Ripped at the Seams Read Free Page A

the other workers strolling in and out of the lobby. With any luck, she would be one of them soon. She quickly scanned the directory posted on the wall and spotted a familiar name—Très Joli Bridal Fashions. Celia had loved the Très Joli dresses in the magazines. They were simpler than most: white gowns with minimal lace and beading, classic cuts with a slight twist, makingeach one a little different from the one before it. Sami had based her design for Celia’s gown on some of the Très Joli dresses, so it was only natural that she head up there first. She quickly stepped into the elevator and pushed the number 8.
    The ride up to the eighth floor seemed interminable. She shared the elevator with two maintenance men who smelled as though they hadn’t bathed in at least a week. Sami moved cautiously over to the other side of the elevator, taking care not to step on the toes of a woman in a tight black pantsuit and stiletto heels, and making sure she didn’t bump into the two overweight men in shirtsleeves who were arguing over whether the Yankees should consider trading one of their starting pitchers.
    With each opening and closing of the elevator doors, Sami’s heart pounded a little harder. She was certain that if the ride took much longer, she’d have a heart attack, right here in the small, cramped elevator of the Bridal Building.
    Luckily, she made it. Sami got out of the elevator and scanned the glass-enclosedshowrooms: Francine’s Flowers. Dream Wedding Veils. Samantha’s Gowns. Très Joli Bridal Fashions—this was it. Without giving herself a chance to back out, Sami opened the glass door and walked inside.
    The reception area at Très Joli Bridal Fashions was quiet. There was no one sitting on the black leather chairs that lined the walls, each positioned beside a stack of Très Joli bridal catalogs.
    â€œDo you have an appointment?” a middle-aged African-American woman in a pale green suit asked sweetly as she walked out into the reception area.
    â€œNo, I—”
    â€œWe don’t show the gowns without an appointment during the week,” the woman interrupted. “Come back on Saturday. You don’t need an appointment then.”
    â€œOh, I’m not here to look at gowns,” Sami assured her.
    â€œThen why are you here?”
    Sami lifted the heavy black leather portfolio onto the reception desk. “Actually, I’m a designer.” She gasped a little, hearing the words come out of her mouth. It was the first time she’d ever identified herself as aprofessional. It sounded strange, but also impressive—and not at all false.
    â€œOh honey, you’re in the wrong place,” the woman said kindly.
    â€œBut I think if you’d just take a look at my designs, you’d see that I have that Très Joli feel,” Sami pleaded.
    â€œI’m sure you do. The thing is, our gowns aren’t designed here.”
    â€œBut this is the Très Joli showroom, right?” Sami asked.
    The woman nodded. “Exactly. We
show
our gowns here. But we don’t design or make them here. Our home office is in Paris.”
    Sami blushed. “Oh, I had no idea. I mean, the address in the magazine was 1385 Broadway and—”
    â€œYou’re not from around here, are you?” the woman asked kindly.
    Sami shook her head. “I’m from Elk Lake, Minnesota.”
    â€œMinnesota, huh,” the woman mused. “You do sound a little bit like that wrestler who became a politician. You know, oh what’s his name …”
    â€œYou mean Jesse Ventura.”
    â€œYeah, that’s him.”
    Sami laughed. Right now, former governor Jesse Ventura was pretty much the only person from Minnesota anyone outside of the state had ever heard of … but she was determined to change that.
Someday people will associate Minnesota with Sami Granger instead!
    â€œWhat’s your name?”
    â€œSami