Designer Drama Read Free

JC! These are your vacation photos!”
    â€œOh, here I am with Madonna standing under the Arc de Triomphe,” he said, remembering. “And here I am with Madonna at the Louvre Museum.”
    â€œNo offense to you or your dog, but this is not doing anything to get my creativity flowing,” Mickey insisted.
    JC slammed his laptop shut. “Fine. You need to embrace the French culture. This instant.”
    â€œHere? In New York City?” Mickey asked. “How am I supposed to do that? Order in french fries?”
    JC pulled her toward the door. “First stop, the Met Museum to see the works of some of the great French impressionist painters. Then we’ll grab some escargot at my mom’s favorite little French bistro.”
    â€œWait!” Mickey protested. “Isn’t that snails? You want me to eat snails?”
    â€œI want you to understand what the French joie de vivre is all about,” JC insisted. “It will really help inspire your designs. Can’t you see a hat shaped like a snail shell?”
    â€œBut I thought I’d make a dress that drapes like the Eiffel Tower,” Mickey said. She was disappointed that JC was already trying to change her design ideas, just like the time he tried to change her into “Kenzie Wills,” a faux Finnish fashion socialite. It hadn’t worked. In fact, it had only made Jade hate her more.
    â€œYou can do whatever your heart desires,” JC assured her. “But you asked me to help you create something authentically French. You can’t do that unless you do your homework.”
    He pulled a small green box out of his bag and opened it. Inside were the prettiest pink and purple macarons Mickey had ever seen.
    â€œHave one,” he said, waving them under her nose.
    â€œThey smell like…like…flowers.”
    â€œRoses to be exact. And the purple one is violet.”
    â€œThe French eat flowers?” Mickey asked, taking a nibble. The cookie was light and sweet with just a hint of rose flavor. She gobbled the rest in one bite.
    â€œThe French are about the senses: sights, smells, tastes, textures,” JC rattled off.
    â€œUh-huh,” Mickey said with her mouth full. She had helped herself to seconds and thirds. “This is really good.”
    He opened the door. “Are you coming?” he asked. “I know an amazing little French chocolate shop that gives out free samples.”
    Mickey grabbed her denim jacket. “Lead the way!”
    â€¢ • •
    Once they had eaten several chocolate truffles and stopped to wash them down with a bottle of bubbly French spring water, JC led Mickey to the steps of the Met Museum. The museum was a block long, perched on the edge of Central Park and filled with every kind of art imaginable. As Mickey bounded up the steps and entered the main hall, she had no idea where to go or start. Entire wings were dedicated to different artists, periods, and techniques.
    â€œOoh, can we start in the Egyptian wing?” she asked, tugging on JC’s sleeve.
    â€œAnother day,” JC said. “We’re headed to the French impressionists.” He pulled Mickey along after him. “I’ve been coming here since I was a little kid—so I know where everything is.”
    Mickey nodded. That was good because she could barely figure out the map the lady at the information booth had handed her.
    â€œI have my favorite paintings,” he continued, “but I don’t want to influence you. You pick your own.” He led her to a section labeled “Art and Modernism.”
    Mickey wandered around the galleries, trying to absorb it all. There were so many artists’ works to take in: Renoir, Manet, Monet, Cézanne, Degas. A plaque on the wall explained that in 1874, a group of artists called the Anonymous Society of Painters, Sculptors, and Printmakers organized an exhibition that launched the entire impressionist