Grand-mère’s own:
Black and white print dress (Sabine Boutique)
Black snakeskin low-heeled shoes (Vintage Celine)
Black alligator bag (her mother’s)
Red lipstick (Chanel)
Perfume (Chanel No 5)
Total est. cost (at today’s prices): £1,390
‘Affreux.’
One hour later and Annie was in the church hall with all four models… battling. She was battling with dress buttons which wouldn’t stay closed; she was battling with needles, thread and the nightmarish netting, which seemed to ping out all over the place no matter how hard or how closely she stitched it. Worst of all, she was battling with a formidable French lady who did not want to be told what to wear.
‘Non! Pas comme ça,’ Grand-mère had insisted, before taking off the sash Annie had attached to her waist and actually flinging it to the floor!
Did this happen to Jean-Paul Gaultier? No, she bet it bloody did not!
In the church, a frenzy of prep work was under way. Latifah was still cleaning and wiping, plumping cushions on pews, polishing brass candlesticks and making the entire space dazzle. Elena was on the phone instructing every single guest exactly where to come tomorrow. Svetlana, the DJ and Rich were arguing about music, lighting, angles, where the models should stand, where they should walk and where they should twirl. Annie had looked in on the scene briefly, then decided to slink back to the church hall and just keep on top of her side of business.
Anoush had been easy to dress. She’d been put into the tiny size 8 sunflower-yellow dress. After appearing in the yellow dress, she was also going to model the other size 8: a white dress with a trellis pattern in bright blue. Annie instructed her how to wear her hair for the show tomorrow and told her to bring comfortable sandals with heels and do her make up just as if she was going out.
Then it had been Anoush’s friend Celeste’s turn. Her generous curves were squeezed into the two available size 12s: a black crèpe wrap and a dress in emerald-green silk. Her luscious cleavage oozed out from between the buttons. Despite the language barrier, she and Annie talked bras and camisoles.
What did she have at home that would work under these dresses? Celeste offered a black lace bra for under the green dress, along with a wide black patent belt.
‘Yes!’ Annie got it at once. She was curvy, but she had the kind of teeny waist made for a wide belt. Celeste suggested her fuchsia bustier top for underneath the black dress.
‘Yes! Pink shoes?’ Annie wondered.
Celeste nodded enthusiastically.
Annie kept offering Grand-mère the chance to be next, but she waved her hand dismissively. After the sash incident, she had stayed at the rail of dresses, examining the remaining ones herself and making her own mind up about what she was going to wear.
‘What about me?’ Yvette sashayed up to Annie, hand on one hip, her voice throatily low and sexy.
Annie looked at her in admiration, so tall, so bony, so downright slinky, a touch of sweat glistening through the glossy layer of make up on her face. What on earth was she doing here? Why wasn’t she the star of some major designer’s show back in the heart of town?
‘Have you done much modelling?’ Annie asked.
‘I am just starting out,’ Yvette replied, giving her hips a little shake. ‘Modelling is boring – I like to sing. But modelling pay better.’
‘I think you’re going to be an amazing model,’ Annie couldn’t help telling her, ‘you look so…’
‘Different?’ Yvette offered.
‘Yes,’ Annie replied.
‘But different is difficult,’ came Yvette’s reply as she took both the bright cobalt blue and the white dress from Annie’s hands.
‘It’s difficult at the start, but once people get used to something different, then it can be really big, the beginning of something new…’ Annie told the girl and wondered if she’d understood.
Yvette fixed her liquid brown eyes on Annie’s and gave her a long serious look, followed by a quick wink.
‘Maybe you are right,’ she said.
Finally, Grand-mère approached Annie with a sober navy shirt dress in one hand and a brown dress with a ruffled neckline in the other.
‘I will try these,’ Grand-mère said.
It wasn’t a question, it was an instruction.
Annie smiled and nodded approvingly – as long as no one touched the size 14s in red and in purple she had marked out as her own, then all was well. Grand-mère took the clothes in the direction of the hall toilet, where she would change in privacy.
Annie glanced up to see Yvette, from behind, sliding into the cobalt dress. To her surprise, Yvette was wearing the kind of tight beige, all-over control underwear that Annie could hardly believe was necessary on so bony a frame.
* * *
Elena, followed by Svetlana, came to join them in the hall. Annie felt instantly nervous, because she knew they were here for one reason only: they needed to be convinced that these models could make the show work.
Anoush and Celeste, already in their first outfits, stepped forward to be approved.
Now Rich was at the doorway: ‘Can I film?’ he asked, and then with a cheeky smile: ‘Is everyone decent… or happy to be caught in their smalls?’
Yvette stalked forward in the cobalt blue. With her orange hair frizzed out wildly on end and her lean black limbs, she looked amazing. Like a 1970s disco panther stalking on to the dance floor for the kill.
‘Oh wow,’ Rich had to exclaim, his camera running, ‘Paul better spin something unforgettable when you walk into the room.’
Elena’s eyebrows shot up and Svetlana’s lips were in a little ‘o’ of surprise.
‘You look incredible!’ Annie assured Yvette.
Yvette gave a grin, then opened her mouth and gave a little burst of Madonna. ‘Everybody comes to Hollywood…’
This made everyone laugh.
‘What other dress will she wear?’ Svetlana wanted to know.
‘The white one,’ Annie told her. Svetlana and Elena both nodded, knowing just how good that would be against her glowing, dark skin and shock of orange hair.
‘Anoush and Celeste also look beautiful,’ Annie prompted, not wanting the other girls to be overlooked in the excitement of the Yvette phenomenon.
‘Yes, of course,’ Elena responded, ‘I’m just trying to think if Yvette should come in and wow the crowds at the start or if she should be the grand finale.’
