Artisanal Lace

This much I do remember: Jebez Jr. and I had gone shopping for costumes for an afternoon tea party where we wanted to dress like people other than ourselves. We were having a great time not taking life too seriously. At one point he grabbed a piece of cardboard off the street and held it to his face like a mask; three people leaned out of a window and waved to us from a party until they were pulled back to the dance floor. I felt a bit like I used to feel in college—like I knew a little something secretive and special about the world and given a chance I would find a way to share it. The shopping proved futile, but we were in such a fine mood that we didn’t want the afternoon to end. We ended up drinking cà phê sữa đá by the bucket in a stuffy shop that sold used books. The iced coffee was strong and invigorating, but also I think tainted with some other toxin, because what happened next was not at all expected.

I got up from my seat and pulled J.J. with me by the front of his jacket. My hearing wrapped around itself and my vision degraded in long blue smears until it turned into the after burn of flash bulbs popping like rain drops in a puddle. My consciousness failed as I passed out. What happened next remains a mystery to me.

Schifffahrt...

I woke up asleep inside of a boat. Not my yacht, but a fishing boat no bigger than a floating coffin, nothing more than a skiff. I tried to piece together what had happened, but found my memory frozen with the shock of self-disapprobation; I do not like to be out of control, even if it is not my fault. My face was against the floor of the boat. My nose was flattened by my own weight. I did not want to get up, but as always, inaction was no recourse; I rolled over and sat up. The boat was floating aimlessly down a river. No one else was in the skiff. I was wearing four thousand dollar shoes, dirty denim trousers and a black fisherman’s sweater. These were not the clothes I remember last wearing. There was a brass key taped to the inside of the boat’s hull but no label attached to the key and no other item in the boat. I did not know if it was dawn or dusk. Floating like Moses in his basket, I knew nothing about my journey. I put the key in my pocket and unlatched the one remaining oar and set the boat towards the bank of the river. I chose the port side bank, if for no other reason than I thought it made for a more cinematic landing, with the low cross light of the sun just hitting my cheek, filling all dimpled hollows and time-worn valleys of my face; etched in golden light, I rowed to the port side shore.

Running aground, I had to hop out of the boat to keep it from turning downstream. The maneuver soaked my shoes and pant legs up to the knee. I pulled the skiff ashore, as I felt some need to secure it for future use if my more or less fortuitous landing spot proved an unfortunate draw. All rivers occupy low ground, so I had to hike upwards a bit to get a sense of where I was.

Waiting for me at the top of the embankment was the vast, thrilling, chasm of nothingness: no idea, no plan, no guide, no reference, only the openness of opportunity. The bank gave way to land, which gave way to a road, which lead to a wood, which I followed like a detective musicologist chasing the sound of a clarinet’s melody in the middle of a rising jazz cacophony. My feet slapped forward with my curiosity alternating between wonder and disorientation like the clapping hands of an enthusiastic listener who can't quite follow the beat.

The road lead to a grand country estate. I felt an uncanny certainty that the key in my pocket would open the front door, and of course, it did.

Inside, the estate was lit only with candles and large fireplaces burning what smelled like a combination of Cedar and Scots Pine. I had seen neither of these trees on my walk to the estate, and wondered if the wood had been brought in just for the wonderful smell. There was a long table set with marzipan and cut fruit that had clearly been arranged within the last few hours. Down the hall I heard music and I followed it not knowing what I would find.

The hall gave way to a grand ballroom. Inside people were dancing and drinking and swinging in each other’s arms. A man ran up to me and clasped me on either shoulder and exclaimed how happy he was that I had made it back. Women were wearing gowns cut across their bodies to both conceal and reveal their inner architecture. Several were wearing pieces that included artisanal lace and embroidery—hallmarks of truly expensive couture. The music was courtly and drifted through the bodies of people dancing, so that it was louder in the gaps and muffled across the shifting masses of people turning and whirling through the open room.

Enlivened by the presence of other people, my senses domed around me forming the fuzz of a personal ecosphere. I was moving through the crowd while still completely in my own world. Glimpsing from across the heads of dancers, I spied Tako turning and leaving the room. My heart leaped and I followed quickly to find her. Did she see me? Where was she going?

