The Fashion Designer

by Nancy Moser

  Maude scoffed. “I still hold it against him that he said everyone was saved, when clearly they were not.”

  “Now, now, Miss Nascato,” Mr. Sampson said. “False information is rampant in times of great tragedy.”

  Maude sighed. “I still miss Madame.”

  Annie nodded. Although the rest of them on the Paris junket had been delayed—and therefore saved—their superior, Madame Le Fleur, had found a way to make the train. And the boarding. She had perished in the icy waters of the North Atlantic.

  Mr. Sampson’s wife put a hand on his arm. “We were saved for this. I know it.”

  Annie was glad to get back to the subject at hand. “I agree with you. But as Sean pointed out, our initial idea was to provide functional, comfortable, and stylish clothing for the masses.”

  “Not the elite,” Maude added.

  Mrs. Sampson played with the draping on her sleeve. “Yes, I suppose that was the original intent, but I’ve had second thoughts, more grandiose thoughts.”

  Annie’s stomach grabbed. “But that’s why you two invited me here for that first meeting when I was working at Butterick. You were against the ridiculous fashion of the hobble skirt and other designs that constricted women’s movement and ignored their needs. You were a proponent of function over fad.”

  “That is true,” Mr. Sampson said—mostly to his wife. “That was our initial focus, Eleanor. Perhaps you’ve strayed a bit off the mark.”

  She sprang to her feet. “Off the mark? I have found the mark, and it is a bull’s-eye! If Eleanor’s Couture is going to be a success—”

  “Eleanor’s Couture?” Annie’s throat was dry.

  “Well yes. I am at the epicenter of this business.” She stared at Annie. “Am I not?”

  Maude answered for them. “If you will excuse me, I thought Annie was the epicenter. If not for her, none of us would be here.”

  “If not for our money, none of you could afford to be here.”

  Her words skittered across the marquetry and landed in the space between them.

  “My sweet…you are too blunt.”

  Mrs. Sampson turned to her husband. “I speak the truth, Harold. Are we not the ones at risk here? Who knows how much this endeavor will cost us?”

  Mr. Sampson offered a sheepish smile. “Forgive my wife’s frank nature. But you must admit the extent of the financial risk is unknown.”

  “That it is,” Sean said. “And we appreciate your backing and support.”

  Annie had to speak her mind. “With all respect, we are also risking much. Edna, Maude, and I have quit our jobs to fully and wholeheartedly pursue this venture.”

  The Sampsons blinked, as if they hadn’t thought of this point.

  Mr. Sampson broke the silence. “All the more reason for our support.”

  Annie felt her heart race. Her legs twitched, longing to stride out of the room, out of the whatever-it-was, and return home. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to get their jobs back.

  Sean must have sensed the direction of her thoughts, for he touched a calming hand to her knee. “The main issue seems to be the identification of our customers.”

  “Ordinary women,” Maude said.

  “Wealthy women,” Mrs. Sampson said. “Focusing on them will be the surest way to gain a profit.”

  “That could be true,” Sean said. “And we all want the business to be successful. As Annie stated, the ladies have given up their livelihood betting on it. But there is more than profit involved. There is purpose.”

  “A purpose we all share,” Annie said. She wished her heart would stop pounding because she knew her voice would too strongly reflect her emotions. This was business. She needed to approach it like a businesswoman. Please, God, help me say the right thing. She managed a smile. “Perhaps we can compromise.”

  “That is always a wise suggestion,” Mr. Sampson said. “Continue.”

  “Perhaps we can create the twelve dresses and have your party.”

  “Soiree.”

  Annie let it go. “It would be a good way to gain the opinions of fashionable women. And the orders that are generated can keep the company afloat at the beginning and give us time to create a full line for a less-gentrified customer.”

  Mrs. Sampson readjusted her flounces. “It’s possible. You’ve brought sketches?”

  The four friends entered Sean and Annie’s flat with a communal sigh as though they’d been waiting to be in a familiar place before taking a full breath.