‘Truly fabulous dresses,’ Annie reminded everyone. ‘Look at the cut, the colours, the fabrics and how well they hang on everyone. The dainty, the busty…’
‘And Grand-mère?’ Svetlana wondered.
‘Grand-mère is going to be an eccentric touch,’ Elena worried.
‘But in a good way, I’m sure,’ Annie agreed. ‘How’s it going with rearranging the venue?’ she asked. ‘And are your buyers and journos going to come to Saint-Denis?’
‘I think that is going to be OK; everyone sounds intrigued,’ Elena replied. ‘Everyone is booking taxis to hurry them from the Carrousel and back again; no one wants to miss the Armani show at 2 p.m., so we will have to be absolutely on time. The girls must finish walking by 11 a.m., so everyone will have time to look at dresses, then talk to me and Mother and then everyone will have to head to Armani early to find seats.’
‘So, this is one fashion show which can’t begin an hour fashionably late?’ Annie said.
‘NO!’ Elena replied, eyes round, horrified.
Just then Grand-mère came out of the ladies’ room and walked slowly and with great dignity into the hall.
She held her head high and walked with what could only be described as aplomb. The navy dress skimmed her shape and was held in place at the waist with a slim brown alligator belt, model’s own. On her legs were fine mesh brown fishnet tights and a pair of mid-heeled lace-up brown shoes. It was a totally elegant ensemble.
‘That is fantastic, no?’ Svetlana was the first to remark. ‘The dress looks elegant and chic for older woman, too, no?’
‘I think Grand-mère is genius!’ Annie told them as they watched her walking towards them. In the style of an old-school model, she gave them a small, considered smile, made a careful turn and then, one hand on her hip, walked away again.
Celeste began to both clap and laugh: ‘Bravo, Mamie.’
‘How are the veils?’ Elena wondered.
‘Ah…’ Annie’s eyes fell on the heap of netting at the side of the room. It wasn’t proving quite as easy as she’d thought with the veils. Annie could manage simple repairs with a needle and thread; she could sew on buttons, repair hems and burst seams, but every veil she’d made so far resembled a botched tutu, which even Yvette would not be able to carry off with style.
From the pile of netting disaster, she picked out the smallest one she’d made, or tried to make, from gold netting. This was the one which had come off the least badly, she hoped. Grand-mère saw the offering in Annie’s hands and shook her head: ‘Affreux,’ came her comment.
Frightful. Even Annie could understand that.
‘Donne le-moi,’ she instructed, holding out her hand. Annie placed the netting ball into the capable-looking hands.
‘Grand-mère used to make hats,’ Celeste told them.
Annie looked into Grand-mère’s eyes in astonishment. Something about this day seemed to be getting luckier and luckier. OK, well not Patrizio running away with €16,000… Yes, maybe she should just be thankful for small mercies. Celeste’s mamie was going to sort out the veils. She had already picked up Annie’s needle and gold thread and was busy constructing something much more elaborate out of the netting.
‘We should do a rehearsal,’ Elena said, glancing at her watch and barely registering that it was 7 p.m.
‘I think we should get some food in,’ Annie suggested. It now seemed like a very, very long time ago since the small portion of seafood and glass of champagne had passed her lips.
Now, hadn’t she seen a kebab shop on the street where she’d found the netting?
* * *
The very first rehearsal kicked off in the church at close to 9 p.m. ‘Just thirteen hours until we do this for real,’ Elena warned nervously.
It had taken this long to get to the rehearsal stage because Rich and DJ Paul had fussed endlessly about lighting, angles and songs, then fussed all over again about which lighting and which angles went with which songs. It had taken for ever. Their fussing had brought Annie, Elena and Svetlana to the verge of frustrated tears.
Then there had been a break for the great, greasy kebabs which everyone had wolfed down, except Grand-mère who looked on disapprovingly, drank a mint tea and said that she must go home soon as it was past her bedtime.
Now, it was finally time for the full run-through, so Svetlana and Elena sat in pews at opposite sides of the church, while Annie stood with the other models in the lobby.
Rich’s lights shone down on the catwalk – er, aisle – and then DJ Paul hit the decks.
To the thumping, hip-hopping tune he knocked out first, strode Anoush and Celeste. They were arm in arm and walked down the aisle together with something of a playful skip. Annie, wrapped in the red dress and feeling a little too nervous and a little too self-conscious, walked carefully behind them, worrying about whether she should smile or put on a disdainful catwalk face. Yvette waited in the vestry until the second song began, so that her arrival marked a change in mood. When new chords struck up, she came out in the blue dress with a fabulous purple tulle creation of Grand-mère’s on her head. Elena was so impressed she let out a little whooo of excitement. At a respectful distance, Grand-mère followed and, despite the thumping bass, carried herself with elegance and poise all the way down the aisle.
The five models arranged themselves in a group to the left of the altar, the idea being they would pause here for a few moments, letting the music and the mood wash over the audience, giving a good chance for the dresses to be admired, then they would walk back along the side of the church, make a lightning change in the hall, then head back in for round two.
Annie faced Elena and Svetlana and read the surprised relief on their faces.
Now that the lights were on, the music was playing and the models were dressed up, the women in charge of Perfect Dress could see that this stood a chance. It really might be possible for a group of total amateurs to pull off a show and convince some important people that the dresses were fantastic.
‘What do you think?’ Annie couldn’t help asking, desperate to hear their reaction.
But before either Svetlana or Elena could answer, there was an audible crack. The music came to an abrupt halt and the lights went out, plunging the church into pitch darkness.
‘Oh shiiiiit,’ came Rich’s pithy response, ‘I think we’ve blown up.’