Ripped at the Seams (2 page)

Still, for now, the Beresford Arms was home. And despite its less than luxurious appearance, it was a home in New York City. The thought filled Sami with excitement—and more than a twinge of homesickness. This was the first time since she left Elk Lake that Sami had been without a stranger in a seat next to her to talk to. The loneliness was suddenly overwhelming.

Quickly, she pulled out her prepaid cell phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Hello,” a teenage girls voice answered.

“Celia. It's me, Sami!”

“Sam! You made it! So, have you taken over the fashion industry yet?”

Sami laughed. “Celia, I've only been here an hour.”

“That's fifty-five minutes longer than I thought it would take you,” Celia teased.

Sami laughed. “Thanks for giving me five minutes.”

“Well, you always were a slow starter.”

The girls giggled together, just as they'd done for the past fifteen years.

“So, is New York everything you thought it would be?” Celia asked.

Sami looked around at the small, stifling room. “Well … its different from Elk Lake, that's for sure.”

“I'll bet,” Celia agreed. “There are probably more people on your block than there are in our whole town.”

“Probably,” Sami agreed. Then she asked quietly, “So, how's my dad? Is he over my leaving yet?”

“Oh, you know Mac, he'll get used to the idea,” Celia quickly assured her.

“I doubt it,” Sami replied. “You should've heard him the night before I left. He was going on and on about how everyone abandons him. I mean, he's all alone now.”

“I wouldn't say he was alone,” Celia argued. “Al and I live a block away. Your aunt Rose lives across the street. And your grandmother is only in the next town.”

“But I just keep picturing him sitting all alone in the living room, feeling abandoned by the women he loved.”

Celia sighed. “It wasn't your fault she left.”

“I know,” Sami said slowly, remembering what it had felt like that cold
December morning when she was just ten years old. She'd come downstairs to breakfast only to find the note her mother had left for her, explaining why she'd had to leave. They'd never heard from her again. “But it's been hard for him all these years.”

“I know,” Celia agreed. “But you can't let that hold you back from what you want. I mean, is this your life or his?”

“That's not the point, Celia.”

“It's exactly the point, Sam,” Celia differed. “Your dad's happy in Elk Lake. Hell, he's only been to Minneapolis three times in his whole life, and that's just seventy-five miles away. Mac's an Elk Lake man—he likes being a big fish in a small pond. But you … Sami, you were suffocating in this place.”

Sami thought about that. It was true. For as long as she could remember, she'd felt as though Elk Lake were closing in on her. She couldn't stand how everyone who came into her father's coffee shop seemed to know her business. Especially after Celia had become pregnant with Sami's brother's baby. Tongues were sure wagging after that. It seemed like all anyone could talk
about was how Celia was a girl in trouble, and that Al had better make an “honest woman” out of her.

Which, of course, he had. A week ago, Al and Celia'd gotten married in a beautiful ceremony in the little church on the lake. Sami had designed the bridesmaids' dresses—pretty strapless black cocktail dresses that had caused a new Elk Lake scandal. No one in that tiny town had ever asked their bridesmaids to wear basic black and pearls before. In Elk Lake, black was for funerals—a thought that made Sami laugh, considering just how many women she'd already passed on the five blocks between Port Authority and the hotel who were wearing black outfits to their offices. Despite the warm July weather, black seemed to be the color of choice for New York women.

“So, where are you going to interview first?” Celia asked.

“I was thinking of going over to the Bridal Building in about an hour,” Sami told her. “You know, that place we saw in the magazine that's just floors and floors of wedding designer showrooms. I have the
sketches from your dress and the bridemaids' dresses. Then there are the designs I came up with for our prom dresses—I thought those could work as bridesmaid designs.”

“The prom seems so long ago now,” Celia mused. “Everything's changed.”

Sami knew what she meant. Their senior prom had only taken place two months ago, but now everything was different. Celia and Al were married, and Sami was a thousand miles …
a whole world
… away.

“Do they have a maternity wedding gown showroom?” Celia joked.

