More Than Fashion (7 page)

She had a list of what order our models would walk in, and we had five minutes to do any last minute touch-ups before the show began. I did one final check of my dress, but there was nothing more to do. The dress was done. As much as I wanted to rewind the day and go back to last night, to stop myself from ever having a drink or taking Gavin back to my room, time travel didn’t exist. I had to live with my bad mistakes and accept the consequences of them.

For the first time, I allowed myself a second to look around the room and take in what the other designers had created. Molly had made a high-necked babydoll dress using the brocade I’d given her. It looked a little dated or stuffy, but it was well-made and flattering on her model. Trina’s model wore a short velvet dress designed to look like a man’s suit jacket, but with a plunging neckline and high hemline. It was a bit stiff, but very sexy. I didn’t think either of them would win, but they definitely wouldn’t be going home either.

Gavin’s dress stood out from the others, even off the runway. He’d made a structured V-neck dress, but he’d used the mesh to overlay different areas on the bodice and skirt, creating his own geometric pattern that only enhanced her shape. It was subtle and deceptively simple, but when she walked, the mesh caught the light and showed how intricate the work was.

I hated to admit it, but he was good. No, really good. Which meant he was going to be on the show for a while. Dammit.

Before I could check out the rest, the designers were sent to wait in the backstage lounge while the models did test runs, which consisted of walking up and down the runway while the crew checked the cameras and lighting. I crashed on the couch next to Trina.

“Thanks for waking me. If you hadn’t…” I shook my head, the thought too much to even consider.

“No problem. Sucks that you lost so much time.”

“I can’t believe everyone else just let me sleep.”

“I can. We have to look out for ourselves first.” She shrugged. “Or maybe they thought you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Still a jerk thing to do,” I muttered. I understood her point though. If the tables were turned, if another designer had been passed out while I was awake, would I have woken them? Or would I have thought it was their loss and considered it not my problem? And maybe been a little happy because their lack of time might get them kicked off instead of me?

I honestly didn’t know the answer.

“You should really thank that English guy,” Trina said. “He was the one who noticed you’d been gone a while.”

“I will.” Ugh, thanking Gavin was just about the last thing I wanted to do.

I must have made a face because Trina laughed. “I get the feeling you don’t like him.”

My eyes found him easily. He stood across the room talking to Tom, leaning against the wall and looking effortlessly sexy. Damn him.

“No. I don’t know. He…bugs me.”

“Oh yeah?” She turned and glanced at him in a super obvious way.

“Don’t look at him!”

She did a snort-laugh and turned back to me. “Eh, he seems decent enough. And not bad looking. For a guy, anyway.”

I gestured, trying to find the right words without giving away our secret history. “He seems kind of…full of himself.”

“Pretty boys usually are.”

When Kelsey returned and took us to the runway room, all the designers oohed and aahed. It looked like a theater and was dark except for a long, raised runway that ran down the middle of the space, with lights shining on it. Chairs had been set up on either side of it—fourteen on one, four on the other—and around them, more cameras.

Kelsey directed us to take our seats. I was in the front row, with Gavin directly behind me. My stomach twisted, nerves jumping under my skin, both excited and terrified to see my dress walk down the runway. It was my dream, especially after watching the show for so many years, but now that I was here—and even worse, maybe going home for my stupid dress—I just wanted to throw up. Or maybe that was a lingering effect of my hangover.

Once we were all in place, Kelsey disappeared. We waited for many long minutes with only the sound of people fidgeting in their seats, all too aware we were being filmed. Finally, the judges walked in and took their seats on the other side of the runway. It was tough not to fangirl a little over them—I’d watched them on TV before so many times and now they were about to watch
my
look walk down the runway.

First was Italian designer Ricardo Romano, with his thinning salt-and-pepper hair, wearing one of his own fashionable gray suits with a sky blue shirt. He was one of the original judges on the show and taught a few classes at Parsons on the side. He tended to give constructive feedback, but was a bit more conservative than the other designers. His label had been dying a slow death until he joined the show, and now his clothes were popular with the older viewers.

