Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing (3 page)

Carly tilted her head, squinted, and nodded in faux fascination, as if she’d never heard any of it before (Scarlet made sure she heard it every day). Scarlet played along because she was over-the-moon proud to be one of her thirty employees. She worked her rump off to prove it.

She’d spent the first month at Carly Fontaine Studio unrolling bolts of fabric and trims to measure them for accuracy (something she now did from sight alone). She glued hundreds
of sequins and feathers to headbands, fixed stubborn sergers, threaded a gazillion bobbins in advance, and sorted thousands of crystals by size and color. By the end of her first year, Scarlet had reorganized, upgraded, and improved the efficiency of Carly’s storage, production, fitting, and showcase rooms. Her second year brought on the title of Personal Assistant to Carly, which put Scarlet on call 24/7 for every crisis. Scarlet proved her value throughout the past two years and that’s why she knew Carly would offer her a promotion. If not partner, at least designer. If not designer, at least a raise.

Carly replaced the lid to her pen, slipped it in her black leather pencil cup at the corner of her desk, and closed the folder. She took a generous sip from her checkerboard-patterned mug, set it down, and smiled.

“Again, what would you like to discuss? We have five minutes left.”

“I want you to make me partner,” Scarlet said.

“Partner?” Carly repeated. “Well. That’s quite a big aspiration, seeing as I’ve never considered having one. I built this little empire while I went to school. And I did it all on my own. I would never bring on a partner. Even if I did, they’d have to have the gift, the experience, plus the degree to go with it. Why would I change that now?”

It was the million-dollar question Scarlet had been waiting for.

“Because… I am… a dress healer.”

“Excuse me?”

Scarlet excitedly scooted her chair close to Carly’s desk, hunched over, and stared her down to ensure full attention.

“Carly, I’ve been designing and sewing since the third grade. I
dream
about designing. I’d rather sketch than… than… breathe! I don’t see fabric and thread as just fibers. To me, they
are storied seasonings ready to be stitched into submission. My eyes devour colors, my mouth waters because I can practically taste them. I tune into each and every article of clothing I meet, deconstruct it in my head to create an improved version. I can apply all of this to your business and take it to a higher level.” She then looked dreamily toward the ceiling and raised her hands to form a frame. “We could combine our best traits into one line and call it…
The Scarly
.”

“I’m a dress healer too.” Carly shrugged, unimpressed.

Scarlet stiffened. “If that were true, you’d know that the A-line skirt you’re wearing is a half size too big.” The words spilled out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop it.

“Oh really,” Carly replied. “Well, it appears you’re coming apart at the seams. Is that a hole in your jacket or is that how Kim Novak wore it in the film?”

Scarlet clenched her teeth and grazed her hand over the side of her rib cage and, indeed, felt flesh.

Double darn! I should have never pulled that loose thread!

Carly released a sigh of boredom. “Request denied.” She leaned back in her wide black leather chair as if to wrap up the meeting.

“Maybe partner is out of the question—for now,” Scarlet pleaded. “But I should at least be promoted to designer. We both know my work hits a target market you haven’t been able to penetrate.”

“Out of the question, at least until you enroll in fashion courses,” Carly stated. “If you choose that path, I’ll gladly move your hours around your schedule. I’m sorry, Scarlet, that’s where I stand.”

Scarlet couldn’t believe her ears. Desperation bubbled up. “You
know
I have two degrees, both of them in coveted areas of engineering. One is in structural, isn’t that what dressmaking
is? My other degree is chemical engineering, which lends itself to textile science.”

Carly shook her head. “Your spin won’t work on me.”

“In life, you have to stray outside the lines to stand out,” Scarlet said. “My engineering skills could be a secret weapon if only you opened your mind. Do you know I could be earning four times my pay right now? I gave that up for my love of the craft. I’m dedicated. I’m a valuable resource and I’m right here under your nose. I’m already considered an expert! You know the patternless sewing workshop series I’m teaching here? Well, it’s sold out!”