Sami laughed, remembering how she'd had to change her design for Celia's dress when, all of a sudden, at the end of her third month of pregnancy, Celia had suddenly begun to show. “Wouldn't surprise me,” Sami said. “This is New York, after all. So how's my brother?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, you know Al,” Celia said. “He'll never change. He's watching me like a hawk and making me crazy. Every five minutes it's, ‘Did you drink enough milk? Have you had your protein today? Dried
apricots have a lot of folic acid.' He's making me crazy. But what can I say? I love the jerk.”

Sami giggled. “If you think it's bad now, just wait till the baby's born.”

“I know, I know.” Celia chuckled. “Look, Sami, I gotta run—I've got my monthly checkup at Dr. Gladstone's in twenty minutes, and if I'm a minute late, Al's going to have the whole police force out looking for me. Besides, you shouldn't waste a second more talking to me. You've got some pavement to hit. Now grab that portfolio I gave you, get out there, and put Elk Lake on the map!”

Sami smiled. Putting Elk Lake on the map had been a joke between her and Celia ever since they'd been in third grade and discovered that Elk Lake was too small to show up on any map of Minnesota. Back then, the girls had vowed that when they grew up they were going to become so famous that everyone in the whole state—or even the whole country—would know where Elk Lake was. Celia was going to dance her way to stardom, and Sami was going to design all her costumes. But with
Celia married and about to be a mom, it now fell to Sami to fulfill their childhood promise.

“It's as good as there,” Sami promised Celia as she hung up the phone.

Midtown Manhattan in July was not a pleasant place to be. It was the height of the day, and the noon sun beat down from above onto Sami's head. More heat came up from the sidewalk and was trapped by the skyscrapers that stood tall on either side of the street. Cab drivers with their windows open to save money on air-conditioning screamed at messengers sweating their way through the streets on bicycles, and throngs of people pushed past one another on their way to their air-conditioned offices.

But Sami tried not to be affected by the heat as she walked along Broadway,
clutching her black leather portfolio tightly under her arm. She was too focused on the task at hand to even think about the temperature. She studied the large numbers on the glass doors that lined Broadway. 1379, 1381, 1383, 1385. Ah, here she was. 1385 Broadway. The famous Bridal Building. It was one-stop shopping for any bride: gowns, bridesmaids' dresses, veils, flowers. Celia and Sami had read all about it in the bridal magazines they'd pored over in the weeks before Celia and Al's wedding. At the time, it had seemed like a fantasy world. Now, as she stood in front of the door, the fantasy was about to come true.

Sami walked into the lobby with a determined look on her face. She tried to appear as though she fit in with the other workers strolling in and out of the lobby. With any luck, she would be one of them soon. She quickly scanned the directory posted on the wall and spotted a familiar name—Très Joli Bridal Fashions. Celia had loved the Très Joli dresses in the magazines. They were simpler than most: white gowns with minimal lace and beading, classic cuts with a slight twist, making
each one a little different from the one before it. Sami had based her design for Celia's gown on some of the Très Joli dresses, so it was only natural that she head up there first. She quickly stepped into the elevator and pushed the number 8.

The ride up to the eighth floor seemed interminable. She shared the elevator with two maintenance men who smelled as though they hadn't bathed in at least a week. Sami moved cautiously over to the other side of the elevator, taking care not to step on the toes of a woman in a tight black pantsuit and stiletto heels, and making sure she didn't bump into the two overweight men in shirtsleeves who were arguing over whether the Yankees should consider trading one of their starting pitchers.

With each opening and closing of the elevator doors, Sami's heart pounded a little harder. She was certain that if the ride took much longer, she'd have a heart attack, right here in the small, cramped elevator of the Bridal Building.

Luckily, she made it. Sami got out of the elevator and scanned the glass-enclosed
showrooms: Francine's Flowers. Dream Wedding Veils. Samantha's Gowns. Très Joli Bridal Fashions—this was it. Without giving herself a chance to back out, Sami opened the glass door and walked inside.

The reception area at Très Joli Bridal Fashions was quiet. There was no one sitting on the black leather chairs that lined the walls, each positioned beside a stack of Très Joli bridal catalogs.

