DESIGN FOR LOVE (7 page)

Once inside the building, Francine made her way to the changing area to round up all her models, hoping against hope that none had fallen sick or injured themselves the night before.

Vince in turn was shepherding the precious Classique creations to their designated corner of the changing area as Francine arrived from the opposite direction to confirm that everything was in order and that the girls were already safely in hairdressing so she could relax for a little while.

The next job on her list was to organize the music. If there was one thing she had learned at the design college, it was that trendy, upbeat music had a very significant effect on a person’s perception of a model walking down the catwalk and consequently a special impression of what the model was actually wearing. Francine had worked hard with Benny Mitchell, a musician friend back in Dallas to lay down tracks that portrayed her own distinctive design flair. Consequently, after locating the sound guy, she spent some time discussing the sound track with him until he was comfortable with it.

The next job was then to find the Compere and go over her specific script to make sure she understood the delivery and the highlights of each garment description. By the time she had waited her turn to talk with the Compere, the larger fashion houses were already smothering the scene with dressers, assistant dressers, in-house photographers and a host of additional people handling make-up and hairdressing.

With a few minutes to spare, Francine decided to take one more look at the Auditorium while things were still quiet. She wandered down the side of the catwalk, her mind visualizing each of her creations drifting along above her, seductively draped around her various models.

Finally, she stopped at the head of the catwalk and sat down in what she now looked upon as the ‘vulture pit’. This was where the first creative comments on her line would originate from the Big Apple.

As she lowered her head in silent prayer that everything would go smoothly, a familiar, if not persistent voice behind her made her give a start.

“If it’s not right now, prayer is a little too late, my dear!” Gerard Cinclare looked down on her with a humorous twinkle in his eye.

‘My dear! How dare he call me my dear?’
she mused before acknowledging his presence politely. “Oh, it’s you again, Gerard. What are you doing here? Show doesn’t start until seven?”

“I know,” he countered. “But I had an urgent order go astray yesterday back in Dallas, so you might say I’ve been chewing on my agent a little, since it was his fault.”

Francine found it somehow strangely relaxing to be talking to Gerard. “Well, I’m glad I’m not your agent. Did anyone ever tell you that you can be pretty rough when you want to be?”

He grinned. “Who me? I’m a pussycat!” he continued in conversational tones. “I take it that you haven’t had any more trouble from…from?”

“My Ex?”

“Yes, that’s the fellow.”

“No,” she paused a moment. “Well, I suppose that’s not strictly true.”

His gaze narrowed, those eyes losing the warm tinge of green momentarily. “Oh?”

Once again, here she was, volunteering information on her personal life. ‘What’s wrong with you, girl
?’
she asked herself before continuing. “Yes, he called my home in Dallas last night, trying to talk to my daughter.”

“And did he succeed?”

“No, my housekeeper wouldn’t let him speak to Alison.”

“And is this a problem?”

“Not really. At least it won’t be after I straighten him out later this evening.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” he looked suddenly concerned.

“Sure, I’ll be fine,” she tried to sound more confident than she felt. “The divorce stated quite clearly that he would not interfere in our daughter’s life - so, the law’s on my side, at least that’s in my favor.”

Gerard put a hand on her arm. Once again the tingling sensations began in Francine’s rib cage as he fixed her with a steady gaze. “Well, Miss Dubois, er, Francine - please be careful, okay? The man’s obviously an addict and these people can turn on you in a heartbeat.”

She smiled, touched for the first time by his concern. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care, and thanks!”

He intertwined the fingers of each hand, clicking them noisily as he changed the subject. “So, ready for the fray?”

She paused a moment, thoughts of at least partially setting the record straight for her performance back in Dallas. “Well. Unlike Dallas, at least all my models have shown up today, so all the fashions designed for them will actually fit and won’t need last minute alterations. Other than that, we’ll have to see!”

He smiled that 100 watt smile. “Well, don’t forget, my offer still holds good.”

She grinned as she walked away. She was really getting good at these exit lines as far as Gerard Cinclare was concerned. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m counting on it!” she smiled as she whisked through the door and out of sight.

