annie smiled at her. ‘No,’ she said gently, pulling out of the hug, ‘I might have had some good ideas, but I only suggested them because I know you and Elena and, hopefully, Anoush are the kind of girls who can make them work. That’s the difference. Anyway,’ she reminded Svetlana, ‘we’re not there yet. Thank me at the end of the show.’ She winked.
‘I wonder who Anoush is going to bring for models? On the catwalk it is going to be you and everyone Anoush can find.’
Only now did Annie begin to feel nervous at the prospect of this. None of them would be professionals, but would have to perform in front of press and buyers. People who had seen so many fashion shows, they were totally jaded; people who knew what a fashion show was supposed to look like; who knew what a model was supposed to do!
Whatever Annie might have said next, whatever Annie might even have thought next was blasted right out of her head by the dude behind the music system.
‘DJ Paul,’ Svetlana shouted out at her by way of explanation.
Annie and Svetlana couldn’t help smiling at each other over the noise. Suddenly the church rocked and this didn’t seem quite so mad or impossible after all …
‘Turn down!’ Elena screamed above the sound. ‘Or windows fall out!’
‘Quoi?’ the DJ asked.
It was true; everything in the church seemed to be vibrating, even the cross above the altar. Annie hoped the priest was nowhere within earshot, otherwise he might rush round immediately and turf them out, one thousand euros or not.
As soon as the volume had been lowered, the sound of voices could be heard in the vestry. Then into the church came Anoush and the three others she had rounded up to model the dresses.
The music came to an abrupt halt, possibly for technical reasons, and Svetlana, Elena, Annie and the DJ all found themselves staring with great curiosity at the three ‘models’ Anoush had in tow.
There was a small, very curvaceous white girl, probably about the same age as Anoush, maybe a school friend. She had a big smile on her face and was clearly much more extrovert than Anoush.
Behind them towered an extraordinary-looking 6-foot-tall girl, perhaps Algerian; she was much darker than Anoush, with an amazing shock of long Afro hair, dyed bright orange; she was as rail thin and slouchy as a professional model.
And behind this girl was maybe the curvy girl’s grandmother: a wonderfully French-looking older lady with a silver-haired bob, sporting a cropped fur jacket.
‘What you think?’ Anoush asked in her shy way. ‘This is Yvette, I meet at the Carrousel,’ she began, pointing to the tall girl, ‘my best friend, Celeste, and Celeste’s grand-mère – she used to model couture. They would all like to be in the show.’
Annie couldn’t help giving a clap of excitement, her mind racing into makeover mode. A beanpole, an hourglass, a glamorous old lady … this was excitingly challenging. She was going to have to go and rifle through Elena’s bags of dresses straightaway.
However, she was aware of the silence from behind. Svetlana, Elena and Rich hadn’t said anything yet. She looked around to see that their faces were set. They did not think this was such a great idea.
‘This will work, I promise,’ Annie whispered at them, not wanting to discourage the party at the door.
‘Is this about fashion, Annah?’ Svetlana asked icily. ‘Or is this about making television?’
‘Good television will be very good for both of us,’ Annie replied.
Annie’s phone began to ring. She picked it up but only answered because it was Ed’s number. If some home disaster had occurred, she needed to know, even if it wasn’t exactly the perfect moment.
‘Ed, is this urgent?’ she hissed into the handset.
‘Al’s just made a great big hole in the roof, brought half the slates down on top of his head, fallen off the ladder and broken his wrist,’ came Ed’s astonishing news.
Annie tried to digest it. There was absolutely nothing she could do for Ed. Yes, it was a crisis, but she was having a full-blown crisis of her own right now. Elena looked, once again, as if she might cry.
‘Darlin’, I love you, I know you can cope, but I have to go. I’ll phone you as soon as I can.’ With that she hung up. ‘Come right on in,’ she urged the modelling party. ‘Thank you, Anoush! Thank you all for coming. Now follow me and I am going to show you all the wonderful dresses we are going to wear.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Grand-mère’s own:
Black and white print dress (Sabine Boutique)
Black snakeskin low-heeled shoes (Vintage Céline)
Black alligator bag (her mother’s)
Red lipstick (Chanel)
Perfume (Chanel No 5)
Total est. cost (at today’s prices):€1890
‘Affreux.’
An hour later and Annie was in the church hall with all four models … battling. She was battling with dress buttons which wouldn’t stay closed; she was battling with needles, thread and netting which seemed to ping out all over the place no matter how hard or how closely she stitched it. Worst of all, she was battling with a stubborn French female who did not want to be told what to wear.
‘Non, pas comme ça,’ Grand-mère had insisted, before taking off the sash Annie had attached to her waist and actually flinging it to the floor!
Did this happen to Jean-Paul Gaultier? No, she bet it bloody did not!
