The Fashion Designer

by Nancy Moser

  “Mrs. Sampson is our investor,” Maude said.

  Mrs. Malsin chuckled. “You do need that. After my first husband passed away, I sewed lingerie for wealthy women in my flat, with my baby son playing nearby. My customers were well-off.”

  Annie pointed to the front of the store. “But your prices seem reasonable.”

  “My customers were well-off.”

  “How did you transition from those women to the masses?”

  Mrs. Malsin sat back in her chair, smiling. “You’re asking for my story?”

  “I guess we are,” Annie said. “If you’re willing to share it.”

  Mrs. Malsin motioned to a clerk walking by. “Could you please bring us some tea, Beatrice?”

  “That is kind of you,” Annie said. “We didn’t mean to impose.”

  “No one feels imposed upon when given the opportunity to talk about themselves. Let’s see…I suppose I should start from the beginning because this store is rooted in that first voyage across the sea from Lithuania. My sister had come before me and lived here. I came alone a few years later. I was only sixteen. My mother had died soon after I was born. We were raised by our grandparents.”

  “I am an immigrant too,” Annie said. “Just a year ago. From England.”

  Mrs. Malsin spread her arms. “And now look at us. Two entrepreneurs, proving that the American Dream is alive and well.”

  More for you than me. Though hopefully someday…

  She continued her story. “When I arrived, I discovered my family had arranged for me to marry someone.”

  “Mr. Bryant?”

  “No, no. Another man whose family had tried to buy my hand by paying my passage. But I refused.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t take that well.”

  She shrugged. “If he felt duped, so did I. I quickly put the situation behind me. I didn’t know a word of English. My sister worked in a garment factory and helped me get a job there. I earned one dollar a week, but within a few years I had learned English and was skilled enough to earn fifteen.”

  “Good for you,” Maude said.

  “Yes, it was good for me. All the hard work in the factory taught me what I needed to know to get where I am today.”

  “Every experience has a purpose,” Annie said, almost to herself.

  “I agree. Nothing is wasted.”

  “Did Mr. Bryant also work at the factory?”

  “Oh no. He was a jeweler. He was from Russia and was older than I.” Her face softened with memories. “A year after meeting we were married, and ten months later, our son, Raphael, was born.” Her face clouded. “But David died six months after that, of tuberculosis.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I was a twenty-year-old widow with a baby. I had little money. I couldn’t work at the factory because I had Raphael.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I pawned the diamond earrings David had given me as a wedding present and used the money to buy a sewing machine. I moved into an apartment with my sister, and we sewed clothes for women. We began to specialize in wedding dresses and fancy lingerie.”

  Tea was brought, and Mrs. Malsin poured. She held a cup beneath her chin as if drinking in the aroma. “I remember Raphael sitting on my lap while I sewed…”

  Annie could imagine holding her own child in such a way.

  “We did well enough that we opened a store on Fifth Avenue, living in the back. One day a customer came in, bemoaning the fact that she was expecting and had nothing suitable to wear in public. I made her a dress and sold it to her for eighteen dollars. That was the start of it, this business of mine.”

  “You filled a need.”

  She nodded once. “Society was squeamish about seeing pregnant women. It was quite ridiculous. Is ridiculous.”

  “You were Lena Bryant,” Maude pointed out. “Why is the store called Lane Bryant?”

  “Because I made a mistake and was too nervous to correct it.” She raised a hand, stopping their questions. “My sister married and her husband loaned me three hundred dollars to expand the store. When I was making out the deposit slip to open a bank account, I was so nervous that my signature was wobbly and looked like Lane instead of Lena. When the bank officer opened the account for Lane Bryant, I wasn’t courageous enough to argue.”

  “I believe you were plenty courageous,” Annie said.

  “Are plenty courageous,” Maude said. “I saw your advertisement in the newspaper.”

  “Now that was a struggle. My husband, Albert, finally got the New York Herald to run an advertisement showcasing maternity clothes. We sold out that same day.”

