by Beth Merlin
“Now you tell me,” Gordy said, sitting back down, “what are all the improvements in the life of Ms. Georgica Goldstein?”
“You know about Jamie and me designing Victoria Ellicott’s wedding dress, right?”
“I live in Milbank, not under a rock. Of course, I know about it. I was even quoted in the Milbank Monitor. Once they got wind of the fact you once worked here, they came to interview me. I dug up a picture of the dress you designed for Fiddler on the Roof and they published it alongside the article. I have a copy somewhere in my cabin. I’ll look for it and bring it to you tomorrow.”
“Well, there you go. You know everything that’s going on with me.”
“What about you and Perry? Last time he wrote me, you two were engaged.” Gordy lifted up my left hand. “No ring?”
“I broke off the engagement.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Nobody rooted for you two more than me. I even imagined you might get married here. Maybe down by the lake or in the amphitheater?”
“I would’ve liked that. I think he would’ve too.”
Gordy leaned in closer. “What happened?”
“We both got swept up into our work, then his father died. Things changed for us after that.”
He sat back up and straightened his posture. “Did you know Perry’s father well?”
“No, I actually never met him. His father traveled so much for his work that, unfortunately, I never got a chance to.”
Gordy took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with the bottom corner of his shirt.
“Perry loved his father. Idolized him.”
I tilted my head to the side. “First violinist with the Vienna Philharmonic. Tough act to follow.”
He slipped his glasses back on. “After Annie’s accident, things changed between them. I don’t know if his father blamed Perry for what happened, but they became somewhat estranged. His father hated that he kept returning to Chinooka. Pleaded with him to just stay in London and finish his degree.”
“Perry felt so much guilt over what happened to Annie. I’m sure he pushed his father away the same way he pushed away everyone else.” I couldn’t help but recall how closed off and detached he was when we first met.
“Maybe? From what I gathered from our correspondence, they still weren’t on the best of terms in recent years.”
I shrugged. “He never liked to talk about it, and I didn’t pry. I know his father wasn’t happy with Perry’s decision to move to New York to be with me. He’d set him up with dozens of auditions for different symphonies around Europe, but Perry didn’t want to play other people’s music, he wanted to compose his own.”
He smiled. “That’s our Perry.’
I shrugged. “Not exactly my Perry anymore.”
“There are a lot of bends in the road, Gigi, but if it’s meant to be…” he let his voice trail off.
“To be honest, I’m not sure it is. Or ever was.”
Gordy put his arm around me. “You said you needed to come up to do some work for a few days. How I can help?”
“Big Bertha still in the arts and crafts cabin?”
“Of course, she’s practically the camp mascot.”
“I’ll pay her a visit. Hopefully, the old girl can inspire some ideas.”
“If not, maybe watching the Camp Chinooka Centennial production of Fiddler on the Roof will help. If you ask me that was some of your best work.”
I raised my eyebrows. “There’s a video of the show?”
Gordy walked to the entranceway of the gazebo. “In your cabin. I left it there for you earlier in the week when I heard you were coming.”
“Hey, Gordy, not too many people know about me and Perry and our history. I don’t think either one of us expected our paths would cross again so soon. For everyone’s sake, it’s probably better if the past stays in the past.”
Gordy put his hand up. “Say no more. I understand.”
“Thanks.”
“Welcome home, kid.”
I walked back down to the campfire and picked up what was left of the marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. I looked over my provisions. Enough for at least one, maybe two, more S’mores. I loaded the marshmallows onto the stick and thrust it into the flames. When they were good and gooey, I pulled them off and smashed them into a sandwich. I ate them slowly, savoring each and every sticky bite.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and watched as the once proud and glowing inferno began to give way to soft, half-hearted crackling deep within the blaze. As I consumed the last bits of the s’mores, the fire diminished to embers. I walked down to the shores of Lake Chinooka and filled up a bucket with sand, then poured it over the campfire pit just as Perry had done back when we were counselors.
The fire turned a deep orange as it crawled across the blackened logs giving way to ash. I watched as it fought to come back to life, but eventually, it sucked in its last gasp of oxygen and then dwindled to nothing more than a wisp of smoke.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, I set out for the arts and crafts cabin to find Big Bertha, the old Singer sewing machine that once belonged to Gordy’s grandmother. When she died, long before I was even a camper, Gordy couldn’t bear to part with the machine and had found it a home at Chinooka. I taught myself to sew on Big Bertha and constructed many of the costumes for the centennial production of Fiddler on the Roof on her. Gordy told me last night that my work on Fiddler had inspired a new generation of campers to become interested in fashion design. To encourage them, the camp purchased brand new electric sewing machines and even set up a small workshop so the kids would have a place to create. Even though Big Bertha retired from Chinooka the same summer I did, she’d always have a home in the arts and crafts cabin.
