Always the Last Word (Always the Bridesmaid #4)(18)

We've settled into the living room and I have walked Adam through threading a needle and sewing up a rip. I've lost his attention at sewing on buttons, though.

"What is this?" he asks, standing over my sewing machine table and inspecting all the various tools that I was too tired to put away last night.

"Seam ripper."

"And this?"

"A zipper foot," I say and, noticing Adam's confused expression, laugh. "It's for when you're sewing a zipper into clothing with the sewing machine. You know, to make sure everything lines up just so."

He blinks at me, his face adorably clueless. "I have no idea what you mean."

I grin. "And this is why I'm teaching you how to sew on buttons."

"Thanks again for that," he says, setting the zipper foot down and settling onto the couch to watch me thread the needle through the buttonhole.

"It's no problem. This is a cakewalk compared to the ruching and pleating I do at work."

"May as well be rocket science."

"I could say the same for what you do at the bakery. Cooking is impossible."

"It's not that difficult. You barely burned that cake."

"We promised not to mention the cake. And, technically, my oven burned that-"

My words are cut off by cheers erupting from next door.

"What the hell is that?" Adam asks but I'm already on my feet and heading for the kitchen. Adam is on my heels as I tear open the window above the sink and glare next door at the group of frat guys that are drunkenly chanting their frat's name in their backyard.

I lean out the window and shout, "You do realize that group chanting helped Hitler rise to power, right?"

Only one guy turns around and, as a way of response, flips me the bird.

"Real mature, asshole," I shout as I return the gesture.

I slam the window shut and turn to face Adam, who is staring at me with a look on his face that I've never seen before. It may be respect.

"And that's why my rent is so cheap."

"It's three o'clock on a Sunday," he says lamely. "And it's barely above freezing outside." 

"They have beer and white privilege to warm them."

"You're white," he says.

I smile. "Yeah, but I'm a woman. I only have seventy-eight percent of the privilege as men."

He fights the urge to laugh, I can see it in his eyes and as he bites on his lip. He takes a deep breath to steady his voice before he speaks. He never gets a chance. My phone begins ringing.

"I don't know this number. One second," I say to Adam before answering the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, is Evie Duvall there?"

"This is she," I say, waiting for the line about how, if I just change my homeowner's insurance (I rent), I can receive a free cruise. I turn and stare at the refrigerator.

"Hey, this is Jason at the Bowling Green Public Theatre. We're doing a production and our usual costume designer is out of the country. I found your name on a volunteer list. Are you free to meet with me today and see if you'd be interested in working with us?"

I spin around to Adam and grin so hard that my cheeks hurt. He laughs and gives me a confused look while offering an encouraging thumbs up.

"Yeah, of course. I would love to work with you all. Should I bring some of my work or … "

"If you have anything. Especially futuristic."

"Okay," I say, my voice faltering. "What's the show?"

"Jane Eyre."

"Jane Eyre?" I repeat, completely confused. "Isn't that set in the 1800s?"

"Yeah. As the director, I decided to set the story five hundred years into the future. I've also tied in the idea of space exploration."

"That sounds awesome," I say, only because I want to stay on his good side. Jane Eyre? In space? I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that this director is no stranger to hallucinogenic drugs.

"Yeah, I'm really excited about it. So, are you free to meet at 5 today?"

"Absolutely," I almost shout. I work out the details and nearly drop my phone in excitement as I end the conversation.

"What is going on?" Adam asks, not even trying to hide how ridiculous he thinks I am.

"I get to design costumes. For a show. A weird show. A really weird show." Each word comes out a snail's pace. I want to sound controlled and nonplussed by the situation. I know it's not Broadway or Hollywood, but it is a theatre, and I will be doing my original designs.

"That's awesome. First step, Bowling Green. Next step, Broadway," Adam says, and he's so genuine and I'm so excited that I launch myself at him for a hug. He reacts quickly and wraps his arms around my waist, and even manages to lift me off the ground and spin me around a couple times in my kitchen. We're both laughing when my feet hit the floor.

