Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing (2 page)

The atmosphere is metropolitan frou-frou and we’ll have a spacious area, professional worktables, massive overhead lighting, a 60-inch plasma TV so we can watch crafty cinema while we stitch, and best of all—there’s a catwalk! How did I swing this? Let’s just say being Ms. Fontaine’s right-hand threadmistress for the past two years has earned me a pot-o-perks. Oh, did I mention that I’ll also bring baked goods from La Purisima Bakery, home to the best apple empanadas in all of Glendale, Arizona? I hope all of these are reasons enough for you to sign up!

My faithful readers, here’s a nugget of personal news I’m proud to share: I am now one degree closer to Daisy de la Flora. Yours truly has finally been accepted into the Johnny Scissors Emerging Designers Program for next year!

For those of you newbies, Johnny “Scissors” Tijeras is Daisy de la Flora’s nephew and only surviving relative. Every year he presents the program for ten students where they are mentored at the Casa de la Flora headquarters in New York City. The program has been known to launch the careers of its participants. Thousands of
dreamy dressmakers like moi apply, but only a few are selected each year. And after being rejected five times running, my boo-hoo days are over.

The tuition is very steep, thus the Patternless Sewing fees will help pay my way. I’ve also set up a donation widget to the left of your screen, for any millionaires out there who care to hook a girl up.

This summer, my life is about to change and I owe it all to Daisy for inspiring me to design from my heart. Every week I share light, fluffy recipes; sewing projects; and creativity exercises here, but now I want to show my gratitude to Daisy and take this blog to a deeper level. Therefore, I’m opening my treasure chest of Daisy clippings that I’ve accumulated throughout the past decade and I’m going to share them with you. I’ve kept them to myself all this time because… well, I guess the exclusivity made me feel closer to her. But Daisy, wherever she may be in the world, would not want that. Her story is golden and deserves to be told. I, Scarlet Santana, want to be the one to do it. And it’s perfect timing—this coming January is the 50th anniversary of Casa de la Flora!

Miss Scarlet’s School of Patternless Sewing begins soon. To enroll, ring me at the Carly Fontaine Studio, 555-796-2874.

Hop on it—limited seats!

U
h-oh,
Scarlet thought.

Loose thread on the side seam of her tailored waist jacket. How could that be? She had meticulously stitched and steamed the masterpiece until four a.m. to appear pin sharp for her meeting with her boss, locally celebrated designer Carly Fontaine.

Scarlet’s Nana Eleanor had a superstition that if you pulled a loose thread and it came out short, something miraculous was about to happen. But if the seam unraveled—bad news could be expected. For all practical purposes, Scarlet decided
not
to touch the thread. She planned to leave Carly’s office with a promotion today and had no time to worry about the meaning of a silly piece of string.

Oh, what the heck
.

She gently tugged the strand. Short!

Two years ago Scarlet Santana changed her career path to pursue fashion design and ever since, all the necessary components had fallen into place like flouncy rayon ruffles. An award-winning blog, a full-time gig at Arizona’s most noted fashion house, topped off with an upcoming New York City apprenticeship with one of the country’s hottest designers.

All because she loved to sew.

Running fabric through her machine without interruption brought Scarlet tranquillity. It served as her therapy when she needed to think through disagreements with her family or fantasize about walking the halls of Casa de la Flora headquarters. When Scarlet worked on her dresses, she couldn’t tell the difference between the moon or the sun, coffee from tea, or even if there were shoes on her feet.

Sketching, constructing, and embellishing clothing brought her happiness, and she refused to accept anything less. One way or another, she would make it her lifelong career.

Scarlet tried to rest comfortably in Carly’s reception area chair—a modern Spanish monstrosity that could pass as a bean bag with oars for arm rests. She likened it to Carly: intimidating. Once Scarlet finally found her sweet spot, she stared through the glass windows of Carly’s building and beyond the two lanes of traffic on Roosevelt Street. She sat still, her hands folded on her lap as she fixed her gaze on two statuesque blondes leaving the sandwich shop across the way. Scarlet imagined reconstructing their dresses with fancier necklines. The vision felt so real, Scarlet could hear the sewing machine already, as if it were right there by her side.

“Miss Scarlet, is that your phone buzzing from your purse?” asked Carly’s administrative assistant, Yoli.

Scarlet winked at her and retrieved her cell from her clutch. “Thanks, doll!” she sang out while glancing at the screen to see who was calling. She slouched just a hair and then took a deep, confident breath.

“Hi, Mom!” she answered merrily, in the hopes she could control the tone of the forthcoming conversation.

No such luck.

“If she doesn’t promote you,” her mother started, “it’s a sign
from Nana Eleanor to get rid of that tacky rhinestone sewing basket of yours and get a real job!”

“Mom, Nana Eleanor is in a retirement home, not heaven. She isn’t sending me signs unless it’s through snail mail,” Scarlet said. To outsiders, it sounded like her mom, Jeane, had stomped all over Scarlet’s flower garden of self-esteem, but really, Scarlet knew her mom meant to pump her up.

“If she doesn’t promote you”
… here Jeane meant it was due time that Scarlet upgraded to a more worthy position other than her current role as Carly Fontaine’s underappreciated sidekick.

