She had almost forgotten how over-the-top styles and fashion were in the Tower of Hope and among the higher class, generally. The rest of Megora didn't bother too much, partially because it was so expensive. But also because fashion seemed so prominent to the Remaking.
They took eccentric and ramped it up a notch. Sela had few clothes that could really fit in, and none of them were comfortable. She did have a nice pantsuit that would do alright.
Sela washed her face and applied some minimal makeup; foundation, eyeliner, and lip gloss. After brushing her hair, she changed into the pantsuit and looked in the mirror again. It wasn't a sexy look; more professional, to her own eyes.
Unfortunately, her purse didn't quite match the outfit. It was such a pain to try to find a purse that went with every outfit she had, not because they didn't exist. They did, and she could afford to buy them, if she budgeted carefully.
The problem was that most purses didn't have a pocket that could accommodate her handgun. Any purse that could actually accompany the pantsuit would be far too small, unless she put it in the main pocket where anything could snag the trigger.
She always carried the gun if she could. Her father didn't send it to her so it could collect dust. And so many of the elites in Megora blatantly violated the Council's prohibition on guns, the Council quietly removed most of the metal-detectors in the city. Only the Tower of Hope and several other buildings had such high security entrances.
The Council never wanted to get rid of guns entirely, just to get them away from average people. If the elites worshipped the Remaking, they could break whatever laws and regulations all they liked.
Sela was taking her gun.
Double-checking the contents of her purse, and triple-checking that the weapon was loaded and safed, Sela took one last look in the mirror, brushed a lock of hair into place, and then left her apartment.
Midafternoon sun glared off the near-white building sides. Instead of concrete, the sidewalk was a broad tiling of shaved granite, colored in tans, greys, browns, and the occasional deep, forest green.
This was one of the first areas of Megora to be built, more than a decade ago. Sela walked past an array of expensive shops and restaurants.
She didn't quite blend in with the eccentric fashion on display both in windows and on other women. However, there weren't that many pedestrians out and about. Sela didn't stick out like a sore thumb, since she wasn't passing near contrasting outfits so often.
Desmond was already at the intersection, across the street, when Sela arrived. He caught sight of her while she was still half a block away, and crossed through the sparse traffic.
She noted his clothes, a lightened slate blue button down and nice jeans. He had his sleeves rolled up almost too casually, revealing tanned, muscled arms with smooth skin. His eyes were shrouded behind expensive Eyeblade sunglasses. In all, he didn't look gaudy or over the top, but no one would bat an eye seeing him in the area.
His lips parted in a grin, "We're both early."
Sela squinted in the bright afternoon glare, "Only a few minutes."
"Today, we need every bit of the time we can muster." Desmond gracefully turned to lead the way back across the street.
Following, Sela clenched her jaw. She was frustrated with Desmond, but did not want to show it any more than she wanted to seem enthusiastic about the job. "Where are we going?" she asked.
"We need to get you fitted for a dress," Desmond started, glancing sideways at her. "That is, presuming that you're actually going to take the job."
He sped up the pace. Sela had to walk swiftly to keep up with Desmond who was a few inches taller than her. "Actually, I have some questions first."
"That's fine," he answered. "We can talk about those, but if you're going to get an outfit in time, the tailors will need as much time as we can give them."
Sela tried not to scowl, though she thought Desmond ought to see her disapproval. This could be a way to muscle her into taking the job. She didn’t like it. She didn't even know how they were going to get into such an exclusive party.
Oh, but the dress is already made, Sela. We spent a lot of money to get this for you! Sela took a few deep breaths as they hustled into a storefront.
She hadn't caught the name of the clothier, and the name wasn't on display within. In fact, the interior looked nothing like any of the clothier's Sela had visited since leaving the Tower of Hope.
This was a high-class, exclusive place. There were no mannequins, no racks of dresses or jackets, no stacks of shoe boxes next to displays. It almost looked like a hotel lobby.
Comfortable recliners formed little colonies around the room. Each of the islands was outfitted with ultra-modern tables, columns of brushed aluminum and wood, smoothly stylized into unique, minimalist works of art.
Nice as they were, the tables were completely ignored by the few occupants of the chairs. One boy, Sela just couldn't describe him as a man, was entirely engulfed in a game on his tablet. A woman at a different island was served a fruity drink by a waiter in full tuxedo.
A battle immediately began to rage in Sela with three separate combatants. One part of her despised these decadent people who had more leisure and luxury than they knew how to value.
Another part was self-conscious that her practical outfit was a laser-target for criticism and perhaps ridicule. Those feelings brought a blush of shame.
And the last sensation was a trickle of nostalgia. The last time Sela had been into a store this nice, she had been with friends in the Tower of Hope, ignoring her parents, as all teenagers do. She had not realized how much she would miss them just months later.
With a sharp breath, she swallowed back that battle, and closed her heart off to the visual assault of the lobby.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Tine," a concierge approached, appearing so incredibly particular, that her styling may as well have been surgically applied to her image. "your consultant is prepared and waiting. If you'll follow me…"
Desmond acknowledged her with a cool nod as he folded his sunglasses, stashing them in a front pocket of his shirt. Sela followed both of them through a door and down a hallway paneled with Maplewood, dark carpeting, and a ceiling that glowed uniformly, casting soft light everywhere.