CHAPTER 12

Back in the changing rooms, it was obvious that show time was getting closer as Vince’s voice was rising in frustration and excitement at a number of octaves per hour.

“No, sweetie,” he was almost squealing at Karen, the model. “The green one is next and then the pant suit!” he rubbed his chrome dome like some sultan rubbing his magic lamp. “Pleeeeease make sure you get the sequence right later, okay, sweetie?”

Karen nodded, half-smiling. “Yes, oh mighty Sultan!”

Francine looked on, still a million things going through her mind. At least she had spoken with Mrs.‘T’ and Alison before she left the hotel and everything was all right in Dallas with no more troublesome phone calls.

Her brain still in overdrive, she sat back and surveyed the scene, checking off in her mind all the minor tasks still to be done before the curtain rolled up on her line.

Looking around, she could see more than a dozen of the country’s high visibility models starting to arrive for their role with the big fashion houses. Each seemed to be followed by a small army of make-up and hair stylists and fussy, old, prune-faced dressers. Francine could never understand why the latter always seemed to look so round-shouldered, emaciated and each seemed to have the proverbial cigarette forever drooping from their lips.

At one stage, Serena, a top model, walked by and gave her a friendly smile. “Let me guess, you’re new here at the zoo?”

Francine smiled and nodded. “I guess so. And now I know why you call it a zoo!”

“What’s the name of your line?” Serena asked.

“Classique Fashions.” even as she said it, Francine wondered if it didn’t perhaps sound a rather trite name, but Serena replied.

“Hmm, I like the name, hope I like the fashions. Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Francine smiled in gratitude. ‘I’m going to need it!
’
she murmured under her breath as Serena was whisked away by a cigarette smoking dresser!

Outside the Fashion Center, it was as if the September night had finally come to life. The street was absolutely blocked with elegant limos and taxis as the glitz and glamour of New York’s fashion scene started to emerge from their penthouses and mansions.

Had Francine been able to take in the scene, she would probably have been even more nervous than she already was. Men in Tuxedos escorting women wearing the most expensive fashion names were everywhere as the select few made their way up the ornate steps of the Fashion Center. Out front, the hungry paparazzi were present in full force hoping to perhaps get a slinky boob shot of a super model or an equally curvaceous thigh shot of some celebrity dame exiting her limo.

However, oblivious to all the glitz and glitter outside, Francine and her team were going through their final routines and sequences, Vince hopping around in the background like a pregnant parrot, emanating squeaks and squeals that the original feathered vocalist would have been proud of.

Champagne and hors d’oeuvres were flowing out front when Francine took a quick peak through the curtain. There, at the end of the catwalk, she could see the ‘vultures’ gathering. From her viewpoint, they all looked like elegant middle-aged men and women, pens poised to either make or break someone’s heart that very evening. She hoped against hope that it would not be hers.

Finally, the lights lowered, a fanfare played and suddenly the show was under way. The smooth-talking Compere warmed up the audience with some light-hearted banter, listed the Fashion Houses that would be on display and within seconds the first Model was on the catwalk to initial polite applause.

To Francine, just to hear the name ‘Classique’ being mentioned in the same breath as Verucci, McGarry, Derona and Iliac, together with other household names in the fashion world, already had her almost comatose with trepidation. The strings she had pulled with help from her father in the form of big favors called in, as well as excellent references from the people who trained her in college, had at least got her to the show. What she did from hereon in was up to her raw talent and a heck of a lot of good luck.

Vince as usual was a tower of strength at her side. He squeezed her arm to bring her back to reality. “Okay, Princess - this is it - two more fashion houses and its little old us!”

Francine blinked back into reality. “You’re right, Vince. So, from the top, let’s go over everything one last time!”

With that, Francine, Vince and the models went into a final huddle before the moment of truth arrived.

