Becca stood in the lobby, eyeing the hundreds of hopeful girls all waiting to enter the exposition hall. What had she been thinking? She was just a small town girl with no experience.
Cathy waved her gloved hand in front of Becca’s face. “Get that look off your face. You’re just as good as any of these girls.”
Overpowering floral perfume made Becca sneeze. Several feet away, three girls stopped giggling and glared at her. Their perfectly manicured nails, professionally highlighted hair, not to mention their designer clothing, made Becca look like a homeless person. She grabbed her suitcase with her samples, ready to bolt, but Cathy stuck her boot in front of the wheels.
“Don’t think I won’t hog-tie you and carry you inside. Now, you listen to me. Those girls might have money, but you have talent. Don’t let them psych you out. This is your dream, and you’re a tough young lady now. Right?”
Becca steadied her emotions and nodded. Cathy didn’t pull any punches, and Becca had no doubt she’d do exactly what she’d threatened. After two long breaths, she looked around the room and realized she wasn’t the only one that was nervous. A young man in a pink jacket and white tie sashayed passed with his nose held high, but his hands were shaking so hard his Vera Bradley bag was practically dancing off his arm.
“Okay. You’re right. I can do this. It’s funny, though.”
Cathy quirked an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“I don’t think anybody wore their own designs. Was it too presumptuous to wear something I made?”
“No, darling. It’s perfect.”
Becca smoothed the front of the soft royal blue fabric. She’d intentionally made the dress out of a polyester blend so it wouldn’t wrinkle easily. She synched the delicate darker blue belt and checked the hidden snap at the neckline. All was as it should be. She knew it wasn’t an expensive outfit, but she hoped it looked like it.
“Now, listen. Make good eye contact. Don’t fidget, and never let them see you sweat.” Cathy primped Becca’s hair and smiled.
“Um, I’m not auditioning for a deodorant commercial, you know.” Becca elbowed her.
Finally, the tall doors to the ballroom opened. Women trampled each other, all trying to get into the room first.
“Okay. You’ve got this, girl. You’re amazing.”
Becca gave her a quick hug then grabbed her suitcase. “Thanks for coming with me…Mom.”
Tears glistened at the corner of Cathy’s eyes. “Oh, stop that now. You’re just being silly. Get in there and show them what you’ve got. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
Becca lifted her head high and rolled her suitcase in behind her.
A woman, whose face looked like it had been drawn back and pinned somewhere in her hairline, held up her arm with a tablet attached to her wrist with a strap. “Ladies, can I have your attention, please?” When the crowd of women finally settled, she continued. “There’s a vetting process. You’ll need to go to the line with the first letter of your last name. There you’ll have to present your samples to five judges. If you score a minimum of thirty-five out of fifty points, you’ll be sent back out to the waiting room for the next stage of the process. Just so you know, most of you will be sent away faster than it took you to drive here.” Murmurs issued around the crowd. “Quiet, please. I’m supposed to tell you something,” the tight-faced woman said loudly. She held up the tablet and squinted. “If you do not pass the first round, please do not take this as a failure, but an opportunity. This process is subjective, so even if your designs are not selected by the people of Devine Simplicity, it doesn’t directly reflect on your abilities. We at Devine Simplicity wish you all the best in your future endeavors.”
She lowered the tablet, and Becca could’ve sworn the woman snarled. Though, it was hard to tell with her oversized lips and lack of facial muscle movement. “Now that the legal jargon has been read to you, I’ll personally give you the hard truth. If you don’t make it past the first round, go home and find another career to pursue because this industry is brutal and you’ll be eaten alive if you’re not the best.”
She turned on her stiletto heels as if they were a perfect extension of her leg. Did anything in or on her body move naturally? She looked like a mannequin on a runway. Becca shook her head, realizing it didn’t matter. She had more important things to focus on.
The crowd of girls once again body-slammed each other to make it to the front of each line. Becca didn’t know why it made any difference when the judges were going to see everyone. The problem was that since her last name was West, the line she needed was at the opposite end of the room, and hundreds of girls stood between her and her destination.
At first, she tried to politely scoot around in between them, excuse herself and ask to get through, but most feigned obliviousness or just plain glared at her. By the third line, she was done with the stare downs and intentional shoulder-slams. She shoved on through the fourth row, bowling over the people who refused to move. A few toes were run over, but apparently, that was part of this business. One she was quickly becoming uneasy with.
Finally, she reached the W-Z line and found an empty wheeled staging cart with a steamer. Like a bellhop’s cart, it had a bar across the top to hang garments from and a platform at the bottom for her accessories and suitcase. Everyone around her was busy steaming their clothes and hanging them up.
She tucked her suitcase safely into the bottom. . That bag had traveled with her through many adventures and she didn’t want anything to happen to it. Of course, the broken zipper, loose threads, and stained fabric wouldn’t exactly be a target amongst the Gucci, Vera Wang, and other brands she’d seen throughout the exposition hall.
Standing in line, she watched the girl presenting to the judges of the S-V line. The girl twirled the display of her clothing around and fluttered her hand about. Apparently unimpressed, all the judges sat stone-faced. Becca didn’t know how she kept such a bright smile and showed so much enthusiasm. Everything perfect down to her hair and makeup, she looked like a Barbie doll on top of a music box the way she spun around.
