by Evie Monroe
“I can’t believe we’re doing this. I remember the day I moved you into the garage. We put up your sewing machine at ten thirty that morning, and by noon you had a dress made. You were so focused on it that you burned the pizza you had in the oven.”
“I know. It seems like forever ago. Look how many dresses I’ve made since; how many I’ve sold. I can’t wait to start working today. I have a dress that was ordered yesterday. It’ll be a testament to how different working there will be. I hope the new space doesn’t slow me down.” I had a good system down in my work space, and I knew it had lent to my efficiency. It might take me a while to get used to the new place, but I knew it would be worth it in the long run.
“I’m sure it will make things so much more efficient, you’ll be able to make this business into anything you want.” Dad had always had the most optimism for me and my dreams. He’s always been my biggest cheerleader; even when mom was alive.
“I hope so. I’ve got a few more things, and we’ll run this stuff over to the new place and get you set up. The front looked so good. I think once we get your sign and you can lose that banner out front, the better. Let me go check and see if we ever heard back from the sign shop.” Dad disappeared into the house, and I gathered up the last few little things left.
An hour later we were sitting in the new place, unpacking my machines. I’d bought four sewing machines over the course of time I’d made dresses and found that certain things were easier if you didn’t have to readjust your machines. One was set up to make button holes, and one was set to freehand. The other two were both set to do regular sewing, and I found that if I had issues with one machine, knowing the other was ready to go, saved a lot of time. While I’d finish my dresses, my dad would change needles or service the machine as needed and I’d never miss a beat.
Then there were my two other machines, one for embroidery and the other was a serger. Between them all, I had a lot of sewing stations set up, and as I pulled out the machines, my dad helped me figure out where they were going.
“I’d like the embroidery machine over here. It’s for special projects, and I want to keep the attachments all along this wall. I’ll set the computer up here.” I needed the computer to get my designs uploaded to the machine, and then I still used my personal laptop for all my business transactions.
“You should consider a new computer soon.”
“I’ll have to pump out a few more dresses to take care of that, preferably wedding gowns.” I hoped that another big order came in soon and I went out onto the floor to have a look at the designs I’d already put on display. My father and I set up the shop the night before, and now that my machines were all here, it felt official. “Let’s do the serger on this side. I use it a lot.”
I hoped that more people would notice my casual designs when they came on for their other orders. Now and then, even from my garage, I’d had people see one of my blouses or casual dresses and want it for a less formal event or even day to day wear. It had made me start to dream even bigger.
The chimes on the door sounded when a woman came in. She was younger, and very well-dressed, with brown hair and a big smile for me. “Hi, is it okay to look around?”
The store was not officially opened, but I’d learned not to ever turn away anyone interested in my designs. “Sure, come on in.” I walked around the counter and offered her my hand. “I’m Liss Carroll. I’m afraid we’re still unpacking a few things in the back, so the store is not quite ready, but feel free to look around.”
“Thanks, this is such a cool place. I love this dress.”
“Thank you. It’s one of my favorite to make.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “You make all of these?” She looked around the room, and her mouth went slack.
“Yeah, everything in the store.” And it had taken months of work and money to get my inventory. She walked to one of the mannequins I’d dressed in the window and gestured toward the green dress it was wearing. “The color is amazing. You have a passion for bold palettes, it seems.”
“Yes, I do. I love things to be colorful. Bright and bold.” I loved a wide array of colors and liked making things available in colorful prints as well.
Me and Dad had chosen to use white and black in most of the interior and décor so that the colors would pop out all on their own. Looking across the room, it reminded me of a paint palette that had been smeared with paint, all of the colors swirling together in a mad riot.
I loved it.
“These scarves are amazing. Are these hand-dyed?” The woman walked to the display of scarves and carefully looked at each one.
“Yes, I make all of them. I even do some of the fabrics for my party dress collection. That makes each one unique.” I walked over to the display, and her mouth dropped.
“You’d do well in the big cities. Have you ever thought about moving to one?”
I’d lived in the small town of Lewistown, Washington my entire life and I hadn’t really ever thought about leaving. I’d always been a bit of a wallflower, or a late-bloomer as my father called it. The quiet introvert who spent her time alone sewing for fun.
“No, I have a pretty good client base here being right outside the city and I stay booked. Since it’s just me, I can only take so many orders.”
“You’re incredibly talented. I want to try on that dress in size four, and I’m buying five of these scarves.” I wanted to kiss her but kept my composure.
“Go right in here.” I motioned to the dressing room and went to get her size off the rack. “Here you go, let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll ring you up.” I had my father set up my computer, and I pulled up the purchasing program I’d bought and waited for her to come out.
There was a little squeal from the dressing room, and she stepped out. Her long, slim legs looked amazing in the short dress, and she had the nicest, curvy figure.
“I’m in love! Do you think I can do this green?”
