Darn Knit All (All Access #3)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

MAI

Theo

You ever feel like a waste of space?

Mai

No

Theo

Oh good, me either

Mai

What happened?

Theo

Nothing

Mai

Why don’t I believe you?

Theo

On an unrelated note, how do you feel about me becoming a monk? Good, bad, indifferent?

Mai

So the date didn’t go well?

Theo

They went to the bathroom and never returned

Mai

I’m on my way

M y heart pounded against my rib cage as the reality of our situation hit me like a ton of bricks.

Around us, the crowd moved back as the other couples tossed their food and drink and sprinted toward the fabric room, claiming material and patterns in a dog-eat-dog fight.

“Ready?” Theo asked, dropping my hand to present his arm to me.

I blinked up at him, my mind racing a million miles an hour. “Eight hours. We only have eight hours.”

He brushed his knuckles over my cheek. “And we’re going to get it done in seven hours and fifty-eight minutes.”

A hysterical bubble of laughter clawed up my throat. “There’s no way.”

“There’s always a way.” He began to guide me toward a spare workstation. “Think, Mai. What is going to be the quickest and easiest style to achieve in the time we have while still looking fabulous?”

A hundred scenarios and options flicked through my mind as I settled at the table and reached for a sketch pad.

“You draw,” Theo said, plonking hands on my shoulders. “I’m gonna go claim some fabric before these vultures pick it clean.”

“Satin and velvet,” I instructed, an idea beginning to take shape. “In two colors—like a muted or primary color and something exciting.”

“Black and pink?” he asked.

“That would work, but make the pink bold. Black and pastels have been done before.”

He nodded as I became aware of a camera crew moving our way. I glanced at them, then bent my head to the paper, starting to sketch out a rough idea. “Hurry, Theo.”

“I’m on it.”

The design had to be simple to pull together in the time we had. Something elegant, sophisticated, and timeless, but daring and bold in execution.

Not an easy feat.

I tore up the first design, tossing the paper in the trash. Cold sweat trickled down my back as I clutched at my pens, staring at the fresh, white sheet.

Yasmin had once said a blank page was a most fearsome thing, and up until this moment, I hadn’t understood what she meant. Now I did. Staring at the sketch pad, my mind raced so quickly everything jumbled until it became a blur of nothingness.

Michelle made her way over to me, an envelope in her hands.

“You’ll need this,” she said, handing me the gold paper.

Trying hard not to have a breakdown in the first ten minutes of the show, I slid the blade of my scissors under the lip and withdrew three papers, each with different measurements.

Another twist,” she said with a grin. “You have three models to choose from. Good luck.”

I quickly scanned the pages. Two were similar sizing to traditional models, tall with lean proportions, while the third posed a more interesting challenge.

When people thought of the fashion industry, they often imagined famous models like Miranda Kerr or Tyra Banks or Kendall Jenner. These were models that had to be a certain size and shape to meet the high fashion requirements for garments. These cream-of-the-crop runway models were hired to fit the clothes the designers made—rather than the designers creating the clothes to fit them. Usually tall with precise waist, bust, and hip measurements, they were hired for those proportions.

However, a newer trend had emerged over the previous decade, one which I wholeheartedly endorsed. These were high-end runway models who bucked traditional standards, women like Ashley Graham, Precious Lee, and Paloma Elsesser, who were mid-sized or larger, shorter or taller, and due to their unusual proportions, designers created clothes to complement their body and embrace their uniqueness rather than using the model as a living coat hanger.

I plucked the last measurements from the small pile, turning to the adjustable mannequin as a dress began to take shape in my mind.

An off-the-shoulder with a sweetheart peek-a-boo neckline and fitted A-line skirt. We’d draw attention to her waist and breasts to create a gorgeous silhouette. We’d add drama with a beautiful double-sided train that attached to her hand with a gorgeous silver chain.

I sucked in a deep breath, feeling as if I could breathe for the first time since our plane had landed.

“Here we go.” Theo dumped rolls and rolls of fabric onto our workbench, attempting to catch them as they rolled this way and that.

A black velvet caught my eye, along with a stunningly vibrant fuchsia satin.

“These two,” I said, discarding the rest. “If I draw the patterns, can you cut?”

“I think I can do that.”

We exchanged a wry grin.

“Remember what I taught you about cutting velvet?” I asked as I reached for my sketch pad.

Theo lifted one hand to his chin, cupping his jaw. “Something about the pattern and fluffing.”

