“Let’s continue the tour.” She slipped the garb off the mannequin and put it back on the rack.
He put his hand up blocking her from leaving the boudoir. “You see something. Tell me.” He took her waist in his hand as she passed, pulling her back into him. “Please—”
Staring into his eyes, Lex smiled without a flinch and then turned back to the rack. “These are designed by Jemma. I’m sure she looks hot in them. But these are not appropriate patterns for anyone larger than a size six.”
“These dresses will be made up to a size Large, a size eight,” Massimo boasted.
“For starters, in the States, a size Large is a size ten, not a size eight. And on your hanger is a small. But the sizes can be worked out later, when you start production. Two, four, six, eight is not what I’m getting at.” She sighed in annoyance.
“Pardon?” he asked, his concern growing. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Do you see the cut on the dress?” She held up the garment again.
“What is wrong with it?” He grabbed the hanger from her.
Lex pulled a booklet from her bag. “Here’s our catalog from last season.” She flipped open the pages. “See the models wearing soft shapes? Look at the dress form? How it’s fitted but flowing at the same time?”
“Yes, but Easton’s look is not Girasoli’s.”
“Massimo, if Girasoli is going to sell into the mass market channels, you’re going to have to go even softer on the lines than what I’ve done with Easton.”
He admitted it. Lex was right. Jemma designed garments for herself and her friends in Milan and Tokyo who wore haute couture. Not for the North American women buying apparel. He tried to imagine the dresses Jemma created in a catalog and realized they were wrong.
“What do you suggest?” He knew the minute he asked he’d owe a return favor.
“Use this elastic fabric in areas where the consumer wants to contour. But in areas they want to be loose, you have to incorporate another fabric and piece the look together.”
His unease settled deeper. He’d been mistaken all along and maybe even a little self-righteous. Massimo was surprised she didn’t rub his nose in it.
She flipped her catalog over to the blank backside, took a pen from her purse and sketched the outfit on the hanger. “This is what you have.” She held up the article and he nodded to confirm.
Then she drew a flowing bottom to the dress, made the bust looser and changed the V neck to a scoop. “This is what the consumer wants to buy from you.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“My mom is the ‘accentuating the positive and eliminating the negative’ queen. You know?” Lex sang, “Ac-Cen-Tchu-Ate the positive.” She paused to see if she should keep singing.
Nodding for her to continue, Massimo enjoyed her voice.
“Latch on to the affirmative. Don’t mess with Mister In Between.”
Massimo questioned what she sang about.
She dropped her a cappella performance. “With this getup, you’re messing with Mister In Between. Don’t get me wrong, Mom’s figure stopped traffic when she was my age. At least Mom’s Playboy photos say she did. But years later, she found a few imperfections.”
“How has she carried on without your father at her side?”
“Fashion is therapy for Mom, for me too. She still creates her own clothing—weaving, cutting, deconstructing and bringing them to life. She always looks amazing. So if there’s one thing I’m certain of…”
He gave her a sidelong glance filled with utter curiosity, “What?”
“What a woman wants to buy when she goes shopping. It’s the mantra for Easton Essentials, accentuate the positive.”
“Are you and your madre close?” Massimo wondered what his mother would be like if she were alive today.
“I’m a daddy’s girl.”
“Why?”
“Dad’s stardom became supernatural. People were intoxicated being around him. He enchanted everyone—his fans and even his family.”
Massimo noted Lex must’ve inherited Eddie’s star quality. She could take center stage and hold a crowd anytime she wanted.
“And your madre?”
“In ’82, Hugh selected Mom as playmate. Her singing career soared with two chart toppers, Am I Wicked and Lucifer’s Mistress. Soon after, she met my dad, gave birth to me, married and became obliterated in comparison to my father’s success.”
“Birdie sounds like a… neat lady.”
Lex inhaled and gave Massimo a smile then admitted, “She’d tell me over and over again how I’ve inconvenienced and ruined her career. I was five or six. No clue what she meant ’til I turned twelve. And my resentment for her increased as hers dissipated. You could say we took turns hating one another,” she joked.
He didn’t find it amusing.
She continued, “But something changed when…” Her voice became fragile and shaking.
“What is it?” His mother was suppressed into nothing more than a shadow by his father’s own doing. His childhood memories were few, but his mother he’d worked hard to remember. He’d journaled his dreams over the years to keep her memory fresh.
Her grip on the Easton brochure tightened more than she may have realized. “When Dad died, we sorta became society outcasts, bankrupt. People turn on you when you lose your money. A few friends stayed close. But Mom and I realized we were it, us two, together.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Lex.” He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know anything about her family. “I knew your father’s songs and your mother’s too. I never connected them to Easton Essentials. No one at Girasoli did.”
“We’ve worked hard to make sure the brand sells itself without any celebrity BS.”
“How did you come up with the concept?”
“Thrift shopping at La Boutique Resale, we didn’t fit into the European cuts. So we picked up the Girasoli elastic fabric in the garment district and started stitching it with the clothing we wanted to wear but couldn’t. You know, due to our physical imperfections.” She put her hands on her hips.
“I don’t see any flaws.” He noted Lex’s hips resembled Jennifer Lopez’s signature physique. Holding onto Lex’s body excited him.