Carly’s eyes opened wider than jumbo buttons. “Workshop
series
? What do you mean,
here
?”

“
Here
, as in… the production room. I requested it months ago and you approved. I saved the e-mail.”

“I can’t allow a private workshop here,” Carly said. “I can’t risk the potential damage. I’d probably have to take out extra insurance. Those are lines I’m not about to cross.”

Scarlet stared blankly at that flashy gold pen resting in Carly’s pencil cup. Patternless Sewing began in three days. Twenty-four students and no place to put them. She wouldn’t dare cancel. Her credibility would be shot. Even worse, no Johnny Scissors tuition money.

“Scarlet, I do have some good news,” Carly announced. “You are doing an excellent job as my assistant. I’m giving you a ninety-five cent weekly pay increase.”

“$49.40 a year? Thank you,” Scarlet said as she rubbed her thumb over the hole in her jacket. One last thought came to her mind.

“What if I told you I was accepted into the Johnny Scissors Emerging Designers Program? What if I completed it and earned a fashion degree that way?” Scarlet asked.

Carly let out a mini snort, and rose to escort Scarlet out of her office. “Wouldn’t we all love to be accepted into that program? I’ve applied every year since college. I hear Marc Jacobs and Stella McCartney are each starting rival programs. You’re so cute, Scarlet. The day you bring me a diploma from Johnny Scissors is the day I make you partner. Now, get back to work.”

*   *   *

Twenty-four hours later, Scarlet arrived at her parents’ Peoria home with a tub of creamy mashed potatoes in tow. On the drive over she vowed, as she always did, that under no circumstances would she bring up fashion, fabric, Carly Fontaine, or Daisy. Much less Johnny Scissors.

Thanksgiving dinner went like clockwork. The house was filled with chatty aunts in the kitchen, uncles clustered in front of the big-screen TV watching the football game, kids running rampant from one door to the next, and a dozen cousins downing beers on the back patio. Above all the small talk Nana Eleanor could be heard bragging about her latest doctor’s appointment. Ever since her early seventies, the only prescriptions her doctor required were a daily dose of fresh air, a multivitamin, and a weekly shopping spin with Scarlet around town in her Mercedes. Nana made up the last one, but no one dared question it.

By eight p.m., everyone had left except for immediate family. It was a Santana ritual. Scarlet’s older siblings, Charles and Eliza, sat at the kitchen table and took turns explaining, in detail, their current respective work projects. The conversation always ended with rounds of accolades for one another.

Scarlet listened to all their play-by-play anecdotes, knowing her turn to discuss her accomplishments would not arise. Her life choice had become the white elephant of family talk fests. One would think she’d shaved her head and mar
ried a female unicorn instead of choosing to work in fashion. The Santana clan considered her budding profession a joke, and the otherwise upbeat discussions turned into career intervention. To avoid headaches on all parts, Scarlet muted her own professional accounts and simply tuned into everyone else’s.

After her second serving of turkey, Scarlet joined her eldest brother, Charles, in an in-depth review of his latest work project: designing a solar-powered light system for a new public art sculpture that would sit atop Glendale’s tallest building.

“Traditional solar panels are so bulky and sci-fi-looking, they’ll distract from the beauty of the art piece,” he said. “Too bad that’s what we have to work with.”

Scarlet shrugged. “Why limit yourself to tradition?”

“Oh, here we go, little Scarlet’s going to save the day again,” Charles said with a wide smile.

“I will,” she replied, more confident than Donald Trump cashing a check.

“I know you will,” Charles nodded. “That’s why I said it.”

“Substitute the panels with that new stretchable solar-cell film that comes in different colors.” She winked at Charles and removed the pen from his shirt pocket. He slid a paper napkin her way so she could sketch her vision.

“See?” she said as she sketched. “Why not construct a seating area on top of the building to complement the sculpture? The solar-cell film will cover flake-shaped frames to provide the shade. The effect will cast a soft rainbow kaleidoscope of color for visitors to enjoy, plus keep the lights on at night. The best part? It will run off a brain the size of a quarter.”