“Shedding,” I corrected as I began to sketch out the design. “We need to plan how to cut this carefully—and we don’t use pins, we use weights. Velvet’s too delicate.”

“Gotcha.” He reached for a pair of scissors. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

I finished the quick sketch and held it up for him to see. “Thoughts?”

“I like it. It’ll be awesome.”

I heard a murmur behind us, the last few words of the conversation reaching my ears.

“…check if he can sew?”

My shoulders tensed, the hair on the back of my neck prickling.

Oh, God. We’re going to be found out. We’ll be ostracized. I’ll never be able to work in ? —

“But will it have pockets?”

A shock of laughter burst out of me at Theo’s unexpected question. “What?”

“Pockets. For snacks. I assume red carpet means a long-ass event. People are bound to get hungry.” He tapped his stomach. “I know I could eat.”

There was a snort from the camera crew, and I began to relax, the pressure easing a little.

“We’ll see if we have time.”

He gestured at the long train. “Be cool if that was hollow or had a zip. You could fill it with chips and chocolate.”

“Theo!”

“What?” he asked, shooting me a grin. “You’re saying you wouldn’t want a sneaky snack mid-performance? Imagine wearing this thing to the cinema. You could smuggle a whole minibar in.”

I rolled my eyes but noted gratefully that the film crew appeared to be amused rather than suspicious.

I pushed the bolt of satin toward him. “Just roll this out.”

I measured out the pattern pieces on large sheets of paper then handed them to Theo to cut down to size. Once we had all the parts laid out and pinned or weighted on the fabric, we began to cut the pieces we’d need.

Around us, machines whirred, and teams called instructions to one another as they worked rapidly to cut, pin, press, and sew each part of their design.

Pressure slowly built upon my shoulders, like sand trickling to settle at the bottom of an hourglass—each second adding one more grain of pressure.

It doesn’t matter if you win or lose. It’s a non-elimination round. You just need to get through today .

Our workbench became a makeshift battlefield, scissors and pins our weapons of choice. With pattern pieces now complete, I pinned while Theo pressed. We worked in unison, passing the pieces back and forth like a conveyor line.

“Four hours left,” Michelle called from the stage. “Tools down for the moment, please. We’ll take a ten-minute mandatory break, then get back into it.”

“Shit,” Theo grunted, standing from his seat. “My back is killing me.”

I noted he didn’t speak about his leg, but judging by how he leaned, I guessed it also pained him.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to track down some painkillers?”

Theo waved me off. “I’m fine. I just need coffee and to stretch.”

My foot jiggled nervously as I glanced around at the other teams. They were far more advanced than us—many having already completed various pieces of their outfit.

“Damn,” Theo said, tilting his head to one side as he surveyed the competition. “Are we slow or are they fast?”

“Both?” Unable to remain seated, I stood, stretching out my shoulders and neck as water bottles, cups of coffee, and snacks were handed out. “We’re really behind.”

Theo shrugged. “We’ll make it up. I have faith.”

“I’m glad you do,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “I’m not sure I can pull together something of this magnitude in four hours.”

“Hey, look at me.” Theo’s hands were warm and comforting on my shoulders as he turned me toward him. “What have we got left to do?”

“Finish the pinning, actually sew or hand stitch the pieces, and then assemble.”

“So three things. Easy.”

I snorted. “Not quite three but I appreciate the sentiment.”

His hands pressed into my shoulders, massaging the stress from my aching muscles. I groaned, closing my eyes as his thumbs glided over my shoulders and up my neck, the slow sweep hypnotizing as he dissipated the tension from my body.

“We can do this, Mai. I have faith.”

“I should be doing this to you,” I said, tilting my head to give him better access.

He chuckled, his warm breath dancing across the shell of my ear. “Later.”

We broke apart to eat a small serving of fruit and yoghurt, then settled back at our bench as the director began a countdown.

“In three, two, one.” Celeste pointed at Michelle.

“Four hours left!” she called once more. “Better kick those machines into top gear because the end is near!”

The remainder of our pieces were quickly assembled, and then Theo and I sat down to begin the process of assembling the dress. I gave him the easy pieces—the ones which didn’t require perfectly straight lines.

Together we whizzed through the construction of the pieces, and I found myself surprised by Theo’s dedication to precision.

“How’s this?” he asked, handing me one of the panels that would form the train.

I examined the stitching, noting a few missteps but nothing that would require a complete redo.

“Great.” I glanced up, smiling at him. “You’re really improving.”

“Improving? That doesn’t bode well for your team, Ms. Sakamoto.”

