Page 40 of A Dress for the Wicked
“As you know, I like to feminize menswear and turn it into something altogether different,” Cordelia said. Her voice was devoid of natural inflection, as though she was reciting lines from memory. “I took a gown, a cape, and a blouse from last season’s collection and redid them to reflect my style. I used the original fabrics for all of them. For the gown, I was inspired by a man’s smoking robe and changed the silhouette to reflect that, complete with a loose fit and waist sash. I approached the cape and the blouse in a similar manner, turning them into pieces that a man might wear in the evening.”
“So I see.” Madame Jolène’s attention was on the three sketches. She flipped through them once and then again. “The concept is strong. Your aesthetic is unique, so your pieces alwaysfeel distinct.” Cordelia beamed, and the design board murmured in approval. “However! You’ve completely obliterated the previous history of the pieces. You’ve used the same fabric, but other than that, one would never know what the previous items looked like. It entirely defeats the purpose of revising an existing garment—one would never know this was a redesign because you’ve annihilated the original.”
Cordelia nodded. She tried to look unbothered, but she wilted behind her smile, her shoulders drooping like a flower in the hot sun. Madame Jolène handed her sketches back, and she took them with a limp hand. The design board shook their heads, as though they’d known all along that Cordelia would fail at the challenge.
“Now let us see what”—her gaze swept the room once again—“Emmaline has done!”
Every step Madame Jolène took toward me seemed to make her grow taller. With her design board following her, I felt like I was in the pathway of a stampeding pack of stylish gazelles. I took my sketchbook and held it out before Madame Jolène asked for it.
“They are the first two sketches,” I said.
“Two?” She took the sketchbook from me but didn’t open it. “Where is your third sketch?”
“I...” Excuses leaped to my tongue.I didn’t have time, I wanted to say.You didn’t give me any.Frustration came with the excuses. It wasn’t my fault I had two sketches, and she already knew that, yet she stood there, asking me why that was the case. “Well, you see—” My voice was hard. Madame Jolène didn’t sayanything, but her chin lifted, and my words died on my lips. I cleared my throat, remembering what she’d said to me before. Excuses couldn’t save me. Only my work could save me. “I did two.”
“Well then. Let us see these two sketches.” She flipped the cover of my sketchbook back and stared down at the page. One of her design assistants let out a gasp. Madame Jolène turned the sketchbook toward me.
Angry dark slashes covered the sketch of the red dress, mutilating the design. I nearly gasped like the design assistant, but I couldn’t. All the air in my lungs was gone.
“What is this?” Madame Jolène’s voice was measured, but there was iron in it. She turned away from me to hold the sketchbook up so the rest of the room could see. A twitter of surprise ran around it as everyone saw the destroyed sketch. “I assume this is some manner of sabotage. I will say it now—I have no time for this and neither do any of you. This had best be the last time that anything of this nature occurs. Is that understood?”
Scared silence filled the sewing room.
“Is that understood?”
“Yes, Madame Jolène,” the other girls quickly chorused.
“I can still see the sketch underneath the lines,” Madame Jolène said evenly. “I will judge your work based on that.”
She held the sketchbook up, squinting hard at the design. I tried to catch my breath. In. Out. In. Out. It didn’t help. The air caught in my chest. It was one thing for everyone here to dismiss me and look down on me. But to destroy my work? When I already was barely making it?
I turned to my left and right, searching the faces around me. Everyone was staring at me, but the minute I looked around, they averted their eyes. Everyone except for Sophie. She met my gaze. If she pitied me or was surprised, it didn’t show.
Was it her? She was always at the top of the challenges—but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to stop me. Or maybe Ky? I cut my gaze to her. Everyone knew she was cutthroat. My eyes went from girl to girl, even Kitty, trying to read guilt in their expressions, their body language.
“Tell us about these,” Madame Jolène said. Her voice was back to its usual tone—firm and commanding—as though there was nothing amiss. She turned the page of the sketchbook to look at the maids’ redesign. Just like the red dress, it was slashed over with pencil.
“I—” My voice cracked and I struggled to collect myself. “I redid the maids’ uniforms and the red gown that the Moroccan ambassador’s wife wore.” I was numb, barely hearing my own voice. “I thought they both needed some updating, but I still wanted to maintain the overall existing lines.”
“Ah. The Parliament-vote dress. How did you see it? It isn’t on display.” Madame Jolène’s voice was like cold water on my face, shaking me free of the red wash of anger that enveloped me. I forced my hands to relax and lifted my head. Whoever had done this to me wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart.
“The painting in the stairwell,” I said, putting my breath behind my words. “That’s where I saw it.”
“How very...” She seemed to search for the right word. “Unusual.”
“She took her inspiration from a painting and the maids’ uniforms?” One of the designers murmured. “That wasn’t what she was supposed to do.”
“No,” Madame Jolène said. “It wasn’t.”
I steadied myself against the sewing table. I’d failed. Again. I felt like my sketch—slashed over, torn apart.
“But the rules were to recreate a Fashion House design, and both are Fashion House designs,” Madame Jolène said. “It shows ingenuity and creativity, and you can clearly see the existing garments in these new versions.”
For a moment, I didn’t feel anything at all. Not happiness or joy or even the mix of despair and anger from before.
She liked my work.
The thought centered itself in my mind, dispelling my tumultuous emotions. I’d succeeded. I’d succeeded at a Fashion House Interview challenge for the first time.
