Beach Colors

by Shelley Noble

  Bri raised her eyebrow at the last idea. “I thought you were going to be true to thine own self.”

  “I’m still considering it, but it might be more feasible to be true to myself with someone else footing the bill and taking the losses. I just want to keep my options open.”

  Grace stopped writing and opened her mouth.

  Margaux held up her hand. “There are more immediate things to be dealt with. Jude talked to Joe Mangioli at the inn. They’re pretty booked for the weekends, as you expected. But he has several openings on weeknights in July and August. Mondays are cheapest. Thursdays cost more. She told him I’d get back to him by the beginning of next week.”

  “Not Monday, dead day, and August will be too late,” Bri said. “You don’t want to get lost in the fall collection madness.”

  “My thoughts exactly. I was thinking the last Thursday in July.”

  “Can you be ready by then?”

  “Adelaide is hiring more seamstresses. It depends on how many she can get and how quickly they can get this up and running.”

  “You need to do it early enough to create some buzz and get people into the showroom before the season is over,” Bri said. “You’ll have to have the grand opening right after the runway show.”

  “Showroom?”

  “Well, you can’t sell these designs out of your trunk. You have to have a showroom.”

  “I can’t afford space in New York.”

  “Who said anything about New York? You can do it here. There are enough upscale summer people to create a buzz if you give them a place to view things.”

  “Let nonprofessionals in?” asked Margaux incredulously.

  “Excuse me, where is the woman who was talking about hand-selling one-of-a-kind designs?”

  “You’re the one who suggested it.”

  “But you weren’t against it.”

  Margaux frowned. “I’ve given the idea a lot of thought, and it might be a good idea, but down the road. Once I’ve made back some capital.”

  “You mean once you’ve wowed them, then sat on your success while the momentum dies and they’ve forgotten all about you, and then you have to start at square one again?”

  Margaux sank her chin on her hand. “I know, I’ve been through this in my head every night since I’ve been here. I just want to take things one step at a time. I can’t afford to get overextended.”

  “Contrary to popular belief, life doesn’t happen one step at a time.”

  Linda hopped up and salsaed out the door. “We’re having a grand opening . . . having a . . .”

  The others followed her to the workshop, where she threw up her hands diva-style. “We gotta get some mannequins. Labels. Shit. And a sign. Something arty-farty. Hell. You better come up with a name.”

  Margaux laughed. “I’ve been working on that, too, but I haven’t come up with anything that really reflects my new look. I thought Au Naturelle by Margaux Sullivan. But it sounds mediocre.”

  “What about Dress-scapes?” asked Bri. “You know landscapes, dress-scapes. Nah, it doesn’t mention the designer. Which is fine if you’re Ralph Lauren and Polo, but not if you’re Margaux Sullivan. You need more of a brand.”

  “I could go back to M Atelier.”

  “Bad karma. No offense.”

  “Plus . . .” Grace glanced at Linda.

  “She’s knows the whole story.”

  “M Atelier may have some legal problems attached to it. I can check and see what liens might still be held against it.”

  “I didn’t think about that. And I appreciate your offer, but Bri’s right, I need to shed the past and start fresh.”

  “Well, then,” Grace said, “I can at least help get you incorporated. How about something like Margaux Sullivan Originals?”

  “It’s a good thing you’re a lawyer,” Bri said.

  Grace grimaced. “Too dry and to-the-point?”

  “Too.”

  “What’s wrong with plain old Margaux’s?” asked Linda.

  Brianna made a face. “Did you call Le Coif ‘Linda’s Beauty Parlor’?”

  “Okay, okay, I get it.”

  “Besides, Margaux’s sounds like gingham potholders and cinnamon potpourri. We need something . . .” Brianna circled her fingers in the air. “Something je ne sais quoi.”

  “Margaux,” said Margaux. “How about just plain Margaux? The spelling has been a pain in my butt since first grade, it might as well do something good for a change.”

  Grace looked thoughtful.

  “Hmm,” said Bri. “Margaux. Exotic and yet inviting. Makes everyone think they should know it. And those who don’t will want to find out. And it rolls off the tongue.” She dropped into her sultry Marlene voice. “Dahling. It’s a Mahgaux.”

  “I like it,” Grace said.

  “And it’ll fit on the sign,” said Linda. “I bought two when I first opened up. They were on sale.”

  “We’ll get the sign,” Brianna said. “But thanks.”

  “I like the name and I like that.” Grace pointed to a design for a capri pantsuit. Subtle colorations of the sea at dusk played along the pants and soft kimono jacket that partially covered a midnight blue chemise. “I’ll place my order now. I’ll be your first customer.”

  Margaux quickly wiped away tears that for some stupid reason rushed into her eyes. “You would look fabulous in it.”

  “You can wear it at the grand opening,” Brianna said. “But we’ll have to do something about your hair and shove those sensible feet into some come-and-get-me stilettos.”

  “Red highlights,” Linda said. “Definitely need some red highlights.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Margaux said. “I’ll consult with the Cove Inn and with Adelaide and we’ll take it from there.”

