“There are designers who simply regurgitate what they see around them and put a slightly different spin on it. Then there are designers who think outside the box. Their designs stand out. I’ve always seen a hint of different in your designs, but you play it safe. Go for broke this time, Caroline.
Give me different.”
My ideas all seem stale and boring lately. I’ve decided to take a risk on the dress hanging on my form, even if subconsciously, but the result is disastrous so far. I shake my head. “It’s not working.
It’s a failure.”
“There’s no such thing as failure as long as you learn from your mistakes.”
I’m not sure what I’ve learned at this point.
She points to the bodice. “Try a tiny dart here. I think it will help give a hint of definition. But I like that you’ve hung it on the bias. A very flattering silhouette, especially for real women.”
I pin a dart on either side directly beneath the bust line and the dress is already improved.
“Sometimes it doesn’t take much. Just a little tweak to vastly alter something.” She winks. “It’s like that in life too.”
My life needs more than a tiny tweak, but there’s no sense telling her that.
She pauses. “I wanted to talk to you about the committee.”
I steel my back. Ms. Carter knows how badly I want to be on it. We’ve also discussed how tight the competition is.
“After a heated discussion with the other instructors, we’ve picked our three members.” She smiles. “I’m pleased to say you were one of the three chosen.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “But I don’t understand ... a few weeks ago you told me it would be close with six members. How could I make it with only three?”
She leans her hip into the table next to me. “The involvement of the Monroe Foundation is a blessing and a curse. The increased operational and marketing budget could bring outside attention to our department, but their involvement also brings constraints. Like the theme.” She rolls her eyes.
“And that was the best of all the suggestions.”
I shudder, wondering what could have been worse.
“You were chosen for two reasons. The first is because you’re well-known for being level-headed in disagreements. In group projects, you’re often the peacemaker. You’re diplomatic and on more than one occasion have brought opposing sides together into a compromise. I’m worried the addition of members outside the design department will make the committee a battleground. The design department needs an ambassador. Someone who is capable of knowing when to stand her ground and when to compromise. I’m positive that person is you, Caroline.”
I blink, letting her words sink in. “Thank you. I’m honored.” I take a deep breath. “You said there were two reasons. What’s the second?”
She smiles and points to the disaster hanging on the dressmaker form. “That. You’re taking risks and your design—even in its unfinished state—is one of the most exciting things I’ve seen you create in the two years I’ve known you. Take that excitement with you into the committee.”
I want to tell her that there’s no excitement in this design, only fear, but I don’t want to risk my newly gained position. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
Ms. Carter moves behind the mannequin. “You don’t have to say anything. Just don’t let me down.”
I nod. “I’ll try my best.”
“In the end, that’s all I can ask, although I’m not sure it’s fair of us to throw you into this potential mess. I suspect not only will this be a hornet’s nest, but it will be an even larger time commitment than previously anticipated. Will this be a problem?”
“The timing couldn’t be more perfect.” With no boyfriend and no job, I’ve got nothing but time.
Ms. Carter starts to walk away then stops, looking over her shoulder. “And even if the theme is lame, put your own unique spin on it. Think outside the box.”
Think outside the box with Everyday Living? That seems impossible.
Just add it to my list of impossible tasks to hurdle.
Chapter Three
The Voodoo Lounge is packed. It’s Friday night and a large population of the Southern University campus has assembled to hear Blue Tiger, the band that’s set to take the stage soon. Dylan drapes his arm around my back, his fingers slightly stroking my side, just below the band of my bra. The placement of his fingers is disheartening. They’re high enough to be a hint of a threat yet not high enough to make him stop without looking like a frigid bitch.
I cast a glance at Scarlett on the other side of the table. Her face is guarded, and it’s obvious she’s only here because of Tucker. And me. She swings her gaze to check on me and I give her a smile. Even if I don’t feel like smiling.
My date with Dylan is rushing headlong into failure.
For some reason, Reed pops into my mind, and I imagine how a date with him would be going if I’d said yes. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be trying to cop a feel.
Why am I thinking about Reed?
In fairness, everything else in the world has triggered thoughts of him since last Saturday night.
His reaction when I so thoroughly insulted him still haunts me. I don’t behave this way. Not since high school. Back in Shelbyville, I was Carol Ann Hunter from Pine View Trailer Park. I fought stares, whispers, sneers and outright taunts, and unlike Scarlett, who grew up in the same raggedy trailer park, I stood up for myself. Not that it did me much good. I can’t help wondering if Scarlett had it right all along, burrowing deep within and cocooning until she felt safe to emerge.