DESIGN FOR LOVE (2 page)
Authors: Bryan Murray
Gerard was the first to recover himself with a valiant attempt at damage control. “Jeez! What did I say? Who
was
that?”
The bespectacled Betty couldn’t wait to reply, a mischievous look in her eye. “Oh, nobody you’d know, Gerard, darling. That was Francine Dubois
, the owner of Classique!”
Gerard’s face showed little remorse. “Ah, well, if you can’t take the heat, stay out of the kitchen!” was all he could manage.
Jeri, ever-present at his shoulder, gave him a reproachful squeeze. “That’s my boy, opens his mouth and puts his foot right in it!”
Gerard continued to watch the retreating Francine, a curious look in his eye.
A tired, disappointed Francine arrived back at her elegant townhouse to be greeted by the matronly Mrs. Tibbett, her part-time housekeeper and babysitter. “How is she, Mrs. Tibbett?” she asked as the older lady was putting on her coat to leave.
Mrs.‘T’, as Francine affectionately referred to her on most occasions, patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. “Well, the fever’s down, you know how kids are, they pick up the least germ,” she put on her Mary Poppins-style hat and opened the door. “If I know your daughter, she’ll be as right as rain by morning!”
Francine heaved a sigh of relief. “I hope so. Can you make it same time tomorrow, Mrs.‘T’?”
“Of course, my dear - well, I’ll be on my way. I left you a snack in the fridge, now make sure you eat something, okay?”
“Yes I will, and thanks again.”
Later, Francine settled in by the window, staring vacantly out at the light rain outside, munching idly on a sandwich, thoughts of the disappointing day going through her mind.
She jumped visibly when her pretty, ten-year-old daughter Alison appeared at her side, puffy eyes, snuffly nose.
“How did it go, mommy?”
Francine hugged her affectionately. “Darling! What are you doing up? Come on, let’s get you to bed, young lady.” she quickly coaxed the child back to her bedroom and tucked her back in bed.
Alison, however, was undeterred. “So?”
“So what, darling?”
“You know, how did it go?”
Francine hugged the child to her bosom. “To tell you the truth, darling, it was a total disaster - let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”
Alison managed a brave smile. “You can do it, Mommy, I just know it. Things will be great, you’ll see.”
Francine kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, darling. I do hope you’re right. Now, off to sleep with you!”
Walking back into the living room, Francine flopped into an easy chair, eyes closed, re-living the events of the day. Had she tried to do too much too soon? Were her designs not sufficiently orientated to the market? One thing was for sure, Classique Fashions would need a major council of war the next morning if they were to re-group in time to be ready for New York.
* * * *
Since the divorce from Steve, Francine had been surprisingly pleased with the way her life had worked out as a single parent, in spite of her parent’s recent break-up. The fact that Steve had hardly ever been home in between his tours with the group, had in a way helped Alison to adjust to the divorce better than if they had been a close knit family seeing each other on a daily basis. In fact, to a degree, Francine now felt that she was taking care of only one child instead of two, so adolescent had Steve become with his never ending string of groupies, all of whom he had professed meant nothing to him.
The day that Francine had finally filed for divorce, had been a major milestone in her emergence as a designer. It was almost as if by removing the burden of Steve, his name and his infidelities, it had released her creative juices to take the big step of finally using her Grandmother‘s inheritance money to start up Classique Fashions.
She had always had confidence in her own design capability, but surrounding herself with the right team had also been of paramount importance. She had known Vince all the way back to design college and even back there, his tremendous talent far outweighed his latent homosexuality, in fact it seemed as though the latter added to rather than subtracted from his capabilities.
Equally impressed with Francine’s talent, Vince needed no second asking to join her as they sat planning their future in the little coffee shop close by the college, just a few short months earlier.
But things had gone slower than expected for Francine, that is everything except the spending of the money to get Classique properly launched, which seemed to have dwindled her limited funds very quickly. A good order from the Dallas Show was a must to keep their heads above water and it didn’t look like it was about to happen.
Following a refreshing soak in the tub, Francine tumbled into bed after a final check on Alison and into a fitful, exhausted sleep. The last thought that crossed her mind as she drifted off into unconsciousness, was that in spite of his stunning good looks, she had a score to settle with her loud-mouthed critic, whoever he was.
