Page 92 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
“I need to know more about what Valente has planned so I can better plan how to launch my surprise attack.” With the amount of work I have ahead, walking away from Valente right now would only hurt me. Until I’m ready to launch my line, I can use them the way they’ve used me. “And I need the money.”
My eyes dart to Archie. One of us has to bring in some money until we’re ready to launch. He won’t have his allowance anymore.
Archie purses his lips. He may not like the idea, but he doesn’t fight me.
“And,” I continue, “I want to find out where they send their scraps and deadstock to be salvaged. I’ll need a supplier if I want my designs to be authentically upcycled.”
Once I’ve finished my coffee and ebelskiver, I take my iPad from my bag and pull up my designs. Then I slide it to Archie.
He scrolls quickly through each picture, and I try to see my designs through his eyes. Each look has a lighter feel than my original New York line, with less denim and more linen, repurposed scarves, and deadstock voile. As I drew them, I keptgetting more ideas about the types of fabrics I can use when I actually start sewing them. The stack of fabrics with defects I’ve gone through at Valente has loads of potential.
Archie pauses on one piece at the same time Britta comes to the table and peeks over his shoulder.
“Oh! That is so pretty. You know who would love it?”
I glance at the patchwork denim skirt with white stitched waves across the front and red accent stitching around the hem and pockets. It’s the one denim piece in this collection, and one of my favorites.
“Who?”
“Georgia!”
As soon as she says the name, Stella pops up and looks, too. “You’re right! That red stitching with her red lipstick? Perfection!”
My jaw drops. They’ve unintentionally highlighted a huge blind spot in my collection. “You’re right, and I need to make sure my pieces are size inclusive.”
“What does that mean?” Archie asks.
“Curvy girls like Georgia deserve to have cute clothes, too!” Stella claps.
I nod. “And…it’s the right thing to do.”
I’ll have to find a designer who knows how to design for non-traditional sizes, but I’ve already got a few people in mind, including my friend Gwen from school. She started designing her own clothes as a teenager when she couldn’t find what she wanted in her size.
While I think through this new idea, Frankie joins Stella and Britta behind Archie andooohsat the spaghetti strap midi dress I’ve drawn with mismatched vintage linens in soft coastal blues, whites, and sage green with sheer side panels made from gauzy curtain fabric.
“I want this!” She taps the screen, and my excitement grows.
“That will look great on you.”
Archie stays silent as he scrolls to the next image. I can’t read his face.
“Dibs on this jacket.” Stella points to the oversized quilt jacket I’ve created.
I’ll bring it to life with vintage quilt scraps, old towels, and discarded sweatshirts in a color palette of pastel pinks, peaches, creams, and ocean blues. Every seam has visible mending.
“It’s perfect for cool nights at the beach,” she adds.
“That’s exactly what I made it for,” I say, excited that she sees the same vision I did when I drew it.
Archie scrolls to the last piece—a bomber jacket with a repeating wave pattern—and studies it carefully. “I like this one.” He turns the iPad so I can see. “I recognize this wave.”
He points to the image on the back of the jacket.
“It’s Hokusai’s Great Wave—he was a Japanese artist.” I glance at Archie and whisper under whatever Stella is saying to Britta and Frankie, “I thought of you when I sketched it.”
His mouth twitches into a smile.
“I almost used the ‘Surf City’ image from your apron, but I went with the wave instead.”
