Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing (13 page)

His shoulder twitched.

“It’s me, Mami. Mijo, the time has come.”

“For what?” he grumbled in between a breath and a snort.

“Your auntie will be joining me soon… do you hear me, mijo? Mi hermana viene pronto…”

Johnny swatted the air several times, rolled to the edge of his bed, and clenched his pillow to his chest. “That’s nice, Mami…”

Suddenly, the words rang clear in his head, jolting him awake. For years, he had prayed to his mother for a sign, and at last it had come.

A greedy grin spread from cheek to cheek because Christmas had arrived early. “It’s time…
it’s time
!” he chanted as he grabbed his iPhone from the white acrylic nightstand and made the call that would seal his financial fate.

“Emergency meeting. Inner circle only. Sixty minutes. My living room.”

*   *   *

“It’s one thirty in the morning. That snow was a bitch out there,” one of Johnny’s lawyers whispered to another while sliding his briefcase on the ceramic white coffee table. The last of the four executives trudged in and fell into the black leather couch. They began to murmur about what was important enough to pull them out of bed in the middle of the night.

“The old bat is finally going to kick the bucket,” Johnny announced from the room entrance. A juice glass in one hand and an orange scone in the other, Johnny glided into the room, still sporting his silky ebony sleepwear.

The executives hushed. “How do you know?” asked Louisa, one of Johnny’s top managers.

“My mother told me in a dream tonight.”

The staff moaned.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Johnny,” said Sam, his top accountant. “We fought our way here in the middle of the night, through a blizzard practically, because you had a dream about your mother? With all due respect, couldn’t this have waited for the office?”

“Absolutely not. You know this is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. We must trigger our action plan immediately. Today. The minutes are ticking!” Johnny popped the last bite of scone into his mouth.

Sam scooted to the front of his chair and placed his hands on his knees. “Johnny, we’re a multimillion-dollar company. We can’t change the entire strategic plan based on a dream. Don’t you remember what happened last time? We almost filed for Chapter Eleven last year. We’re lucky to have our heads above
water. For all we know, your vision could have been triggered by your subconscious.”

“Post-traumatic stress after they booted him from the judging panel on
Project Runway
,” one exec discreetly added.

“Not to mention the meds,” another whispered.

They all knew working with Johnny Scissors had its perks when his aunt Daisy was running the operation by proxy, but two years ago she handed him the reins, and it had all changed.

Daisy had taken him in as her own child, watching him grow as she grew her business into an internationally known brand.

From the runways of Paris to the department stores of middle America, Daisy de la Flora accessories could be seen everywhere. She may have kept a low profile, but her standards were higher than the Queen of England’s. She kept all manufacturing in New York City’s garment district, paid decent wages, and offered generous health benefits and retirement for her employees. She incorporated monthly birthday roundups, holiday parties, and day-care discounts into the budget, as well as tuition reimbursement. In return, Daisy’s staff proved their loyalty through quality, timely work that garnered national press.

Daisy had paid Johnny’s way through college, where he studied fashion design, of course. When he graduated, he requested his own label under Daisy’s. She made him draw up a detailed business plan, complete with sketches, brand strategy, profit margins, manufacturing rates, and target market. When he presented it a month later, she granted his wish. But on one condition—that he honor her founding principles and offer annual scholarships and a mentor program for emerging designers as a way of paying his good fortune forward. At the same time, she stopped production of her famous award-winning Daisy line that had been around for decades. She felt
it had run its course and it was time for her to tackle something new.

House of Tijeras was born.

Riding on the backs of Daisy’s A-list Hollywood clients and the talent he farmed from the mentoring program, Johnny became one of New York City’s elite faces. As the year’s rolled by, his ego swelled. He despised that he still had to run every idea by his aunt, whom he could barely track down.

Daisy’s life mission switched from running her company from her Manhattan office to visiting third-world countries to help the poor and suffering. Perhaps it was the guilt from mistakes she made in her younger years, or just a single woman trying to make a world a better place, but Daisy had found her calling in philanthropy. Yet no matter where she sat in the world, she always phoned Johnny every week at their regularly scheduled hour. She hoped Johnny would follow in her footsteps.

Every year for his birthday, he begged Daisy to let him run House of Tijeras his own way. He even offered to take over the entire Daisy de la Flora conglomerate so she could enjoy life. She declined, recognizing flaws in his character, though she never gave that as the reason.

But two years ago, Johnny had told Daisy about a vision he experienced while searching for a bottle of Dom Perignon in his wine cellar: His mother asked him to send a message to Daisy—that Johnny was ready.

The mention of her beloved sister brought back all Daisy’s guilt. Swallowing her uneasy feelings, she stepped aside, eliciting a promise from her nephew that he would still adhere to her original conditions. She trusted him. She had to. She stopped the weekly calls and went about her journey.

Johnny reveled in his newfound freedom. The first night he threw himself a bash that cost more than a million dollars.
And the celebrating didn’t stop there. He partied and let the company go on autopilot. His antics became so well known on gossip blog sites and in tabloids that he was even given his own reality show and book deal.