Out in the audience, a newly-shaved, elegant-looking Roger arrived, taking a seat, like the TV hound that he was, that would give him good exposure and light angles. Two older women, elegantly-dressed, amply endowed cleavages to go with it, were already eyeing the young newscaster hungrily. The latter’s built-in radar had also sensed their curiosity as he switched on his ‘this is the good-looking guy on the news’ smile especially for their benefit.

Closer to the stage and nearer to the beginning of the catwalk, Gerard, looking strikingly handsome as usual in a dark green silk dinner jacket accentuating those piercing eyes, was seated next to Jeri. The latter looked absolutely picture perfect in a deep purple sheath dress that looked like it had been painted on in all the right places, yet flaring beautifully in all the other right places. Together, they made a very striking couple.

As the refreshments and libations continued to flow freely, the very selective audience became more relaxed and appreciative of the cascade of quality fashions unfolding before them.

When it finally came to the heart-stopping moment when Francine’s creations made their debut, she heaved a sigh of relief as her upbeat music, pleasantly contrasting models and her use of vibrant colors, appeared to keep the upbeat tempo and polite applause still alive, even if the applause did seem a little less vociferous than that awarded to the bigger fashion houses.

Francine worked frenetically behind the scenes, tuned in to every sound from the audience, finally proving to herself that thus far, she was holding her own in world-class company.

In a brief moment of self-indulgence, she permitted herself a quick glance at the ‘vulture pit’, only to see the non-committal faces of all there, some of them making notes.

What would have gratified her more, however, would have been if she could have seen the slow, nodding look of appreciation spreading over the face of a certain member of the audience, a man in a dark green dinner jacket.

Next to Gerard, Jeri gave his arm a squeeze and she whispered in his ear. “What do you think
now
about Classique Fashions, Mr. Doubting Thomas?”

He smiled accommodatingly. “Hmm, not bad!”

“Only not bad?” she prodded his arm reproachfully

“Well, all right. Reasonably good, it’s, it’s just…” his voice trailed off.

“Just what?”

“Well, so far, darling, there’s nothing that jumps out at me, catches my attention.”

“My, aren’t we the picky one?”

He looked serious for a moment. “Look, darling - I need about 6 more pieces to make the Spring Collection complete. I’ve seen one with Verucci and one with Iliac - but I’m still four short and I’m afraid that our Miss Dubois hasn’t made sufficient impact yet, okay?”

Jeri pouted. “Okay.”

Finally, to polite applause, Francine’s last creation left the catwalk as she and Vince hugged each other in satisfaction. Vince was grinning, his voice back to normal. “Well, Princess. It looks as though we may have perhaps made it past the New York vultures!”

Francine gave him a hug. “I hope so, Vince, but I’ll tell you more after the reviews are out in the morning. So, let’s get the girls ready for the finale. I need to change before we hit the catwalk.”

Vince shoved her in the direction of the changing rooms. “Well, get to it, boss, there’s only one more house to go before the finale.”

Francine nodded and headed for the corner of the changing area. She had agonized over what to wear herself in the traditional walk down the catwalk by each designer and their models.

Having been blessed with a beautiful figure, with a straight posture and curvaceous, arching breasts, she had decided to leave her shoulder length auburn hair down and at Vince’s suggestion, she had selected one of her own designs. It was a delicate teal colored sleek pant suit with matching shoes and a white silk blouse enhancing what was still left of her Texas summer tan.

As she gave herself a final look over in the mirror, behind her reflection, she saw Serena approaching. The tall, elegant model smiled. “Nice job, girl,” she eyed the outfit that Francine was wearing. “Your design too?”

Francine nodded.

“Pity one of the models didn’t wear it,” Serena grinned. “Wouldn’t mind one like that myself.”

Francine turned to face her, a warm smile on her face. “In that case, consider it done. Just leave your card and measurements with my guy Vince - you can’t miss him.”

Serena grinned. “Let me guess, the Rainbow Man with the chrome dome?”

“That’s Vince. Just tell him you spoke to me. We’ll have it made up and send it to you with the compliments of ‘Classique’.”

Serena gave her a hug. “Great! And I’ll make sure I wear it and spread the name. Good luck, gotta go, bye.”