by Nancy Moser
Sean came close and whispered, “Say something to all the models. Encourage them.”
He was right. Annie stepped back so she could see the lot of them. “Ladies, may I have your attention for just a moment?” They quieted and looked in her direction. “You all know what to do. Smile and stroll and—”
“Sell,” Maude added.
In that regard, Maude was more hopeful than Annie, but she said, “You will do the latter by doing the former. Enjoy yourselves and be yourselves. We all appreciate your participation.”
Mr. Sampson appeared at the door. “It’s time.”
Annie nodded and turned back to the women. “Take a deep breath, and let’s begin.”
The ladies of New York society were seated around the drawing room, half on either side of the middle door. They were dressed in lovely afternoon dresses, with large hats adorned with feathers, flowers, and bows. And a bird. One particular hat sported a bluebird with overly large eyes.
Eleanor made a nice speech at the beginning, introducing Eleanor’s Couture. She mentioned Annie by name and gave her credit as the designer, but it was obviously her show. Finally she spread her arms to make her final pronouncement. “I give to you, Eleanor’s Couture.”
Annie chose to be the first into the room, the general leading the charge. Or…the sacrificial lamb? As soon as she entered, Eleanor gave her a once-over look, her eyes wide. She quickly recovered and rushed to her side. “This is Annie Culver, the designer.”
There was another smattering of applause.
Annie took advantage of their attention. “Thank you for your interest in our fashion. Today you will see a cross-section of ensembles that offer comfort, fashion, and frugality.”
The last word raised a few eyebrows.
Annie continued. “I am wearing an ensemble for the woman who is expecting.” She looked right at Eleanor. “As I am. It offers ease of wear, as well as modesty, allowing the mother-to-be to appear in public while she awaits the happy event.”
There were murmurs behind fans and closed hands, but no one looked truly appalled.
Eleanor was clearly surprised but remained silent, so Annie swept a hand toward the models, inviting them into the room. “Special guests, I ask you to enjoy the new wave of American fashion.”
Annie strolled the perimeter of the room, and through glances, saw that the models were doing the same. She spotted Jane smiling as her dress was examined. Mrs. Tuttle made another group of women laugh.
“Mrs. Culver,” one guest said. “Let me see your dress, please.”
Annie moved close. The woman’s eyes were on the skirt of the garment.
“Does it…expand?”
“It does,” Annie said. “There is elastic at the top of the underskirt that allows you to make adjustments for comfort. And the overskirt is full enough to provide modesty.”
The woman—whose hair was the most brilliant copper—looked up at Annie furtively then lowered her voice. “My old clothes no longer fit, and Mother says I will need to stay at home for the coming months, and…” She glanced at the older woman sitting nearby, who was speaking to a friend about Maybelle’s dress. “I will go nutters if I stay inside so long. And honestly, I’m getting quite uncomfortable.”
Annie smiled. “Have you heard of the store, Lane Bryant?”
The whisper continued. “Is that the shop that sells those corsets…?”
“It is. Although we have this one dress in our line, Lane Bryant specializes in maternity wear. The store is just west of Fifth Avenue at 25 West Thirty-Eighth Street. Tell them Annie Culver sent you.”
“That’s nice of you to lead me to your competitor.”
“You have a need. I cannot ignore it.”
The woman gave Annie a genuine smile. “I will not forget this, Mrs. Culver.”
Annie moved on, around the room. Many of the ladies seemed embarrassed at her condition and barely gave the dress a glance, but that was understandable. The joy of helping the copper-haired woman kept her going.
The room was alive with conversation, and the customers drank champagne and nibbled on caviar and petit fours. Eleanor was in her element, like a theatrical diva accepting adulation.
Yet Annie was savvy in her widespread observations, for though the guests were polite and even asked the occasional question, she overheard many comments such as, “They are far too simple,” “Where is the embellishment?” “A dress suitable for staying at home but far too plain to wear in any sort of company,” “Who are these models? That one woman is as portly as I.” And more than once, “I have a dressmaker I trust. Why should I change my loyalty and risk using an unknown designer?”
She’d expected as much and was not totally disappointed, for their comments reinforced the knowledge that their customers were ordinary woman. And yet, what would Eleanor’s reaction be when she overheard such opinions?
Perhaps she wouldn’t. It would be gauche for the guests to speak badly of the affair to the hostess. And they did seem to be enjoying themselves. The models too, for each one was smiling as they made the rounds. And Edna, Maude, and Vesta seemed happy answering questions.
Annie made the circuit once but could do no more. Her ankle throbbed, and a sudden weariness fell over her like a shroud. She made eye contact with Sean, who stood at the doorway with Mr. Sampson, and he immediately rushed toward her.
“Are you all right?”
“I need to sit.”
Mr. Sampson drew a chair close. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’ll be fine.” She wanted to lie down but instead put on a smile.
“I believe the event is a success,” Mr. Sampson said.
On the surface perhaps…
Eleanor fluttered over, her face beaming. “The ladies love the dresses.”
“I’m glad,” Sean said.
