Sherlock

Sherlock, chapter 10

         “Zeta, I am just not sure if I'm the red-carpet type.”

         “Well, there really is no type. Its a matter of finding your own style.”

Zeta has her nose to her ears into a rack of dresses- some in vintage colors, some in jewel tones. All of them were beautiful.

         “You definitely have the boobs to carry these off. I think focusing on a linear design will give you the best line.”

I think about the boobs comment. That would be great, if I didn't have plenty of all the other luggage as well. I was just a compact package of soft curviness- not what I would imagine to see on television.

Zeta was a stylist that was a favorite of Downey's; I liked her too. She had an open, accepting way about her that made it pleasant to talk to her. And very professional.

She had a band around her wrist containing long dressmaking pins- I recognized it from when I used to design and sew clothes. A tape measure was wrapped around her fingers and she hummed quietly as she worked. Black glossy hair, she appeared to be about 17 years old.

         “No offense, but how old are you?”

She smiled.

         “Oh, its okay. I'm 27. I know- right? I look really young!” I laughed in, spite of myself.

She was taking measurements of my chest, hips, arms, down my back.

         “I appreciate you coming out here to help me.”

She stops mid-task, and looks at me intently.

         “Oh, you shouldn't thank me. This is my job. Its what I do.”

I watch her continue with her calculations, measuring each dress width. She pulls about eight dresses aside, and hangs them separately, then begins writing on her clipboard.

         “So, how would you describe your look when you go out for an evening?” she asks.

I thought, unsure of an answer. Safe? Conservative? But I knew this wasn't true. I loved bold color, trendy styles. I loved getting attention, creating a buzz where I went. It was just who I was. I was always the loudest at a party.

         “I guess daring. I love lots of color.”

She nodded, looking at me.

         “I'm not shy.”

She smiled.

         “Perfect,” she said.

She pulled three long gowns from the pile of eight.

         “Mr. Downey will be wearing Givenchy that night. His will be wearing an old Hollywood throwback tuxedo that will be in blacks and grays and creams. I think this,” and she pulled a creamy colored gown out with a flourish, “will look wonderful. Would you like to try it?”

I nodded and began undressing. I felt no embarrassment. Being a nurse sort of makes you that way.

Easily I stepped into the velveteen gown and pulled it up to my armpits. It wouldn't go past my hips.

Zeta checked the seam allowance, then picked up the second gown.

         “Okay, lets try number two.”

Stepping out, I put the first gown on a chair. This second one fit better, but its color was not the most flattering.

         “It makes me look yellow.”