Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing (20 page)

How in the world did Rosa end up there?
Scarlet speculated as she climbed the redbrick staircase and reached Rosa’s extravagant front door.

She rang the bell and waited. No answer.

She rang it again, twice. Nothing.

After two more rings with no response, she turned to leave.

Open the door.

Scarlet would never do such a thing, but the voice in her head convinced her to. Her cold hand had barely touched the long
brass handle and before she could stop herself, she clenched it and it opened.

Armed with the plastic container of soup, Scarlet held her breath and entered. The crisp smell of new carpet and the gleam of sleek, chrome appliances greeted her. Very unlike Rosa. Scarlet peeked around a wall and gasped so hard, she dropped the soup and it splattered all over the floor.

Before her stood Rosa, also shocked, in a violet-and-teal checkered bathrobe and matching slippers. Both accented with tiny rhinestones and gems.

“Scarlet!” Rosa shouted angrily, holding her hand over her chest and panting. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“Rosa, I’m so sorry! You scared me last night, the way you left. You didn’t answer my calls and I was worried. I just came to check on you, and I made you chicken caldo. I rang the bell, but no one came so I tried the door. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t just enter an old woman’s home unannounced, dear. I know you meant well, but you just about gave me a heart attack. How the hell did you find me?” Rosa asked as she pressed the stainless-steel wall intercom and politely asked for clean-up help in the entryway. Within seconds a housekeeper arrived and mopped up the spilled soup.

“I got your address from the registration form….”

Rosa rubbed her eyes. “Joseph,” she mumbled. “He’s slipping in his old age….” She straightened up, put her hands on her hips, and eyed Scarlet from head to toe.

“You’re wearing an original.”

Scarlet paused, opened her coat, and half-modeled it. “Oh, my outfit? It is. It’s one of my Mexibilly Frocks. I see you’re wearing an original as well. That’s a Daisy bathrobe, circa 1969, Macy’s holiday exclusive.”

Rosa skimmed her waist with her fingertips and acknowledged the robe. “You certainly know your Daisy wear. Sit down, dear. Let me change my clothes and I’ll be right out.”

Before Rosa could leave, the sound of another unexpected guest caused both women to jump.

“Good morning, ladies,” Mary Theresa said nervously. “I hope you don’t mind; the door was open. Rosa, I heard you were ill, so I brought you chicken soup.”

“Aye, you girls are going to wear me out,” Rosa said with a dash of playfulness. “I’m fine, I just had a touch of the flu, but I’m over it.” She shook her head in disbelief as she took the elevator upstairs to change. Yet at the same time she laughed. These kooky women reminded her of two other chicas she once knew.

Making their way into a small seating area, Scarlet squinted at Mary Theresa. “What are you doing here?”

“I read your blog post this morning and followed you, my dear Watson,” Mary Theresa said. “Don’t worry, I’ll just sit here quietly.”

Used to her nana’s time schedule, Scarlet estimated it would take Rosa at least fifteen minutes to return from changing her clothes. After removing her coat and setting it on a chair, Scarlet approached the tall media center and picked up a stack of decorated pieces of construction paper.

“ ‘Little Victories.’ I read it on your blog,” Rosa said as she entered only a few minutes later, surprising Scarlet. The mysterious matron had brightened up her face with rose lipstick and changed into black velour pants and a knitted teal sweater. She reached across Scarlet and turned on the iPod stereo just enough for the infectious salsa sounds of Héctor Lavoe to softly fill the room.

Scarlet scooted next to Mary Theresa on the slate gray mod
couch while Rosa situated herself in a large maroon recliner. “I know you have questions after my episode at the museum.”

“I don’t mean to be nosy, but would you mind if I pried an eensy bit?” Scarlet asked.

“Go ahead, Nancy Drew. I read your blog this morning, by the way. I should have expected you.”

“All righty—are you the one responsible for decorating our workroom with all those fancy wares, and the tree?” Scarlet asked.

Rosa lifted her hands as if to surrender. “Guilty. I scoped out the room two days early and noticed it was in dire need of holiday cheer. Why? Don’t you like it?”

“Why yes. I do, thank you!” Scarlet said before leaning closer to Rosa. “Next question: How did you get that robe?”

Rosa swallowed hard and tapped her fingers together. “It was given to me many years ago by a dear friend. In fact, Miss Scarlet, you remind me so much of her. Your happy spirit and the message you send out into the world. The first time I read your blog, I was struck by how similar you seemed.”

Mary Theresa kept her promise and didn’t say a word.

“Is that why you signed up for my class, because I reminded you of your friend?” Scarlet asked, considering the crazy thought that Rosa’s friend might be… Daisy.

“Yes, in a way, I suppose,” Rosa confessed. “Like most of your fans, I was curious to meet you firsthand.” Her lips turned up at the corners, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Do you mind if I ask about what happened at the museum?” If, as Scarlet suspected, the friend in question
was
Daisy, shouldn’t Rosa have been happy about seeing the dress in the collection?

Rosa stared into the distance. “All the memories flooded back as if I were right there at that funeral. Those of us who grew up
with Daisy remember when her husband passed so unexpectedly. She loved him so much. Heartbreaking,” Rosa said sadly.

Scarlet knew the time had come for the burning question.

“Rosa,” Scarlet whispered, “about Daisy… and you…”

Mary Theresa tightened her ponytail and bit her nails in anticipation.