I stiffened, turning slowly to see that Michelle and Erike had approached our workstation while our backs were turned.

Oh, crap.

Just when I thought I had a handle on my panic, a new test arrived to send me spiraling once more.

I never realized I was a masochist.

Theo covered for me, easily sliding into the awkwardness.

“Gonna be honest,” he said with an “aw shucks” smile. “Mai’s the brains, talent and beauty behind this operation. I’m barely trained in the basics. But we’re here, we’re enthusiastic, and I’m open to learning.”

Michelle and Erike exchanged a loaded glance.

“What do you mean by ‘barely trained’?” Erike asked, crossing his arms.

My mouth opened to try and cover for Theo, but he beat me to the punch.

“Just that. Mai’s been teaching me for the last year, but progress is slow. But isn’t that the point of this show? To profile couples just trying to pursue a dream?”

Erike cocked an eyebrow as Michelle rushed to reassure us.

“Absolutely! All of our couples are in different stages of their fashion journey, and we welcome everyone—from beginner to master.”

“Don’t you feel guilty for depriving a more worthy pair of their dream?” Erike interrupted.

I swallowed, horrified that I may have disappointed my hero.

Theo stared him down, shifting to block me slightly. “No. Mai’s dream is valid, and she deserves this chance just as much as anyone else—more even. I might slow her down but I’m not here to hold her back.”

I stared up at Theo, watching as a muscle ticked in his jaw. His fierce protectiveness left me feeling warm and fuzzy.

“And on that note,” Michelle said hastily, “we should leave you both to finish.” She turned to the room at large. “Two hours left!”

The clock became our merciless overlord, a villain in our story. We finished the machine work and switched to hand stitching as the time counted down.

Theo and I worked well together, communicating openly and honestly when something wasn’t working. He surprised me with suggestions to problems I would never have even contemplated. We were becoming a well-oiled machine, even if one half of the machine was still learning which part was the bobbin and which was the feed dog.

“Your models have arrived,” Michelle called as women streamed into the design area.

As I’d predicted, the majority of the teams had chosen to build a dress that the model would need to fit, but for us—and one other team—we’d elected to design the dress for the model.

“Keeley and Jude,” Theo told me with a conspiratorial air. “I got the lowdown from one of the show runners. They’re tipped to take out the entire competition but we’re gonna give them a run for their money.”

While I appreciated his enthusiasm, I didn’t have time for small talk.

“Can you find a small silver chain?” I asked, showing him where I wanted it sewn. “It’s the last piece on the train. I need to finish the bodice.”

“On it.”

Our model arrived, a gorgeous woman whose proportions reminded me of Kate Winslet or Beatrix Bellinger.

“Wow,” she said, eyeing the dress. “This is incredible.”

I took a moment to critically eye our creation as a whole rather than the individual parts that still needed attention. She wasn’t wrong. The dress had flair and drama, with the bold fabric choices creating an edgy vibe that still presented as classical elegance thanks to the simple silhouette.

“I’m Sophia, by the way.”

I held out my hand. “Mai. Are you ready to try it on?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Let’s do it.”

The dress fit her like a glove, creating sensual, feminine lines. There were a few small tweaks required to ensure the bodice lay flat, but as I finished, I glanced at the time, laughing when I saw that Theo hadn’t been too far off his prediction.

“Seven hours and fifty-three minutes,” I teased him, as he fiddled with the chain hanging from Sophia’s wrist. “Turns out we beat the?—”

In startling slow motion, I saw Theo step back and onto a scrap of fabric, his prosthetic rolling forward. His gaze met mine as he slipped backward, arms flailing. I reached out, trying to grab him but it was too late. He fell, his legs kicking up.

Like something out of a horror movie, his boot caught on the train of the dress, and as it dropped, it pulled the fabric, ripping the chain free and leaving a large gaping tear in the beautiful fabric.

Around us, all movement ceased as people stared in silent horror. Then the camera crew rushed in as the world kicked back into gear.

“Shit!” Theo cursed, struggling to untangle himself from the mess. “Fuck and shit!”

I dropped to my knees, frantically searching his body for injury.

“Are you hurt? Shit, are you?—”

He waved me off. “Forget about me. Go! Do what you can to salvage my fucking mistake.”

“But—”

He gave me a little push. “Go, Mai. Hurry!”

I glanced at the clock, my heart pounding in my throat. Six minutes.

“Sophia, go to the machine,” I ordered. “Theo, I?—”

“Just go!”