I walked into the studio and looked around. Hanging from the walls were all the past winning Color War plaques by year. I counted back to the banner from my last summer at Chinooka, when Perry was the captain of the Villains team and I was the captain of the Heroes. The Villains plaque featured different bad guys from comics, movies, and TV, depicted in black-and-white mug shots. Their names and prison identification numbers were printed below each portrait. The word Villains was spray-painted across the plaque in bright blue. It was still irritatingly clever. Perry’s team truly deserved the win.
I went to the back of the studio where the additional workspace had been added for the new sewing machines, dress forms, and drafting tables. Big Bertha was propped up against the far wall, almost as if she was the one in charge, supervising the other sewing machines. I ran my fingers over her iron frame and sat down. I pumped the foot pedal a few times and thought back to the dozens of afternoons I’d sat in this very seat, turning out piece after piece, wondering how I was going to break the news to my mother that I wanted to be a fashion designer and not a lawyer. Back when I was just a camper here, I didn’t have the first clue what that really meant, or how competitive and difficult a road it would be to become one. All I knew was I had millions of ideas, and fashion was the medium I best expressed them.
But Trini was right. At some point along the way, I’d convinced myself that someone else’s vision had to be more brilliant and their execution more refined than mine. Whether it was losing Top Designer in the home stretch or concealing my feelings for Joshua, whenever the spotlight shone too big or too bright, I ducked out of it. Now, with the eyes of the world on me, I was doing it again.
I grabbed a sketch pad and some pencils from the shelf and stuffed them into my bag. I walked down to the lake and sat on an old wooden chaise lounge and pulled out my phone to scroll through Gemma’s most recent emails to see if there were any new developments. She’d sent over updates to the dossier including an additional meet and greet with foreign dignitaries and heads of state—bringing the grand total of wedding ensembles to fourteen. The wedding dress, plus thirteen additional looks.
When I finished, I tucked the phone into my bag and leaned back on the chair. After spendi
ng last weekend in gray and dreary England, the sun felt fantastic on my skin, and I soaked in the Vitamin D. I was starting to doze off when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I blinked my eyes open.
“Gigi, right?”
Nodding, I propped myself up on my elbows, using my hand as a visor from the sun so I could see her through the glare.
“I’m Linda, Alan’s wife. We met last night. Do you happen to know if the Canteen’s open? I’m looking for some Band-Aids.”
Linda was dressed as Elizabeth I for the Renaissance fair. As was typical for Elizabeth, the dress was white, symbolizing virginity and purity, with long sleeves as well as neck and wrist ruffs. It was gorgeously hand embroidered with all sorts of colored thread and decorated with fake diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. Linda’d clearly been laced into a corset and was wearing several petticoats under the gown.
To complete the authenticity of her appearance, she was even wearing replicas of the ruby and diamond ring containing a miniature enameled portrait of Anne Boleyn and the watch encased in a bracelet given to the Queen by Robert Dudley. It had been the first known wristwatch in England and a detail Perry desperately wanted to include in Elizabeth. I’d helped him find the right moment in the second act and he came up with an incredible duet between Elizabeth and Dudley about time and missed opportunities.
“No, I don’t think it’s open until later. I might have some in my cabin, though.”
“That’d be great. These shoes are giving me the worst blisters.”
I looked down at her period kitten heels. “Those do not look comfortable.”
“They’re not.”
Linda slipped off her shoes and held them as she followed me back to my cabin.
When we got inside, I poked around the bathroom and through all the drawers of the small cabinet under the sink.
“Found them.” I passed her the tin box.
“Bless you.” She pulled two out and placed them over two sizable blisters on each of her heels. “I should be able to get through the day now.”
“Want to borrow some flip-flops? I don’t think anyone will see them under that skirt.”
“We try to remain as authentically dressed as possible. It’s all part of the experience.”
“You look pretty on point. I’ve actually seen the real version of the dress you’re wearing on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum. It’s different, though, to see it on an actual person and not on a dress form. This might sound weird, but would you mind if I sketched you in it?”
“Are you an artist?”
“Fashion designer.”
She grabbed my arm. “Wait, are you the Georgica of G. Malone? The one designing Victoria Ellicott’s wedding gown? Gordy was going on and on about you when we first got here.”
“That’s me.”
Her eyes got huge. “Alan and I are true Anglophiles, still, by anyone’s standards, getting asked to design the dress for the future Queen of England is a real honor.”
“Thank you. So, it’s okay if I sketch you?”
“Are you kidding? Wait ‘til I tell the girls at the fair. Where should I stand?”
I picked up a pad and pencil off the couch. “Right there’s fine.”
Linda scooted back a few inches and then contorted herself into an over-exaggerated pose, careening over a chair, her hips and butt in the air.
“You can just stand how you normally do. I’m trying to capture the essence of the dress.”
“Do you know much about her?” Linda asked.
I looked up from behind the sketch pad. “Who?”
“Queen Elizabeth.”
“Probably not as much as you do, but I know a bit.”
“I think I fell in love with her as a girl. I read a book about her relationship with Robert Dudley and was hooked.”