  “So there is a need.”

  “A great one.” Mrs. Malsin put a hand to her midsection. “Soon I will be wearing some of my own designs again.”

  “You are—?”

  “I am.”

  “Your second?”

  She laughed. “My fourth.”

  Suddenly Annie felt better about being a working mother. If Mrs. Malsin could do it with four, certainly she could handle one.

  “Where do you manufacture your dresses?” Maude asked.

  Mrs. Malsin pointed upward. “There are nine floors here. The bottom two are showrooms, and the rest are offices and workrooms.”

  “Now that would be a dream come true,” Annie said.

  Mrs. Malsin sipped her tea. “What is your situation now?”

  Both Maude and Annie snickered. “We just rented a space in the building where my husband and I live. We have three sewing machines.” She realized how paltry their situation was compared to the establishment that was Lane Bryant. “It’s not much but—”

  “It is a promising start.” She set her teacup down. “Would you like to look at the clothes?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Mrs. Malsin led them through the racks on the first floor, explaining how elastic bands were the key, along with empire waistlines. “See the accordion pleats in the skirt? They allow for a woman’s natural expansion. Why don’t you try this one on?”

  Annie had never tried on a ready-made dress. She was led to a fitting room. A woman named Mary stepped in with her, ready to assist with the undressing and dressing. As the woman unbuttoned the back of Annie’s dress, Annie laughed.

  “Does madam find something amusing?”

  “Very much so,” Annie said, “for I used to be a maid, helping my mistress get dressed.”

  “My, my,” Mary said. “I overheard you talking about having your own design business. That is quite a step up from where you started.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Who is your customer?”

  Again, the question. “I thought I knew but was lured in a different direction. Now I’m confused.”

  Mary helped her step out of her dress and into the maternity gown. “Find a niche. That’s what Mrs. Malsin has done. She’s always talking about finding a need and filling it.”

  “Wise advice.” Annie put her arms through the sleeves and Mary buttoned the back of it. Annie lifted up the overskirt to see the accordion pleated underskirt, attached to an elastic band. She looked at her profile in the mirror. “Although my condition isn’t obvious as yet, I can see how this would expand with my waistline.”

  “It looks very pretty on you, Mrs. Culver. The aqua hue compliments your brunette coloring.”

  Maude called from outside the room. “Come out so I can admire you.”

  Annie obliged, turning in a full circle, making the skirt billow.

  “Very nice,” Maude said. “Let me look at the construction.” Maude’s hand crept toward Annie’s midsection where the outer and under skirt met.

  But when Annie saw Mrs. Malsin watching, she pushed Maude’s hand away and said to her, “I promise if we offer maternity clothes they will be of our design, not copied.”

  “There is always room for competition, Mrs. Culver. It is the American way. But…many of our designs are patented. The corset for one.”

  “I have no wish to
design corsets. But I am interested in one—for myself.”

  Another clerk approached Mrs. Malsin with a question, and after a short discussion, she said, “Forgive me, but I must attend to something. Mary, would you take the ladies up to two and show them the corsets? And if Mrs. Culver is interested in a purchase, give her a twenty-percent discount.”

  “That is very generous,” Annie said.

  They took an elevator to the second floor, which was filled with corsets, undergarments, nightgowns, and wrappers. Annie reluctantly reminded herself that, being jobless, they lived on a tight budget.

  “Ooh,” Maude said, taking a luscious pink wrapper from the rack. “The lace is delectable.”

  And frivolous. The dressing gown was something her mistresses, Lady Newley and her daughter Henrietta, would wear. Or Mrs. Sampson.

  “Here is the corset,” Mary said, showing it on a mannequin. “See how it rises a bit high in the back, to right below the shoulder blades, and angles lower in front.”

  Annie studied it. “The front panels expand?”

  “They do. The back support and lower frontal support prove beneficial to mother and child.”