Shit!

I didn’t have any time to argue with him. With Sophia still wearing the gown, I collected my wits, knowing I’d have to sew the ripped fabric without pins or measurements, and pray I didn’t make a dog’s breakfast of it.

“Get on the table,” I ordered Sophia as I gathered the fabric. “We need to make sure the weight of the dress doesn’t pull at the hem or it’s going to be an even bigger disaster.”

She did as directed without protest, climbing up and shifting until I could feed the fabric through the machine.

My fingers worked overtime as I tucked and sewed, creating a hem that, while not exactly straight or tidy, remained functional and hid the worst of the damage.

“One minute!”

“Please, please, please, please, please,” I chanted as I fed the machine as quickly as I could without causing it to jam. “Come on, come on, come on.”

I cut the thread with thirty seconds to spare, tugging the black elastic from my hair, I quickly handstitched it into the dress, closing the seam. I wouldn’t have time to replace the chain so this would have to do.

“Tools down!”

Stepping back, I held my hands up, breathing heavily as I glanced frantically over the dress.

It wasn’t perfect but it would do.

Non-elimination, I reminded myself as I struggled to catch my breath. The only stakes on the table are the ones you’ve built in your head.

Sophia grinned at me as the camera crew swirled around us, catching each chest-rattling breath I fought to suck in.

“You did it.” She threaded her middle finger through the elastic, wrapping it around her finger twice. “Not as pretty as the chain but it works.”

She moved her hand back and forth, the train following her movements.

An avalanche of emotion hit me, crushing the breath from my lungs.

“I have to, I mean, I?—”

“Go see your partner.” Sophia nodded, smiling. “I’ll see you after the show.”

I pushed through the crowds of people milling about as crew raced here and there, setting up for the runway event.

“Mai!”

I spun, spotting Theo sitting on a chair beside a woman in green scrubs.

“Theo.” Relief hit, and for a second, I swayed on my feet as the world tilted.

“Whoa!” Theo caught me, pulling me into his arms. “Take a load off before you collapse.”

“I’m okay,” I said, shaking my head a little to clear it. “I’m just?—”

“Exhausted, starving, overwhelmed?” Theo asked, glaring at Bruce as he walked toward us.

We ignored him. “How are you? What do you need?”

“Nothing, I’ll be fine.”

“Rest,” the medic interrupted. “He’s got some bruising but should be okay.”

Bruce intruded on our little group, placing his hands on his hips. “The show is about to resume. If you’re both cleared by the medic, follow me.”

The medic nodded and so off we went, following him like little ducks through the chaos and into the interview room. The runway was projected onto a giant screen along one wall, while an array of comfortable seating had been positioned across the floor in front of the screen.

“Looks like we’re the last,” Theo murmured, guiding me across to the only set of empty seats left in the back corner.

Once seated, I took the opportunity to consider our competition. Some were designers whose work I admired, like Nina and Dakila Basa. They had established their street wear brand three years ago, and everyone from Wolf Rodriguez to Justice Wild wore their designs.

In addition to Nina and Dakila, there were Meg and Bec Pecherczyk, Alec and Tempest De Soto, Gretchen and Jodie, and, of course, Keeley Walters and Jude O’Malley.

I had wondered how the show might portray me as a woman of color. If there’d be endless questions about my heritage, whether my parents approved of my choices, if they’d write me off because I was an introverted, Japanese woman. But seeing my competitors and the hosts, and knowing they represented the Black, Filipino, Chilean, and First Nations communities gave me a sense of comfort.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be as burdensome as I’d assumed.

Music began to play from the speakers around the room, and the lights dimmed as the runway projection lit up the screen.

“Here we go,” Theo murmured.

Music pumped loudly as the first model strutted out. She wore Nina and Dakila’s design, an oversized puffer jacket dress made from latex and covered in hand-painted graffiti. It swamped the model, whose only visible body part happened to be her head.

“Grunge meets red carpet,” Erike said, the camera panning to where he sat in the audience. “An interesting choice.”

On one side of him sat Michelle, on the other sat Minerva Devillian, the editor of Vogue Astipia , and Alison Louis, a former model turned fashion director to the stars. If she liked a design and put one of her clients in it, you were guaranteed to be a knockout success.

“I don’t know,” Alison said, tapping an elegant finger against her jaw. “An artist attending the Oscars does so to be seen. This would work better as a dress for the Royal Gala, rather than an awards night.”