I motioned her to slide over. “Can you turn a bit to the right?”
“There’s just something so tragically beautiful about two people who long to be together, who love each other but can’t make it work because of obligation and ambition. You know who captured that sentiment perfectly?”
I exhaled. “Perry Gillman in Elizabeth?”
“Yes! Oh, that’s right, Gordy mentioned he worked at the camp here a few years ago. Did you two know each other?”
“Can you turn a bit more to the left so I can get the dress’s train?”
Linda complied and shifted all her weight to the other leg.
“That’s perfect—stand just like that,” I said.
“Did you know Perry Gillman?” she asked again.
“A bit, yeah.”
“Gordy said he’s not the least bit surprised at how successful he’s become.”
“No, me neither.”
Linda looked down at her watch. “Are we almost finished? I told Alan I’d try to make the afternoon performance of A Man for All Seasons.”
“I’m all set,” I said, closing the sketch pad. “Thanks for your help.”
“Can I ask what you’re using the sketch for?”
“Honestly, I’m not really sure yet. I’m hoping it triggers some sort of inspiration.”
“Well, if anyone can, it’s Elizabeth.”
“So I hear.” I smiled and handed her back her shoes from the counter. “You sure you don’t want to borrow my flip-flops?”
“Nah, I’m okay. The corset’s the real bitch anyway.”
Later that night, I wandered over to The Canteen. A few of the Renaissance fair guests were hanging out in costume at the picnic tables in front. They waved as I walked past to the ordering counter. I tapped the bell, and Rita opened the shutters.
“Hiya, hon, what can I get ya?”
“Hi, Rita. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Georgica Goldstein. I was a counselor here a few years ago.”
She looked me up and down and narrowed her eyes before opening them wide. “Of course, you were the counselor who was friends with Jamie Malone from Top Designer.”
“I was on the show too,” I mumbled.
“How’s he doing?” she asked over me.
“He’s great,” I answered.
“Glad to hear it. What can I get you?”
I ran my finger down the laminated menu. “I’ll take a Chipwich.”
“Coming right up.”
I took the ice cream over to an empty picnic table and sat down. I pulled the sketch of Linda out of my pocket and used a rock to smooth it out across the table top. It was a beautiful gown. Regal and majestic, but also feminine and delicate. There was so much about the dress that reminded me of Victoria, but it didn’t quite capture her modern and classic style. I folded the sketch up and stuffed it back into my pocket. I finished the Chipwich and wandered down to the amphitheater.
Alan and the other members of his theater troupe were rehearsing A Man for All Seasons up on the stage. I took a seat in the audience and watched the scene from Act I when Henry VIII visits Sir Thomas Moore at his home to make the case for his marriage to be annulled, so he can marry Anne Boleyn. Alan was actually really good—all of the actors were. When the scene was over, I stood up to applaud them, and Alan came down off the stage to say hello.
“Linda told me you saved her life today,” he said.
“I gave her a couple of Band-Aids, that’s all.” I motioned to the stage. “You guys are great. I’ve only ever seen the movie version of the show, not the play.”
“Not to take anything away from Paul Scofield and Orson Wells, but I think our cast is pretty fantastic. It’s also this setting—what show wouldn’t be special here?”
“We put on Fiddler on the Roof here back when I was a counselor. We staged the wedding scene in the round with the chuppah right in the middle of the amphitheater and votive candles up and down the two main aisles.” I pointed to the long walkways that separated the audience so he could see the exact spot.
“Sounds really special.”
“Yeah, it was. Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to say goodbye. Gordy said y
ou guys head home tomorrow?”
“Not home, just on to a different festival, but we’re leaving Milbank in the morning. What about you?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose I’ll have to go back to the real world eventually.”
“Or you can join the circus like we did. Every few weeks a new town and a new character to play.” He lifted some hair off my shoulders. “With your dark features, you’d make a wonderful Anne Boleyn.”
“Tempting…very tempting.”
Alan laughed and pulled me in for a hug before leaping back up onto the stage. I stayed and watched for another half hour or so and then left to walk around. I hadn’t been back to Cedar yet and wanted to see how the old bunks were faring. I pushed open the door to Bunk 14 and was hit with the familiar smell of mildew mixed with stale musty air. Bare bunkbed frames lined the walls while the mattresses were housed in a shed off the athletic field for the winter.
It was hard to believe twelve of us had lived in this small space for eight weeks. No wonder Jordana and I were still such close friends—we’d spent almost two months with our beds practically touching. I couldn’t help but think of my campers and especially Madison who wept in my arms the last day of camp. She’d be around seventeen now, going into her senior year of high school. I wondered if she and Alex Shane had stayed in touch? Would she come back to Chinooka to work as a counselor now that she was old enough? I hoped so.
I walked into the bathroom and turned on the lights. It all looked the same with the exception of the added shower stalls. I laughed to myself remembering my nightly sprint from the old shower house into the bunk, with nothing between me and the world but a towel and a prayer.