Becca ran her thumb over the tattoo on her right wrist and second-guessed designing a sleeveless dress for herself, despite her firm arms and tiny waist. Too late now.
The line scooted forward. Becca took two steps and stopped, careful not to bump the woman in front of her. Realizing her hand was causing the cart’s main pole to shake, she lowered it to her side.
“You people don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll show you. I’m going to be the most sought after designer in the world. Then you’ll be begging me to send you my discarded designs.” A ripping sound drew everyone’s eyes to the commotion under the O-R sign as the girl went supernova. She flung her clothes from her display then threw a hanger at one of the judges.
“Security. We need security at line O-R immediately,” the familiar voice of the scary mannequin lady called over the loud speaker. Muscular men in jeans and black t-shirts, with the word STAFF in bold white letters on the back, lifted the woman from the floor, one on each arm, and rushed her from the room. Her display was quickly removed by some young assistant and business resumed.
As the minutes ticked away, Becca inched forward each time another person bounced or cried on their way out the door. She quickly noticed there were a lot more hissy fits than happy faces. Amelia was way more mature than some of these girls and she couldn’t even walk yet.
Only four girls from the front of the line, Becca began to eye the exit. Her stomach swirled with anxiety and she prayed she wouldn’t toss her breakfast like she did in first grade. She’d had to get up in front of the class and read from a book and her nervousness had gotten the better of her.
She went to wipe her sweaty palms down her legs before she realized she’d leave a mark on her dress. At that moment, she missed her jeans and the simple life of work and family.
“Next,” the man standing guard at the front of the line said, leaving only two people in front of Becca.
What happened if they rejected her? She’d have to go out and tell Cathy she came all the way here for nothing. Cathy had spent so many hours teaching her how to sew and even bought her material and thread. How could she let her down?
“Next?” the man called once more, sending a hyperventilating contestant out the doors.
Becca listened to the girl in front of her flawlessly present her designs, speaking about fabric, texture, color, body type, lighting. She even spoke about working as a designer for a major retailer and her experience as a professional shopper for Country Music stars. If Becca heard correctly, the girl had even won some sort of huge prize in the industry, causing one of the judges to crack a smile.
“I’m sorry. Your designs aren’t right for us at this time.” The same generic response they had spouted to the previous girl.
Oh, God. If they didn’t want the girl with the perfect hair, who possessed more experience than Versace, what was Becca doing here?
Surprisingly, instead of wanting to run from the room, the pent-up stress fled her body. True, she was a little fish in a huge pond, with no experience and no chance of getting into the program, but that was okay. Just being in the same room with all these amazing designers and seeing an event like this was a chance of a lifetime for her at this stage of her life. Yes, Cathy had put all that effort into helping her, but it had also given them a chance to spend time together. Something they both wanted. Perhaps she’d encouraged Becca to do this, more for an excuse to do something together.
Her heart swelled with love. It didn’t matter if she had the talent or experience to be a famous fashion designer. She had a person in her life who cared, wanted to be with her and encouraged her. For the first time in Becca’s life, she had someone besides her father in her life to care about her. She had a mother.
“Next.”
Becca fought the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She smiled and instead of turning her display around, she circled. “I realize I don’t possess the experience that most of these girls do, but I love my dress and I thank you for allowing me to share it with you. It’s crazy that I’m even here, since I just learned to sew a few months ago, so I have a lot to learn.” She gestured to one of the dresses hanging from the cart. “You see this dress here? It has imperfect stitching just under this arm. Cathy, my mother, helped fix it at three o’clock this morning when the machine jammed. And this green romper is made for a petite frame, but it flares a little too much at the hip. Oh, and this one is one of my favorites. You see this hem? Well, I got in a fight with the serger last night. It should really be two inches longer, but it was four in the morning and no time to cut out a new dress and sew it.” She beamed at the stunned judges. “So, as you can see, I have so much that my mother can teach me. But I truly enjoyed the process of making these outfits and the memories that come with them. I will work on my skills and come back in the future.”
The woman on the end scooted forward in her chair. “What a refreshing young lady.”
A man to her left tapped his gold-tipped pen to his lips. “Yes, and those designs, although flawed as you put it, are imaginative and fresh.
The judge to the far right stood up and walked around the display and Becca. He lifted the edge of her skirt. “Why did you choose this fabric?”
“Honestly? Two reasons. One, I don’t have any money and this fabric is inexpensive. Two, I had a long car ride and I didn’t want it to wrinkle too much, so I used a poly blend.”
“You say you’ve only been sewing a few months? How do you know so much about fabric?” the woman asked.
“Oh, Cathy taught me all about fabric.” Becca smiled at the memory. “I think she watched The Karate Kid one too many times because she had me run my hands over different fabrics for several days before she’d even let me pick something to work with.”
“I see.” The man circled her several more times then returned to his seat. “Primitive, but interesting.”
They looked to one another, as if they spoke some sort of telepathic language then the woman smiled at Becca. “We’d like to see you back here during the next round.”
Becca gasped. “What?”