The Deluge

Each hallway ended in another room, which lead to another hall or chamber. Although large from the outside, the estate proved enormous when you were in the thick of it. When I caught up to Tako, she was moving quickly, but not running. She took my hand and led me first through the library and then abruptly through a steaming copper kitchen. Out the other side, we crossed a music room, replete with a harpsichord, celesta, and piano (was it only keyboard instruments?) until we arrived at a side entrance to the estate. J.J. pulled around in a matte grey 1962 Jaguar convertible with a right-hand drive. Tako and I climbed in and J.J. wheeled the car around the driveway, nearly clipping a stone statue of Venus. We were about to leave the estate behind when I realized the car wasn’t made of metal, but instead was carved from a single block of ice. It started to crumble and fall apart and the road itself began to loosen and suddenly the three of us were neck deep in a river mud. The river cleansed itself as more water rushed forward and the whole party from the estate was now floating around us with chairs, serving platters, masked patrons, chefs, band members, women in cocktail dresses still swilling their drinks, men in tuxedos playing cards while floating on their backs, dogs with diamond collars and eager young lovers kissing on couches, which were floating half-submerged and collecting frogs and sticks and debris from the river in the cushions; lampshades floated past tables floating past silver trays of salmon canapés; river animals crawled up on chairs and ate straight from the plates; Tako held me close as we watched the deluge churn; J.J. picked up a violin and started playing the birdsongs one would expect in these woods; I saw items from my youth tucked inside little gift bags floating past and treasured designs I had created but forgotten amid the muck and the mud; a photographer from my first collection sailed by on a Louis XVI chair and snapped our picture with a Polaroid, he reached over to give it to me but then took it back at the last second, saying it was a keepsake; snakes slithered past with jewels in their mouths; a woman in courtly dress found a salamander lodged in her décolletage; Tako held onto my side as we floated on, she leaned her mouth close to my ear and whispered in a way that made all other sound disappear, “Après nous?”

We Are Designing Dreams...

“We are not designing swimwear,” I declare to the sleepy-eyed beauties stitching together hand-made gold lamé bikinis on my floating atelier, “we are designing dreams!”

We have been working hard. The whole team is pushing late enough each night to watch the stars visibly rotate in the sky. I am thrilled to be working again, making great pieces and finding new answers to old questions that come drifting to me in the night like the distant echo of a siren’s song; I am seduced by design, that much is certain.

You can only push a team so far before the mood starts to crack. I knew I had to do something if I was going to keep working the team as hard as I was, so I arranged for a little team-building relaxation event.

The girls on the team are die-hard fans of a certain famous fashion designer. I have never let on to the team that he is a friend, but instead called him in secret and arranged for him to send a few things. He sent samples from the last few seasons, including a few dresses from Spring 2009 – as he knew these were my favorites – and I happily hid them on the boat while I got everything ready. As I thank you, I sent a small group of fake resort wear to him that included a pair of swim trunks with his face silk screened on the front with the nose right where the nose ought to be. I also included a ridiculously luxurious swim wrap. In addition I sent two cases of his favorite champagne, just in case he didn’t appreciate the swim trunks, and a very nice vintage rolex watch with pink gold accents and the numbers rearranged by a jeweler to be in the "wrong" order (my standard thank you gift).

The team is crazy for some show called Gossip Girl, so I had the sailing crew adjust the main rigging so that I could use the sail as a giant screen. I caught the team staying up late at night watching the last two seasons in preperation for the season premiere, which is still a few weeks away. I called my friends from Brown who work for College Hill Pictures and somehow managed to get a copy of the season premiere a little more than a month early. The only part of the deal is that I had to fly out a member of the studio to the yacht who would monitor everything to make sure that no one copied it, as well as take notes on the crowd reaction – which I guess means that my crew is now some sort of focus group? This is standard practice in Hollywood for films, so I’m not surprised that TV does the same thing. It was adorable seeing the studio guy try to dress “upscale resort” for the party. I knew this was what he was trying to do, because that’s how he answered when I asked him about his outfit. He was actually a nice guy, particularly once he saw how much it meant to the team that they got to see the premiere early. BTW – don’t even think of asking me about the show – I signed a stack of Non-Disclosure documents and you won’t get a word out of me.

We have a helicopter landing port on the boat – which sounds like an extravagance, but is actually the only way to keep everyone safe – how else could we get to a hospital if someone got hurt? So in addition to flying in the dresses and food and drinks and studio execs, I used the heliport to bring in friends. First on the list was JJ. Jabez Jr. flew in to do the music and brought a new DJ he was promoting. He awkwardly brought his own helicopter, however, which was a real problem because there really isn't room for two. So we had to push all of the life boats into the water and tow them behind the boat so that his helicopter had somewhere to perch.