  “I’m exhausted,” Edna said.

  Maude threw her plumed hat on the table, where it was saved from the floor by Sean’s coffee cup. “Sorry,” she said, moving it. “And I agree. Maybe that’s why none of us have talked since we left the Sampsons’.”

  Annie removed her hatpins, stuck them in the brim of her hat, and hung it on the coat rack. “My mind is a muddle.”

  “A middling, mauling muddle.” Maude took a seat at the table.

  Before sitting across from Maude, Sean hung his derby next to Annie’s hat and removed his suit jacket against the heat. Edna sat on the window seat and set her hat beside her.

  Their hats off signaled they were in for the long haul.

  “Muddled minds or no, it’s time to talk this through,” Edna said.

  “Eleanor’s Couture,” Maude said.

  They groaned.

  “It’s so hoity-toity,” Edna said.

  “As I told her, not what we had in mind at all,” Annie said.

  “We should have had a name ready,” Sean said.

  “It certainly would not have had ‘couture’ in it,” Maude said.

  “Better late than never; perhaps we need to offer Eleanor an alternative.” Annie strolled to the window. The street below teemed with everyday women going about the business of living. She sat beside Edna. “Let’s share some words to describe our customer and what they want out of clothing in general.”

  A stream of words were tossed into the air between them: comfort, ease, style, affordability.

  “How about calling it Budget Fashion?” Edna asked.

  Annie shook her head vehemently. “We want to offer clothes they can afford on a budget, but we want the name to sound more lofty. Inspiring.”

  “Shoestring Fashion,” Maude offered. “Clothes for You. Cheap Clothes.”

  Annie was glad she winked.

  Sean pointed to a Sears catalog nearby. “People can buy reasonably priced clothes from Sears.”

  “Or Macy’s,” Edna said. “What makes our clothes different?”

  Annie pressed her fingers to her forehead—which was beginning to throb. “If my thoughts were a muddle before, they are now a seething storm.”

  Edna put a hand on her knee. “Let’s set the name aside for now. We have work to do. Twelve dresses to sew for Mrs. Sampson’s soiree.” She pointed to Annie’s portfolio near the door. “Get out the sketches and let’s talk about the changes she wanted.”

  The sketches were set on the table and the four of them gathered close. Annie sighed deeply. “She ruined them.”

  They all nodded.

  Annie continued. “She took the simplicity of my designs and spoiled them with fancy froufrou.” Each design now sported extra flounces, flowers, and frills. “Either you can’t see the design for the ornament, or she’s designed another ridiculous ruffle rumpus like the dress she was wearing.”

  “Who does she think she is?” Maude said.

  “She’s the money,” Sean said.

  “Who are we?” Edna asked.

  Annie had thought about this. “You are the sewing expertise, Maude has the patternmaking skill, Sean is the salesman, and I—”

  “You are the creative talent.”

  “We all are. Together we make a whole.”

  “Mrs. Sampson is more than the money. She’s a charlatan,” Maude said.

  “Too harsh, Maude,” Annie said.

  “Harsh is as harsh does. She’s a hypocrite, luring us into a business with talk of function, co
mfort, and innovation that will free women’s movement, when what she really wants is a vehicle to keep fashion as fussy as it’s always been.”

  Edna opened another subject. “And I do not want to have our sewing workshop in that library of theirs. Yes, the space is plentiful, but the walls are paneled and dark, and the room smelled of dusty books.”

  “And ancient history,” Maude added.

  Annie looked around their small flat. “We agreed that we would sew in our flats at first. We could use Edna’s larger dining table to cut the fabric.”

  “But didn’t we also decide we will need to hire seamstresses to help? I don’t want workers in my house,” Edna said. “I suppose I’ll do so if I need to, but if this business takes off as we hope, we need a place of business where we can all work together in one space.”

  Sean clapped his hands once. “I’ve got it.”

  “What?”

  “An apartment upstairs is empty. The Delgados moved out last week.”