Scarlet snapped the cap on Charles’s pen and slid it back into his pocket while everyone sat at the table in silence, amazed at her rapid-fire mash-up of creativity and critical thinking. Well,
everyone except a bored Eliza, who pulled out her phone and began to text.

“Scarlet is as gifted as she is beautiful,” Scarlet’s father, Manny, announced. She gazed at him in appreciation. He had the same pride in his eyes as he had when she took first place at the science fair every year in middle school. She’d give anything to record this moment—and replay it whenever she felt inadequate.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she said.

“Now, if only she’d make this seamstress business a hobby and get back to engineering as her real job. Scarlet, you have enough patience to juggle both. It’s like I always say…”

Scarlet blew air out of the corner of her mouth and looked to the low popcorn ceiling. “ ‘To achieve success we must strive for balance in all we do.’ Yeah, Dad.”

“Hey, Scar,” Charles said. “My buddy at Metropolitan Advanced Systems said he’d love to hire you. He was really impressed with the freelance work you did for them last summer.”

Here it comes,
she thought. Time to change the subject. Scarlet waved her hands in front of her face. “Nah, I’m cool, really. OK, kiddos, I’m going to clear the table for Mom’s pie. Everyone, pass plates to the right, please.”

Eliza, Scarlet’s older sister, shoved her plate to the left. “I’m so sure! What about me? Why are all of you always trying to help Scarlet when she doesn’t want it? I hate
my
job right now, I’d give anything to get one of those gigs!”

“You already have a good job, Eliza. But Scarlet is a natural talent who is undervalued by her current employer. She could sew circles around that Carly,” her father answered. “We’re presenting promising alternatives for her to consider.”

Scarlet didn’t acknowledge his comments as she removed the paper napkin from her burgundy pencil skirt. Dusting
the crumbs from her baby pink angora cardigan, she stood, picked up the stack of plates, walked a few steps into her parents’ kitchen, and set them on the counter. She hoped that by the time she returned, they would have switched topics. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and walked back into the dining room to find her mother serving huge chunks of chocolate-chip pumpkin pie on clear plastic dessert plates.

“Tell them about your big promotion, Scarlet!” she said.

Scarlet gulped.

Manny rose in his seat, appearing a smidgen impressed. “It’s about damn time. What is your new title? How much of a pay increase?”

Great,
Scarlet thought. She couldn’t have asked for worse timing. She hated that in every other aspect of her life, she felt confident and ambitious, yet here, she couldn’t even make eye contact.

“Designer!” she replied, popping up her shoulders in exaggerated delight. “It takes effect right after I come back from the Johnny Scissors Emerging Designers Program this summer.”

“The what?” Eliza asked, squishing her face like a cartoon character, hamming up the scene. She took pleasure whenever Scarlet sat in the hot seat.

“I told all of you about it at Dad’s birthday party,” Scarlet reminded them, scooting up in her chair. “It’s an exclusive design academy in New York City led by
the
Johnny Scissors. He is going to be my mentor. Thousands applied, and I was one of the few selected.”

Scarlet knew she had already said too much when her father cleared his throat. Her mother continued to dish out the pie.

As always, Charles added his two cents. “Why would your boss make you go to New York just to get a promotion in Phoenix? That’s illogical. And how are you paying for it? You barely
make enough to pay Nana rent and cover your living expenses, your school loans…”

“Scarlet does just fine,” Nana Eleanor said. “She’s quite the businesswoman. Aren’t you, mija?”

“Thanks, Nana, but never mind,” Scarlet said, gliding her fork into the soft, gooey layer of warm chocolate chips on her dessert. She wasn’t in the mood to fight, and at least she had the chocolate to soothe her spirit. A second piece would be in order. “Let’s just enjoy the pie.”

“I’ve seen your site, Scarlet,” Patricia, Charles’s wife, said as she lifted her fork to her lips. “It’s cute.”

At last, a ray of sunshine from the bleachers! “Really?”