Emma could not imagine what this was for. Or where Charlie had gotten it.
“Why are you paying me?”
“I’m not. I’m contributing,” Charlie explained.
“Contributing to what?”
Charlie let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, Em. I may act like an idiot sometimes, but I’m really not. I know that making clothes, clothes that are hot enough to make it onto the pages of Madison, costs money. And I know that you can’t possibly have the cash to afford the fabric you want without hitting up your parents, which I know there’s no chance of, so here. It’s not a lot, but it’s something.”
Emma fingered the worn bills. The right thing, the thing her mother had trained her to do, would be to give the money back to Charlie. But she could so use the extra cash. As it was, she was going to have to empty her entire sock-drawer cash stash. She had even debated the pros and cons of pleading with William for money.
“But, Charlie—” She’d never taken money from a friend before.
“Look. It’s not a gift. Does that make you feel better? It’s a loan. Like in the theater, people put up money to help get a show on Broadway. Then when the show’s a hit, they get their money back plus a little extra. Trust me, I’ll be collecting when everyone lines up to buy your clothes.” Charlie was back to being Charlie. And Emma knew he would come collecting, which was strangely comforting.
“Thanks,” Emma replied. Now they really were in this together. “Want to come to the fabric store with me?”
“Nah. I’ll just hang here.”
“Don’t think you can.” Emma gathered up her sketchbook, pencils, and markers. “I’m not coming back. I have to finish a world history paper, which is late, and read a zillion chapters of A Separate Peace tonight.”
“If you don’t have time for me now,” Charlie teased, “what happens when you become über-successful?”
“Don’t worry,” Emma replied, turning off the light above her worktable. “Allegra will always remember the little people who helped her get where she is…”
“Which is…middle school?” Charlie guessed, following her down the dark hall.
“Yup. And unless she gets that history paper done, she may not even be there!”
After Charlie headed home toward the prospect of five wannabe actresses singing songs from Wicked in his apartment, Emma walked the six blocks to Allure Fabrics.
Even though it was late in the day, Allure was crawling with students from the Fashion Institute of Technology. With thousands of bolts of fabrics piled on shelves that reached all the way to the ceiling, the store’s acoustics completely muted the sound of their excited chatter.
Allure Fabrics was one of Emma’s favorite places. For the past two years, since she’d been allowed to wander around New York City on her own, every time she walked into Allure, she got the same rush as she did as a little girl going into Economy Candy, the lower Eastside sweets emporium. Only now bold graphic prints, shimmery gem-colored satins, nubby Easter-egg-colored tweeds, and butter-soft jerseys made her heart race instead of bins full of gumballs, jellybeans, and chocolate marshmallow twists.
She loved how the fabrics were grouped by colors, textures, patterns, and weights. Chiffon. Denim. Duchess satin. Eyelet. Linen. Twill. Tulle. Velvet. Every kind of silk imaginable, from batiste to voile. Even organic cotton and eco-friendly fabric made from bamboo. It amazed her how many different possibilities there were—and slight variations within those themes—and yet somehow, there was an order to them.
Sometimes she would come here and just follow the fashion students up and down the aisles as they selected material for school projects. But today Emma was on her own mission. And for that, she needed Nidhi.
Nidhi was Emma’s favorite salesperson at Allure. She was in her late twenties, fashionable and funky—and a little quirky, which made Emma love her even more. Her midnight-black hair was pin-straight and cut into a choppy fringe that framed her face. She was only a little taller than Emma, but her confidence—and high heels— made her tower over Emma in her flats. Nidhi worked part time at Allure to make money and industry connections until she could get her own clothing line together. Plus the employee discount on fabrics helped her afford to design her own things.
Emma walked back into the depths of the cavernous store. A swarm of students surrounded Nidhi, fighting one another for her attention.
“I saw it first, Lila!”
“You are so lying, Crystal!” Lila retorted, clutching a bolt of purple, red, and yellow charmeuse. “I found this like twenty minutes ago!”
“But then you put it back, so it’s fair game!” Crystal screeched.
“Ladies!” Nidhi shouted as best she could with her naturally quiet voice. “This fabric comes in more than one color, so you can both have it. Or not. Flip a coin or draw straws or something. Then let me know when you decide. I have other customers, yeah?”
Nidhi wriggled out from between them and practically fell onto Emma in relief. “Hi cutie! Sorry about that. First years—always the same. Zillions of fabrics to choose from, and everyone wants the same one! Never fails.” She threw up her hands. “What’re you looking for today? I don’t have anything new on sale yet. Maybe next week.”
“Actually,” Emma said, “this time I may buy some things at full price.”
Nidhi grabbed her chest as if she were having a heart attack, jingling the array of tiny gold charms that dangled from her triple-strand necklace. “No! It can’t be! My best bargain hunter paying full retail? What’s the occasion? Making a dress for some dance at that fancy school you go to?”
Emma snorted and waved her hand. “Hardly. But it is a special occasion.”
“Good enough for me, yeah? Tell me what you need.” Nidhi’s eyes jumped from Emma’s face to something going on over her shoulder. “I have to go break up another fight. Go look on that table—we just got in new stuff.”
As Nidhi marched away on her suede wedges, Emma hurried over to the new arrivals table. She was immediately drawn to a bolt of silk covered in a watercolor design boasting many of the same hues—cobalt and turquoise and other aquatic shades—as in Night below the Surface. There wasn’t much left, but she could probably make it work somewhere.
Before Emma could reach for the bolt, a take-no-prisoners fashion design student with wildly curly brown hair appeared out of nowhere. She snatched it off the table. Emma noticed her fingers were covered with dozens of mermaid-shaped silver rings.
“Excuse me. I…I was looking at that one,” Emma stammered. “Are you going to buy all of it?”
“Probably,” she sneered, tucking the fabric roll under her arm and striding toward the cash registers in lace-up green combat boots.
I should’ve grabbed it when I saw it, Emma thought, angry with herself. She sized up the fabric thief. No question about it. She was much bigger and meaner looking than Emma. Plus the tips of all those mini-mermaid fins look pointy and sharp and way dangerous. Emma had no chance of grabbing the fabric back.
“Store closing in twenty minutes! Twenty minutes! No exceptions! I don’t care if your professor gives you an F or you cry real tears!” Abe Sherman, the gruff and grumpy owner of Allure, shouted. He was famous for his permanent bad mood. Emma suspected it was all an act, but she kept a healthy distance all the same.
“Okay, I’m back,” Nidhi said as she walked up to Emma. “Quick—tell me.”
Emma explained that she needed three shades of gray that worked together— an iridescent silver, something charcoal, and a lighter dove gray. She wanted all of the textures to be different. And for the linings, she explained, “I want silky or satiny fabulous prints—all different kinds—with cobalt, turquoise, and canary yellow. And they all need to work together somehow. I saw one on the new arrivals table, but—”