In the church, a frenzy of prep. work was under way. Latifah was still cleaning and wiping, plumping cushions on pews, polishing brass candlesticks and making the entire space dazzle. Elena was on the phone making sure every single guest knew exactly where to come tomorrow. Svetlana, the DJ and Rich were arguing about music, lighting, angles, where the models should stand, where they should walk and where they should twirl.
Annie had looked in on the scene briefly, then decided to slink back to the church hall and just keep on top of her side of business.
Anoush had been easy to dress. She’d been put into the tiny size 8 sunflower-yellow dress. After appearing in the yellow dress, she was also going to model the other size 8: a white dress with a trellis pattern in bright blue. Annie instructed her how to wear her hair tomorrow for the show and told her to bring comfortable sandals with heels and do her make-up just as if she was goi
ng out.
Then it had been Anoush’s friend Celeste’s turn. Her generous curves were squeezed into the two available size 12s: a black crêpe wrap and a dress in emerald-green silk. Her luscious pale cleavage oozed out from between the buttons. Despite the language barrier, she and Annie talked bras and camisoles.
What did she have at home that would work under these dresses?
Celeste offered a black lace bra for under the green dress, along with a wide black patent belt.
‘Yes!’ Annie got it at once. She was curvy, but she had a tiny waist, well worth defining. Celeste suggested her fuchsia bustier top for underneath the black dress.
‘Yes! Pink shoes?’ Annie wondered.
Celeste nodded enthusiastically.
Annie kept offering Grand-mère the chance to be next, but she waved her hand dismissively. After the sash incident, she had stayed at the rail of dresses, examining the remaining ones herself and making her own mind up about what she was going to wear.
‘What about me?’ Yvette sashayed up to Annie, hand on one hip, her voice throatily low and sexy.
Annie looked at her in admiration. Yvette was quite something, so tall, so bony, so downright slinky, sweat glistening through the thick layer of make-up on her face. What on earth was she doing here? Why wasn’t she the star of some major designer’s show back in the heart of town?
‘Have you done much modelling?’ Annie asked. ‘I am just starting out,’ Yvette replied, giving her hips a little shake. ‘Modelling is boring – I like to sing. But modelling pay better.’
‘I think you’re going to be big,’ Annie couldn’t help telling her, ‘you look so …’
‘Different?’ Yvette offered.
‘Yes,’ Annie replied.
‘But different is difficult,’ came Yvette’s reply as she took both the bright cobalt blue and the white dress from Annie’s hands.
‘It’s difficult at the start, but once people get used to something different, then it is big, the beginning of something new …’ Annie told the girl and wondered if she’d understood.
Yvette fixed her liquid brown eyes on Annie’s and gave her a long serious look, followed by a quick wink.
‘Maybe you are right,’ she said, and then turned on her heel and flounced over to an empty corner of the room, where she obviously intended to change.
Finally, Grand-mère approached Annie with a sober navy shirt dress in one hand and a brown dress with a ruffled neckline in the other.
‘Bien,’ Grand-mère said.
It wasn’t a question, it was an instruction.
Annie just smiled and nodded approvingly – as long as no one touched the red and the purple size 14s Annie had marked out as her own, all was well – so Grand-mère took the clothes in the direction of the hall toilet, where she would dress in privacy.
Annie glanced up to see Yvette, from behind, sliding into the cobalt dress. Yvette was wearing the kind of tight beige all-over control underwear that Annie could hardly believe was necessary on so bony a frame.
Just then Elena, followed by Svetlana, came into the hall. Annie felt instantly nervous, because she knew they were here for one reason only: they needed to be convinced that these models could make the show work.
Anoush and Celeste, already in their first outfits, stepped forward to be approved.
Now Rich was at the doorway: ‘Can I film?’ he asked, and then with a cheeky smile: ‘Is everyone decent … or happy to be caught in their smalls?’
Yvette stalked forward in the cobalt blue.
With her orange hair frizzed out wildly on end and her lean, black limbs, she looked amazing. Like a 1970s disco panther stalking on to the dance floor for the kill.
‘Oh wow,’ Rich had to exclaim, his camera running, ‘Paul better spin something unforgettable when you walk into the room.’
Elena had her hands over her mouth and Svetlana’s lips were in a little ‘o’ of surprise.
‘You look incredible!’ Annie assured Yvette.
Yvette gave a grin, then opened her mouth and gave a little burst of Madonna. ‘Everybody comes to Hollywood …’
This made everyone laugh.
‘What other dress she wear?’ Svetlana wanted to know.
‘The white,’ Annie told her. Svetlana and Elena both nodded, knowing just how good that would be with her dark, glowing skin and shock of orange hair.
‘Anoush and Celeste are beautiful,’ Annie prompted, not wanting the other girls to be overlooked in the excitement of the Yvette phenomenon.
‘Yes, of course,’ Elena responded, but she was trying to work out if Yvette should come in and wow the crowds at the start or if she should be the grand finale.
