21
Face to Face
8 January, 1944
Customers dribbled into the store at a snail’s pace. Even the upper class, with their brick double-story homes on the surrounding hills, nestled on acres of park-like land with gardens and waterfalls and swimming pools and tennis courts, had cut back on spending. Their seamstresses who chose materials and talked designs with Iris were few and far between. Times were hard.
She had a golden opportunity in a thriving industry just waiting for her. Her money for her trip from New York to Los Angeles was entirely saved and ready to go, hidden in the under-carriage of her sewing machine. She’d always hated limbo, but here she was, creating her own. Each time she went to write her acceptance to her dream designer, she just couldn’t do it.
Was it her guilt? Was
