Nine Women, One Dress(30)
This woman knew her stuff. I didn’t want to take the dress off. I spun around in it a few times. John stood up and thanked us both for our help and excused himself to look for a silk purse.
I knew I needed to follow him and keep at it. But seeing myself in the dressing-room mirror again made me stop.
“I wish I had somewhere to wear this dress,” I said, drawing the attention of only the saleswoman.
“A dress like that has no business waiting around for a chance to go somewhere.”
Neither do I, I thought as I motioned for her to unzip me. She did. So much for channeling Mata Hari.
“I’ll take it when you’re done,” she instructed. “I have to hold it for another customer.”
I knew I’d detected a hidden agenda—hidden agenda! I’d gotten so caught up in the dress I’d forgotten I was still on John’s trail. I threw on my clothes and caught up with him by the escalator.
“Want some help picking out a purse?” I asked, feeling more like a stalker than a seductress. He nodded. Actually it was more of a shrug, but I went with it.
We headed to the first floor to look at the purses, and he put a lot of thought into his choice. My gut was talking to me very loudly by this point, and I didn’t think there was any way this guy was cheating. If I had any doubt, it was obliterated when the salesgirl offered him one of those small free gift cards. He whipped a Hallmark-type anniversary card out of his pocket. On the soft pink envelope he had drawn a big heart. In my experience, these just weren’t the actions of a cheater. For the first time in a while, I felt a surge of optimism about the possibility of finding a good man. I couldn’t wait to tell Caroline the good news.
CHAPTER 16
How to Dress a Broadway Diva
By Her Frustrated Costume Designer
Age: Too old for this nonsense!
“How to dress a Broadway diva?” is a question I would have felt confident answering after the thirty-seven productions that have made up my reputable career as a costume designer thus far: eighteen Broadway, twelve Off-Broadway, and seven summer stock. But the current production I am working on, That Southern Play, has me doubting it all.
Set in the South, the play has been trumpeted as an homage to the works of Tennessee Williams, most evidently The Glass Menagerie and a lesser-known play called Suddenly Last Summer. Like That Southern Play, they both examine insanity. The insanity in this production, both on and off the stage, involved the lead character, Daphne Beauregard, being played by the Hollywood screen star Jordana Winston.
Being a costume designer for a period piece is usually my favorite kind of work; I enjoy the challenge of creating a past world. That Southern Play is set in that small sliver of the sixties before the hippies and the British invaded our culture. When people still dressed for dinner and things like white gloves and ascots were common accessories, especially in the South. As I sketched out my ideas and collected treasures from costume and vintage shops around the city, I felt lucky to be a part of this new production. Just like those unsuspecting proper folk in the early sixties, I had no idea what was coming.
The nightmare began on day two of rehearsals. Day two was the day that the infamous Hollywood leading lady Jordana Winston arrived onstage, or on set, as she mistakenly kept calling it.
It has become common practice of late to feature Hollywood stars on the Broadway stage, and if you ask me, which no one does, it’s a travesty. The Tinsel Town effect, as it’s called, may boost sales, but it certainly doesn’t boost morale, at least not among real Broadway thespians. Prominent stage actors worry that they will disappear from Broadway’s future if screen actors continue to scoop up leading roles and Tony Award noms. Some are cast just for their names and aren’t even right for the parts. This was especially true in the case of my latest diva, Jordana Winston.
Ms. Winston arrived straight off a megamillion-dollar box office smash, and boy, did she know it. Between her ego and her entourage, it was thought she would need two dressing rooms. This was after her request to airlift a movie trailer onto the ninety-year-old roof of the Brooks Atkinson Theatre was denied. I’m sure the renowned New York Times critic Brooks Atkinson, for whom the theater is named, would have had a choice word or two to say about Ms. Jordana Winston. I only wish he could be resurrected for opening night!
Ms. Winston had her own stylist, her own makeup artist, her own trainer/nutritionist, and her own mancubine masquerading as personal manager. (It was quite clear to all what part of her person he managed.) Luckily, all but the last were forbidden by Actors’ Equity and sent packing. The diva was furious. She had no idea of the union rules. In fact, I’ve heard that she has yet even to sign her contract.
She was impossible throughout all her fittings. She kept insisting that she was a smaller size than she was. Her previous stylist must have been letting out her entire wardrobe at the seams, though it’s infinitely easier to take in a larger size. She must’ve been more concerned with the size of Ms. Winston’s ego than the size of her ass. I had no patience for such nonsense, and when Ms. Winston realized it she threatened to have me fired. She didn’t scare me.
Even though that stylist flew back west in a huff—on a broomstick, no doubt—she still had one opportunity to make my job more difficult. Last week the cast was invited to do a photo shoot for an upcoming New York magazine spread on the best new plays of the season. Of course That Southern Play was included. The instructions were to dress up, and Ms. Winston’s West Coast stylist loaned her a Max Hammer that WWD had dubbed the it dress of the season. I have to admit it was a good choice. It was very flattering and had not yet reached saturation point in the press. I sent it back to the stylist within a day of the shoot, and unlike most of my dealings with Jordana Winston and her people, this transaction was seamless. Until yesterday, that is, when I was told a reshoot would be necessary because Ms. Winston had gotten her leading man fired. Mine was not the only livelihood she’d been threatening.