She turned so her back was facing the guests and spoke confidentially. “Though Annie, what you did with the designs was shocking. Where are the trims I gave you? If I’m not mistaken, these are your original designs.”
“They are,” Annie said. “The ornamentation you so generously shared just didn’t seem to suit—”
“Eleanor?” called a guest. “Come tell us about your upcoming trip to Chicago.”
“You’re going to Chicago?” Annie asked before Eleanor was lost to another conversation.
“Tomorrow,” Mr. Sampson said. “Didn’t you tell them, my sweet?”
“Oh dear,” Eleanor said. “With all the preparations, I did not.” She touched Annie’s shoulder. “I’m sure you are far more capable than I of taking the orders and seeing them fulfilled. We are only gone a week, just a quick visit to Harold’s brother for his birthday. We’re taking the train. I will telephone every day to check on orders.”
“You will not,” Mr. Sampson said.
“Why not?”
“Because this trip is about family, not business. Annie and Sean can handle the orders here, and thus you will have a marvelous surprise when we get home.”
She sighed dramatically but gave her husband a smile. “I hate when you make me wait.”
“Delay is not denial, my sweet.” He turned to Annie and Sean. “Do not worry about the expense for more fabrics and supplies. I have deposited the sum of two hundred dollars into an account for you, to use in our absence.”
“Thank you,” Sean said.
Annie was shocked. “That is very generous.”
“I must see to my guests,” Eleanor said. “Harold, come say hello to Alva. She was asking after you.”
Annie was glad to be alone with Sean. “They speak of orders.”
“I know. You didn’t think the guests would like the dresses, and yet they—”
“They don’t.”
“What? They seem to. Look at them.”
“I overheard some discouraging comments.” She shared them with Sean.
“So they’re not going to place any orders.”
“Not a one. Beyond not liking the designs,
they don’t wish to change dressmakers.”
“You’re more than a dressmaker. And we want to mass produce these dresses.”
“Which is another reason why our vision and the vision of Eleanor’s Couture is not a good match.”
“Did you expect it to turn out like this?”
Annie wasn’t sure what she expected. “Mr. Sampson agrees with us. He knows Eleanor has lost track of her initial idea amid her desire to make a name for herself. Remember how he said he’d be here to pick up the pieces?”
“We’re depending on it.”
The streetcar ride back to their neighborhood was a raucous one. The models were giddy with the excitement of the day.
“I loved the fancy ladies giving me attention.”
“To walk among the gilt of those rooms…it was like being in a palace.”
“One women said I was beautiful.”
“One asked if I modeled regularly,” Maybelle said. “I told her I sold blooms on the street, and she didn’t believe me.”
Annie was happy for their experience and relieved that none seemed to have heard the disparaging remarks.
By the silence of Edna, Maude, and Vesta, it appeared they had heard some of it. But now was not the time for that discussion. Annie was thrilled to have provided the models a day they would remember forever.
When they arrived home, Annie invited her friends to their flat to review and discuss the day. Hopefully Sean would show up soon, returning all the dresses to the workshop.
All fell upon the chairs with an oomph.
“We did it!” Vesta said.
“That we did,” Maude said.
“I’m glad it’s over,” Edna said.
Annie couldn’t help but notice that they all were skirting the truth of it. Perhaps they were being polite?
“We will not get any orders,” she finally said.
The ladies exchanged a look and nodded.
“What did you overhear?” Annie asked.
They each repeated comments that mirrored the ones Annie had heard.
“At least they were polite about it,” Edna said. “The models thought it was a grand success.”
“I am thankful for that,” Maude said.
Vesta rubbed the back of her neck. “Mrs. Sampson seemed pleased.”
“After her initial shock,” Maude said. “I thought she was going to faint away when you came out and explained your maternity dress.”
“The highlight for me was when a young woman—who herself was with child—was interested in my dress. She’d been told she would have to stay at home for the coming months.”
“We have one sale!” Maude said.
“Perhaps. Though actually, I sent her to Lane Bryant’s.”
“Why did you do that?” Maude asked.
“Because they have dresses ready for her to buy. They have corsets too. She needed help now, not in a few weeks or whatever time it will take for us to make her a dress.”
“With the soiree done, what do we do now?” Edna asked.
“What if there truly are no orders?” Vesta asked.
They shared a moment of silence.
There was a knock on the door and Maude answered it. “Maybelle.”
“Excuse me, Miss Nascato.” She looked past her to the room. “I don’t mean to disturb.”
“Come in, dear,” Edna said.
The girl stepped inside. “I wanted to thank you for the wonderful time today.”
“We thank you,” Annie said. “You did a fine job of it.”
“I loved wearing such a nice dress. I ain’t had a new one in ages.” She touched her faded brown skirt. “This one was my sister’s before she outgrew it.”
Annie felt badly. Maybe they should have offered to let the models keep their dresses.
“The thing is, I was wondering how much the dress I wore would cost if I wanted to buy it for meself. That same sister is getting married come Christmas, and I would like to look pretty for the wedding.”