I worked everyone especially hard in the morning. Getting everyone up early and pushing through with only the slightest lunch break imaginable. I then kept demanding more and more changes and fittings and drawings. The team was started to get agitated, but I knew that they were also starting to catch on, because the kitchen crew was working overtime and we had had three extra shipments of “supplies” that morning. Just before sun down, I sent the two helicopters out for the guests and everyone freaked out when their friends started to arrive. At that point the team knew exactly what was about to happen. I flew in boyfriends and girlfriends of the team, and brought a few extra former models and up-and-coming artists, musicians and literary scholars for those without significant others. Inside his or her closet on the boat, each team member found a dress or a suit designed and a hand written thank you note for all of their hard work.

Tako surprised me by showing up (she had originally said that she couldn’t make it – but then flew in at the last minute with the College Hill exec). I was so happy to see her that I slipped and fell on deck running to embrace her.

With the golden light of the sun just sliding into the open mouth of the ocean, JJ started in on the music, as an official call to start the party. We served food and drinks and danced and laughed until I called everyone onto the center of the deck and announced that although the party was fun, we still had some work to do, and that we had some required research still left for the evening.

In the middle of everyone's groans, the projector flipped on and blasted video up onto the mainsail while the theme song to the GG season premiere played over the speaker system. The response was enthusiastic to say the least.

While the show played, Tako and I slipped away to the back. I was so happy to see her. Why do we spend so much time apart?

She had tons of news: she had been kicked off of a medical drama for fighting with the director (this makes sense, as Tako, in addition to being a talented actress and a stunning beauty, also went to medical school – my guess is that she made one too many corrections on set…). She also asked if I’d be willing to hear an idea. She wanted to propose something to me. I wonder what she’s cooked up now?

Jabez Jr.

After several days at sea, we stopped in port for a party. It was a weekend of sand, sun, old friends, and new acquaintances. One surprise was seeing Jabez Jr., a childhood friend. He had always been like a younger brother to me, but I hadn’t seen him in a long time.

My father had taught agriculture on a humanitarian mission in Tunisia years ago, and his favorite student had been Jabez Sr., a former a star footballer in Tunisia who had played for the national training team before his knee was destroyed and he went back to school to learn agricultural science. I remember as a child being delighted by the tricks he could do (flipping the ball backwards over his head at a full run, or balancing the ball on his forehead while tying his shoes, etc.). His son was also named Jabez, and as kids, we called him JJ, for Jabez Jr. I know this sounds like a glamourous time, but it was actually quite hard for everyone involved. Jabez Sr. was not wealthy, but struggling, and the agricultural needs of his community were severe. My own father was equal parts cowboy and educator, and so although I make him sound a little like an ambassador, he was more like a farmer with a passport, struggling to understand a culture different than his own. It did inspire me as a child to think of the world as a global community, rather than a series of countries. And Jabez Sr. did have a lot of style, even if he didn't have a lot of money.

When we arrived at the party in a castle in the hills by the shore, I was delighted to find out that the host wasn't the up-and-coming band playing in the yard, but was JJ, who was now evidently, a rather successful music producer. Although we weren’t anywhere near Tunsia, I recognized him the second we walked in.

Jabez Jr. was standing near an antique pool table, not playing pool, but talking to at least three people at once, and while everyone else was drinking Grey Goose or champagne, he instead choose to drink tea from an heirloom cup and saucer that he undoubtably had borrowed from some cabinet he'd found in another room. He handed the cup to the nearly nude model who was approaching him for music-career advice, asked her to hold on to it for a moment, and then tried to sneak over to my side to surprise me. I, of course, had seen him coming, but was pretending I hadn't, playing it cool, so that when he turned to tackle me (acting like the little brother he always was), I ducked out of the way and he ended up tackling an ex-VC banker turned environmentalist who was just drunk enough not to feel the fall. JJ laughed at the mistake, and asked the man if he could get him another drink and then turned to me at last for conversation.

His father had died two years ago, and JJ had been producing music for the last five years. His dad got to see him get his first song declared "gold" and had officially accepted his career choice, as long as he “stayed true to himself.”

We couldn’t just sit there and reminisce forever, so one thing lead to another and pretty soon we had a full scale soccer match staged in the garden. JJ and I were on one team, with the band as our backfield, against the bankers, some guy who owned an airlines, a “fashion exec” and what looked like to be actual athletes who appeared from nowhere once the game began. The band members were skinny, but fierce.

My second assistant was a descent mid-field man, I worked the left striker position and JJ was on the right. Several statues were destroyed (cheap copies, assured JJ) and one goal was scored when the keeper wandered off with one of the more attractive wait staff. One of the bankers laid down and took a nap. The airlines guy dribbled off with the ball into another part of the garden. The band started playing while playing their instruments. No broken bones or lost teeth – not a bad match.

The night ended with a call from Tako. (If you are new to this blog, learn more about Tako here, here and here). Nothing was sweeter than the sound of her voice.