It was a subdued atmosphere the following morning in the offices of Classique, located in a small business park in North Dallas. Francine had managed to find a workshop to rent amongst the local fraternity that could be most closely referred to as ‘garment alley’ in North Texas and she had also been lucky enough to find two additional excellent seamstresses Thelma and Darlene to complement the mercurial Vince.
She tried to sound upbeat as she faced the glum-looking trio, holding up two pieces of paper somewhat triumphantly. “Well, at least we got two orders for the blue blouse - so, come on, cheer up, it’s a start.”
Vince managed a smile. “You’re absolutely right, sweetie! Big oaks from little acorns grow as they say, or, at least I
think
it has
something
to do with nuts!” he grinned at Francine as she shook her head at his double entendre. “So, what do we do now, oh fearless leader?” he asked.
Francine took a deep breath. “We re-group, that’s what we do. I’ve already had some new ideas, we need to make a number of color changes and add a couple of new items before New York and all we’ve got is
two
weeks, so let’s get to it!”
She paused a moment. “By the way, did you see that big guy with the glamorous blonde on his arm at the show, Vince?”
The latter gave a wicked smile. “Noticed the guy, darling, not the hag with him - hmm,
dishy
!”
Francine shook her head in admonishment. “Yeah, yeah, down, boy. What I want to know is who
was
he?”
Vince smiled. “You mean you don’t know? That’s Mr. Wonderful himself - Gerard Cinclare, owner of ‘House of Cinclare’, a nationwide chain of high fashion boutiques, together with his ever-present girlfriend. Get his business, Princess and we’ll be on easy street!”
Francine sighed somewhat sadly. “Don’t count on it, and to be honest, I’m not even sure I want his business, he’s a jerk! Now, then, where were we?”
Later that evening, Francine turned the key in the door and walked wearily into the hallway as Mrs. Tibbett, her hat and coat already on, met her on the way out.
“Everything okay, Mrs.‘T’?”
“Just fine, Francine,” the older lady smiled. “Like I said, the fever’s gone and she’s in there eating like a horse!”
“Good! Any messages?”
“Yes, a man called three times, seemed most anxious to talk to you.”
“What was his name?”
“Cinclare!”
Francine’s mouth sagged open. “You’re joking! What did he want?”
“Wouldn’t say - said he’d call back tomorrow.”
‘
The nerve of the man!’
Francine fumed inwardly. “Well, if he does call back, tell him to go to hell!”
“You mean that?”
“With all my heart!”
“Well, in that case, I’ll do it. See you tomorrow, then.”
“Bye.” even before the door closed, a much brighter Alison came rushing out of the kitchen into Francine’s arms.
“Hi, Mommy!”
Francine hugged her affectionately. “Well, look at you, you look
much
better. Ready for school tomorrow?”
“Really, Mom! Oh, by the way, Roger called.”
“Oh? Mrs.’T’ didn’t mention it?”
“I know, I answered the phone. I
hate
it when he calls me
munchkin
!”
“And what did he have to say?”
Alison thought for a moment. “Let me think. Oh, yeah, he’s back in town from his assignment and said to watch him on the news tonight - Yuk!”
Francine smiled tolerantly. “Now, that’s enough, Alison. Roger’s a nice guy, likes both of us,” she grinned, “Almost as much as he likes himself - and besides, he’s
cute
!”
“Yeah, in a yucky kind of way.”
“Okay, that’s enough - let’s have a little respect for your elders, young lady.”
Alison sighed resignedly. “Okay, I guess.”
Strangely enough, however, Alison’s doubts concerning Roger were echoed in part by Francine’s own increasing misgivings about their present relationship. After their whirlwind first encounter at a fashion show where Roger had been the guest compere, the mutual physical attraction between them had been quickly consummated between the sheets in Roger’s luxurious penthouse. A passionate, proficient lover, he had filled a void in her life left vacant since her break-up with Steve. Lately, however, Francine could not be sure if it was the demands of her new business or an innate need for a more fulfilling relationship that had made their once energetic, sensuous lovemaking seem suddenly lackluster.
