Three months after the Gala, I sat in a private Paris salon overlooking the Seine. Across the marble table was Monsieur Arnaud, the seventy-year-old head of the world's largest luxury conglomerate.
He had acquired enough houses to recognize almost every famous silhouette on sight. The appointment was private, with no board presentation and no Hale executive waiting to speak for me.
He had invited me after seeing the Gala and expected a portfolio of finished gowns. I placed one worn, leather-bound sketchbook in front of him.
The corners had softened from years in my workroom. It was the book I used for the parts of design that never appeared in campaign photographs.
"This is my proposal, Monsieur."
The first page mapped the stress points on a human shoulder under load. The next showed
