The Mistress(36)

The shows were done more now for their publicity value as a spectacle, and the few girls who were lucky enough to be able to order the clothes were being dressed by the much older men who supported them and wanted to show them off as trophies and symbols of their vast fortunes, power, virility, and business prowess. None of it was what haute couture had been meant for, to dress extremely sophisticated, fashionable, well-dressed women. For the most part, haute couture had become a parody of itself, and only a handful of very wealthy Arab princesses, and the young mistresses, long term or otherwise, of Russian businessmen, were able to order the clothes. And in many cases, what one saw on the runway was never made or sold, it was simply an example of a kind of exquisite craftsmanship that had once been the summit of French fashion, and was now being worn by sexy young girls who had no appreciation for the rarity and quality of what they wearing.

The January show was for summer clothes, and winter clothes were shown in July, in order to place advance orders, to allow time for the handmade and often intricate garments to be created. So when Vladimir and Natasha arrived in Paris to go to the couture shows, she was going to pick her wardrobe for the following summer. And Vladimir always liked to be with her for the show, and he would make careful note of what he wanted her to wear, as the girls came down the runway. They were always the most expensive outfits and gowns. Like his cars and boats, how Natasha looked and what she wore were the outward signs of his immense wealth, just like the jewelry he gave her. Natasha wore jeans and simple clothes around the house, but Vladimir always preferred to see her dressed extravagantly, or at least expensively, when she went out, and even at home, where only he saw her. “Blue jeans are for peasants,” he would say, although he wore them. But he wanted all heads to turn when Natasha walked in anywhere, and any one of her outfits cost the price of a luxury car, or a small apartment.

She didn’t like disagreeing with him on any subject, or to seem ungrateful, but she always tried to point him toward the simpler clothes when they went to the haute couture shows, particularly for summer, when they spent so much time on the boat, but he brushed aside what she said. Sometimes he liked to see her in an evening gown at dinner, even when they were alone at home. He would no sooner have bought inexpensive clothes for her, or plain ones, than he would have acquired insignificant art. He wanted what he paid for, to show the world without question how far he had come. And although Natasha loved going to the shows and seeing the fashions on the runway, she always dreaded what he would select for her. He allowed her a few of her own choices, but for the most part, he chose what he wanted her to wear, and she didn’t argue with him about it. She never liked making him angry. She had done so only a few times, and the look in his eyes and the harsh tone of his voice when he reprimanded her were enough to keep her in line. Whenever someone crossed him, countered his opinion, or disobeyed, it didn’t go well. If one did as he commanded and expected, he was a kind, gentle man. But there was a volcano just below the surface. Natasha had seen it directed at others, and did everything she could to avoid having it directed at her. And she certainly wasn’t going to risk his anger over what she wore. She was grateful for his generosity, and how could she complain about what he gave her? He spent millions on her clothes every year, and everything he bought looked beautiful on her.

For the stage setting of Dior’s haute couture show for the coming summer, there were banks of flowers everywhere, the heavy scent of tube roses and lily of the valley in the air. The clothes were diaphanous and sexy, the skirts were short, almost everything was see-through, bare breasts were frequent in the show. The heels were so high they were almost unwearable. Many of the clothes were backless for summer. They were all clothes she could wear well, although she longed for a few simpler things, and picked out two plain cotton dresses that were flawlessly cut, and less exciting than what Vladimir chose for her that showed off her body but could only be worn in showier circumstances than daily life. There were lots of paillettes and tiny sequins, each one hand-sewn on nude-colored net. There were leggings and bodysuits, entirely sewn with tiny beads in flower-shaped patterns, that cost two hundred thousand dollars, due to all the embroidery and beadwork, and Vladimir ordered three of them for her, and a fourth one in shimmering pink. He told her that you don’t dress a spectacularly beautiful woman in rags, which plainer clothes were to him, even if haute couture. In winter, he dressed her in furs, preferably sable, or mink, chinchilla, and ermine dyed exotic colors with fabulous hats to match, alligator leggings, hip boots in leathers and skins, with heavy embroidery on remarkable coats. He bought her clothes to be noticed in, not simply to wear for fashion and comfort, and she wondered secretly sometimes what it would be like to wear ordinary clothes, other than on the boat. She hadn’t done so since she left Moscow with him as a young girl, and then immediately felt guilty and ungrateful for her thoughts. She knew how fortunate she was to have a man who bought her haute couture.

He ordered seven outfits for her from the Dior show, and six more at Chanel, and three summer evening gowns from Elie Saab, all with plunging necklines and slits up the side, to her hips. She wore all the clothes well, and the women who ran each couture house loved dressing her, and made a great fuss over both of them. Vladimir made his choices quickly after he saw Natasha in the dresses he had made note of, and he rarely changed his mind. He knew how he wanted her to look. And Natasha thanked him profusely when they left each house. They went back to the apartment afterward, curled up in front of the fire in their bedroom, and made love. He was delighted with the clothes he’d bought her, and couldn’t wait to see her in them the following summer. There would be three fittings for each dress before they were delivered, to make sure that they fit her perfectly. There could not be a wrinkle or a misplaced hand stitch in a couture gown. It had to be flawless, like the woman who wore it.