"Thanks, I needed that," I say as we pull away from each other, but our arms are still touching. Both of our smiles fade at the same time and, as I force my eyes to look anywhere but at Adam, he drops his hands from me.

"You're going to do great," he tells me. I look over at the scorched cake on the counter.

Adam has more faith in me than I do.





Chapter Sixteen



Jason, the director of Jane Eyre and the Atmosphere (no, I'm not kidding; that's the name of the show), cannot keep his hands still. When I pulled up to the theatre, he was outside smoking a cigarette. As we exchanged pleasantries, I had to keep my distance for fear of accidentally being burned from his erratic hand movements, and also because cigarette smoke is disgusting. I thought once we got inside the theatre and took a seat, he would calm down. Being seated just makes his movements that much more exaggerated.



       
         
       
        

"My idea is that Jane is part alien, part human. Her aunt and cousins shun her for this reason," he says, wringing his hands together.

"Racist bastards," I mumble, barely hanging on to my wits. I read a short summary of Jane Eyre before the meeting. I had to read the book in high school but had forgotten most of the story. That's probably for the best, considering what Jason has in mind for his production of the novel.

"Right?" he responds. "And Rochester is in the business of importing and exporting space metals."

"Space metals," I repeat quietly. I suck in my bottom lip to keep from saying anything else.

"Yeah. So he hires Jane as a tutor and glorified babysitter for his daughter Adele since he's out on business in different solar systems and all."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, as Jason walks me through his ideas for the show. Admittedly, it's highly creative. It also happens to be off-the-wall bonkers.

"So, here are some of my ideas for the costumes," he says, turning a few pages in his notebook to a page of scribbles. "I'm not an artist, I know. And you obviously know more about costume construction than I do." I may have a brought an armoire's worth of different sewing projects I've created. I am nothing if not thorough.

"Are these the colors you want to use?" I ask, looking over the dresses and coats he has drawn onto stick figures. Everything is grays and blues.

"I wanted to really push the future and space theme," he says, raising one hand above his head as he gestures toward the heavens.

"I totally agree. But, to show class distinction, it may be fun to dress Rochester and Blanche in richer colors. Put them in vibrant blues and purples, and keep Jane in the duller colors. The same with the costume construction. Keep Jane simple and understated."

Jason nods and watches me carefully as I pick up a pen and sketch an idea of a dress for Jane.

"It could be fun to keep some of the Victorian styles that were popular during the time Jane Eyre is originally set, and it would be a gentle nod to the novel. Keep Jane's wardrobe modest, and a few decades behind everyone else; she doesn't have the low necklines and corseted gowns of the time. Gowns in the Victorian era were all about elongating women's torsos. The dresses even had sort of a v-shaped top; we can definitely give that an intergalactic feel. For Rochester, zippers and velcro may be the norm in space, but he's from money and can afford to be dramatic. Give him button coats."

I feel Jason's eyes on me as I sketch out a quick design. When I turn the notebook to him, he looks at me instead of the drawing.

"You're hired." 

Oh, he's quick to explain that I'm not really "hired" since this is purely voluntary and there is no money involved whatsoever. But I am head costume designer, that much is clear. I have to stop myself from skipping out the door, and I'm not even out of the theatre before I pull out my phone.

"How'd it go?" Adam asks, and I'm thrilled to hear the anticipation in his voice.

"Amazing. I mean, completely bizarre. But amazing."

Adam laughs. "I would expect nothing less from intergalactic Jane Eyre."

I get in my car and switch my phone over to speaker as I pull out of the parking lot.

"There's no money for the kind of costumes I want to do, but I think I can make something incredible."

"I have no doubt," he says, and our conversation falters. I want to tell him about the costumes, the construction, and all the little nuances that go with it, but I stay quiet. Costume making has never really held much interest for anyone that wasn't in one of my design classes in college; I don't want to bore him.