A Nightingale in Parkleigh Square

Chapter Ten

––––––––

K i looked at the photos on Bradley's phone, then at the sketch creating the ideal size and shape for a rotating tree stand that wouldn't detract from the tree's appearance. He nodded. "Okay," he said.

"Fast agreement," said Bradley. "So you have some parts already to build it?"

"Probably. I always have some stuff. It won't be shiny stuff."

"We'll paint it, no problem," said Molly. "Now we've come to the essential part, which is can you do it in under three days?"

He pulled another bearing from an old fan, playing with it between his fingers. "Probably. I could have it done by tomorrow, maybe."

"How much?" asked Molly.

His eyes flashed brighter. "A hundred," he said.

"Are you serious?" The kid's an opportunist , she thought.

"It's customized, and you really need it fast," he pointed out.

It wouldn't drain all the money from their funds, would it? "All right, sold," she said. "Throw in some labor to help us set it up, maybe."

"Sure." He tried to hide it, but she could tell he was interested in the idea of helping out. Maybe because it seemed cool to hang out with the newcomers working at the 'posh' store?

He was already digging through his crates of machine parts, looking at the drawing Bradley had given him, so Molly felt hopeful. Definitely a good start. Now they had to finish the light kits for the three art pieces in the London homage.

"The art company confirmed that they can emboss the Big Ben tree topper for us in two weeks," said Bradley, checking his messages. "Still nothing from the depot, except the big 'delayed' button."

"Want to take a road trip to a warehouse tomorrow?" asked Molly.

"You really think they'll let you just load them in the back of a car?" asked Bradley.

"Why not? You're talking to a desperate businesswoman, they'll be talking to an angry one. It's a key difference," said Molly. "As they will see when they meet me."

Bradley coughed a laugh. "I don't want to be at that meeting," he said.

"Tough, because I need muscle for the loading part," said Molly, elbowing him in the side. "Okay, let's get back upstairs and install those kits, then we can start loading stuff for the store." They had rented a small van for the week to help transport all the props and mannequins to the Billington.

The elderly Asian woman was sweeping off her steps as a cat hopped into an empty flower pot. Molly smiled because they made eye contact — something she wouldn't do much of the time at home for safety reasons, but it was safe enough with this neighbor, probably.

Her neighbor stared, then went inside with her broom and closed the door. Typical New York response.

At Van Stewart's, the tiny elves counted down another day to the big reveal, sharing a plate of Santa's Christmas 'biscuits.' Passing shoppers were shadows through the paper screen, sometimes with a flash from a phone's camera as they paused outside.

Nina had already finished putting in place the solar-powered control panel for the lights, and making the spots where the props and mannequins would be positioned. Next on her list, confirming the outfits for the mannequins, which Natalia's assistant was helping coordinate.

She stepped from behind the window's backdrop and slipped on her shoes, walking past the store mannequins being dressed in elegant evening attire. The designer from day one who preferred togas and Asian dresses was wearing a floral mumu today, busy ordering her assistants to rearrange the placement of some of the figures.

Upstairs, the designers and key staff had their offices, near the future creative workshop space. Nina had spent little time up here since their project was below, except for meeting Natalia and her personal assistant, who didn't have his own station but apparently floated from one work zone to another.

She looked through each doorway she passed, until she came to one that seemed like a project Natalia's staff would be part of, with lots of shrink-wrapped garment packages on the table and some photos laid out near a memo board with a collage of winter fashions pinned on it.

These photos captured knit pullovers accented by patterns across the chest or around neckline and wrist: old-fashioned motifs in black or red yarn. A woman's white coat was embroidered in a similar manner, like the peasant blouse photographed beneath it, that reminded Nina of a cozy winter blanket.

One photo in the pile seemed odd — a book of old folk tales opened to an illustration of little elves making shoes. Nina studied them. In one of the shrink-wrapped garment packages were the pullovers from the photo.

"Those are from Simone's new line," said Vincent, catching her off guard yet again. She jumped, and turned to find him on the other side of the work space, at a table stacked with scarves in gift boxes, one of which he was unboxing. "It's her baby at present."

"Sorry," said Nina. "I was looking for Natalia's assistant, she's supposed to give me the clothes for the window."

"Just wait around a few minutes," he said. "I was confirming selections for the showcase downstairs. Also looking for inspiration for my next project." He put the empty box aside. "And you don't have to apologize, because you didn't do anything wrong."

"Isn't some of this office space private?" she asked.

"Don't you work here?" he answered, smiling. "You're doing your job. It's not like all of this isn't meant for the public in a few weeks, once Simone is satisfied with quality control."

"It's not part of the London line, which is the only part I'm supposed to be involved in," said Nina. "I was just being nosy."

"Curious," he corrected. "The one you're looking at is my favorite of her new collection. She drew inspiration from her heritage to create it."

Something about it seemed more accessible than the London line, which was clearly upscale in Nina's opinion. But it didn't diminish the timelessness of the lines and quality of workmanship to be different from the evening gowns on the mannequins downstairs.

"I thought Simone Van Stewart was a French design house," said Nina. "Isn't this Eastern European?"

"She's a Paris designer, but that's not her place of origin," said Vincent. "It's pretty common to end up in a metropolis from somewhere else if you're in the fashion business. Like me." He pointed to himself. "Like you, technically."

"This Queens girl isn't a permanent transplant," she answered.

"Your family is, if you're a New Yorker," he said, unboxing a belt with a fancy clasp.

"New York is full of transplanted people, so it's almost like the badge that makes me a New Yorker," she answered. "We're Puerto Rican, by the way."