“… it’s a sign from Nana Eleanor to get rid of that tacky rhinestone sewing basket…”
Nana Eleanor had served as Scarlet’s sewing mentor since childhood. She taught the girl everything from proportion to basting to pinning to even measuring bodies with finger-walking and tight bear hugs. Most important, she instructed her granddaughter on how to make impeccable gowns from scratch with little to no resources.

Every Wednesday after school, Nana Eleanor and a then eight-year-old Scarlet took a ninety-minute bus ride to Neiman Marcus at the swanky Biltmore Fashion Park. After perusing the racks, they selected contrasting dresses, took them into the fitting room, turned them inside out and applied Nana’s reverse engineering method. After sketching a fabulous hybrid version, they returned home to make it. By her high school years, Scarlet was carrying out the tradition solo when she crunched inside the tiny stalls of Glendale thrift shops and designed vintage pinup-girl apparel.

Nana Eleanor loved the creative connection she shared with her granddaughter and as a gift for her eighteenth birthday, she presented an authentic 1962 Daisy de la Flora bejeweled straw handbag that had been converted into a sewing basket. The
gift changed Scarlet’s life. She had been obsessed with all things Daisy ever since.

“… and get a real job,”
Well… every mother thinks her child deserves more, right?

“Scarlet, did you hear me?” her mother snipped. “Promise me you’ll hot-tail it out of there if she doesn’t make you partner. Tell her you want your own office so you can brag about it at Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow!”

“I’ll give it my all, Mom, like I always do—the way you and Dad taught me,” Scarlet said graciously, pretending her mother had told her not to worry because she would win Carly over with her talent, skills, and charm. “It’ll go great. I practically run this operation. This promotion is a long time coming.”

“Even if she does promote you,” Jeane continued, “… now, don’t take this the wrong way, I’m only telling you straight because I love you… but I think you’re shortchanging yourself if you stay at that sweatshop. You deserve better. No child of mine should be sweeping the floor.”

Scarlet knew her mother had her own Dr. Phil style going on, but now she had gone too far, especially at a time when she should be sending good luck to her daughter, not cut-downs. She wondered if her mom, or any of her family for that matter, would ever take her life goals seriously.

“I mean it, mija,” Jeane continued. “You’re thirty, you should be wearing suits, not those cartoon dresses you make. And you should have bought a home by now. And a fancy car.”

Scarlet had had enough. “I
am
wearing a suit right now, and I
do
have a fancy car!” she whisper shouted so Yoli wouldn’t hear.

“Nana’s clunker Mercedes is fifty years old and stinks like vitamin E oil. You should sell it and put the money toward your school loans.”

“I’m not selling Nana’s last memento of freedom, Mom. You
know the highlight of her week is our Sunday lunch dates. It would break her heart if I sold it,” Scarlet said, glancing at Yoli, who had positioned herself front and center, pretending to sort papers so she could eavesdrop. Both their heads perked up with the click of Carly’s doorknob.

“Mom, my meeting is about to start. I’ll call you later, OK?”

“Good luck, Scarlet. Knock ’er dead, and then pour sugar on her.”

That’s all it took to make Scarlet feel at ease. A sliver of a cheer from her mom always worked wonders. She knew her mom truly wanted her to be happy, even if her version of happiness, like most things, didn’t suit Scarlet’s taste.

“Thanks, Mom, I love you,” Scarlet said. But before she hung up, she heard, “Scarlet, wait!”

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Your sister can’t make the mashed potatoes for tomorrow. I told her you could—you know, since you’re single and have free time. We’ll need enough for forty people. By three o’clock. Thanks, mija.”

*   *   *

Scarlet sat across from her boss’s desk, anticipation peeking over both shoulders, as she watched Carly skim the personnel file, using a heavy gold pen to add notations. Scarlet couldn’t help but admire Carly’s glossy ink-black hair and how it hung straight and blunt on each side, as if someone had draped a silk scarf over her head. Even though she was full-blooded Mexicana, Scarlet thought she could pass as a taller version of a camera-ready Kimora Lee.

“You were fired from the night shift at Fabrictopia last year? Assaulting a customer? I didn’t know that,” Carly said, tapping her pen on the paper.

“Ha! Oh yeah… simple misunderstanding,” Scarlet explained, wondering how that information had ended up in her file. “I was demonstrating an easy way to use your arms to measure a body. I gently embraced this lady’s mother in a bear hug. How was I to know she had a bad case of shingles? She sorta freaked out on me and—”

“That’s enough,” Carly said, scribbling more notes. “You better not do that here.”

“Never have. Never will,” Scarlet said. With her ankles crossed and knees tilted together at the side, she kept her composure even though her heart was beating crazier than a caffeinated Chihuahua.

Carly paused halfway down the page and peered over her chunky white eyeglasses. “OK. Let’s do this. What do you want to talk to me about, Scarlet?”

“Well,” Scarlet began. “I originate and stitch all my ensembles, and each one is based off of fashion icons of the silver screen. This one I’m wearing is inspired by Kim Novak’s suit from
Vertigo.
” Scarlet smoothed her hands down her crisp gray lapels. “My Etsy store is quite the grandstand online. I also have three boutiques outside of Arizona that carry my other dresses. And I know you’ve seen my fashion blog, DaisyForever.com. Its horn has been tooted in
USA Today
and the
Arizona Republic
. I guess you could say I’m a star on the rise!”