  “I’ll get on the legal stuff,” Grace said.

  “Thanks. That leaves one crucial thing.” Margaux’s eyes met Bri’s.

  “You need models.”

  “I was hoping—”

  “No. You need young and hip. Not sagging and gimpy.”

  “Oh please,” Grace said. “You’re still gorgeous.”

  “And I need someone I respect and who knows how to make the clothes come alive. I’m done with scowling, slouching models. You can just stand in place and we’ll turn the wind machine on you. Let the clothes do the work. You just have to be beautiful elegant you.”

  Bri’s mouth twisted. “No. I’ll make some calls. See if I can round up three or four girls. Maybe find some students I can whip into shape, but I won’t go out there.”

  Twenty-three

  Margaux stood at her kitchen sink arranging freesias in a milk jug.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Nick. “I hope it’s not the flowers.”

  “I love the flowers. They were very thoughtful.”

  “Hmm. So what’s with the sigh?”

  “I was just thinking about Bri. I asked her to model for me but she refused.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  “No. It’s just that she was so good. She’d be perfect for this.”

  “Except shit happens.”

  Margaux remembered Bri’s words, Some die, some live. Bri was given a second chance, Nick’s brother hadn’t been so lucky.

  She placed the vase of freesias on the table where he was sitting and kissed him. “Did you know she used to have a mad crush on your brother?”

  “Bri? Really?”

  “Really, a big one. She even wrote about him in our secret diary.”

  “He said she liked him, but I didn’t believe him. I thought she was just flirting, you know, slumming with a townie.”

  “You were wrong.”

  “I was wrong about a lot of things.”

  She waited for him to continue, but he just fiddled with the flowe
r stems.

  She brought him a glass of wine, then squeezed between him and the table and sat on his lap.

  “You miss him.”

  “I—yeah.”

  He didn’t elaborate and Margaux changed the subject, but he was subdued during dinner.

  Later in the night as they lay in bed satisfied and content to look through the window at the starry sky, Nick began to talk. “Ben was a hotheaded kid. Our father died and he just went wild, I couldn’t get through to him. He got in some trouble while I was away in the army.

  “He and some other guys robbed the bait and tackle store. Dumbasses. They got away with twenty-three dollars and change. Ben had turned nineteen; he would be tried as an adult. I convinced the proprietor not to press charges if Ben enlisted.

  “I took him down to the recruiting office. Signed him up.”

  Nick fell silent, and Margaux waited, sensing there was more.

  “The next week I put Ben on the train. The last words he said to me were, ‘I hate you.’ ”

  “Oh, Nick. He didn’t mean it.”

  “No. He didn’t mean it.” He took a breath. “I made him enlist to keep him out of jail, but also I thought it would straighten him out.”

  Margaux said nothing, just let him talk.

  “He was a hero. He won a whole bunch of awards, three Bronze Stars, a Medal of Honor for extraordinary bravery. That was in Iraq. At the end of four years he could have come home. He had a wife and kid by then but he re-upped and was deployed to Afghanistan.

  “He was never much one for calling or writing, especially not to me. But I got a letter. Said he was glad he was there, but it was brutal, and he wouldn’t be coming home. His exact words. ‘I’m not coming home.’

  “I could tell something was wrong, something mental. I tried to get him out, but it took too long. He walked into open fire and was killed. He was awarded the Purple Heart.” Nick’s voice cracked. “He didn’t want to come back and he made sure he wouldn’t. I should never have sent him.”

  Margaux turned into him and he loved her with a ferocity she knew had as much to do with pain as with desire. And she accepted it willingly and felt her heart melt for the man she was quickly coming to love.

  Margaux wasn’t surprised when Jude walked into the workshop the next morning. She was carrying two lattes and a wide smile.

  “What’s the occasion?” Margaux asked, though she thought she knew.

  “You’re divorced and Sarah Thompson said Nick Prescott’s truck was outside your house two nights in a row.”

  To Margaux’s chagrin, her cheeks heated.

  “And that he bought you flowers.”

  “Sarah Thompson should get a life.”

  “I’m so happy for you.” Jude put down the cups and leaned over to hug her daughter.

  “You don’t think you’re being premature?”

  “Absolutely not. We all adore Nick and he’s not that willing to be adored.”

  “Whoa. It’s only been two days. This is just . . . I don’t know what it is.” Just that it’s been really good. That she’d never felt so close to anyone as when they’d made love the night before. That now she realized she and Nick had been drawn together from the beginning.

  “I think it’s a little early to start working up your expectations.”

  “We only expect the two of you to have a good time.”

  “We?”

  Jude shrugged. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

  “Mom.”

  “Just me and Dottie, oh, and Sarah Thompson, of course. And Adelaide.”

  “Adelaide? Who told her?”

  “No one as far as I know. But a mother knows these things.” Jude flashed her a complacent smile. “I also hear you’re getting some more seamstresses.”

  “And I thought the fashion-industry grapevine was fast. They’ve got nothing on Crescent Cove.”

  “That’s because we care. You know what they say, small towns . . .”

  “Big noses?”

