"My name is Edward Martinez. I'm a representative for someone who is very interested in your design work." He pushed a pair of oversized glasses back up higher on his nose.
"My design work? That's wonderful! Please, come in," I said, opening the door. He stepped inside, glancing at the stack of mail on my table before discretely looking away. He was probably in his early forties; his hair was still dark but the creases around his brown eyes gave him away. He settled gracefully on the couch as I hurried to close the door and join him.
"Ms. Weber, my employer would like to ask you to come out to New York for a consultation. She was very impressed by your work and would like to meet you." Mr. Martinez gave me a warm smile, and I couldn't help but to return it.
"That sounds wonderful. Who is your employer?" I suddenly had a horrible, sinking feeling that this was all a scam. I imagined him telling me that for the low, low price of just $99.99, he would be happy to introduce me to someone in the industry.
Mr. Martinez pulled a card from the inside of his suit pocket and handed it to me. In beautiful swirly, gold letters the name Bianca Saunders dominated the card. I didn't recognize the name, and there was nothing else on the card to give me any hints as to who she might be. Bianca Saunders was not one of the major fashion houses I had applied to.
"I'm afraid I don't know who this is," I said slowly. Mr. Martinez's face fell a little.
"You don't know who Bianca Saunders is?" Mr. Martinez frowned and looked at me like I might be an alien.
"No, I don't." I handed him back the card, but he just held up his hand for me to keep it.
"Bianca Saunders is the wife of Daniel Saunders..." he said slowly, waiting for me to recognize the name. When my face stayed blank, he continued, "...of DS Oil and Gas. You know, the huge billion-dollar oil company? One of the only oil companies that's not being affected by the current events in Kuwait?"
Just the mention of Kuwait made me think of Dean. Was that where he was now? I shook my head at Mr. Martinez slowly. Despite everything he said, I had never even heard of the company.
"Well, Mrs. Saunders saw your senior design project, and she is incredibly interested in meeting you. She is hoping you can design more like it." Mr. Martinez crossed his legs and settled into the couch.
"She liked my design? That's fantastic!" I felt elation run through me. My professors had loved that I had created something fashionable for a pregnant woman to wear. I knew it was an under-served market, and that it was probably a poor choice for a senior project, but I had made something similar for my aunt, and when the project came due, the fabric had taken a life of its own. Other than my professors, though, no one had expressed any interest in my design.
"Yes. As such, she has arranged for you to come out to New York City. She would like to see more of your designs and meet you in person." He leaned in conspiratorially. "If she likes what she sees, she is interested in hiring you for your entire fall line."
I sat back in my chair, trying to keep myself from getting over-excited. My design was for a pregnant woman, so if Mrs. Saunders was interested in it, that must have meant she was pregnant. She was also a very wealthy lady. If I designed the clothing for her pregnancy, and she wore it to social events, I would become a household name. Even though it would be for maternity wear, this was an opportunity I couldn't resist.
"Well, Mr. Martinez, I am definitely interested, but I'm afraid I don't really have the financial means to be traveling to New York City without some sort of assistance." These were fancy words meaning that I was poor.
Mr. Martinez smiled, his teeth gleaming a perfect shade of white. "Of course. Mrs. Saunders has already arranged for the flight, your room and board, and a small assessment fee. She understands that you are a busy woman, and that she must pay for your time." He took an envelope out of his pocket, making me wonder just what else he had stashed in his jacket, and handed it to me.
Inside there was a check for a thousand dollars. I swallowed hard. It had my name on it.
"That is for agreeing to meet with her. She is willing to pay double that for the original garment to be made to her specifications. As it is a custom fitting, she would like you to be there to do it," Mr. Martinez said. "If everything is satisfactory, she will consign more garments."
The check shook slightly in my hands, as though I were experiencing a small earthquake. "You said she's taken care of all the travel expenses?"
Mr. Martinez nodded. He had a slight smile, as though he were secretly amused by my reactions. "The flight is scheduled for tomorrow morning."
I looked up. This was too good an opportunity to miss. If nothing else, the fee for making her the dress would pay my rent for a while. If things went as well as my imagination was starting to think it could, I wouldn't need to worry about rent anymore.
"Well, Mr. Martinez, what kind
of weather should I pack for?"
Chapter 19
June 16th, 1990
I gripped my sketchbook tightly, making sure for the third time that I still had the designs from the night before. I had no idea what Mrs. Saunders looked like, how far along in her pregnancy she was, or what her build might be. I had sketched out a couple more maternity designs, but without meeting her, I didn't want to create too many, but I needed enough to impress.
Mr. Martinez walked calmly in front of me, easily navigating the huge apartment building as we headed toward what he called "Mrs. Saunders' sun-room". The apartment was huge; bigger than what I would consider a house. I had a feeling the oil business, at least for the Saunders and DS Oil and Gas, was doing well.
I was trying my very best not to be overwhelmed by everything, and I felt like I was doing a pretty good job. Mr. Martinez and I had arrived by a private plane and then drove straight into the city to the Saunders' household. I couldn't wait to go out and explore the city after my interview. The buildings had called out to me, the streets singing that I was in the right place. I had been here less than an hour, and I already loved New York.
Mr. Martinez knocked politely on a beautiful wooden door. A female voice called for us to come in, and Mr. Martinez opened the heavy door. I followed his steps, trying to exude as much confidence as I could muster. At least I felt dressed for the occasion. I was wearing my most recent design for myself: slate gray dress pants with a matching vest over a dress shirt. It was based off of a traditional men's suit, but fit to flare out and highlight femininity. It seemed appropriate attire for meeting with a powerful woman.
A petite blonde woman stood gracefully. She was just starting her pregnancy, a gentle curve beginning to grace her middle. I smiled inwardly; I knew my senior project would look amazing on her tiny frame.