“Do you have an appointment?” a middle-aged African-American woman in a pale green suit asked sweetly as she walked out into the reception area.

“No, I—”

“We don't show the gowns without an appointment during the week,” the woman interrupted. “Come back on Saturday. You don't need an appointment then.”

“Oh, I'm not here to look at gowns,” Sami assured her.

“Then why are you here?”

Sami lifted the heavy black leather portfolio onto the reception desk. “Actually, I'm a designer.” She gasped a little, hearing the words come out of her mouth. It was the first time she'd ever identified herself as a
professional. It sounded strange, but also impressive—and not at all false.

“Oh honey, you're in the wrong place,” the woman said kindly.

“But I think if you'd just take a look at my designs, you'd see that I have that Très Joli feel,” Sami pleaded.

“I'm sure you do. The thing is, our gowns aren't designed here.”

“But this is the Très Joli showroom, right?” Sami asked.

The woman nodded. “Exactly. We
show
our gowns here. But we don't design or make them here. Our home office is in Paris.”

Sami blushed. “Oh, I had no idea. I mean, the address in the magazine was 1385 Broadway and—”

“You're not from around here, are you?” the woman asked kindly.

Sami shook her head. “I'm from Elk Lake, Minnesota.”

“Minnesota, huh,” the woman mused. “You do sound a little bit like that wrestler who became a politician. You know, oh what's his name …”

“You mean Jesse Ventura.”

“Yeah, that's him.”

Sami laughed. Right now, former governor Jesse Ventura was pretty much the only person from Minnesota anyone outside of the state had ever heard of … but she was determined to change that.
Someday people will associate Minnesota with Sami Granger instead!

“What's your name?”

“Sami Granger.”

The woman held out her hand. “Ella Carmichael. Pleased to meet you, Sami.” Ella stepped out from behind the counter and walked toward the black leather chairs. Sami followed and sat down beside her. “Do any of the bridal companies have designers here?” Sami asked anxiously.

Ella shook her head. “Not in this building, hon. I'm sorry. It's all showrooms. We mostly sell to retail stores. On Saturdays we open up to the public. That's when the brides come pouring in, looking for bargains. But the dresses aren't designed or made here.”

Sami blushed harder and closed her portfolio. “Oh, I should have researched this better. I'm so embarrassed.”

“Don't be embarrassed,” Ella replied. “Most kids your age wouldn't have been brave enough to come to New York on their own, never mind march into a showroom with their designs in hand. You've got guts, that's for sure. Unfortunately, you don't have the know-how. Now I …” Before Ella could finish her sentence, the phone on the desk rang.

Ella jumped up and hurried over to look at the number that flashed across the screen on her phone. “Excuse me, it's my boss,” Ella said as she picked up the receiver. “Hello, Mr. Loehr. Yes. I have it right here. Of course I can bring it to you right now. I'm just finishing up with something.

“I'm sorry,” Ella apologized as she grabbed a folder from her drawer and hurried off to a room down the hall. “I hope you find what you're looking for.”

“I think I may already have,” Sami murmured as Ella left the room. She waited for a moment, making sure the older woman didn't return. Then she ran behind the desk and looked at the old-fashioned Rolodex that was sitting there.

Quickly, Sami looked at the list of names printed on the Rolodex cards. Ella was certainly well connected in the design business. Most of the numbers and addresses in her Rolodex were for bridal companies, but there were some other types of design houses as well: Mollie Mack, Ralph Lauren, Tara Davis Designs, Stella McCartney, Phat Fashions, Ted Fromme Fashions. It was an eclectic mix, to say the least. Quickly, she pulled a pen and paper from her bag and scribbled down as many addresses of design houses as she could find in the Rolodex.

Sami felt a little guilty as she speedily copied the numbers onto her paper. It was almost like she was stealing from Ella. Okay, not stealing exactly, but at the very least she was being extremely sneaky and underhanded. She could just hear her father now. “That's not the way I raised you, Samantha Granger,” he would say.