  “I was going to say big hearts.” Jude glanced at her watch. “I’m late for my hair appointment. Gotta run.”

  “Mom, I almost forgot. I’ve booked the Cove Inn for the last Thursday in July for the runway show. They had a cancellation.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s so exciting. Congratulations.”

  Margaux waited until the door closed behind Jude, then she smiled. She trusted Jude to get the news out. You couldn’t buy publicity like the Cove grapevine.

  Three seamstresses arrived on Thursday, bringing their own sewing machines. The serger and two industrial sewing machines Margaux had rented from a machine shop in Hartford were delivered, and Adelaide moved the construction department upstairs.

  The workshop was suddenly empty and quiet. Margaux sat down at the drafting table. She’d finished the designs for the show but she wasn’t content. The idea of showroom and possible boutique kept niggling at her mind. If she was to open the showroom to the public, she would need more items for sale. Jewelry and accessories she could order from other designers. She had someone in mind. But she needed to fill out the line with pants, skirts, camisoles.

  By midafternoon she had several designs she liked. She took them upstairs to consult with Adelaide. Connor was playing with Matchbox cars out in the hallway, but he jumped up when he saw Margaux.

  “Look what Uncle Nick bought me.” He held up a new police car. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Can I come downstairs with you, if I don’t bother you?”

  Impulsively Margaux pulled him close. “Of course you can. You never bother me.” Realizing what she’d done, she let go, but Connor wrapped his arms around her legs and hugged her.

  “Pick up your cars first so nobody falls on them.” He released her and hurriedly scooped up the toys and put them in his backpack. All but the new police car, which he put in his shorts pocket.

  Margaux stepped into the sewing room. The ladies were all busy, Adelaide hovering over them, more like a mother hen than a factory boss. They each looked up just long enough to nod and went back to work.

  Adelaide motioned her back into the hallway.

  “Things seem to be going well,” Margaux said.

  “Yes. I’d like to get most of the pieces ready to begin the finishing by the Fourth.”

  The Fourth of July. It was only a week away, Margaux realized. Time was galloping forward.

  “Excellent. Then we need to discuss whether we can build enough to display one in each size for the showroom, then maybe augment what we have with a few additional pieces. Take a look at these.” She handed Adelaide her recent sketches.

  Adelaide perused each sketch. “I think there are enough large scraps of blue to turn into camisoles. And maybe some of the white silk.”

  “Good. I was thinking raw silk for those capris. Upscale but still comfortable and beachy.” She pointed to the rendering. “A seamed pleat down the front and a set of diagonal darts from below the knee to above the ankle. Piecemeal something for a few sarongs. I’ll make another run to Hartford for fabric, if you think we can do it.”

  “Of course we can.”

  Her cell rang. “Hi, it’s Bri. Just wanted to let you know that I haven’t been able to get any professionals, the notice is too short. But I did get a commitment from Annalise Ghi to send me four of her top students. For free. If they can use you as a reference. I told them fine. I hope that was okay.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I told her we didn’t want anorexic angst. She promised to work them like the devil and send them three days early so I can finesse them. Don’t worry about room and board. They can stay at my house, God knows I’ve got the room.”

  “Have you thought any more about—”

  “If you put me in a pantsuit, I’ll emcee. But I won’t walk. That’s my best offer.”

  “
It’s the best offer I’ve had in years.”

  “That’s sad. If you’re going to try to open the boutique in conjunction with the show, you’d better start looking for a manager now.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. You amaze me,” Margaux told her. “Where did you get all this business acumen?”

  “I told you, I went to college. I’m not bad at it, either.”

  “In that case, would you like that job?” Margaux asked, only half joking.

  “It might look good on my résumé. I’ll let you know.”

  “Accepted. You and Grace are invited to the beach for the Fourth.”

  “You’re taking the day off?”

  “Under duress. Jude said I might get away without going to Mass, but no way was I going to miss the fireworks.”

  “I like the way she thinks. We’ll be there.”

  “Great. And Bri, thanks. I mean it.”

  “No walking.”

  “It’s a deal.” Bri hung up and Margaux began designing an outfit to end all outfits for her new emcee.

  The Fourth came all too soon. The alarm woke Margaux at five. She slapped it off and was drifting back to sleep when she felt the bed dip beside her.

  “Do you have to go?”

  “Double shift. It’s a holiday, remember?” Nick bent down and nibbled her neck.

  She slipped her arms around his neck. “You shouldn’t have done that, Chief. Now you’ll have to pay before you go.”

  “I have to be out of here in twenty minutes and I need to shower.”

  “No problem.” She heaved out of bed. “I’ll wash your back.”

  The shower took seventeen minutes. “See, time to spare,” Margaux said as she watched Nick shave, but you’ll have to get coffee from Dottie, I don’t have time to cook.”

  “That’s okay, I don’t love you for your culinary skills.” His hand stopped as he realized what he’d said. Margaux recovered first. “It’s a good thing. I could sew you a shaving sarong, but it would be a shame to cover up those assets.”

  “Enough,” he said, washing off the disposable razor and giving her a quick kiss. “See you at midnight. With any luck.”