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* * *
The next daystarted off with more gopher chores. Vi had been running around all morning when Aoife finally sat her down and made her eat the lunch Vi had fetched earlier. Vi gulped down her sandwich while her boss messed around with the sewing machine and pontificated about the benefits of a Queen Anne line over all others for certain body types.Riveting. At least the sandwich was tasty.
Aoife eventually got up from her chair and straightened, stretching to try to reach for the third highest shelf near her. She failed adorably. Vi, who sat on the workstation next to her, smirked.
“Oh, fuck off. I am well aware that, even when you’re sitting down, you’re taller. I hate you.” Aoife flipped her off before stalking to the other end of the studio and getting a few things off the numerous clothes racks assembled there.
“You don’t. I bring you food and I listen to you rambling about fashion history, and I do what you tell me to do.” When Aoife narrowed her eyes at her, Vi shrugged. “Well, mostly.” Aoife tsked and Vi three-pointed her sandwich wrapper into the bin. “Whatcha need, short boss lady?”
“These need to go to Rue de Bretagne and they will give you several of the dresses they’ve already finished. Take all of them. But specifically ask for the cream bodycon. Chiara wants it tonight.”
“And a bodycon is? Also, Chiara wants it? Shouldn’t Frau Franciszka Lilienfeld be the one requesting things instead?” Vi would have given just about anything to take those words back the moment they fell out of her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that out loud. It’s really none of my business.”
Aoife gave her a sidelong glance, then just shook her head.
“First, you are a philistine, Cinderella. You’ve been with me for a week and still have no idea about dress styles. Just ask them. The women at Rue de Bretagne will give it to you if it’s ready. And second, you are right for once. Chiara is none of your business. And neither is Frau Lilienfeld. And it would pay for you to remember that they’re both Frau Lilienfelds, kid.”
Vi almost choked on the remnants of her shake and scurried to throw the plastic cup in the bin and hide her embarrassment. Aoife thumped her on the back. “Now, don’t feel bad. Some things are what they are. Run along, Cinderella.”
* * *
Even with Aoife’sattempt at wiping the sting off the truth, Vi moped all the way to Rue de Bretagne, and once she got there, had no time to focus on anything other than the issues at hand.
The place was its usual uncoordinated mess and not for the first time, Vi wondered why Aoife didn’t work with the seamstresses directly, or at least more closely. They could benefit from her ‘sunny’ disposition and firm hand. She was certainly doing a wonderful job with Vi. But that was the least of Vi’s concerns.
She’d almost finished sorting through a pile of half sewn garments, only to have Marie—who acted like she was in charge—announce that they had made changes to the design of the bodycon. They, whoever ‘they’ were—Vi had no idea why Marie was using the French plural of the pronoun—had decided that an A-line would work better for this particular piece.
Vi couldn’t tell a sheath from a tent or a babydoll from a princess, but she knew this wasn’t what was supposed to happen, hence there would be consequences. Marie was reluctant to discuss any details after Vi voiced her concerns, and the explosion of Gallic words and gestures—none of which were remotely acceptable in polite company—made Vi reconsider complaining. A different tactic was needed.
After an hour of negotiations, Marie agreed to discuss the issue again and said Vi could come by before the end of the day tomorrow. Vi reasoned that she would live to die another day and get better arguments from Aoife to persuade the Rue de Bretagne cohorts.
Satisfied that not all was lost yet, and that she would simply have to avert whatever would befall her upon her return to Saint-Honoré, Vi gathered the pieces and—with many smiles, niceties, and compliments—scrambled out of the converted warehouse.
* * *
“What do you mean,it’s ‘better as an A-line?’” Frankie’s incredulous, shrill voice rang painfully in Vi’s ears.
She’d had the misfortune of entering the studio with the garment bags just as Frankie was raiding Aoife’s fridge. Before she could say that the sushi was for Chiara, Frankie had already opened the package and dug in.
Vi decided to do what Aoife had advised earlier. She shut her mouth and got out of the way of Aoife’s already unpacking hands.
Binoche, who was lying sprawled on Aoife’s workstation and looked suspiciously close to a food coma, got up and, with a disdainful meow towards Frankie, sat on her back haunches, as if ready to watch the spectacle.
Vi wished she could do the same, simply show her displeasure with the scene unfolding like the cat. Sadly she couldn’t, because she was snapped out of her musings when the half-finished, cream dress was taken out of her hands. And as Aoife unfolded the clear garment bag, Vi stuttered to explain.
“Marie mentioned that. I assume the ladies—she didn’t say exactly who—made the executive decision to amend the style—”
Frankie growled and actually dropped the remaining sushi on the floor. Binoche, with an agility that belied someone still nursing an injured paw, pounced on the slice of tuna and disappeared up the stairs. As they said, when there was bread, circuses were immediately forgotten. Binoche, smart cat that she was, had her priorities straight.
Vi cringed at Frankie’s volume, but mostly at the fact that she was certain that the food throwing was for show, and now Chiara would go hungry.
Vi thought fast. If she had all her ducks in a row she’d not only escape Frankie’s temper tantrum, but also maybe manage to get some food to Chiara. The only things close by were luxury stores and the Michelin Star hotel restaurants. She’d have to hike back to Zizou’s, who was closing soon, but he would set her up. Or to the Monop on Rue de la Bourse. Give or take thirty minutes, and she bet Aoife could spare her for the time.
She tried to make her way out of the studio slowly when Frankie wheeled around on her.
“Why didn’t you tell them we need this exactly as specified?” From the corner of her eye, Vi could see Aoife open her mouth to intervene, and while it made Vi feel slightly better that someone was ready to stand up for her, instinct told her it would only make everything worse. She shook her head slowly, warning Aoife off. Vi was in for it now, and she didn’t want anyone else to take any flak.
Frankie, by all accounts and from everything Vi had witnessed and heard, did not appreciate being contradicted. She was already on the fence regarding this particular collection’s concept, and on a high one at that. Vi really didn’t want to start that whole discussion again.
