Chrysalis Days & Butterfly Nights [Wattys 2023 Shortlist]

32

32

The door had slammed in his face, leaving Luke stood outside dumbfounded. He hadn't even spoken. One look was all it took to draw a grimace of horror, the head flashing back inside, the door closing before Luke could utter a single word and he began to think this entire idea had been a complete waste of time. With what had happened to Andrea, and Helen's reaction, he had put it off for a couple of days, but he had remained determined to try.

"Put this on." Carlo had opened the door once again, tossing something at Luke, the grimace still evident as his eyes roved over Luke's clothing. "Perhaps it might look like an ironic attempt at giving the impression of fashion gone wrong."

"What is this?" Luke opened up the material, turning it in his hands as he tried to decide what, exactly, was wrong with his jeans and jumper. "It's just a square."

"It's a pashmina." Carlo twirled his hand and fingers, urging Luke to hurry up. "We can say you're going for a gauche Spaghetti Western ensemble. Where's Helen?"

"Busy." The pashmina caught Luke's hair as he brought it over his head. It didn't occur to him to refuse. "I need to speak to Clarisse, please. It's for Helen."

"Oh, she really is busy!" He pointed toward a large truck that filled the alleyway then put a finger on his lip, tapping. "I suppose I could say you threatened me. Alright. Try to look as though you belong. Failing that, try to look like you have a modicum of confidence in yourself."

Carlo adjusted the hang of the pashmina, frowned and adjusted it again. After the third adjustment, he sighed, shaking his head as he wafted a hand toward the door. Inside, Luke could see a lot more movement than he had the last time he and Helen had visited. People carrying boxes, pushing trolleys with yet more boxes. Clarisse appeared to be in the process of moving.

Activity abounded everywhere with well-dressed people rushing between rooms. He heard loud voices making orders and other voices telling them not to tell someone how to do their jobs. The rooms and corridors led through to the stairs that climbed up to the doors to the other, more sparse, warehouse and Carlo hesitated before entering.

The sparse warehouse, with its clean lines and art hanging from the ceiling had become transformed. Into am almost completely empty space. Gone was the art and the sheer curtains. Even the mezzanine had lost most of the furniture and now only held boards upon easels, pictures of stick-like figures in poses and attached squares of material upon them.

Clarisse commanded the room, dressed in a brilliant white outfit. She, too had transformed. A blood red, satin sash, tied to one side gave a garish accompaniment to the bright, white jacket and wide, equally white skirt that flowed as she moved, revealing trousers beneath. She had cut her hair, bleached it almost white with a fringe that hung over her face like a portico roof. Her beard had become a white goatee, the edges of the moustache curling upward, and fingernails, painted the same colour as the sash, flashed as she discussed the designs on the board with assistants hanging upon her every word.

With a hand upon Luke's arm, Carlo edged them both into Clarisse's line of sight. She saw them both and ignored them, continuing to talk, to advise, to admonish those who doted upon her. After some time, during which Clarisse gave Carlo several withering looks, the meeting came to an end and the assistants rushed away, whispers passing between them, leaving Luke, Carlo and Clarisse alone.

"Ah, Luca. You look ridiculous." Without a by-your-leave, Clarisse lifted the pashmina from Luke's shoulders, tossing it aside before running her hand through Luke's hair, causing the now-long strands to fall over one eye. "Carlo. Coffee. Black. Now! Luca, this is unexpected. I'm in the middle of both a move and preparations for the Spring Collection. Make it quick."