The Dressmaker's Pain
1702 Words
I open my mouth, gawking at this baffling stranger. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t have any reason to trust me. I could kill him right now, and yet he’s offering me kindness and not asking for anything in return.
This isn’t at all what I expected when I walked into this shop..
“Well,” I say hesitantly, “I guess I do need a job… and clothing.”
“Wonderful!” Exclaims the old man as he claps his hands excitedly. He begins unrolling the fabric to show me, beckoning me over to see it more closely. “Go ahead,” he says, “Touch it! The finest imported silk that money can buy.”
I oblige, running my fingers over the fabric tenderly. It feels like butter under my fingertips. “Only the finest fabrics for the finest beauty in town.”
I look up from the counter to see him smiling down at me over the rims of his glasses. I can’t help but smile back at him.
Maybe this will work. After all, selling and tailoring gowns will give me a reason to get into the palace.
“First, I’ll need to get your measurements,” he says as he pulls the measuring tape from around his neck with a snap. “Go stand by the mirror.”
I don’t remember the last time a man told me what to do… and I obeyed. But this man has completely thrown me off kilter..
For some reason I do as he says, staring at my disheveled reflection as he whirls around me like a busy bee as he measures me up and down, left and right.
“I just realized,” he says, “I don’t even know your name.”
“Calliope,” I answer as I watch him work. “What’s yours?”
“Angelo,” He says, pausing just long enough to look up at me with that disarming smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Calliope.”
“It’s… um… it’s nice to meet you too.”
He resumes his work, his hands moving quickly and skillfully in a whirlwind around me. “You must have been through quite the journey, showing up here in old sailor’s clothes like this,” he says while holding two pins between his teeth, pinching the sleeve of my shirt and examining the fabric..
“I guess you could say that,” I answer.
He looks over the rim of his glasses at me, raising one eyebrow. “It was a boy, then?” He says.
I look down at him and frown, but don’t answer right away.
“He hurt you, didn’t he?” The old man prods, looking back down at his work. He’s started pinning muslin scraps to my shirt, forming a pattern on my body as he goes.
“Yes. Well… no… I wouldn’t say he hurt me, exactly…” I say slowly. “He just couldn’t take rejection.”
The old man shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “Men,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Thankfully I’m too old to care what they think of me anymore.”
I raise a curious eyebrow at him.
“What?” He says, catching my eye. “You’ve never met a gay man before?”
“Not that I know of,” I answer, “I’ve spent most of my life around women.”
He nods thoughtfully as he continues pinning the muslin and tracing chalk outlines on the pattern. “You’d be surprised,” he says. “You see, I’ve always been rather… open about my preferences. People have treated me like dirt because of it for a long time. But then, proud men who are afraid of their own desires will come to me in secret, expecting me to melt at their feet.”
My lip curls in disgust as I picture what this poor man has endured in his tortured life. “Men are disgusting,” I scowl.
He stands up quickly and puts his hands on my shoulders, looking me square in the eye. “My child,” he says, “Don’t be so hardened. If there is one thing I’ve learned through my years of pain, it’s that humans are often too quick to judge. They are eager to plump others into categories to try to understand them, when really that just prevents them from understanding anyone at all.”
My mouth snaps shut, but I don’t look away from his piercing blue eyes. Who am I to be so angry and jaded when this tortured man has managed to keep his heart open and pure?
I continue to watch him work and listen to his stories for what seems like hours. I’ve never talked to a man for this long before.
He eventually finishes pinning and tracing the muslin pattern on my body. Piece by piece, he removes them, takes them over to his desk and cuts them out. He then pins it gently to the fine silk fabric, cutting each part of the dress with artful skill.
I take a seat across from him, watching intently as he works. It’s mesmerizing.
“I can sense the angry energy radiating from your body,” he says to me as he works. “Are you here to get revenge on the boy?”
I shake my head. “No, he’s very far away. He’s someone else’s problem now.”
“That’s good,” Angelo says thoughtfully. “Don’t waste any more time on him. He’s not worth it.”
“Noted,” I say with a smirk.
“You’re young and beautiful,” he says, “You’ll find someone worthy of you. I’m sure of it.”
I scoff, not wanting to tell him how old I really am. I can’t help but wonder how he would react if he knew my real story, though. It would be nice to have someone to confide in.
Soon, Angelo is ready to begin assembling the dress. It’s like watching an artist at work, and I’m witness to a beautiful creation coming to life. The blue sheen of the fabric reminds me of the ocean I’ve called home for so long. The intricate gold pattern reminds me of the sunset over the water. Every time he moves the gown, it catches the light in a way that makes it almost seem alive.
He starts to add finishing touches; golden buttons down the back and black lace at the end of each sleeve and around the plunging neckline. I don’t even realize how much time has passed until I look out the window and notice that it’s completely dark outside.
“I’m sorry to have kept you so long,” I say to him as he ties a knot on one last stitch.
He waves his hand flippantly at me. “Hush, dear!” He says, “Getting to know you has been the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time. It’s not often that someone is willing to spend time with me once they learn about who… I really am.”
“That’s their loss,” I say firmly. For a second I don’t even recognize the words coming out of my mouth. Who is this girl? Who even am I?
“Thank you, dear,” Angelo says. “Now, go throw this on and I’ll check the fit.”
He points at a folding room divider for me to go behind and change.
I take the gown from his hands and go to the changing area. As I strip off the dead sailor’s clothes, I feel myself stripping off layers of… something else. I’m not quite sure what it is yet, but it’s very freeing. I feel lighter.
I pull the dress on over my head, relishing in the silky feeling as it glides over my skin. I emerge from behind the screen, and Angelo’s eyes light up at the sight of me.
His hands fly to his mouth and the corners of his eyes wrinkle with joy and pride. “There she is,” he sighs happily.
I turn my head to look in the mirror, but he stops me. “Ah ah ah!” he scolds, “Not until it’s finished.”
“You’re not done yet?” I ask with a frown.
“I’m a bit of a perfectionist,” he answers with a wink. He takes out a few more pins, moving around and adjusting a few of the seams. Once he’s done, he walks over to a dresser of folded garments and pulls out a white chemise trimmed with lace.
“Here,” he says as he tosses it to me. “You can sleep in that.”
“What?” I ask in shock, “You’re offering me a place to stay too?”
“Unless you have a better offer…” he says, smirking at me. “Besides, I like to keep a close eye on my employees. The market opens very early tomorrow, and this way I can make sure you are ready to model my work.”
“I… um... thank you…” I say as I look down at the dressing gown.
“No need to thank me yet,” he says, “Now go get some rest. I have more work to do.”
- Writer