Guiding them into a private room, the concierge said, "I will let Emory know you are ready for him." She left, without having displayed so much as a twinge in her manufactured expression.
Sela turned a consuming gaze around the room. There was a corner with five full length mirrors spaced in an arc to provide each angle. There was a series of plush, cushioned benches to one side, a changing room and several empty racks. In another corner, a mini-bar was set up, with a bowl of fresh-cut fruit, and a button to summon a waiter.
Before Sela had absorbed much of the room, the door opened again. The man who strode in had to be Emory.
He was all flash, excitement, impossible to tell his age. Emory had spikey hair, diamond earrings, puffy cheeks and a lanky form. He wore a turtleneck and vest but no jacket. His pants hinted at purple, dark as the jeans were, and they were tight.
A woman followed Emory in, dressed even more ridiculously, though she had more natural grace. Her role was to assist Emory with the more mundane tasks of being a style consultant.
"Hello, hello," Emory beamed at Desmond and Sela, "Oh, and my, what have we here!"
Desmond slid away from Sela as Emory moved in, daintily touching a lock of her hair, then putting a hand on her arm. His eyes drank in her appearance, making Sela blush. She forced her hands downward, lowering her purse to her knees.
Emory's hands gently turned her around as he radiated, "Oh yes, yes. Marvelous, mmm yes." She had turned around completely now. "My dear, you have come to the right person!"
His grin filled her vision. Sela glanced away as she felt her face burning red. "I uh…" Sela stammered.
"Oh, where are my manners?" Emory took a step back and nearly bowed, placing manicured nails against his chest, "
I am Emory." He spoke his name like it was magical, and she almost believed him. "I will be your fashion visionary!"
He turned away from Sela, "And Desmond! How wonderful it is to see you again!"
Desmond smirked at the man's exuberance, "We appreciate you taking us on such short notice."
"Not at all! I love a good challenge!" Emory turned back to Sela with a look of reassurance, "Not that you will be a challenge, my dear. Quite the opposite, I must say!" Emory looked over her again, his eyes professional and lively.
"This is Sela, Emory," Desmond said holding out a hand to introduce her. "Emory has been my consultant for a year or so."
"And we've come a long way with him," Emory smiled with mischief. He leaned in, pretending to whisper, "I must be rubbing off on him, because you're quite the catch compared with his normal companion."
Sela blinked in shock. Desmond rubbed a palm over his face and chuckled, "Thank you, Emory, for that."
Emory brimmed over with excitement as he stepped back and said, "Wonderful! Just wonderful!" He held up his hands and clasped them together, arms resting against his chest, gazing over her.
She couldn't remember feeling this self-conscious when buying expensive clothes in the Tower of Hope. Maybe it was the fact that she was wearing what Emory surely must think were shabby, outdated rags. Sela couldn’t recall why she thought the pantsuit would be acceptable.
But then, Desmond had not told her she was going to a "fashion visionary".
"I uh… This is just something," Sela let go of her purse with her left hand and picked at her vest, flustered under the scrutiny.
"Oh honey," Emory crossed an arm under the other, leaning out his hand and letting his fingers dangle in the air, "Don't worry about that one little bit. You should see some of the things Desmond's girls are wearing when they come in here!"
Her eyebrows quirked halfway between question and accusation as she glanced at Desmond. He just stood there, staring at the carpet, his own arms crossed as he pinched his left eyebrow between thumb and finger.
Emory seemed utterly oblivious to them both, deep into whatever visions he was having. "No, no. When I am finished, you'll even be out of Desmond's league."
Sela sucked in her lips, trying to will away her embarrassment, to no avail.
Saving her the effort, Emory said with gusto, "Give me just a few minutes, and I'll bring back some baseline ideas, and we will put you together from there, alright?"
"Yeah, that sounds fine," Desmond spoke up, moving closer to Sela.
Emory turned and beckoned to his assistant, "Come! Come!" and they strode through the door.
Sela took the moment of silence to move away from Desmond, over toward the benches. Refusing to look at him, she took a few deep breaths.
"He's a bit of an eccentric," Desmond spoke slowly, gently, "but he's a genius."
Her anger welled up inside of her. Sela shot a furious look at Desmond, "Genius? So you have him fix up all the girls you date?"
Desmond's eyebrows arched upward with sorrow. "It's… not like that, Sela. It's nothing like that."
The scowl remained, "What's it like then, Desmond?" She almost couldn't say his name, she felt so humiliated.
Desmond stumbled over his words, trying to gesture with one hand, "I… Look, sometimes… I've brought two women to Emory so they can be outfitted for work. Special work, like this thing coming up."
"You just buy one outfit for these girls?" She growled, "What is Emory supposed to think?"
"About those women? Nothing! I don't care!" His face became stern and has voice darker, "He's going to be making several outfits for you, just based on this one fitting."
"Well, why would I be any—?"
Sela cut off as the door flung open again. Emory held it open for the assistant who carried in a stack of clothes in plastic covers. "Now, I want you two to keep an open mind about these, because I really just grabbed them in a hurry."
