Deconstructed(39)

Under the lights I had erected for those who wished to try on our vintage offerings, Ruby looked even better. I touched the strap of the gown. “I can’t believe this was the Givenchy.”

Ruby didn’t smile, but I could see the pleasure in her eyes. “I know. I loved the color. The fading made it softer. Like old newspaper, but prettier.”

It was at that moment I caught my mother’s reflection in the mirror.

Her Roger Vivier heels tapped a determined staccato toward us, like a Valkyrie descending.

“Hello, darling,” Marguerite said in her contrived upper-crust southern drawl, her Chanel perfume greeting us before she was even within five feet. She stopped abruptly next to me, her hand raised to no doubt press down one of my errant curls that had escaped to bounce defiantly, but her eyes landed on Ruby. “Oh. Oh, what’s this?”

I smiled at Ruby, who looked somewhat alarmed. Marguerite did that. She had never been the sort to make anyone feel at ease. Like a general in the army or something, she made a person feel as if they should straighten up and worry about the lint on their pants. “You’ve met my assistant, Ruby. She designed this dress for Gritz and Glitz.”

My mother stepped closer to Ruby, peering at the fastidious tucks and pristine edges of the gown. “Well, this is . . . quite stunning. It looks straight off a runway, only better because it’s not hodgepodgy. Some of those designers these days glue things, for heaven’s sake.”

Ruby’s lips twitched. “This gown is pieced from some unsalvageable vintage dresses Cricket had. The top is from a fifties Givenchy, and the bottom was from a Balenciaga, also from the fifties. The ruffle was in pretty bad shape, so I pulled it off and streamlined it and added the lining, which I bought at a fabric store.”

My mother was speechless as she made the finger motion for Ruby to twirl.

Ruby obliged.

“That’s incredible. You have such talent, my dear.”

“I made another dress. For Cricket or whoever. I’m not sure it will fit your shape, Cricket, but I couldn’t stop myself because the skirt was just too pretty to toss. I’ll grab it.” Ruby sort of hurriedly slunk away toward the back of the store. The tight skirt of the stunning creation she wore only allowed for so much stride.

My mother arched a carefully drawn-on eyebrow. “How surprising.”

It was. I’d had no clue that Ruby was so talented. Of course, the younger woman had an eye for style. She always paired pieces creatively or donned sleek ensembles such as the monochromatic one she’d been wearing earlier, but I had had no clue that her skills as a seamstress and, well, designer were so heightened.

Ruby came back with something covered in black garbage bags. “I didn’t have a garment bag.”

She untied the joined bags and pulled them from the dress.

“Oh,” I breathed as a swoosh of the creamy-white Givenchy spilled forth. Ruby lifted the hanger where she had pinned the top of the gown. The bodice was a black-and-cream polka dot that stretched across the neckline, piped in black velvet and secured at the shoulder with black ties. The skirt fell, lusciously, in panels to below the knee, and beneath the creamy fabric was a five-inch black tulle underlay. It was daring, fun, and quite gorgeous.

My mother actually clapped. “Darling girl, that is . . . Well, I haven’t seen anything that pretty since my mother paraded around town in just that sort of thing. I cannot believe you took old gowns and refashioned them so divinely. I’m stunned. You know what, I’m calling your aunt, Cricket. She needs to meet this girl.”

My mother rarely got excited by anything, but her normally cool blue eyes were flashing and . . . she was smiling! Goodness, my mama was pretty when she looked stirred.

I laughed, and I swore it felt rusty because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a reason to feel quite so good. “Wait a second. Don’t you go trying to ship Ruby off. She’s my girl Friday. I need her here.”

“Ha, she’s more than an assistant,” my mother said, with a gleam in her eyes. But then she looked at me, and those eyes narrowed. “Goodness gracious, Cricket, you need to book a day with Jeannie. Sugar, you’re looking peaked. A moisturizing facial and”—her eyes lowered—“a manicure would do you wonders. You know that you must take care of your skin at your age. I’m telling you, dear, that when you tip over into your forties, your skin starts getting crepey and losing elasticity. Let me see your neck.”

I swatted at her as she drew closer. “Go call Aunt Coraline and stop fussing about me.”

“Who’s Aunt Coraline?” Ruby asked, hanging the creation she’d unveiled on the side of the mirror.

“My mother’s sister who works at Vogue. She’s someone who might be interested in you.” As I said those words, I knew that my aunt would be fascinated by Ruby’s talent, but I wasn’t certain that Ruby wanted those doors open. Wasn’t like I could shove her out into New York or London or Paris on a hunch. My mother and I knew what we liked and appreciated Ruby’s talent, but what if my assistant didn’t want to do what we were pushing her toward? What if her dream wasn’t studying at fashion institutes or working for a designer where the competition was so fierce, a person had to know where their scissors were at all times?

“Vogue? Like the magazine?” Ruby asked.

“That is correct.” My mother still looked at me way too discerningly.