But what Johnny didn’t realize until it was too late was that when his aunt removed herself from the picture, the perks exited with her. Without Daisy’s infusion of spirit and sass, Johnny Scissors became a fool on the scene. All his former clients—from J. Lo to Julia Roberts—lost interest. A few copyright infringement lawsuits filtered in. His book and TV ratings plummeted. A major department store deal that Daisy had set up in her last days at the company fell through. Casa de la Flora needed cash flow desperately and, even worse, all the stress made him pack on twenty pounds.

A month ago he received grim news that the almost fifty-year-old business would go under by summer. If she wanted to, his aunt could save him. She could easily reignite her Daisy line with updated designs and captivate an entire new market, as many investors had asked her to. Not that she seemed inclined to do it. Besides, Johnny would still be dependent on her. The stacks of stocks, investments, and royalties from her accessory line… the thought of legally owning it all under his name alone made Johnny’s mouth water.

As Daisy’s only relative, he would take ownership of the empire when she died. Who else could she leave the company to? She’d always been a loner and a recluse. He’d hoped it would happen this year, for his fiftieth birthday. He wasn’t creepy enough to plot a murder, although he did fantasize about it—something appropriately dramatic, like her spilling a tray of rhinestones and then slipping on the sparkly nuggets to her demise. Of course, that scenario wasn’t likely—the woman wore sensible sneakers. If only he could find out the details of her
heart rate and blood pressure. Every so often when Daisy called, he’d casually ask her about her health, but she always evaded the subject. She had to knock off sometime, and thanks to his mother’s message, he knew the time had come.

Johnny took a long sip of his juice. “It’s going to be soon,” he said. “And when it happens we’ll create buzz around Casa de la Flora to raise its value, sell it off, and focus on House of Tijeras. We’ll move domestic manufacturing to Los Angeles and hire immigrant labor for cheap. Once we see the black in the books again, we’ll dump it off to the highest bidder. Eternal 14 has already expressed interest.”

Everyone took a moment to ponder his crazy plan.

“Could work,” said Sam. “Daisy is an icon. We could play off her death as a way to introduce the line extension. We can dig up her original sketches and say she designed them from her deathbed. She’s out of the limelight, no one will know.”

Alex, Johnny’s personal assistant, lunged toward the center of the group. “Don’t forget the Young Designers Program. One of our selections was picked strictly for publicity reasons. She has a popular fan site—get this—it’s called DaisyForever.com and it’s dedicated to your aunt.”

“And we’re bringing her in?” Johnny shouted, sliding his glass on the table. “She is siphoning interest from our brands. Louisa, you’re head of marketing, why haven’t we filed a cease and desist? We should sue!”

“We have it under control,” Louisa said. “Her name is Scarlet Santana. She’s not doing anything illegal. In fact, she’s largely responsible for keeping both Casa de la Flora and House of Tijeras in the indie press.”

“Free publicity,” the lawyer said. “We can use her to build more of the buzz you mentioned and sell off
both
brands to Eternal 14.”

Louisa nodded in agreement. “Our interest is declining among the public, yet Miss Scarlet’s—that’s her moniker—is taking off like a firecracker. It would be in our best interest to capitalize on that. I’ll take personal responsibility for this situation from this point on.”

“Now you’re talking,” Johnny said, clapping his hands together. “Yes, let’s use her to raise brand awareness. If we work it right, we can acquire the site from her and work it into the sale.”

“What’s your timeline for all this? What do you want us to do with this summer’s designers program?” Sam asked.

Johnny grabbed his juice again and swallowed the last bit. “Move it up to mid-January; it’ll be our last one, thank God.”

“But the tuition… we have students paying on installments,” Alex said.

“If they want it bad enough, they’ll come up with the cash.” Johnny shrugged. “Now, hop to it, people. Let’s draw up a formal plan at the office. I’ll meet all of you there at ten.”

Friday, December 9, 11:59 p.m.

Chalk it up to being unique.

Hola, my 100% cotton-loving chickadees! Today’s post is a snapshot I took from Daisy’s journal that was part of a fashion exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

During this time in Daisy’s life, she worked as a costume designer for many blockbuster Hollywood films. She spent all day and night fitting beautiful starlets and dancers, and doing so made her insecure about her apple-shaped body. Did I ever mention that one of Daisy’s legs was shorter than the other? She refused to limp, and had special shoes made. But then she worried that the unevenness was obvious so she embellished the heels—that is what led to her designing footwear!

See? Instead of hitting the pity piñata, Daisy forced herself to appreciate her bod, and greatness followed. I hope these words inspire all of you to do the same. And if any of you happen to trace your bodies on the sidewalk, please send pictures—I’ll post them in the gallery section.

I’m dedicating this post to my patternless sewing students, because tomorrow is duct-tape dress form day!

What’s that? You’ve never heard of such a thing? Gather round, my beauties. A duct-tape dressform is just that—a dress form made from duct tape! Click on the Project Ideas link for instructions.

Why spend hundreds of dollars on a form that represents a standardized size when you can make your own? And when I say the word “form,” I mean any kind of form in life. Be like Daisy and always strive to fine-tune your belongings and surroundings to your desire. That’s what I do!