The Path to Yourself. Aigerim Dautova
was done, Dina took her cup from the table and pressed it with her thin fingers. She cast a sidelong glance at the brown cup ring and, at last, looked at her assistant.
“We’re going to Paris.”
Rose left the apartment just as quietly as she had entered it, and ran down the stairs – Ella must have been waiting for her. However, when she got to a tiny coffee shop with only three tables, Rose didn’t see the girl. Tapping her foot nervously, Rose frantically dialed Ella’s number. Her heart sank into her boots.
She dumped me! Dumped me! But she’d promised – I should’ve gone to the office! I’m such an idiot! Swallowing her tears, Rose pressed the call button again and again.
“Stop calling me. I’m in the chamber of secrets.”
“Ella! Ella, hi! Where are you?”
“In the restroom. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Sorry, I just – » Rose forced a laugh in response to the short beeps.
“You alright?” Vintage jeans, Aquazzura heels, smile on her face – Ella plopped down opposite her.
Pablo Escobar, coffee beans, and Aquazzura – that’s all Rose knew about Colombia. She also had quite a vague notion of real friendship. All her relationships with people centered around mutually beneficial interactions or certain obligations. I give you cheat sheets, and you help me write a paper. I don’t mention your truancy, and you keep my report mistakes to yourself. Was Rose cold and calculating? Oh no. She was just a product of her world.
“Care for some champagne?” Ella waved at the waiter.
“It’s ten in the morning!”
“So what?”
“You’re driving!”
“So what?”
“There’s a lot of work!”
“So what?”
“Oh well, fair enough.”
“Wanna share?” Ella took a sip from the slim glass.
“Share what?”
“How did you end up in my… in this place?”
“Dina called me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Go ahead.”
“I am quite versed in style and fashion.”
“Are you?!”
“I’m – I don’t know.” Rose turned uncomfortably red – as red as a lonely tomato slice on a huge pizza.
“Alright, Miss Fashion. Come on! I’m pretty sure you’ll like it there.”
Ella couldn’t find a parking space, so she parked the car on the lawn by a flower bed. She slammed the door shut and strode towards a strange-looking glass building: It had an irregular triangle shape. “Move it, Rose! We’re an hour late!”
“Are you kidding me?!”
“The fitting was scheduled for ten thirty.”
“No, I meant – Are you sure this is the place?”
“Oh, so you know what it is?” An ironic smile flickered across the girl’s face.”
Rose did know. Two years ago, she’d spent hours by the window of the new fashion house, her eyes glued to a single dress. Rose had googled its creator – an unheard-of designer – and scoured the few photographs. She was dying to get into the studio, see other masterpieces, and get to know the designers, but that wasn’t her world. It was a princess world – the place for the beautiful and confident. And now, as she stood by the entrance, shivers went down her spine.
“You look odd. Is everything alright?”
“I – I saw their profile on Instagram,” Rose lied.
Inside, there was a huge room with white sofas. Ella immediately sat down and began flipping through a magazine, feet up on a low coffee table with geometric legs. Rose wasted no time and explored the interior.
“So handsome! Ella, did you see him? The designer himself is in the picture. The 20s, flappers. Did you see?! He’s so good-looking! And this dress! I wonder if it has a name.”
“The name’s Zelda, in honor of Scott Fitzgerald’s wife. She was one of the most prominent figures of that time,” answered a male voice.
Poor Rose, her face flushed with embarrassment, turned around. She felt like moving in slow motion.
“I’m Ed.” Ed Mann, the designer, extended his hand for a handshake.
“Rose.”
“You are here to see me, aren’t you?”
“I’m here for the fitting on behalf of Dina.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Well, if it’s a scarf or a hat of some sort.” Rose gave a short laugh.
“Right. Where is Dina? Today is the last test.”
“She couldn’t come, but don’t you worry about Paris. Hi! By the way, this is Rose, the new assistant.” Ella came up to them just in time.
“But I told her!” A shadow ran across the designer’s face, making him look ten years older.
“I can make up for her absence. You know we have the same size!”
“Fine. But Dina should know when her turn is.” For the first time, Ed smiled.
Huge screens instead of walls – futuristic waves of colors to dazzle the audience. The show was opened by a model from as far away as Nairobi. She was wearing a dress in the colors of a summertime savannah. Then there was a live broadcast with girls from Australia, Fiji, and France. Ella in a sky-blue outfit closed the show. It was impressive how different continents were involved – a potpourri of emotion and reality. Rose stood in an unbreathing astonishment, afraid of disturbing the perfect harmony. She was the most grateful spectator, drowning in the master’s creation, noticing every single detail, following the great design.
The sun, exhausted, had already hidden behind skyscrapers when the tiny car with two women inside arrived at Dina’s house.
“How was your day?” Aunt Sally, puffing, poured them some tea.
“OK,” Ella said.
“It was fine,” Rose mumbled.
“How did everything go?” Aunt Sally kept trying to get the girls talking.
“We went to Ed Mann’s! The man’s a genius!” Rose began to liven up after dinner.
“Not much of a genius. I have to go.” Ella quickly got to her feet, ready to leave.
“What’s her problem?” Rose whispered, but Aunt Sally only shrugged. “You know Ed?”
“I do.”
And then, Aunt Sally told her a story.
One night Dina brought in a young boy with lackluster eyes. He had no money, no roof over his head. He took the guestroom and barely left it until Aunt Sally mustered up the nerve to knock on the door. She peeked into the room and asked for help in the kitchen. The boy blushed, but came over. He did not utter a word and carefully performed simple tasks: Hanged the clock on the wall (which had been removed from it only five minutes earlier), peeled some carrots, replaced nearly full batteries with even newer ones. Aunt Sally, who had two sons, could clearly see the boy was ashamed: A bloody nose, a night spent in a stranger’s house. She was casually talking to herself about all kinds of little things – a new TV series, a city festival… By the evening, her monologue turned into a real