Annie was negligent in not knowing for sure. They’d talked about prices—if they could buy in bulk and make the dresses in some semblance of mass production. But without knowing how today would go, without knowing how many dresses they should make, they hadn’t come to any firm price per piece.
“Two dollars,” Maude said. She looked to the others. “Wasn’t that the price we chose?”
Annie thought fast, for she knew they would not be selling this dress for that price. “It’s a special price for you, Maybelle, since you helped us by being a model. A deeply discounted price.”
“I—I think I can affords that. Can I pay you fifty cents now and the rest in a week or two?”
“That sounds perfect,” Edna said.
Annie heard noise in the hall and Sean’s voice. The dresses were back. “Just a minute and we’ll get it for you.”
“I’ll do it,” Edna said.
They heard some discussion and feet upon the stairs going up another floor to the workshop.
In minutes, Edna returned, carrying Maybelle’s dress. “Here it is.”
Maybelle took possession as though it were made of the finest silk. “I will treasure it forever and ever. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Maybelle,” Maude said. “For you are our first customer.”
Maybelle bounced twice on her toes and left with her dress.
“That is one happy girl,” Vesta said.
“Which is why we do what we do,” Edna said.
“I’m not keen on losing one of our samples,” Annie said. “But you were right to make it a price she could afford, Maude.”
“You know what this proves, don’t you?” Maude asked. “Maybelle is our customer. Not those rich ladies at the soiree.”
“It’s as we thought,” Vesta said.
“So now what?” Edna asked.
“Now we wait for the orders.”
“Or the lack of orders.”
“That will determine our next step.”
“How long do we wait?” Maude asked.
“I don’t know,” Annie said. “How long?”
“A week at most.”
“You’re assuming the ladies will make a quick decision about ordering or not?” Annie asked.
“I assume they’ve already made their decision not to order,” Maude said.
Annie tried to think of the next logical step but hated the uncertainty. “Until we see what’s going to happen, there is work to do. The landlord needs to be paid. We agreed to make each of his daughters and his wife a dress.”
“And we need to replace Maybelle’s dress,” Maude said.
“The workshop is in disarray from the frenzy of the past few weeks,” Edna said. “I want to get it well organized.”
“I’ll help,” Vesta said.
Annie felt so blessed to have these women who willingly did whatever work needed to be done. “Thank you for all you do and are about to do, ladies.”
“We have no slackers here,” Maude said. “If Eleanor’s friends order, fine. If they don’t, that’s fine too. I will not sit around and do nothing.”
“I agree,” Vesta said.
“As do I,” Edna said.
It was unanimous.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It had been a week. No orders. Not a one.
Yet they had three sales: Maybelle, Mrs. Tuttle, and Jane had purchased the dresses they’d modeled.
Everything pointed away from the concept of Eleanor’s Couture, meaning it was time for a meeting with the Sampsons who were back from Chicago.
Sean had offered to take off work to accompany Annie, but she declined. This was her Waterloo, her battle to be fought.
She stood at the front door of the mansion, her stomach dancing with nerves. “God, help me,” she said under her breath.
The door opened, and Annie was led into the drawing room for the scheduled meeting.
The Sampsons were waiting for her.
“How nice to see you,” Eleanor said, kissing he
r cheeks. “Come have some tea.”
They exchanged niceties, and Annie asked after their Chicago trip while the tea was poured and served. The warmth soothed Annie’s stomach. A little.
“Now then,” Eleanor said. “I’ve been made to wait long enough. Tell us the happy news about the orders flowing in.”
Annie took a strengthening breath. “There are no orders.”
“No orders?”
Mr. Sampson set down his cup. “Surely someone…. The dresses were very pretty.”
“Actually, we have sold three dresses.”
“But you said there were no orders.”
“We sold three dresses to the models who wore them.”
“That’s not right! They can’t have them.”
“They paid for them.” Paid a little.
Eleanor blinked too often. “This can’t be. I imagined dozens of orders.” She shook her head, uncomprehending. “And there will be. My friends will order. The soiree was a huge success. They told me as much.”
Mr. Sampson looked at his lap, a hint that he knew the truth. “Your party was lovely, my sweet, and you were the perfect hostess.”
Her gaze whipped toward him. “It was and I was, and so…” She looked at Annie. “If there are no orders it is because of the dresses. If you’d implemented my embellishments and used the expensive trim I purchased, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Perhaps she’s right.
“And those models. They were not elegant at all. I heard that one young girl say she sold flowers on the street.”
“Maybelle,” Annie said. “She is one of the women who purchased her dress.”
Eleanor threw her arms in the air. “So we sell to a street vendor but not to the women who are the core of New York society?”
It was time for the full truth of it. “That’s right.”
Eleanor stood and paced in front of a fireplace. “This is totally unacceptable. This is not what I had in mind for Eleanor’s Couture. You’ve humiliated me.”
Annie felt the full weight of remorse. “That, I did not intend. But I simply could not create the fancy dresses you wanted. That’s not what I signed on for. That’s not why you asked me to partner with you. Remember ‘function over fad’?”
“She’s right.” Mr. Sampson patted the arm of Eleanor’s chair, urging her to return.