  Maude looked skeptical. “It may be the best maternity corset in the world, but it seems a bit wrong to constrict a woman’s body in any way during a time that is already uncomfortable.”

  “How many children do you have?” Mary asked.

  Maude reddened. “None.” She opened her mouth to say more then closed it. “None.”

  Annie chastened herself. What had she been thinking, inviting Maude to come to a maternity store when she was unable to conceive? Although she couldn’t say anything in front of Mary, she would try to make amends once they were alone.

  For now it was best to hurry along her purchases of the dress and the corset.

  Mrs. Malsin saw them to the door. “It was a pleasure speaking with you ladies. Please stay in touch, and feel free to contact me if I can be of any assistance.”

  Annie was touched. “I do believe you have changed our lives today.”

  “You overstate.”

  “I do not,” Annie said.

  “She does not,” Maude said.

  Annie and Maude caught a streetcar to head back to the workshop. Once they were seated, Annie said, “I want to apologize for dragging you along on this outing.”

  “Apologize? It was extremely interesting. I truly think we could offer some—”

  “I mean, because it involved maternity items. I didn’t mean to pour salt into your wound.”

  Maude slipped her arm through Annie’s. “The world is full of babies, expectant mothers, and women with husbands. I will not experience any of those milestones, but if I ran from all evidence of them, I would have to lock myself away in some convent. It is not my choice that I cannot conceive, but it is my choice that I will not marry and subject a man to a childless future. I have learned to be content with what I do have.” She squeezed Annie’s arm. “I have the best friend in the entire world, a job that challenges me and allows me to be creative, a place to live with Edna, breath in my lungs, and beating in my heart. God is good, all the time.”

  Annie’s throat tightened. “You are so brave, and your faith so strong. You humble me.”

  “Good.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Edna looked over the maternity design. “Mrs. Sampson will have a conniption when she realizes one of the designs is for an expectant mother.”

  Annie studied the sketch that included the elastic band idea taken from Mrs. Malsin’s design, but she planned to use a challis instead of the accordion pleats—the latter being much more expensive to produce. The challis would drape nicely and be soft to the touch. And not heavy. Above all, Annie wanted the maternity dress to be easy to wear.

  “Do you want me to go ahead and make a pattern for it?” Maude asked.

  Before Annie could answer, she heard her name being called from the hallway outside the workshop. “Annie? Annie Culver. Where are you?”

  Eleanor Sampson.

  Annie slipped the design out of sight and opened the door to greet their patron. “You found us.”

  Eleanor put a hand to her heaving chest. “Two flights. I am quite out of breath. Get me a chair before I pour into a puddle.”

  Edna took a pile of drawings off a chair just in time.

  “Much better,” she said when seated. Then she motioned to a man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform who accompanied her. “Davis, set the satchel on the table.”

  The man did as he was told then stepped back. “Would you like me to wait, ma’am?”

  “Up here, no. Attend to the automobile. I shan’t be long.”

  When the man was gone, Eleanor pointed at the satchel, grinning. “I’ve brought you some treasures.”

  Annie and Maude exchanged a wary look. “Sounds intriguing.”

  “They are beyond intriguing; they are stunning.”

  “They?”

  Suddenly finding her strength, Eleanor stood and opened the satchel. She removed an assortment of trims, wound on cardboard. One was heavily encrusted with gold beads, while another came in the form of a knotted fringe. There was also an assortment of beaded appliques in bright colors, and finally an enormous length of wide Chantilly lace suitable for a dainty lawn dress of years past. She set them on the table reverently then stepped back to admire them. “Aren’t they amazing?”

  “They’re lovely,” Annie said—and she wasn’t lying. But they also had nothing whatsoever to do with each other. It was a potpourri of adornments.

  “You don’t expect us to use them on the dresses, do you?” Maude said.

  “Of course I do. They are handcrafted.”

  “Which means they’re expensive?” Edna said.