Ricardo was followed by Beverly Payton, the editor-in-chief at
Charmed
, one of the premier fashion magazines in the world. She had wispy blond hair done up in a bun and always wore bright red lipstick. She was widely respected as a fashion trend maker and had been on the show since the second season. During her critiques, she could be sort of overbearing but had a great eye.

The next judge was new this season, and they’d kept her identity a tight secret so far: Kiara Jones, a black actress who was only twenty-two but had already started her own fashion line about a year ago that targeted young, trendy women. She had long, beautiful dark hair and wore a stylish dress I guessed was from her own brand. I was surprised they’d picked her as one of the judges and wondered what kind of critique she would give.

After they were seated, Lola walked out onto the runway in her own little black dress, clearly loving the spotlight. She tossed her hair back and stopped to face us.

“Welcome to your first runway show, designers. Your challenge was to create a little black dress in only six hours. We’ll decide now if you showed us anything fab…or if it’s all drab. One person will win a thousand dollars and a stay in the private suite tonight, while three of you will be going home. Let’s begin.”

She walked off the stage and took her seat next to the other judges. The lights dimmed around us and brightened over the runway. Low techno music began to thump in the background. The other designers seemed to freeze, like we’d all taken a big, collective breath we would hold for the duration of the show.

The first model walked out, wearing a tight black dress with cutouts along her sides. I didn’t know who the designer was—with fourteen of us it was hard to keep track of whose dress was whose. The judges took notes as the model walked, and when she got backstage, the next model stepped out immediately.

Over the next few minutes I saw more little black dresses than I’d ever seen in one place before. A few stood out from the rest as clear frontrunners, but overall most of them were forgettable. And a few were downright hideous.

When Carla came out, I cringed. My dress wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t even close to what I’d originally envisioned. I’d made a cute skater dress that was tight at the top with a low-cut neckline, then flared at the waist thanks to the tulle under the skirt. To make it a little more unique, I’d added a hood, which was pulled up over Carla’s head, giving her a mysterious look as she sauntered down the runway. 

Carla rocked it as best she could, her hands in the pockets and twirling at the end to show off the skirt’s movement, but to me the dress just seemed sloppy. I could have done so much better if only I’d had more time. If only I hadn’t gotten drunk or stayed up so late or hooked up with Gavin or or or…

No, thinking like that would only drive me crazy. If I got kicked off, I deserved it for my poor judgement last night. But I would do just about anything to not go home in the first week. I couldn’t even imagine it: to finally be on the show and then sent home immediately, like it was a mistake I’d gotten on in the first place. I was sure Nika and Derrick would think so if I was kicked off. I could practically hear their snotty laughter already. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to prove to them, to my family, to everyone else that I deserved to be here.

Please
, I prayed,
just let me make it to the next round.

They raised the lights around us, and the four judges walked past the runway and into the back, where the models waited. I knew from watching the show on TV that they got closer looks at the dresses and also discussed their results with each other. Once they were done, they would come out to talk to the designers and decide who was going home—and who was the winner of the challenge.

After they were gone for a few minutes, quiet conversations started up amongst the designers, like we were all a little unsure if we were supposed to talk or not, but couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Your dress was charming,” Molly said to me.

“Thanks. I loved yours. You seriously owned that brocade.”

“That was all thanks to you. I’m glad we could work out a trade.”

“Me too.”

“I made a dress like that for my granddaughter on her birthday. That’s why I started designing—to make clothes for all nine of my grandkids. Buying them got too darn expensive!” She continued on and on about her family, but I was too worried about my place on the show to do anything but smile and nod.

An eternity later, the judges walked back out, and all the conversations died instantly. The judges took their seats across the runway, except for Lola, who faced us.

