Page 6 of Tempest

Things change, though, and now I’m planning outfits around Hunter rain boots and Birkenstock sandals. Well, maybe I’m not taking it that far. The point is that I feel like I can without it being career suicide. It’s a weight off my shoulders I hadn’t realized was even there. I mean, I love fashion, I live and breathe it. That doesn’t mean I don’t like the occasional moment of just living without worrying about my appearance.

There were many pros and cons to moving to Seattle. I weighed each one carefully. The cons were far fewer but heavier. One nearly stopped me from accepting the position. However, the pros were too great to pass up. The work-life balance is too appealing. Especially given my recent diagnosis.

About a month before Vanessa called me, I found out I have an autoimmune disease. Supposedly, Hashimoto’s is manageable with the proper medication, but I’m not there yet. It’s still too new and I’m trying to find the right combination of medications, supplements, and life changes to make a difference.

Basically, I’m tired. Physically and mentally. Vanessa had given me two months to ponder the decision. Unfortunately, those months were filled with red carpets and after parties. I was swamped and riddled with flare-ups that made me erratic, and honestly, a little frightened. I was losing hair in clumps, and it was impossible to feel any sort of calm. Not to mention that I couldn’t get warm even if I planted my ass in front of a raging bonfire.

After several frantic calls to my doctor and my therapist, it was clear I needed major changes in my life. A successful career isn’t a replacement for a healthy life. Or so everyone tells me. It’s not easy to hang up workaholic habits or tell clients that you’ve worked with for years that you can no longer be at their beck and call twenty-four-seven.

So. Seattle.

After only two weeks here, I already feel better. As I walk into my new office space in perhaps the most nondescript building on the block, I consider how ordinary it feels compared to all the sleekness I’ve known.

I almost feel overdressed in my vintage blue and cream Claire McCardell dress. But Vanessa greets me just inside the doors, dressed in equal style. Because of course she is like me—the woman who lives and breathes fashion.

“I have that same dress in my closet,” I tell her, gesturing to her black mini Stine Goya dress. “We’ll need to coordinate from here on out.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she greets with a laugh. “I’ve missed you, my friend.”

Vanessa and I met in college. She was the posh to my eccentric. Though our backgrounds couldn’t have been more opposite, we became fast friends. Our paths have rarely crossed these past twenty years, but we’ve always maintained our friendship.

“I’m glad to be here, it’s already feeling like home.”

“Well, with that amazing mansion you just bought, it ought to.”

“It’s a big place, but mansion,” I ask, skeptical.

“Odette, that place is huge and you’re coming from that tiny apartment that couldn’t even fit your wardrobe.”

“True.” I laugh. “That’s not a problem anymore. I converted two spare rooms into my closets.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” She grins. “Come on, I’ll show you around, then let you settle in before your first meeting.”

The group I’m mentoring comprises of twenty-two freshmen students. This week, I’ll be meeting with each of them to talk about aspirations and look over their portfolios. Vanessa sent over their applications to me, but I didn’t look through them. They’re in the most exciting time of their lives and I want to live that with them. Besides, it’s good experience for pitching themselves.

Nothing about the interior of the institute fits the bland exterior. It’s bright, natural light seeping in from windows, along with thoughtful lighting conducive to the large open workspaces. No expense has been spared on the sewing equipment or the computers that students will be able to use to design and fabricate their own textiles. Everything is clean and bare now, but I know it won’t take long before it’s covered in swatches, scraps, and spools of thread.

I can’t wait for it. As stressful as it can be, there’s something endlessly exciting about the newness of it. I haven’t been offered the chance to experience cutting-edge fashion from its infancy since I, too, was a student.

“Your office is upstairs.” Vanessa points up to a bank of windows that overlook the workspace. “Come on.”

We ascend a set of stairs to a lobby containing a small reception area and a large coffee bar. Priorities. Down the hall, we pass several offices. Vanessa introduces me to my new peers, a few professors and a couple of admin. Mostly women, but one professor, Jake, reminds me of a younger Tim Gunn with his three-piece, perfectly tailored, suit. The other two, Feng and Jolene, are equally as pleasant.

My office is at the end of the hall, sitting on a corner with dual aspect windows that overlook the mountain in the distance.

“Well,” I muse, dropping my handbag onto the large desk, “a lady could get used to this.”

“That’s the idea, anyway,” Vanessa responds. She had tried to get me to sign a five-year contract. I refused, not knowing if this was the right move or not. We haggled and settled at two. From there…who knows. I should have known she’d continue trying to tempt me in any way she could. This view does that, for certain.

My house sits on a lake but it’s at the wrong angle to get a mountain view. Looks like I’m being spoiled with that, too. I’m not complaining.

“You’re starting off strong,” I tell her. “This place is great.”

“It is,” she agrees. “It’s the start of something great, I think.”

“I can feel that.”

“Again, I’m glad you’re here, Ode. I’ll let you get settled, but we’re doing drinks this Friday.”

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