As if interrupting her thoughts, the phone rang and as she braced herself to speak to Roger, a strong, rich baritone voice came on the line.
“Miss Dubois?”
“This is she.”
“Thank goodness! Miss Dubois, this is Gerard Cinclare speaking.”
At the mere mention of his name, probably as a knee jerk reaction to the pent-up anger she had felt since his loud, outspoken criticism of her work, Francine found herself almost mechanically putting the phone back in its cradle without a word. Seconds later, the phone rang again. She picked it up.
“Look…I…”
He interrupted her. “Feel better now? I must say I don’t blame you!”
Desperately trying to compose herself, she continued. “Mr. Cinclare…”
He interrupted her yet again, humor in his voice. “Call me Gerard.”
She coughed impatiently. “As I was saying, Mr. Cinclare, I don’t wish to be rude, but I have nothing to say to you.”
The deep rich tones continued. “I fully understand, Miss Dubois, but I have something to say to you.”
Francine was running out of patience as she replied frostily, “Look, it’s been a long day and the last thing I need…”
He interrupted her yet again. “Is an apology, right?”
“Er, well, yes.”
“Good, because you’re not going to get one - at least not a
full one!”
Francine clenched her teeth, closed her eyes. ‘What a pompous idiot!
’
she mused, adding out loud. “I’m putting the phone down.”
Gerard continued unabated. “However, I do apologize if by expressing my opinion of your work too loudly in company, you were caused any embarrassment.”
She fumed at his arrogance, but at least this was a half-hearted start. “Oh, you do, do you?” she added.
“Yes, I do - but what I don’t retract is my opinion of your creations. I believe in telling things the way they are.”
“That’s patently obvious, do go on?” she was now moving from anger to fascination as to what this arrogant man would come up with next.
He didn’t disappoint her as the soothing baritone voice continued. “I run my business by recognizing fashions that will sell at the haute couture level, young lady.”
‘Young lady, how dare he?’
s
he fumed.
“
And quite frankly,” he continued, “Your collection lacked depth and creativity, appeared immaturely rushed in its presentation and it really lacked a big finish,” he gave a dry chuckle. “And by that, I don’t mean models diving into the audience!”
If she could have reached down the phone, she would have ripped out his sexy, golden-toned throat for echoing her very own inner doubts. But biting her lip in frustration, she managed to squeeze out a rather stiff-jawed reply. “That was rather unfortunate, I admit,” and just as she was about to continue to elaborate on the extenuating circumstances, a sane voice in the back of her head simply said, ‘Why bother!
’
as she ended the conversation quickly, simply and clinically. “Apology unaccepted, goodnight, Mr. Cinclare!” before slamming the phone down. This time, he didn’t call back.
In the last few seconds, hate of her outspoken critic had quickly changed to naked loathing, yet somehow she also felt strangely stimulated by the heated exchange and also, if she were to admit it, she now felt totally re-energized to do better. One way or another she was going to show this pompous windbag what really made Francine Dubois tick.
After another fitful night’s sleep during which she dreamed of being constantly harassed by the handsome Cinclare, Francine arrived at the office with new purpose in her stride. Unable to get the criticism of her line lacking a big finish out of her mind, the beginnings of a stunning new design for a sexy evening gown were already burning a hole in her brain.
Coffee was bubbling in the pot as she walked in and Vince, resplendent as usual in a chartreuse shirt and the usual ‘painted on’ effect maroon pants, looked up from his desk and held up a sheaf of papers in his hand, a wicked smile on his face.
“Let me guess? More bills?” she asked.
“Think again, girl,” he cooed. “More orders for the blue number - so at
least
one is selling!”
Francine smiled briefly. “Good! Now, listen, Vince, I’ve had an idea for a new, sexy evening gown for the finale. I need a couple of hours of peace and quiet and then you can criticize the hell out of it.”
He rubbed his hands gleefully. “What?
Me?
Criticize?
Really,
darling!” he shooed her into the back office. “Great, get to it.”
She was so deep in creative thought an hour later that she jumped with a start when a man’s lips brushed the back of her neck.
