The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [122]
“Hurry, hurry,” the dresser called, taking her arm and giving her a push that sent her out through the curtains. Missie hesitated again, glancing around at the ladies. Then, tossing her head high and walking as tall as Madame could ever have wished, she swung slowly down the purple platform.
Madame Elise gasped, shocked by her appearance. What had come over the girl? And whatever had she got on her feet? She glanced around hurriedly at her ladies, surprised to see them leaning forward attentively watching Verity’s every smooth, slinky move in complete silence. Even the men had stopped talking and were staring at her new mannequin. She turned to look at Verity again, standing at the end of the platform, the fluid folds of the violet chiffon clinging to her lovely limbs like a young Isadora Duncan, the sparkling silver beads catching the light as she moved. Her waist-length hair hung like a shining bronze curtain, the soft tendrils framing her face, and her huge wonderful eyes looked an even deeper violet than the dress.
Throwing back her head, Missie walked languidly back along the platform, stopping here and there, her hand resting on her tasseled beaded belt, the low neckline, the lovely skirt, but all eyes were riveted on her feet and the violet satin bows at her delicate ankles.
The curtain closed behind her and the orchestra changed rapidly to another show tune. The maids came to life again, hurrying around with more tea and cakes, and the gentlemen’s heads lowered together as they discussed Elise’s audacious new mannequin behind their hands. Madame closed her eyes. What had Verity done? Oh, what had she done? She had disobeyed her instructions, all her training, it was une catastrophe! She was aware of a murmur of conversation and then someone began to applaud, another took it up, and suddenly the applause became a roar; there were even a few bravas, though those were mainly from the men.
“Encore! Encore!” someone called, and Madame turned to look at the enthusiastic young society matron, a beauty in her own right and a true fashion innovator. She was one of her biggest customers.
She smiled graciously at her and quickly sent a maid to tell Verity to come out again please.
It couldn’t be true, Verity thought, stepping out on the platform. Were they really applauding her? She loped along the platform once again, bestowing a smile here and there, pausing to let them admire her ribboned shoes, her egret feathers, her swirling folds of silk chiffon. She felt like laughing. Maybe being a mannequin was easy after all. “Do it the way that feels natural,” Rosa had said, and maybe she had been right.
Minerve glared at her as she strode back into the dressing room to a thunder of applause but Missie merely smiled. “Another platitude to add to your collection, Minerve,” she said sweetly. “Necessity is the mother of invention.” As she walked to her dressing table she could feel Minerve’s eyes on her shoes, and knew that it was she who had sabotaged her.
The rest of the fashion parade passed quickly, and to her surprise Missie enjoyed herself; it was fun being the center of attention, fun to feel young and beautiful. Afterward Madame Elise came to the dressing room to congratulate her.
“Everyone is talking about my new shoes.” She laughed. “I don’t know where you got the idea of the ribbons, Missie, but now everybody wants them. Mrs. Wool-man Chase from Vogue said you personify the new feminine spirit, freed from the restrictions of war, able to be young again and soft and simple. ‘La Vie Naturelle’ is what I’m calling it, and believe me, Verity, it is a succès énorme.” She turned to the other girls suddenly. “And why can’t you walk like Verity,