Authors: M.C. Adams
Fugue State (33 page)
Another blonde decked out in similar structured black armor followed this model. With each tramp down the catwalk, the color palate slowly turned to charcoal gray with more relaxed hemlines. One model wore a gray suit with a double cold shoulder, revealing bare skin on both sides. Alexa picked this tone of gray to match the fur of her Gray muse.
In time, both the color and the style became lighter, with the last couple of pieces being pure white. A two-piece, tiered white skirt and blouse floated down the runway. The upper tiers were more fitted, while the lower layers flowed easily. Her final piece was an extravagant white gown with a fitted torso and heavily layered skirt that combined different textures and fabrics. A high, wide slit cut through the center of the skirt and a medium-length train followed the model down the runway. Her lips were bright red, and she was the only model whose smile was genuine.
Alexa had made the dress to resemble an emerging butterfly. The upper half of the dress was a tightly wound cocoon, and the lower half spread like wings taking flight. Beautiful and opulent, it could be a wedding gown. It was the epitome of her Metamorphosis.
A chill cut through her core when she watched the dress move. She wanted to wrap herself in the white fabric until its purity rubbed off on her. With each piece, she tried to physically separate from the darkness within her and move to a state of virtue and truth. It was a complicated transition, and she felt lost somewhere in between. The dark armored pieces had been easier to construct. Their subject matter felt more familiar. The pieces designed to represent purity were more difficult; their creation seemed unlikely at times.
Alexa followed her final model down the runway and waited for the audience’s scrutiny to present itself. Their applause was haphazard at first, with only a few members electing to participate. In time, however, the applause grew, and at least a dozen audience members rose to their feet. It was all Alexa could have hoped for.
She exited the runway and joined Britt, and they watched the final show together. It was an Asian twenty-something man with a very colorful collection.
A bony little finger tapped Alexa firmly on the shoulder. She turned to face the culprit. A middle-aged, black-haired woman with a long nose and close set eyes that gave her a certain haughtiness stood beside them.
“Hello, Miss DeBrow. I’m Marcia Douglas. I’m a buyer for a couple of department stores here in town. I’m interested in some of your pieces, if you’re thinking of going commercial. Your clothes have an edginess to them that I find appealing, and the whole black and white thing is very marketable. That one at the end, however . . . you really should have gone with the over-the-top wedding gown approach. You know, given her a bouquet, or a veil, or something. Well, now I’m just rambling. What do you think?”
Alexa was too flustered to respond. The audience’s murmuring had left her guarded, and she had braced herself for verbal backlash and abuse, not compliments. The terms “marketable” and “commercial” were incomprehensible. Her jaw hung open slightly.
“Lex?” Britt’s hand reached for her shoulder.
She turned to him. “Yes?”
“Lex, do you understand what she’s asking you?”
Alexa turned to the black-haired lady. “Yes. I say yes.” Her head bobbed up and down as she nodded to herself. “I would like to sell whatever you want to buy.”
“All right, Miss DeBrow. Here’s my card. I’ll get your phone number, and I’ll give you a call later this week to sort out the details. We may need a few more pieces than just those, so I suggest you keep working. I’ll give you a rough idea of what we’re looking for over the phone. Do you have a label?”
The nasal quality in her voice became more prominent when she asked a question, and Alexa found herself fixated by it. “Pardon?” she stuttered.
“Your label, your brand, does it have a
name
?”
A name? Like Elizabeth Fuguay or Alexa DeBrow? It always comes down to a name. After all this wedding gown talk, the name “Mrs. Britt Anderson” sounds pretty good to me.
“Yes. I call it
Levende Lys,
” Alexa stated.
“I see. You’ll have to include the name in an email if I’m going to get the spelling right. Well, Miss DeBrow, congratulations to you. You were my only pick today, which makes you very fortunate. I’ll talk to you later this week. Are you from the city?”
Alexa blushed. “No. I’ve been staying in Savannah lately. I’ve moved around some. . .” She became distracted thinking of the places she’d been.
“I see. All right, have a safe trip back, then. Enjoy the rest of your time in New York. It is an
amazing
place. Good meeting you, Miss DeBrow.” She smiled and gave a little wave as she hustled away.
Britt turned to Alexa, his face beaming. “This is great, Lex. I’m so impressed by the way everything is coming together for you. This is what you do now: Alexa DeBrow, designer. Absolutely amazing!”
She smiled back at him half-heartedly. “Yes, Britt. This is what I do,
for now
.”
“Relax, Babe. You’re really great. If this is what you want, you’ll be fabulous.”
“This is what I do,
for now,”
she repeated. Nothing in her future seemed clear. “
For now
is different than forever. I don’t know what forever holds. I thought I would be a doctor forever. Things change, Britt. I can’t pretend this will last any longer than anything else has.”
“We’ll last forever, Lex. I promise.” He smiled his characteristically seductive smile and squeezed her hand.
She melted into the warmth of his touch.
God, I hope so.
The last runway show had ended, and a moderately noteworthy local designer gave a finale speech. Confetti erupted from containers in the ceiling. Loud popping sounds echoed in the room. Alexa instantly dropped her head and shielded herself with her arms, fearing a bomb detonated. A quick glance at Britt showed him also cowering. He lost his balance, his prosthesis faltered, and he crumpled to the floor.
Alexa knelt to the ground and grabbed Britt’s torso in attempt to ease his fall. His frame was a little lighter after the amputation, and she found his weight more manageable. With their combined efforts, he was quickly upright on his prosthesis again.
It wasn’t a bomb, or an explosion. The thunderclap sound was the confetti erupting from the containers that held it. When she looked into Britt’s pale, frightened face, her eyes overflowed with tears. Their arms wrapped around one another in a unifying embrace. She felt his heart pounding against her chest haphazardly.
Oh, God.
He thought they were bombs, too.
Her heart sank. They were equally broken and clung to one another as if holding onto life itself.
She tumbled out of the long dark tunnel. And, as it turns out, at the end of that hellish tunnel, there was a light. For Alexa DeBrow, it was a candlelight.
Levende Lys
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
M.C. Adams is a practicing physician on the gulf coast of Florida. She spends her time battling her left brain, right brain tendencies. Medicine feeds her logical and analytical prowess, while writing, painting, and design projects fuel her creative desires. She also makes traveling with her husband a top priority, favoring beautiful places with rich history and high educational value.
Fugue State
is her first published novel, with a second piece in the works for your reading pleasure. She loves her readers’ feedback! Please check out
the website
to leave comments. Also, feel free to join the
mailing list
for an update on her next novel.
Table of Contents