“I agree,” Minerva nodded. “There’s no finesse. The execution is excellent but how does one capture this on film? How does it portray the beauty and grace of the wearer?”

“We’re agreed,” Erike declared. “It’s a disastrous choice for the challenge—no matter how much we might like it.”

I glanced at where the Basas sat and winced at their devastated expressions.

“Ouch,” Theo said. “Brutal.”

“They are judges.”

“True. But a little ‘finesse,’”—he made finger quotes with his hands—“wouldn’t go astray.”

The next model stepped out onto the runway, her dress the antithesis of the previous model.

Theo jerked beside me. “Is she?—”

“No,” I said, turning to cough into my fist to keep from laughing. “It’s a body suit.”

The nude-colored suit adhered to the model like a second skin, clutching and convulsing in a way that made it appear almost skin-like.

“Jesus,” Theo muttered, a slight blush flushing his cheeks. “That’s practically illegal.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I never took you for a prude.”

“I’m not. I’m all about power to the people and feminism, and all that kind of stuff. I just never expected to see something like that.”

The camera panned in on the suit, picking up the subtle sheen of crystals that dotted the fabric.

“Bold,” Minerva enthused. “I could see one of our indie actresses strutting down the red carpet wearing this.”

“I disagree,” Alison said, shaking her head. “It’s bold, yes. But it would be quite the faux pas to attend an event dressed as the award.”

“I concur,” Erike agreed. “They wear to draw attention, not become a laughingstock.”

And so it went for another two couples before our model appeared.

“God,” Theo cursed beside me. “You did it.”

Sophia wore the crap out of the dress, strutting down the catwalk like Venus risen to tempt man. The dress moved with her, the light catching the faint sheen from the velvet and picking up on the dynamic fuchsia satin.

My heart pounded in my ears as the judges examined my design with their critical eyes.

Please like it, please, oh please like it.

“Now this is interesting.” Alison leaned forward. “I love the contrast. It’s sensual and playful while still being glamourous.”

Theo caught my hand, squeezing.

“I’d have liked to see it with gloves,” Minerva said, tipping her head to one side. “The train is clever, but the whole look could be elevated by gloves.”

I absorbed her criticism while celebrating her praise.

“Mixed bag,” Theo muttered.

“It’s nothing new,” Erike said dismissively. “Where is the innovation?”

I sagged, disappointed.

“Who needs innovation when you look like that?” Alison countered with a laugh. “I’m telling you, starlets will be lining the streets to wear a gown with that shape.”

As quickly as the critique had begun, it was over, with only Keeley and Jude’s design to come.

I breathed out a heavy sigh, relieved beyond words the ordeal was finally over. A strange mix of joy and disappointment warred inside me, churning in my chest.

“Could’ve been worse,” Theo whispered, giving my hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “At least we can’t get voted off the island, right?”

“Small mercies,” I muttered, managing a weak chuckle.

There were audible gasps as the next model stepped out. I glanced up, blinking in awe at their creation.

The talented duo had created a statement piece using crimson satin. It was a play on a tuxedo with a long ballgown skirt and a crisp short tuxedo vest top. The layering, the lines, the color—everything worked perfectly together to produce a showstopping dress.

“Damn,” Theo said against my ear. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s a good design, right?”

I nodded mutely, my hopes crashing to the ground. It appeared the crew were correct in their assessment—Keeley and Jude were the team to beat.

The judges gushed over the design, agreeing that they had found their winner.

I applauded along with the other cast members as Keeley and Jude nodded, their expressions remote.

Damn. I really wanted to beat them.

“And now for our final surprise,” Michelle said brightly into the camera.

I barely supressed a groan, slumping into Theo as the last of my energy drained from my body.

“You may be wondering why we were so specific with the challenge—and it’s for a good reason.” She turned toward the side of the stage. “Please welcome Beatrix Bellinger to the stage.”

I shot up in my seat, my mouth dropping open as the woman herself walked out of the stage wings. Dressed in a costume from her latest movie, she glided across the stage, smiling a warm greeting.

“Welcome, Bea,” Michelle greeted.

“Thank you so much,” the actress responded, giving us a little wave.

“We like to keep our contestants on their toes, so why don’t you tell us why you’re here.”

“I’d be delighted.” She turned to the camera. “While the judges have picked their winner, I get to choose the dress I’d most like to wear to the Oscars.” She chuckled. “As a nominee for Best Actress this year, I can assure you, your design will be seen by millions around the world.”

My hands found Theo’s, clutching him hard as my heart began to pound out of my chest.

“And I choose….”