Rosa picked at the hem of her sweater. “I had… friends who knew her quite well. I heard all the stories. She was an incredible woman back then, so smart and creative. She wanted to make everyone proud of her. Kind of like you, Scarlet. She wanted that dream of hers to happen so fast; she pushed it so hard that she made mistakes. And then fame hit and she could never turn back.”

Scarlet couldn’t believe the conversation. She couldn’t believe Rosa knew all this golden, exclusive information and was willing to divulge it. “What kind of mistakes?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you if you promise never to repeat it—for Daisy’s sake. And for my sake, I don’t want to get involved in any trouble. I lead a quiet life, and I want to keep it that way.”

“Of course,” Scarlet assured. “My lips are sealed.”

Over the next hour, Rosa recalled so many specific details about Daisy de la Flora that Scarlet could barely sit still. According to Rosa, the articles Scarlet had read and took at face value were only half correct.

For example, her uncle’s purse factory: Daisy didn’t bring home damaged and leftover supplies. She smuggled out goods every night and used them to make her pieces that she then sold. When her uncle caught on, Daisy convinced him that two new female employees committed the crime. He fired the workers solely on Daisy’s claim.

“The truth came out when Daisy left with Saide for New York to meet Carmen Miranda,” Rosa said. “She not only stole
money from her aunt’s savings jar the day before her trip, she also swiped the factory’s weekly deposit. Daisy left Coconut Grove without even saying good-bye to her sisters, because she thought they were against her. Those girls were devastated.”

Rosa continued, taking a break now and then to sip from a glass of water that Joseph had brought her. “A few years later, Daisy’s career had finally built momentum in Manhattan, thanks to her handmade line at Her Madgesty’s Closet. But then the unexpected happened—she fell in love with Saide’s husband, Javier, the owner of the business. Neither one meant for the affair to happen. They started with the common goal of using Daisy’s designs to make a living, and the relationship settled deeper as the days passed. Poor Saide was too busy running the store; she had no idea. But all those hours of Daisy and Javier working together, the late nights, the talks about their dreams and fears, laughing over silly fashion disasters, all of it solidified a bond that could not be stopped. Or so they thought.”

“Oh no, what happened?” Scarlet asked, rubbing her own shoulders. The wintry air seemed to have seeped into the house.

“I heard from a direct source that one afternoon Saide, who spent all her time manning the shop, went upstairs to find a new receipt book,” Rosa said. “And instead found them making love in the storeroom. She raced back downstairs, grabbed a hat stand, and smashed the window display the three of them had made in Carmen’s honor. The shrine to Carmen that had become a tourist hot spot was demolished forever. Daisy tried to stop her and explain. Saide wouldn’t hear any of it and accused Daisy of stealing Javier to further her career, and that the two of them would then cut her out of the business. That night Saide left for good.”

Scarlet drew a breath and tried to put the pieces together.
“So then, why didn’t Saide call them out in her big
Vanity Fair
interview?”

“Daisy felt so guilty that once she hit the big-time, she paid her off,” Rosa said. “Saide accepted and never told the real story, but she also never forgave her. She died a very rich and resentful woman.”

“And what about Javier?” asked Mary Theresa, her vow of silence forgotten.

“Daisy broke up with him, even though he asked her to marry him after his divorce. He adored her and begged her to spend her life with him. He did so much to help her. Daisy pretended to be over him, but she still loved him. She probably lied to prove her loyalty to Saide. She never saw him again.

“Daisy returned home after the disaster. She visited her uncle’s factory to settle up, but he had passed away, and her aunt had sold the business and moved. All that remained were Daisy’s sisters, and even they wanted nothing to do with her.”

“I’ve always wanted to talk to Daisy’s sisters,” Scarlet said excitedly. “Do you know how to reach them?”

“They’re unreachable,” Rosa said.

“Oh.” Scarlet sat still for a moment, then shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to accept all this new information so easily. “Do you have any proof of any of this? If not, it’s just gossip. Daisy’s work is so buoyant and full of light. The Daisy you are talking about sounds like a desperate, scamming lunatic.”

Rosa cocked up an eyebrow and folded her arms. “Hey, missy, I never once said she was crazy! I’m only telling you because those of us from Coconut Grove who knew Daisy back then… well, it was plain pitiful to see her search and sweat so hard for her dream. And to lose herself in the process. Her wishes came true, but at the expense of everyone who loved her.”

A loud crash of thunder came from outside. Rosa leveraged
herself up from the couch and, trying her best not to limp, walked over to the window.

“A winter rainstorm in the desert,” she said softly as she held the black curtain and peeked out. “I’ve never experienced that. I thought I smelled wetness in the air this morning.” Rosa let go of the drape, carefully bent down to lift a crocheted blanket from an emerald green loveseat, and swung it around her drooping shoulders. “Have I answered all your questions, Scarlet?”

Scarlet sighed, rubbed her thighs, and nodded. “Yes, thank you for taking the time to share all of this. It gives me a lot to think about.”

“It’s a little chilly,” Mary Theresa said, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s go eat our soup in the kitchen.”

“Good idea,” Rosa said, turning to leave the room. “Enough about Daisy’s past. It’s time to focus on the present.”

T
aking Rosa’s advice, Scarlet tried to push Daisy from the forefront of her mind.

The women sat in Rosa’s sleekly designed kitchen, ate their chicken soup, and sipped on cups of Earl Grey. They exchanged jokes that it was a good thing that both Scarlet and Mary Theresa were gracious stalkers—each bringing a meal for their target. While Scarlet had made her soup from scratch, Mary Theresa had picked up three large bowls from the Duck and Decanter sandwich shop on the way over.