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He tilted his head. “I’d think you rude if I didn’t know you. I’m your host, and you’re my guest. A tour isn’t something to refuse, no? S’il te plaît, Mademoiselle Sokol.” He added a playful bow that made me laugh.
“Bien. Merci, Hayden.” Why not?
He walked like he was dancing with a rhythmic strut that brought attention to his broad shoulders and cut arms. And tight ass…stop looking. I jerked my attention to the dining room, which housed a large metal table, medieval chairs, and stained-glass windows.
“Perfect place to feast after a battle,” I joked.
He chuckled. “You have no idea how close that comes sometimes.”
We reached the end of the hall, and he paused. “That direction leads to my bedroom. Hmm…how about I show you my studio?”
I beamed at him. “Yes, please, I’d love to see it. Thank you.”
There had been brief clips online from some of his interviews that showed the space, but I was intrigued to see more.
“Another smile. You make me work for them.”
His tone wasn’t exactly humorous, but I took it in stride.
We walked down a hallway lined with more art, this time photographs. One of my new favorites was on display. It was a Helmut Newton image of a woman in Yves Saint Laurent’s famous dinner jacket, pin-striped formal trousers, and pussy-bow blouse on a street in Paris. “This photo was part of Helmut’s private collection?”
He grinned. “You’ve been studying Helmut?”
“Oui. J’ai étudié,” I answered ‘I studied’ in French. “Josephine mentioned it’s why you take polaroids.”
“It’s not my only reason,” Hayden said. “But you were told I did and studied his art. Très bien.” Joy bubbled up inside of me, and I grinned broadly. Hayden’s delight and praise were rare, and it felt like a high mark on a hard exam.
“This is Rue Aubriot. It was taken right outside Helmut’s home here in Paris. When I saw the image as a child, it was…” He gestured like an explosion had gone off in his head. “I had very little money, but I bought a postcard of it.”
“And now it’s yours. That’s wonderful.” I gazed at it again.
“It is. I have my designs, but having this image makes me feel successful.”
It surprised me that Hayden kept the iconic image private. Perhaps its meaning was too close to the heart to share easily. Or to keep it secure.
We descended a flight of stairs to stand in front of a large metal wall. He pressed a code into a panel, and the wall rolled back to reveal his studio.
My mouth dropped open. I thought my studio was great, but his was the dream.
The space itself, with large factory windows and skylights, were impressive, but his designer’s setup was extravagant. Hayden had built-in oak shelves, which he opened to show me racks of clothes, fabrics, and accessories. He had custom worktables with sewing machines, and I couldn’t stop myself from examining them all. My hands were gentle over the clothes on the mannequins. There were silk blousy shirts with corsets and leather jodhpurs and evening gowns with delicate laces and beads. He took what was old and innovated it into something new and exciting.
“Oh, Hayden. Wow. I’m floored. These are incredible,” I gushed.
“Yes, they are,” he agreed. “Let me show you more.”
I moved to the computer screens, where he showed me proofs from shoots and his fashion shows. “And you will join me in Monaco for Titan.”
“I’m very excited,” I said emphatically. “I’ve researched the film and read the original story of Titan. It’s a beautiful love story that journeys over the thirties to the sixties. I’m thrilled to see where your design merges with the eras.”
His eyes widened, and he grinned broadly. “You prepared again. I’m pleased.”
I lifted my shoulder and smiled “It’s my first, Tomas has given me advice. I also ask the other interns.”
He stood taller. “You didn’t ask me.”
“What’s your advice, Hayden?”
“Observe. Listen. No job is too big or small. You endure until it’s yours.”