“That color was made for you, and the pattern on the skirt, it’s one of my favorite dye jobs. I love the way the pattern came out like crosses.”
“I’ll take it! I have an event I’ll wear it to, and it fits like a glove. I am so comfortable.” She turned in the mirror and then glanced over her shoulder for a back view.
It was the best feeling in the world to be able to make someone feel as good as she did. I watched her turn around for another five minutes and then contemplate over another purchase of the same cut dress in blue, and once she realized there was a scarf that matched the blue one perfectly, she snagged them both and put them with her order.
“I have to have them both, and I’ll be telling my friends about this place. You’re bound to get more business from some of my friends.” She pulled out her wallet and paid, and then I bagged her clothes, and we even walked her out to her car, thanking her like a giddy fool.
“Well, she seemed pleased, honey. I’m so excited for you.”
“Thanks! Me too. If all of my sales are that good, I’ll stay busy.” Two dresses and five scarves were a lot for someone just popping in, and I hoped her friends did come.
I couldn’t help but think about what she’d said about my talent, and the praise had felt good. I had always hoped that my designs would be appreciated, and once I’d graduated from design school, which I’d attended within driving distance of home, I’d often dreamed of being in a big city and organizing a fashion show for myself.
I could see my clothes up on the stage, the lights and flashes from the camera blinding me as I stood on the sidelines and watched them walk back and forth up and down, each taking a spin at the front and then retreating to change clothes. Like magic, the outfits in my daydream changed and the models strutted down, showing off my work to the screaming fans.
There’d be celebrities in the audience, big-name directors, musicians, and A-list actors, all swinging their pocketbooks at me and making it rain down cash for the big finale of my show.
I’d be escorted out on the
arm of some hot, shirtless guy, and I’d take a humble bow as colorful lights danced at my feet.
Just thinking about the crowd made me nervous and they weren’t even real, but I’d do anything to have a big show and be able to have the hundreds in my dreams see my clothes in reality.
That kind of exposure was hard to come by here in Lewistown, and maybe one day I’d leave the smaller boutique and take my show on the road and move to a big city and be a designer.
Maybe I’d do clothing for the stars, put together designs for Hollywood and have my work all over the big screen.
It didn’t hurt to dream, but I wondered if I’d ever had the opportunity or the courage to pull it off. It was so much easier to hide there at my shop, in my own world. And although I hoped for the big time, I knew all too well what kind of miracle it would be to find myself a famous designer surrounded by fans.
Nope, I was most likely going to sit there in my shop for the next forty years, making wedding dresses until my fingers worked to the bones.
“Your mother would be proud of you.”
I looked up, and dad was staring out into the street, his silhouette created by the bright sun through the window. I walked up beside him and locked my arm in his.
“Thanks, Daddy. I hope you’re proud of me too.” I’d never been one to mourn my mother so greatly that it hindered me from letting my father know what a wonderful life he’d created for me and how much I appreciated him. He was my rock in life, and making him proud was all that mattered.
“I’m always proud of you. You’re the best daughter I could’ve ever wished for.” He turned, and I walked into his embrace. “This is only the beginning, sweetheart. One day, you’ll be walking out on catwalk to take your bow and everyone will chant your name.”
I couldn’t help but giggle. “Wouldn’t that be weird?”
Chapter 3
Johnny
It was good to be back home, and even though my office became a prison at times, I grew homesick for it after too much time away. I sifted through the papers on my desk and waited for the others to show up. I looked at the clock. At least Nathan wouldn’t be late. My friend was taking a few days off to go and see his mother, so the only person left to wait on was Weed, aka, Andrew Weedman.
And that nickname of his wasn’t because of his last name, or that tall, lanky frame of his, no. It was because he liked his smoke.
Just when I thought Weed was walking in the door, I looked up to find Nathan. “What’s up, Nate? I thought you were out for a few?”
My friend’s expression was grim, and for a moment I wondered if something had happened to his mother. “I wanted to come in and talk to you about the show.”
I leaned back in my chair and put my hands up behind my head. “What about it?”
“The sales. They sucked.” He looked out the window and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I hate coming in here to tell you this, man. I know you wanted it to be an overwhelming success, but the numbers, they just aren’t there.”
“How bad is it?”
“Down by nearly half.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and raked his hands through his hair before taking a seat across from me.
“That is bad. Maybe it’s just taking time to catch on? It was a busy week. The media had a lot of other things taking its attention.”
“This is more than the media, Johnny. I wish I had better news, but the reports are in, and it’s not only about the sales. Many are talking that the designs weren’t that fresh and that you’re getting a bit redundant.”
“Redundant?” I’d worked hard on those designs specifically to avoid that.
“Regurgitated was the word one critic used. Maybe you should take a break, and perhaps hire another designer to come in. You could form a team, someone to give fresh ideas. Hell, you know that dope smoking insect you’ve hired to run the shows might need a little help too.”
