FROM
QUEEN ELIZABETH TO MADONNA .
BUT UNLIKE OTHER CREATIONS ,
THESE GOWNS DON’T RESIDE IN
THE CLOSET WHEN THEY’RE NOT
BEING WORN .
“You used the phrase ‘being worn’ twice. Watch that—it’s not only repetitive, it’s passive voice,” said Donald who, annoyingly, was right. Eve hadn’t realized he’d be able to hear the TV through her brain.
NO, THESE DRESSES ARE MORE
LIKELY TO BE FOUND ON DISPLAY
IN THE DRAWING ROOMS OF THE
FAMOUS AND THE BOARDROOMS OF
FORTUNE 500 COMPANIES. JOINING
US NOW, THE MAN WHO HAS
SPENT FORTY YEARS CREATING
HIGH DRAMA IN THE SPACE
WHERE ART AND FASHION MEET—
“Now, that was nice.”
“Thank you, Donald.”
— LEGENDARY DESIGNER
MATTHIAS KLIEG .
The camera pulled back, revealing Klieg. Tall and lithe with solemn gray eyes and gleaming white hair receding from a patrician forehead. He nodded at Hap.
Eve leaned forward and watched as Hap followed her line of questioning precisely. He and Klieg chatted their way through the succession of dresses as if they were old friends. Hap even had Eve convinced he was an authority on Cheops.
“So what did you think?” asked Eve happily when it was over. But Donald was long gone.
• • •
That afternoon Eve decided she could risk the elevator and walk to her office through the gauntlet of
Smell
’s front offices. She noticed or imagined several hard stares as she threaded her wayamong the cubicles, and her heart started to pound. After the long hike down to writers’ row, she saw Mark, Quirine, Cassandra, Steve, and Russell with their heads huddled together. They stopped talking when they saw her.
“Well,” said Russell, peering over his glasses at her with new interest. “You certainly know how to make a second impression.”
Eve slung her bag off her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Quirine bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “Go in your office. Now.” The others nodded in unison.
Eve pushed open the door. Inside, taking up most of the small room, sat a Matthias Klieg original, threaded onto a slim Lucite pole atop one of the designer’s custom platforms.
“Klieg’s people sent it over this morning after the interview,” said Steve. “I heard it took, like, three guys to get it in and out of the freight elevator.”
Eve opened the card taped to the pole, her heart racing.
Dear Miss Eve
,
From one “fish out of water” to another
.
I hope you will do me the honor of wearing this to the exhibit’s opening gala on Saturday. Please feel free to bring a guest
.
Regards
,
MK
“It’s got to be worth hundreds of thousands,” said Russell.
“But, Mark,” said Cassandra sharply, “she can’t keep it. We’re not allowed to accept gifts. Conflict of interest. If she keeps it, we’ll have to tell Giles.”
What’s her problem?
wondered Eve. “He just wants me to borrow it,” she said. The shimmering teal gown was, in Klieg fashion, a marvel of engineering: Over a silk underdress, a resin shell had been constructed, consisting of a series of waves that surrounded the wearer from the bust down to the knee. Thedress sparkled under the fluorescent lights, winking at its drab surroundings. Its surface was awash in seed pearls, crystals, semiprecious stones, and enormous, jewel-encrusted fish.
Quirine approached the dress. “How does he do it?” she asked, peering closely at the place where two waves met. “He’s a
QUEEN ELIZABETH TO MADONNA .
BUT UNLIKE OTHER CREATIONS ,
THESE GOWNS DON’T RESIDE IN
THE CLOSET WHEN THEY’RE NOT
BEING WORN .
“You used the phrase ‘being worn’ twice. Watch that—it’s not only repetitive, it’s passive voice,” said Donald who, annoyingly, was right. Eve hadn’t realized he’d be able to hear the TV through her brain.
NO, THESE DRESSES ARE MORE
LIKELY TO BE FOUND ON DISPLAY
IN THE DRAWING ROOMS OF THE
FAMOUS AND THE BOARDROOMS OF
FORTUNE 500 COMPANIES. JOINING
US NOW, THE MAN WHO HAS
SPENT FORTY YEARS CREATING
HIGH DRAMA IN THE SPACE
WHERE ART AND FASHION MEET—
“Now, that was nice.”
“Thank you, Donald.”
— LEGENDARY DESIGNER
MATTHIAS KLIEG .
The camera pulled back, revealing Klieg. Tall and lithe with solemn gray eyes and gleaming white hair receding from a patrician forehead. He nodded at Hap.
Eve leaned forward and watched as Hap followed her line of questioning precisely. He and Klieg chatted their way through the succession of dresses as if they were old friends. Hap even had Eve convinced he was an authority on Cheops.
“So what did you think?” asked Eve happily when it was over. But Donald was long gone.
• • •
That afternoon Eve decided she could risk the elevator and walk to her office through the gauntlet of
Smell
’s front offices. She noticed or imagined several hard stares as she threaded her wayamong the cubicles, and her heart started to pound. After the long hike down to writers’ row, she saw Mark, Quirine, Cassandra, Steve, and Russell with their heads huddled together. They stopped talking when they saw her.
“Well,” said Russell, peering over his glasses at her with new interest. “You certainly know how to make a second impression.”
Eve slung her bag off her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Quirine bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “Go in your office. Now.” The others nodded in unison.
Eve pushed open the door. Inside, taking up most of the small room, sat a Matthias Klieg original, threaded onto a slim Lucite pole atop one of the designer’s custom platforms.
“Klieg’s people sent it over this morning after the interview,” said Steve. “I heard it took, like, three guys to get it in and out of the freight elevator.”
Eve opened the card taped to the pole, her heart racing.
Dear Miss Eve
,
From one “fish out of water” to another
.
I hope you will do me the honor of wearing this to the exhibit’s opening gala on Saturday. Please feel free to bring a guest
.
Regards
,
MK
“It’s got to be worth hundreds of thousands,” said Russell.
“But, Mark,” said Cassandra sharply, “she can’t keep it. We’re not allowed to accept gifts. Conflict of interest. If she keeps it, we’ll have to tell Giles.”
What’s her problem?
wondered Eve. “He just wants me to borrow it,” she said. The shimmering teal gown was, in Klieg fashion, a marvel of engineering: Over a silk underdress, a resin shell had been constructed, consisting of a series of waves that surrounded the wearer from the bust down to the knee. Thedress sparkled under the fluorescent lights, winking at its drab surroundings. Its surface was awash in seed pearls, crystals, semiprecious stones, and enormous, jewel-encrusted fish.
Quirine approached the dress. “How does he do it?” she asked, peering closely at the place where two waves met. “He’s a
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