“If I call your name, please come up to the runway so we may speak with you. If I don’t call your name, you’re moving forward and can leave the room.” She checked an index card and began reading off names. Some were names of designers I didn’t know. She also called out Gavin, Dawn, Tom, and Nika. Nine names in total.

Including mine.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A
s I stood up, Molly whispered, “Good luck.” I gave her a hesitant smile and shuffled behind the others toward the steps leading up to the stage. The designers who were safe this week left the room to wait in the backstage lounge for the judging to be over.

Once we were on the runway, Kelsey came out and made sure we stood equal distance apart, before flitting off again out of sight. Our models came out and stood in the gaps between us. Carla gave me a warm smile, and I wanted to grab her hand but knew that would be too obvious. The fact that the judges had called my name could be either good or very, very bad. And I had a sinking suspicion it wasn’t good.

Lola surveyed the nine of us before speaking. “We’re going to go down the line and talk to each of you. Remember: three of you will be going home today.”

They spoke with Dawn first. She’d made a soft, feminine dress that was backless, with two panels of sheer lace running down her model's shoulder blades. The effect was elegant and classy, yet very sexy. They continued down the line, talking with the other designers with the best and worst dresses. Nika’s dress barely covered her model’s ass and had darts that made her boobs look like cones. Another girl had a dress that looked like it was barely hanging together by a thread and might slide right off if the model moved too much. Both of them were on the bottom. The judges loved Gavin’s dress, to no one’s surprise.

I was next.

Lola started off the critique. “Your dress looks like something I could pick up in a costume store. On the clearance rack.”

Ouch. My body seemed to deflate, like someone had popped me with a pin and all the air was sucked out of me. I was so going home.

Ricardo nodded. “I agree. It looks like she’s Red Riding Hood or something.”

Kiara looked down at her notes and then back up at me. “Julie, I actually really liked your dress. It stood out on the runway.”

I wanted to hug her. If only one judge liked me, it might edge me out over the others.

Beverly cocked her head. “I think you have an interesting idea here, but I don’t know if it really fit the challenge. It doesn’t
feel
like a little black dress.”

“Exactly,” Ricardo said. “And I don’t know if anyone could really wear it out.”

I would totally wear it out, but I just nodded, too tongue-tied to speak without falling apart.

“But it looks fun,” Beverly argued. “I could see a young girl wearing it.”

Lola rolled her eyes. “To a Halloween party maybe.”

“I’d wear it,” Kiara said. My new favorite person. “On a cold night? Totally. That hood is fierce, and I love the cut of the dress.” She shrugged. “I like it.”

I gave her a thankful smile, but it was quickly ruined by Lola’s harsh voice. “Of course you’d like it. It looks like something a kid would wear.”

Kiara’s eyes widened at the nasty comment, but Beverly held up a hand. “I do have to say, it would photo nicely in a magazine. And it fits the model perfectly.”

“True,” Ricardo said. “But does it fit the challenge?”

I cleared my throat, finally finding my voice. “It’s black. And it’s a little dress. It just…has a hood, too. And pockets.” Carla demonstrated, twirling around and making the skirt flare with her hands in the pockets. If anyone could work this dress, it was her.

Lola sniffed. “It’s sloppy.”

“They only had six hours, to be fair,” Beverly said.

“The other designers managed in that time.”

I bowed my head, fighting back tears, ready for the next verbal lash, but they moved on to the next designer. This was my worst nightmare come to life. I was on the bottom and Gavin was on top—and not in a sexual way.

I couldn’t go home today. I couldn’t.

They made comments to the last designers that I barely heard, then dismissed us to sit down while they went into the back to make the final decision. Carla gave me a sympathetic arm squeeze before she left, but I couldn’t even look at her. If I was sent home, she’d be out of the competition, too.

“I’m shocked you’re on the bottom,” Gavin said, after we returned to our seats.

“Really?” My head snapped up. I’d already convinced myself that my dress was the worst thing ever designed, that I had no idea what I was doing, and that it had been a terrible mistake when they’d invited me on the show.