She drew back on her cigarette and Leon noticed her long neck and defined jaw line. She really was quite stunning, he thought.
‘Are you here for the fashion shows?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Which ones are you doing?’ he asked, hoping he might be able to get into a few more shows and perhaps a little closer to the runway, away from the pushing crowds.
‘All of them,’ she answered innocently.
‘All of them? How can that be? You will be very tired.’
‘I’m OK, I don’t have to do much really,’ she said, picking up her coffee and putting it on his table. ‘Can I join you?’
‘Of course.’ He gestured magnanimously. ‘Doesn’t it get chaotic out the back, with all the dressers and makeup?’ Leon was fascinated by this girl who treated the fashion shows with such little respect.
Birdie laughed. ‘Oh, I am not a model. Is that what you thought I was?’
Leon nodded. ‘Yes I did. How can a woman as beautiful as you not be on the runway?’
Birdie kept laughing in a musical tone. ‘I am a reporter, forWomen’s Wear Daily. I cover the shows. I don’t walk in them.’
Leon nodded, more interested. Birdie Blackwood could prove to be helpful for him later on, he decided, making a mental note to not piss her off by fucking and then forgetting her.
‘Are you in fashion?’ she asked Leon.
‘Yes, I have an atelier in Barcelona. We create menswear but I would like to move into high-end womenswear. Beautiful things for beautiful women,’ Leon told her, without any trace of sarcasm.
Birdie looked unimpressed. She shrugged her shoulders and looked away. ‘Well, good luck with that.’
Leon frowned. Why was she being so dismissive of his dream? Women never gave men any credit for their dreams. It was always about them, he thought, remembering his mother screaming at his father over the dinner table.
‘Does it not seem a good idea to you?’ he asked, more than a little tersely.
Birdie looked back at him, her eyebrows raised. ‘Honestly? You want my opinion? You don’t know me at all.’
Leon suddenly realised he did want her opinion although he was not sure why. Always self-assured and confident about his dreams for his father’s shop, he was so sure this was what he was meant to do, until this girl blew off his aspirations.
‘Yes, I want to know,’ he answered honestly, putting his ego on check for a moment.
‘Well, OK then. Here’s what I think. I think we need less high fashion and more affordable fashion. Women are working now, they have their own money, they want fashion and they want it faster. Everyone wants to look great and look like they have money but not everyone does. These labels, these shows are for such a small part of the population and the outfits get worn once, maybe twice at best. Unless you are a couture collector or royalty or from oil money then these clothes are not for you. Not even the movie stars and pop stars can afford them. My best friend back in Georgia makes all her own clothes, she gets the magazines and then copies the styles. She now gets orders from our other friends. These are girls whose mothers grew up getting couture made twice a year in Paris. None of their daughters or granddaughters can be bothered now. All that standing and pinning, no thank,’ Birdie said passionately.
Leon read between the lines of her soliloquy on fashion. Birdie was from money, there was no doubt about it. The way she held herself, the way she held her cigarette and coffee cup, the fine cut of her green wool jacket and the Christian Dior bag that hung off the back of the chair – all indicated money to Leon. Suddenly he was more interested in her than for just her long legs.
‘But you have a Dior bag! How is it that you have that and yet you say these designers are not for you?’
Birdie looked him in the eye. ‘I may have a Dior bag but you try and name one other label I am wearing. You can’t. And you know why? Because my friend and I made these clothes. We are going to start our own fashion label back in America. I took this job reporting so I could understand the industry, but as soon as I am done then Dina and I are heading to New York to create fashion that women can afford and fit into. Then they will have cash left over for the Dior bag,’ she said, enthused by her plan.
Leon looked at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘But fashion is very expensive. How will you fund this? The workshops, the fabrics, the shows?’
Birdie spoke confidently, and took a cigarette from his packet on the table and waited for him to light it. He waved the waiter over who quickly lit it as she began to talk.
‘I am from money and so is Dina. Combined, our families own most of the South. We will be fine, don’t you worry,’ she said, staring ahead at the passing foot traffic. She seemed upset with him and he didn’t want to cause waves when she had pedigree and money, both which could be of use for his plans.
Leon thought for a moment and then turned on the charm, the one that always got him out a spanking from his grandmother. ‘Of course! Women know fashion better than men. I am sure you will be a great success. I look forward to seeing you on the front of the magazine you write for.’
Birdie seemed to unruffle her feathers and turned to look at him.
Leon smiled at her. His smile was his best feature – wide, straight teeth and it turned up the corners of his eyes. ‘Let me buy you dinner and then we can talk more about your plans.’