"Irish," he said.

How ridiculous was this conversation in the middle of a fashion house? She wanted to laugh, but resisted it. "Okay, now we know everything about each other, so I should probably go. I have to find Natalia's assistant."

"You should wait here, it'll have the same result with just a little more time," he said. "But if you don't have time, keep to the left and try the new office for Simone at the other end. She's due in town soon, so they're rushing to get it into shape."

"Thanks." Nina turned to go. "I'll remember we need to make ourselves scarce while she's here, so we'll be done with the windows as soon as possible."

"I don't think you need to worry about disappearing, that's just Natalia's nerves," he said. "Personally, I think she'd like to see the work in progress."

"You must be close with her," joked Nina.

"I think close might be a bit much," he said. "We'll put it this way — I think I know her well enough that I'm right about this." He opened a sales box containing a clutch which matched the scarf.

Nina smiled back. Her face felt hot, suddenly, so she made a quick retreat from the room. Stop being ridiculous about him , she thought. It was definitely Molly's fault, for planting ideas in her head.

She'd love to be within earshot when Simone Van Stewart saw the windows; chances were good that her opinion would sound a lot like Natalia's, however. The reward for this job was going to be the check and the post-experience promotion alone.

She entered an office which was in the process of being painted, all its furnishings covered in drop cloths. "Is anybody here from Ms. Gaborelli's office?" she asked.

"One door over, in Ms. Van Stewart's private studio."

The clothes were waiting in a carefully-marked box as Nina and Bradley brought in the mannequins for the window. Molly held doors open and parted the backdrop to make a path for them. The figures were in place, followed by the fully-dressed animatronic Santa in his knockoff Van Stewart togs.

Van Stewart winter accessories — a knit cap, a chevron scarf, a pair of twill-backed driving gloves — peeked out of the open window boxes, like items in the midst of being packed. Molly placed a red bow on the lid of the topmost one, the same velvety wine-red as the future tree garlands. Bradley helped place the luggage, including Santa's carryall full of vintage travel-inspired toys, as Nina tucked the umbrella underneath the figure's arm. Santa consulted an antique pocket watch in the palm of his hand, as if checking it against the vintage-looking train timetable that Molly had crafted to feature the 'traveler's ticket' pocket in the fake Van Stewart herringbone jacket.

"Here's his hat, and ... it's there. It's a perfect look." Molly crouched back on her heels and looked at Nina, who switched on the Santa's timer-programmed motions. Formerly, he had lifted a cookie as if planning to dunk it in a glass of milk, but both accessories had been scissored off by Molly as soon as they unpacked the kit. Now he consulted the watch more closely, then seemed to glance at the bag of toys held by the stationary hand.

"Tomorrow we bring the tree, and the sculptures, and we're home," said Bradley, who had been photographing each section of the scene as they finished it.

"I can't believe we're going to wrap this early. It's like a decorator's miracle."

Molly raised her voice to be heard over 'Last Christmas' from the pub's jukebox, where one of the regulars had just put in a few coins. "We'll cruise our way through the Christmas trees at this rate, and be home in time for my dad's ugly sweater Christmas party."

"What'll it be?" Ted interrupted, taking their order with a pencil and pad. Nina lowered her menu.

"I'll have the cheese salad," said Nina.

"Do you have anything that tastes like a bagel with cream cheese and loch?" asked Molly. "I've been craving one all day."

"Never eaten one," he said. "No idea."

She sighed. "Fine, I'll have the tuna salad." She shut the menu.

"Burger and crisps ," said Bradley. "Anything not flavored with chives."

"Coming directly." Ted pocketed the notebook and left them to their drinks. Across the room, the darts competition grew rowdier as someone missed a shot.

Molly lifted her glass. "I know it's premature, but I think a toast is in order for how awesomely we've handled this job," she said. "We brought our A-game, and Natalia's frosty gaze didn't freeze us off the planet."

"Look how much time we have to bring it on the store's decor," said Bradley. "There's no way you won't bring it once the tree is delivered and topped by that matching Big Ben. It's the perfect homage. No complaints here, thank you."

"I have to call the depot tomorrow and tell them to find our boxes," said Molly. "No more Ms. Nice Girl, they've had their chance." The 'delayed' label was still slapped on the invoice when they checked its status late that afternoon, as if the freight company had decided to save its shipment for the last possible moment.

"You could go first thing in the morning," said Nina. "The tree can wait. I'll take the sculptures to the store, and finish setting up. If Ki's mom is okay with it, he can help us bring the tree that afternoon and install the rotating stand."

"It's so perfect, it's like it's been scripted," said Molly. "I'm just going to say it. Here's to an amazing job by us, thank you universe." She lifted her glass.

"It's premature," said Nina, hesitating a little, only because of the nagging voice that never quite left her head, as if she was responsible for everything and everyone. "But I'll drink to it." She lifted her glass.

"To us being awesome," laughed Bradley.

***

V alarie was applying a new top coat of lacquer to her manicure from Nails Heaven, thinking about whether she should return her ex's sniveling phone message or delete it when the phone rang.

"Display by Design, your dream window scene is our design," she said. She put the top on the varnish bottle. As she listened to the voice on the other end, her eyes widened.

"What do you mean it's 'canceled'?" She wheeled her chair in front of the computer screen, nails tapping across its keys. "It was already shipped." She paused. "What do you mean 'shipped' is just a placeholder status?"

The invoice for the custom ornaments popped up in the latest email, only with a 'terminated' stamp at the bottom.