“Weed? I know you and him don’t get along, but he did an excellent job. If the designs are weak, that’s our fault, not his. Don’t project this onto him. Not unless the data comes back telling us it was a matter of production.”
“I’m not projecting; I just think if we change our style and get a team going, the same would be good for him. A fresh start across the board. I’ll find some new, fresh talent, and you can work on some fresh designs together.”
“No, I don’t think so. I pour my heart into these designs. I can’t just find someone to come in with their shitty opinions and tell me what my style is. I’m the face and mind of Mad Mode.” I’d named my business after my madman personality and mode, meaning fashion. Mad fashion as it were. No one else could come in and be me.
“Look, if it keeps up like this, we’re going down. I want to save Mad Mode as much as you do. My tombstone will probably even have that damned mirrored M logo. So, I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit and feed your ego while it fails.”
“Watch it, friend. You’ll see why I called it mad fashion.”
He held up his hands. “Look, I’m trying to help. Let me find someone. We can get a person that’s green, young, fresh, full of ideas. They can brainstorm with you. We’ll form a think tank, and then you can design from there.”
He had a point. My mother has always told me that we never stopped learning. Having someone feed my head might not be so terrible. “Fine. See if you can find someone that fits the bill and I’ll meet with them. I’m not making any promises for permanent employment, but maybe they can finish this fashion season with us?”
“I’ll make all of the arrangements if I do, there’s no need in you stressing yourself out over this. I know you get in a creative funk.” He got to his feet.
“Are you still going to your mothers?”
“I’m going as soon as I leave here. My sister is in town as well. She gave me a lead, one I think might be worth checking out. I’ll message you with more information if she looks to be the real deal.”
“Who? Don’t tell me this is some friend of your sisters. You know I’m not about taking on amateurs for family favors.”
“It’s not like that. She was on her way home and found a new boutique in this small town. The girl does her own designs, and she sent me some pictures of the dress she bought.” He pulled out his phone and began thumbing it.
“I could tell you yes or no based on a couple of photos, you know.” He paused from his thumbing and looked up at me.
“I’ll just sit on this then, and I’ll call you with my opinion. But I’d at least like to go meet the girl. My sister raved on and on.”
“I hope she didn’t make the girl any promises.” I’d seen it before. People are going out of their way to make it seem like they had big connections only to disappoint some poor soul whose dream it is to become the next big fashion designer.
“No, she said she didn’t even mention having a brother in the industry, but that the girl makes all of her stuff for her boutique and that she even dyes her own fabrics and scarves. From what I’ve seen, I’m going to go check her out.” I glanced at his phone, and before he could shove it back into his pockets, I wanted to see those pictures.
“Let me see them.” I held out my hand and waved my fingers.
“You can’t give me an answer yet. I want to meet with her.” He was really interested in this one, and my curiosity was going to get the best of me.
“Fine, but at least let me see, Nate.” I reached farther across my desk, and he stepped forward to hand me the phone.
The picture was clear, and the row of scarves had been laid out on what looked like his sister’s bed. They were bright and colorful with a marbled pattern that was so intricate; it was hard to believe they weren’t machine made.
“Those are some amazing scarves.” I swiped the screen to the next picture. The dress was green, and had a little of the same type pattern. I’d never seen anything like it. The dress was simple, but the lines were nice, and the pattern complemented it so well that you could imagine someone wearing it and
where they’d hit on the body. “I really like this. Maybe your sister is onto something. Check it out and let me know. If it’s the real deal, I’ll meet with her. But I want someone with some background. If we’re doing this think tank, I want someone who has some knowledge, not just someone with big dreams.”
“I agree. I’ll give you a call.” I passed the phone back to him, and he shoved it into his pocket and headed for the door. Something stopped him, or someone.
“I thought you were going to be out of town today,” said Weed as he came into the room.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m heading out now. I had to talk to Johnny about business first. You know business, responsibilities, professionalism.”
Weed walked over to a chair and lowered himself into it as he turned his nose up at Nate. “You mean like being on time for fashion shows you’ve worked months on? I’m aware of what those words mean, but are you?” Weed licked his high-glossed lips and sucked in his cheeks as he smoothed down his hot pink hair.
“Stoner bitch,” Nate mumbled the word under his breath and walked out.
A slow smile crossed Weed’s face which was painted and highlighted to the gods. His false lashes were so long they brushed his high cheekbones, and today he wore a fitted men’s suit with a pair of pumps and a pocket square. The scarf around his neck was his trademark.
“What’s his problem? Is he on his period?” Weed took out a joint and tucked it behind his ear. The man’s medical marijuana habit kept him high, and he was even permitted to grow it. He’d even developed new strains of the plant with his brother in his spare time. With a name like Weedman, the two guys never stood a chance.
