Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing

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Dedicated with all my love to my dad, David O. Cano—for showing me that anything is possible and to always dream big. I love you.

Driving along one of the busiest highways in the state, the cabbie slouched, relaxed as always. With one hand on the wheel, he glanced again in his rearview mirror.

He couldn’t take his eyes off them.

Three exquisite young women in sparkling, jewel-toned evening gowns. Each with a different flower—a lily, a rose, a daisy—behind her ear. Brilliant hair colors of Raquel brown, Liz black, and Lucy red. Beaming smiles of sisterhood. Even squished together in the backseat, the women’s enthusiasm didn’t waver.

He had picked them up in front of the Mission Hotel around midnight at the close of some fancy fashion event—the high-end, snooty kind that brought out all the socialites draped in furs and diamonds. The girls didn’t notice his taxi’s top light was off. One of them practically leaped in front of his car, waving, begging him to pull over. He couldn’t resist; their presence intrigued him.

He wasn’t one to eavesdrop on customer conversations, but their excited energy bubbled throughout the vehicle and reeled him in. They may have had similar features, but their personalities couldn’t have been more diverse.

“Three cheers for the lucky buttons! We did it!” cheered
the redhead, shaking a small glass jar over her head. “I swear, I thought we’d blown our cover. But we actually pulled it off! Did you see how everyone gawked when Reese ordered the champagne in our honor?”

“
You
did it, not that old jar of buttons, and certainly not us,” remarked the girl with the wavy ebony tresses as she calmly adjusted the bodice of her teal dress. “You’re the one with the creativity and vision; we just helped you fine-tune the patterns and stitching. I’m happy for you—and beyond proud… but like I said before we left, don’t count on me to stick around in the business. Fashion is your dream, not mine. Next week I’m signing up for the Peace Corps. Travel the world and do some good for humanity.”

Next, the brunette spoke up in a high-pitched voice. “I’ll still help as long as you put me on the payroll. All I want is a normal, respectable life so I can raise my son.”

The redhead crossed her heart twice with her finger. “I know,” she said. “I promise to honor your wishes from here on out. With all my soul, thanks for helping me. I’m sorry I hurt you when I ran away. I’m so ashamed. I was so desperate to make it; I let go of everything I loved—my best friend, all my work, even myself—and worse… almost you two…”

The brunette leaned over, kissed the redhead’s cheek, and then took a stern tone. “We’re sisters. We’ll always be here to protect each other. And speaking of protecting—I saw you and Reese scribbling on paper. Please tell me you didn’t sign anything. You need to hire a lawyer to read the fine print, get the contract notarized in front of a witness, triple-check the royalty amounts—”

The cab made a swift lane change, jostling the girls. The brunette lunged up toward the taxi driver. “Hey, mister! Slow down up there. I want to get home in one piece!”

The cabbie, startled by her abruptness, agreed with a mini-nod of his head.

The redhead raised her chin. “Don’t worry, Mr. Reese is an honest businessman. Come spring, he’s going to put my designs in stores all over the country. All that matters is we made the deal. A shiny one!”

“Hopefully shiny enough to polish up your reputation after that sham of a marriage,” mumbled the brunette.

The redhead bowed her head. “It wasn’t a sham… I still love him.”

“No frowns tonight,” said the raven-haired girl, sliding her arm across to hug her sisters. “We’re celebrating a fresh start. Let’s focus on the positive, our little victories—they will add up to greatness.”

“I love that—‘little victories’!” gasped the redhead as she attempted to sit up tall to clap, but the sturdiness of her bouffant combined with the cab’s low roof prevented it. She turned to face the others. “After tonight we’re all going our separate ways, but we’ll always be united in spirit. Family. All of us together. Just like right here, in this taxi, smashed like sardines in a can. I
love
you girls!”

“I love you both too,” the brunette said, tilting her head and smirking.

“Why the guilty grin?” asked the redhead.

“Because we’re gonna be stinkin’ rich!” she replied, scrunching in her seat and rubbing her hands together like a miser. “I’m going to use every penny to send my baby to the finest schools!”