‘Truly great dresses,’ Annie reminded everyone. ‘Look at the cut, the colours, the fabric, how well they hang on everyone. The dainty, the busty …’
‘And Grand-mère?’ Svetlana wondered.
‘Grand-mère is going to be an eccentric touch,’ Elena worried.
‘But in a good way,’ Annie agreed. ‘How’s it going with rearranging the venue?’ she asked. ‘Can the beautiful people cope with Saint-Denis?’
‘I think it’s fine; everyone sounds intrigued,’ Elena replied. ‘Everyone is booking taxis to hurry them from the Carrousel and back again; no one want to miss the Armani show at two p.m., so we must be quick. Girls finished walking by eleven, so everyone have time to look at dresses, talk to me and Mother afterwards before they have to go again.’
‘So this is one fashion show which can’t begin an hour fashionably late?’
‘NO!’ Elena replied, eyes round, horrified.
Just then Grand-mère came out of the ladies’ room and walked slowly and with great dignity into the hall.
She held her head high and walked with what could only be described as aplomb. The navy dress skimmed her shape and was held in place at the waist with a slim brown alligator belt, model’s own. On her legs were fine mesh brown fishnet tights and a pair of mid-heeled lace-up brown shoes. It was a totally elegant ensemble.
‘That is fantastic, no?’ Svetlana was the first to remark. ’I thought the dresses were only for younger, juicy women, who still have va va voom’ – she jiggled her cleavage slightly at the words – ‘but now I see they are elegant and chic for older woman too, no?’
‘I think Grand-mère is genius!’ Annie told them as they all watched her walking towards them. In the style of an old-school model, she gave them a small, considered smile, made a careful turn and then, one hand on her hip, walked away again.
Celeste began to both clap and laugh: ‘Bravo, Mamie.’
‘How are the veils?’ Elena wondered.
‘Ah …’ Annie’s eyes fell on the heap of netting at the side of the room. It wasn’t proving quite as easy as she’d thought with the veils.
Annie could manage simple repairs with a needle and thread; she could sew on buttons, repair hems and burst seams, but every veil she’d made so far resembled a botched tutu, which even Yvette would not be able to carry off with style.
From the pile of netting disaster, she picked out the smallest one she’d made, or tried to make, from gold netting. This was the one which had come off the least badly, she hoped.
Grand-mère saw the offering in Annie’s hands and shook her head: ‘Affreux,’ came her comment.
Frightful. Even Annie could understand that.
‘Donnez-le-moi,’ she instructed, holding out her hand.
Annie placed the netting ball into the lined but capable-looking hands.
‘Grand-mère used to make hats,’ Celeste told them.
Annie looked into Grand-mère’s eyes in astonishment. Something about this day seemed to be getting luckier and luckier – well, aside from Al falling off the ladder obviously. OK, and Patrizio running away with sixteen thousand euros … Yes, maybe she should just be thankful for small mercies.
Celeste’s mamie was going to sort out the veils. She had already picked up Annie’s needle and gold thread and wa
s busy constructing something much more elaborate out of the netting.
‘We should do a rehearsal,’ Elena said, glancing at her watch and barely registering that it was 7 p.m.
‘I think we should get some food in,’ Annie suggested. It now seemed like a very, very long time ago since the small portion of seafood and a glass of champagne had passed her lips.
Now hadn’t she seen a kebab shop on the street where she’d found the netting?
The very first rehearsal kicked off in the church at close to 9 p.m.
‘Just thirteen hours until we do this for real,’ Elena warned nervously.
It had taken this long to get to the rehearsal stage because Rich and DJ Paul had fussed endlessly about lighting, angles and songs, then fussed all over again about which lighting and which angles went with which songs.
It had taken for ever. Their fussing had brought Annie, Elena and Svetlana to the verge of frustrated tears.
Then there had been a break for the great, greasy kebabs which everyone had wolfed down, except Grand-mère who looked on disapprovingly and said that she must go home soon as it was past her bedtime.
Now Svetlana and Elena sat in pews at opposite sides of the church, while Annie stood with the other models in the lobby.
Rich’s lights shone down on the catwalk – er, aisle – and then DJ Paul hit the decks.
To the thumping, rocking, hip-hopping tune he knocked out first out came Anoush and Celeste. They were arm in arm and walked down the aisle together with something of a playful skip. Annie, wrapped in the red dress and feeling a little too nervous and a little too self-conscious, walked carefully behind them, worrying about whether she should smile or put on a disdainful catwalk face.
Yvette waited in the vestry until the second song began, so that her arrival marked a change in mood. When new chords struck up, she came out in the blue dress with a fabulous purple tulle creation of Grand-mère’s on her head. Elena was so impressed she let out a little whooo of excitement.
At a respectful distance, Grand-mère appeared and, despite the thumping bass, carried herself with elegance and poise all the way down the aisle.