  Annie jumped ahead. “It’s larger than this one. It has two bedrooms. We could rent it.”

  “With what money?” Edna asked.

  “I’ll get Mr. Sampson to pay for it,” Sean said. “As a businessman he will understand the need for a proper work space—away from his home.”

  Annie remembered their tour of the Sampsons’ library. Although Eleanor had been passionate about using the space, Mr. Sampson had seemed hesitant. He’d said little, and his face had pulled in resignation more than approval. “Talk to him, Sean. And will you talk to the landlord too?”

  “Consider it done. In fact, I’ll go speak with Mr. Collins right now. I saw him outside.”

  He left them staring at the designs. “So are we going to sew these dresses like Mrs. Sampson wants?” Edna asked.

  The decision was enormous. Yet Annie couldn’t see any way out. In one meeting their plans had been fully appropriated, pinched, nicked, and stolen. “We have no choice. If not for Eleanor none of us would be here, discussing—”

  “Exactly. If not for her we’d still be working at our fairly well-paying jobs.” Maude shook her head. “The Sampsons led us round the flagpole but forgot which flag to raise.”

  Annie had no defense and felt the pull of guilt. If not for her…

  Edna touched her arm. “Let’s do what Eleanor asked. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get orders for a thousand dresses.”

  “A thousand?” Maude said. “We can’t handle that many!”

  Annie laughed. “We are never satisfied, are we, ladies?”

  “But what if—?”

  She raised a hand, stopping Maude’s words. “Let’s deal with the problems at hand. We need a workshop—which Sean is trying to procure. Meanwhile, we have the designs and a venue in which to show them. So let’s sew.”

  Maude looked at her list of fabrics and supplies. “I know we can get everything we need retail, but we need to open a wholesale account.”

  “With whom?” Annie asked.

  “I’ve got some connections,” Maude said, her eyes on the list. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Until then, I’m sure I could get a discount at Macy’s,” Edna said. “For supplies, and for two more sewing machines—or more.”

  “They’ll do that? Even though you quit?”

  “Velma will do me the favor—us the favor. I know she will.”

  Velma MacDonald had been Annie’s boss in the Macy’s sewing department. She’d remained a good friend, even after Annie left to work for Butterick.

  Sean came back to the apartment, his face glowing. “I got it!”

  “The flat?” Annie asked.

  “For how much?” Maude asked.

  He hooked his thumbs in his vest. “For the same price as this apartment.”

  “How did you manage that?” Annie asked. “It’s much bigger.”

  “I promised Mr. Collins you’d make his wife and his daughters a dress. Gratis.”

  “How many daughters?”

  “Three.”

  Four dresses to make…Annie had an awful thought. “This isn’t four dresses a month, is it?”

  “No, no,” Sean said. “Four dresses total.”

  “That’s not overwhelming,” Edna said.

  Annie kissed Sean’s cheek. “Thank you. You have helped tick one box.”

  “Out of many to be ticked,” Maude said.

  “One at a time.” He pointed to Maude’s list. “What’s next?”

  Annie took a fresh breath. “This is such a fifteen-puzzle.”

  Everyone looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Americans don’t say that?”

  “Obviously not,” Maude said.

  Annie thought a moment, trying to find a way to explain it. “Fifteen-puzzle is a game with cubes that have numbers on them. They have to be arranged in a square so that each line adds up to fifteen.”

  “Sounds challenging,” Edna said. “But what does a game have to do with our situation?”

  “It’s so difficult and confusing to solve that if something is called a fifteen-puzzle it means it’s difficult.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” Maude said. “Okay, partners. Let’s get this fifteen-puzzle in order.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  There we are,” Edna said as she set the third sewing machine in place. “It took more than a week, but we are officially ready to sew.”

  Annie scanned their new workshop. The two bedrooms of the flat were set up with the machines—Edna’s brought over from across the street and two others she purchased at a discounted price from Macy’s. The main room contained a large table to use for cutting.

  Edna finished arranging the last two spools of thread on a pegged rack on a wall. “We are as ready as we can be.”