He let the door close and spoke while the assistant struggled to hang up the whole stack without dropping any. "Since this is the first time I've seen you, Sela, I'm improvising on the fly. But as I said before, you are in good hands, here." Emory reached out and squeezed both of Sela's hands gently.
"Now, let's get rid of this," Emory pulled the purse strap out of her hands. She wanted to protest, but suppressed it, watching carefully as Emory set the purse down on one of the benches.
“And the shoes, sweetie. I need your shoes.” When Sela hesitated, Emory held up a hand, “Come now! The best clay works with the sculptor!”
She relented and then went to the dressing room with the first outfit Emory handed her. Shouldn’t she look at them first? Try to decide what she liked for herself?
Emory deemed his own opinion as law and orthodoxy. Why would anyone else’ view matter; Sela’s much less Desmond’s?
The first outfit felt off-balance to wear, although the purple silk was a nice color. A full length dress that was sewn in layers to form a sort of spiral up around her form, starting at her ankles. Near her bust, the twists reached off from the dress and formed arcs that suspended in the air.
But it was too loose in some parts, too tight in others, and the arcs were distracting. Whenever she moved, the extra cloth got in the way of her arms, and it just felt plain awkward.
Emory had his own opinions, of course. He thought it had potential, and even agreed with Desmond that she looked “amazing” in it. Sela scowled at them both and insisted that the dress was not her look.
The second outfit was way too low-cut; Emory didn’t want to set it aside. Desmond agreed with Sela, and Emory consented to try something else on her.
The next dress had a split in the fabric on the left side, all the way up the front-left of her leg. There it met ribbon lacing that kept the split two inches wide as it showed her hip, her side, her ribs, ending under her arm, where the lace was topped with a thicker strap. And this too was lower cut than Sela preferred.
After the first few outfits though, she began to trust Emory a little. Of course, the clothes were too chic for her preferences. Even when she wanted to look gorgeous, Sela didn’t want to feel ridiculous, and so much fashion was just plain over the top.
Slowly, Emory began to develop a sense for what made Sela feel comfortable. And at the same time, she began to understand why he was insisting she try each of his selections.
One way or another, she would be wearing something that was likely to be uncomfortable, as much physically as psychologically. She realized some concessions to current trends would be inevitable.
Yet, Emory began picking up on what bothered her the most, especially as she quit combatting his instructions and started working with him. When she made calm objections, Emory would shrewdly judge what bothered her, and would speculate on how each dress could be redesigned to overcome the flaws.
Sometimes though, nothing could be done to make her comfortable in an outfit, as was the case with the dress that exposed her whole left side under ribbon ties. It just left her feeling naked and exposed. That dress didn’t come back up.
Twice more, Emory and the assistant left to retrieve more outfits for her to try on. Each session improved, until Sela actually felt excited by her image in the mirror. The last dresses Emory put her in were different, enticing, comfortable, almost modest.
And then, without a bit of warning, Emory shivered with joy, “Wonderful! Just wonderful! Sela, my dear,” his voice lowered to a serious tone, “I have everything I need.” He clasped her hands together in his as he whispered, “I will make you look simply astonishing!”
Sela didn’t know what to say, though she managed, “I… I hope so.”
Emory beamed and stared into her eyes, and through them, seeing whatever it was that made him a fashion visionary. “Simply astonishing,” he repeated vaguely.
And with that he turned to Desmond, his presence very subdued, compared to his usual boisterousness. “I have three days?”
Desmond nodded, “T
hat’s right.”
Emory held his hands against his vest, turning back to Sela, “I shall make you a goddess,” he smiled confidently, “in two.”
And with that, he left the room, striding, swaggering with self-assurance and happiness. The assistant asked if she could accompany Sela to the dressing room to take detailed measurements. Sela let her. The woman had assisted her in climbing into more than a few of the outfits.
By the time Sela was dressed again, purse back in hand, the concierge was there to escort them to the lobby. And soon they were stepping back outside, into a now-declining afternoon.
Shadows were lengthening, even as mirrors and naturalights fought to banish them, fought even harder here than they did throughout most of Megora. They worked to hide under a blanket of glaring brilliance, the darker half of nature.
And even now, she could almost convince herself it could be done.
Chapter 9
Desmond started along the granite tile. Sela looked after him for a few steps and then hurried to catch up.
She wasn’t furious with him any longer, at least not quite. Sela wasn’t sure if he had been cautious in the fitting room or not. At least he had been supportive of her preferences. He had done what little he could to help Sela become used to Emory’s excessive nature.
I mean, really, what do you care what Emory thinks? Sela thought. Does it really matter?
Nice as he had been, Emory saw Sela as a project; nothing more. Desmond’s latest fling…
Her blood fizzled, and her mind fought back against the rage, That’s just cover for what was really going on. Plausible deniability.
There was no reason to involve Emory in why Desmond had bought such extravagant clothes for girls from the commoner districts. The obvious guess was left unchallenged and therefore assumed correct.
Sela hated that, though… yet she just couldn’t figure out why.
The Remaking Page 13