  “Of course they’re expensive.” Eleanor took up a floral shaped applique made of red and silver beads and placed it against Annie’s right shoulder. “See how much it adds to any design?”

  Annie gently pushed her hands away. “We can’t use them.”

  “Why not?”

  “We need trims we can buy in bulk. We wish to mass produce our clothes. Hand-beaded trims are out of the question.”

  Eleanor shut the satchel with a click. “Let me worry about that.”

  “But—”

  “My friends expect the best from me, and I intend to give it to them.”

  But it’s not about showing off for your friends, it’s about business.

  Eleanor strolled to a mannequin that was dressed in a dress of burnt orange. She fingered the fabric. “This isn’t silk.”

  “No, it is not. It’s rayon.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s a fairly new fabric.” Annie stopped before adding the words, “Less expensive.”

  Eleanor gave it a wary look then moved on. “We are on track for my soiree?”

  “We are. With a lot of hard work.” Annie felt compelled to tell her about the ordinary women who would be the models. “I have found enough models.”

  “I heard that Anabelle Klingerhorn bowed out. She has always been a flighty, fickle girl.”

  “Her friends declined too.”

  A groove formed between Eleanor’s eyebrows. “I…that’s disturbing. I thought it was settled.”

  “It is. We found replacements.”

  She let out a breath. “That’s a relief.”

  “Actually, when the daughters of your friends bowed out, I had an interesting idea about the model situation. I thought—”

  Eleanor waved her off. “It is handled?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Good. Enjoy the trims. I really must go. We are having dinner with the Belmonts, and I must get ready. Alva detests guests who are late.” She kissed Annie on both cheeks and was gone.

  The three women stood in stunned silence. “What just happened?” Edna asked.

  Annie fingered the three-inch band of breaded trim. “We can’t use this.”

  “Can’t use any of them,�
� Maude said.

  “What is she thinking?” Edna asked with a sigh.

  “She is thinking she wants to show off to her friends by making the dresses more flamboyant.” Annie sat on the window seat and rubbed her forehead. “We have a little over three weeks until the show. We don’t need this complication.”

  Edna sat and put an arm around her. “We’re all exhausted; you more than any because you’re overseeing every aspect of the designs.”

  “And there’s two of you,” Maude added.

  Annie put a hand on her abdomen. “I know I need to slow down, but how can I?”

  “Let’s start fresh tomorrow.” Edna took Annie’s hand and extended her other hand to Maude. She bowed her head. “Dear Father, once again we are a three-strand cord that cannot be broken. Replace our exhaustion with your stamina, our confusion with your clarity. Guide us so this opportunity plays out exactly as You planned.”

  Annie appreciated the prayer, but when she opened her eyes she immediately saw the trim. “But what do we do with…that?”

  Edna pulled her to standing. “Nothing today. Everyone needs to go home, have a nice evening, a good rest, and start again tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  Edna shoved her toward the door. “Go on now. Maude and I will finish up here.”

  It felt good to have someone else make a decision.

  Glittery trimmings wove through Annie’s fitful sleep, tying themselves in knots, growing into a giant heap upon the work table that made its legs buckle.

  She startled awake just in time.

  Next to her, Sean opened one eye then turned over and went back to sleep.

  There was no more sleep for Annie. The tendrils of the dream lingered, and she knew the only way to be rid of it was to get up and go to work.

  She quickly dressed and quietly slipped out of their flat with only the slightest click of the latch. She tiptoed up one flight and entered the workshop at the top of the stairs. She turned on the lights and faced the table—which had not buckled. She touched the stack of trims which were each neatly wound. The angst of her dream faded as reality fell into place.

  Yet the reality was, trims or no trims, there was an enormous amount of work to do.

  Annie became so engrossed in the sewing that she was shocked to look up and see the first glimmer of day outside the window. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was half past five. She needed to hurry downstairs and slip into bed before Sean awakened and scolded her.