Page 47 of To Hell

“Hmm,” she nods, “I made it inspired by her Folklore album.”

“See, voguish housewife sweater from the early eighties,” I continue my quest to influence her. “You just need one big event to showcase your work.”

She laughs, “Like the Met Gala coming up.” She shrugs carelessly, and it strikes a flame inside of me.

“That is so, so perfect!” I screech, “Your pieces from the Opposite In Motion collection fit the theme 'Artistic Alchemy' perfectly,” I stand, pacing as I imagine seeing Valerie Moore at the Met Gala. It’s been forever. I had read about the theme from one of the fashion magazines Ettore gave me a few days before.

She smiles sadly, her blue eyes going cold. “It’s no longer my world, Zoe.” She shakes her head. “No one attending would want to wear any of my old pieces.” She chuckles dryly as if remembering something traumatic. “No, I can’t go there.” She dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand.

What makes her think she is obsolete?

I know she is my idol, and I cannot stop fussing about her, but more than that, I was at her store the other day, and it was Disney World for fashion. I couldn’t close my mouth when she took me through her last collection.

It is ideal forthe Met Galatheme. She applied some sort of technique to the fabrics that gave the impression that the designs were painted on. The majority were ombrés.

“I can list a handful of celebrities who would go wild when they see that collection,” I sit, leaning on the table. “Rihanna, Lady Gaga,” I start to list, “We can also try…”

“Rihanna is always dressed by Guo Pei,” she punctures the bubbles of my excitement, “And Lady Gaga?” She looks at me like I have lost my mind. “She's loyal to Brandon Maxwell. Who doesn’t know that?”

I lift my hand, “Well… me.”

She cackles, shaking her head at me, “Clearly.”

“Why not Zoe?” Ettore, who just walked in, says.

The coldness of his husky voice sends shivers down my spine.

“She could attend the Met Gala wearing one of your designs,” he moves closer to us and stops by the long end of the table.

I’m startled for several reasons, other than his suggestion of me attending the Met Gala. That in itself is enough to make me hyperventilate, but somehow, it doesn’t compare to the effect he is now having on me, which seems to be increasing every passing second.

“Me?” I point at myself, and he nods. “No,” I shake my head at the craziness and then imagine the crowd. It would be too much. And also, “I could never attend alone. It would be too scary.” Then I remember the ticket fee, and it sounds even more terrifying. “I can’t attend at all. The tickets are seventy-five thousand dollars each. It's way too expensive.”

I’m hyperventilating and my heart might give out any minute from now.

It’s too much for me.

I can’t attend the Met Gala. I don’t deserve that yet. And I’m not sure I will ever be deserving of that.

He shrugs, then shifts his focus to Valerie, “Why don’t you go with her?” Did he hear me talk about the ticket price?

“I can't,” Valerie waggles her fingers in the air. “My ex-protégée will attend, and I swore I would never see her again.”

Are they listening to me at all? Are they seeing that I’m turning blue from holding my breath for too long?

Valerie lifts what she has been playing with. “But this can fit in there,” she says, pointing to one of my sketches, the one that would need a lapel. Somehow, in the short while of this conversation, she has been able to create magic, and yet she thinks she is out of trend.

I digress, shifting the focus away from me. “What happened, Valerie?” I sink lower, trying to meet her eyes, but she won’t lift from the lapel in her hands.

“A bitch called life,” she smiles sadly, “I will…” She points at the door, “I need…” She stands and excuses herself, but not before I catch the tears bubbling in her eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Five

VIRGILIO

Something is happening with Valerie, and it’s personal. It has happened to us all. All three of us.

We wake up one day and realize we have been fucked by life from all angles. Neither of us is where we want or hoped we would be at this stage of our lives, and every time it hits, the blow feels worse.

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