“Only the best for our little nephew,” agreed the redhead.

They all giggled and clumsily climbed across the seat to hug one another. Touched by the intensity of the moment, the driver spied in the rearview mirror once more. This time his eyes met with those of the redhead. He flinched. Instead of happiness, she wore an expression of five-alarm terror.

“Watch out!” the girls shouted in unison. “The road!”

Snapping his gaze forward, the driver realized he had weaved into oncoming traffic. He shouted obscenities over the women’s screams and overcorrected, causing the car to veer off the side of the road and, to his horror, down the side of a steep, dark embankment.

With twists of the steering wheel, the driver tried his best to keep the car from careening into the dark waters below, but the tire struck a large rock, which sent it and its passengers end over end into a violent roll.

A slow-motion montage of flailing limbs, hair, and flying glass filled the rearview mirror as the vehicle finally came to a crashing stop at the water’s edge. The deafening silence permeated the scene, only to be broken up by the faint sound of Bobby Vinton’s “Fly Me to the Moon” on the radio, as petals of lilies, roses, and daisies floated away into the night.

Thursday, September 15, 11:59 p.m.

Introducing: Miss Scarlet’s School of Patternless Sewing!

Hello, my dahling Daisy-ites!

Miss Scarlet at the controls to bunny up about the latest news flash from the DaisyForever.com headquarters!

Let’s start with some trivia. Did you know Daisy rarely used traditional patterns in her dress designs, instead opting for unconventional methods of measuring, draping, and shaping?

Well, dolls, to celebrate DaisyForever.com’s 10th birthday, I’m going to tap into that by taking on a new adventure so utterly fantabulous, Daisy would flash a wink or two.

Ready?
Drumroll, please…

Miss Scarlet’s School of Patternless Sewing!

Hold on, put those flappers down, chickadees, and save the questions for the end.

What is my motivation for offering this closet-brightening, self-esteem-boosting, educational series? Miss Scarlet wants each and every one of you divas-in-
the-rough to not only crack the shell of your ho-hum rut, but smash it to pieces like a cascarón on New Year’s Eve! I want all of you to sass up your attitude, turn some heads, drop some jaws, transform the stiffest of critics to Jell-O, and make people look at you and say, “I’ll have what she’s having!”

To do that, I’ll share what I know best: designing and making tailored clothes. Having a petite soda-pop-bottle silhouette myself, I’ve never been able to find my beloved Lana Turner–inspired frocks at secondhand shops, much less the mall. What could I do? Wear a polyester tracksuit and call it a day? I think not.

My Nana Eleanor, an educated activist for all things threaded, woven, and stitched, taught me early on that every curve of a woman’s body has a three-part novella to tell. And to fully appreciate the fleshy package God gave us, we must tune in—measuring tape in hand—to discover the tragedies and triumphs that exist from the top of our tresses to the edges of our toenails. I sure did. My body’s secret stories made me sob as much as cheer. I empowered myself to dissect my frame and stitch my own wardrobe from scratch.

Here’s the dealio, tutti-fruttis: I’m going to personally instruct you how to make custom clothes for your one-of-a-kind body. With Miss Scarlet tutorials, your gams will look longer than Betty Grable’s; your waist tighter than a Victorian corset, and your décolletage juicier than Jessica Rabbit’s. You’ll learn to design from instinct and explore the ins and outs of clothing construction. In this 12-week program, students of all skill levels will tackle assignments to learn the art of freeform sewing applied to practical wearables and accessories.

And it is all
patternless
… well, patternless in a traditional sense. No confusing, bland tissue paper here. We’ll hiss at militant guidelines of what is considered correct. In this class, your body is the head honcho to please; it is the
only
pattern that matters.

The program is $500, and I’ll gladly accept weekly payments. I’ll provide the sewing machines, but you’ll need to spring for your own fabric. I’ll throw in a gift bag from my own stash of vintage trims, plus extra one-on-one time each week if you need it. One of the shimmery highlights of my program is that it will be held at the swanky Carly Fontaine Studio in downtown Phoenix.