  “As soon as the fabric arrives,” Annie pointed out. She glanced out the window. “Maude has been gone an extraordinary length of time.”

  They all turned toward the door when they heard heavy footfalls on the steep stair leading to the third floor.

  “Help!” came a cry.

  Annie was the first to burst into the hall. Maude stood on the stairs, juggling two long rolls of fabric. One slid out of her grasp and tumbled down the stairs to the floor below. “I almost made it,” she said.

  Annie gathered the roll from her arms, and Edna recovered the fallen bolt.

  A winded Maude entered the workshop. “There’s more coming. I paid the driver to help with the rest.”

  The fabrics were taken into the main room and placed on the large cutting table. All were tied with string. Annie cut one roll free, letting yards and yards of sea-green batiste flow free. “Maude, this is lovely.”

  “I told you I’d choose well—following your extensive directions of course.”

  “How many more rolls are there?” Edna asked.

  “Ten. Twelve all told. A different fabric for each of the twelve dresses.”

  Annie considered the cost. “Each roll has how many yards on it?”

  “It depends on the fabric. Forty to sixty.”

  Edna fingered a mauve silk. “You have enough here for dozens of dresses. Couldn’t you get cut yardage?”

  “For twice the price.” Maude removed her hat and hung it on a wall hook. “Aren’t we trying to sell more of the same dress once Mrs. Sampson’s friends see them?”

  Edna nodded, but her hand was at her mouth. “It’s just a lot of money up-front.”

  Annie put an arm around her shoulder. “That it is. Such is the cost of starting a new business.”

  “It’s the Sampsons’ money,” Maude said.

  Annie objected to her flippancy. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be wise and frugal when we can be.”

  Maude pushed a stray hair off her forehead. “I assure you I could have spent us into tremendous debt.”

  “We thank you for your restraint,” Annie said.

  The driver began to carry in the other ten rolls. Maude tipped the man.

  The twelve rolls on t
he table complemented each other—by design. Since they were all going to be shown at the Sampsons’ during a single party, Annie thought it would be visually pleasing to present a unified ambiance of autumn greens, blues, coppers, and ivories.

  “When are the models arriving for measurements?” Edna asked.

  “They should have been here by now.” There was a knock on the door. Annie opened it with a welcome. “Come right in, miss—”

  It wasn’t a miss but a boy. “This here’s for you,” he said, handing Annie a note.

  She read it and sighed. “The two friends of Mrs. Sampson who were in charge of gathering their friends to be models send their regrets. They can’t come today—or model at all.”

  “None of them?” Maude said.

  “Apparently not.”

  “So much for Mrs. Sampson’s influence.” Edna sank into a chair. “Without models we have no measurements, without measurements we can’t make the clothes, and without clothes we have no soiree.”

  Annie took it a step further. “Without a soiree we have no business.”

  “We’re stuck,” Maude said. “A cart without a horse.”

  “A chicken without an egg.”

  “A—”

  “Don’t be so morose.” Annie was rather surprised she was the hopeful one. “This isn’t the end, but merely a bump in the road. Since Eleanor’s models bowed out, we get our own.”

  “Where?”

  Annie pointed to the open windows. “There. Listen. Our models are all around us.”

  Edna and Maude joined her at the window. Mothers called to children, working girls hurried to and fro, and women sold their goods from pushcarts.

  “Some of them are almost pretty, but most are quite ordinary,” Maude said.

  “Mrs. Sampson’s customers should be looking at the dresses, not the women wearing them.”

  “Or caring about which wealthy family they represent.”

  Maude bumped into Annie’s shoulder and whispered, “I will not have Mrs. Doonsbury wearing one of our creations. She has absolutely no waist, and her bosoms sag toward her toes.”

  It was a rude—though accurate—assessment of the woman who ran the butcher shop nearby. “We can be a bit picky, but not too,” Annie said. “Could we ask Mildred and Velma from Macy’s? And perhaps Suzanne and Dora from Butterick?”