Designer Drama (5 page)

When they got to the hotel, Mickey was too exhausted to even unpack.

“Told you to sleep on the plane,” JC scolded her. “Now you're going to sleep the day away instead of seeing the sights with me and my cousin Angelique.”

“I'll catch up with you later,” Mickey said, yawning. “I just need to take a little nap.”

Mr. Kaye handed her a room key. “My room is right next door,” he said. “And you are not to leave unescorted by a chaperone. Is that clear?”

Mickey nodded. “I'm not going anywhere. I'm totally lost with all this French. I thought
sortie
was something you do to your laundry—not an exit.”

“And I'll be a few block away at my cousin's flat,” JC reminded her. “In case you need a translator.”

Mickey opened her door and rolled her bag inside.

“Surprise!” her mom shouted, swooping her into a huge bear hug.

“Mom? Am I dreaming? Are you here?
How
are you here?”

“Mr. Kaye arranged everything—my flight, our room, our meals,” her mom explained. “I had some vacation time coming at work, so I just took it!”

Mickey gulped. “But, Joanna…” She only called her mom by her first name when she was trying to sound serious and mature. “How can we afford it?”

Her mother smiled. “I'm going to do makeup on the models for the competition next weekend. Mr. Kaye got FIFI to hire me. I'm an official makeup artist for the runway!”

Mickey flopped down on the couch. “He did? That's so awesome,” she said, closing her eyes. “I promise I'll be really excited and remember to thank him when I'm not so tired. Mom, I'm so glad you're here.”

Her mom covered Mickey with a blanket and kissed her on the forehead. “Me too. Get some zzz's, Mickey Mouse,” she said. “And when you wake up, we're hitting Paris!”

• • •

By the time Mickey finally opened her eyes again, it was late afternoon.

“Did I miss it?” she said, yawning.

“Miss what?” her mom asked. She was busy cleaning her makeup brushes and organizing her eye shadows into palettes.

“I dunno. Paris.”

Joanna smiled. “Hardly. Mr. Kaye said we're to meet him in the lobby at four. He's got something up his sleeve, I'm sure.”

When they got downstairs, JC was already there with Madonna on a rhinestone-studded leash.

“Bonsoir, sleepyhead,” he teased. “The jet lag really got to you, huh?”

“I hate that I slept through half a day,” Mickey said. “I didn't want to miss a single moment.”

“And you won't,” Mr. Kaye said, arriving in the lobby. “The competition booked us a Paris city tour ending with a bateau on the Seine.”

Mickey dug her pocket French dictionary out of her bag. “What's a bateau? And what's a Seine?”

“It's a dinner cruise on the river,” JC explained. “I've done one before, and it's great—you can see everything from the water. And they serve crepes for dessert!” Madonna barked her approval.

“Mr. Kaye,” Mickey began, “about my mom… I can't thank you enough.”

“
De rien
, you're welcome.” He waved it off. “It's hard to find a good makeup artist these days.” He looked at Mickey's mom and winked.

“Do you think we can climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower?” Joanna asked.

“I believe that is the final stop,” Mr. Kaye said, ushering them out the hotel's revolving door. “After you.”

The tour bus was packed with fashion students from all over the world and their teachers and chaperones, all chattering in different languages.

“Do you think we stand a chance?” Mickey whispered to JC. “Against all these kids?”

JC scanned the crowd. “
Mais bien sû
r
!
But of course!” he said. “What do they have that we don't—besides some really crazy foreign accents?”

The rest of the day was filled with seeing the sights, sampling delicious French pastries, and “
Mais bien sû
r
!
” a visit to the Eiffel Tower.

Mickey stood next to her mom, looking down on Paris and all its splendor. The city shimmered with a million lights, and the crowds of people below looked like tiny bugs swarming on the street.

“It's so beautiful,” her mom said with tears in her eyes. “I never thought I would get to see it.”

Mickey squeezed her hand. “When I'm a big-time fashion designer, I'll make sure we go to Paris every year for Fashion Week,” she promised. “This is just the beginning, Mom. You'll see.”

“I believe you,” her mom replied. “And I believe
in
you, Mickey Mouse.”

After dinner, Mr. Kaye took JC and Mickey aside for a stern talk. “I know today was a lot of excitement and fun,” he said. “But tomorrow it's time to get down to business. We begin at FIFI at 8:00 a.m. sharp, and you'll be receiving the details of
l'ultime dé
f
i
.”

Mickey gulped. What if she got the hardest challenge? What if she and JC couldn't think of a single look to make? What if they made something that was completely
awfu
l
? Mr. Kaye read her mind: “It will be fine, Mickey. Just focus and have faith in yourself and your abilities. That's what got you here.”

Mickey managed a weak smile. There was just so much at stake! Not only her reputation, but Mr. Kaye's and FAB's as well. She tried to remember what her mom always told her: “Winning isn't everything. It's how you play the game.” Maybe that worked for elementary school gym class, but this was the big time: Paris! FIFI! The best and brightest fashion schools from around the world!

Her mind was racing that night when she went to bed in the hotel—and not even ordering a cup of warm milk from room service helped. She'd made a promise to her mom and herself that this would not be the last time they came to Paris. But what if it was? What if the students in the competition laughed at her, just like Jade and the French girls in her dream? What if FIFI thought she had no future as a designer? What then?

“Do you remember what I used to do when you were little and couldn't sleep?” her mom asked her.

“Yell, ‘Mickey, go to sleep'?” Mickey joked.

“No, I used to sing you a lullaby,” her mom replied. “Remember?”

Mickey racked her brain. Then all at once, it came to back to her.

“It was French!” she said. “Something about a boy named Jack?”

Her mom smiled and began to sing softly: “
Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques. Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous
?
”

By the time she reached the part of the song with morning bells ringing “Ding ding dong,” Mickey was fast asleep.

FIFI was the opposite of FAB. Instead of halls filled with students laughing and chatting and comparing their sketches, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. As they tiptoed around, Mickey kept one eye out for Jade. It would be just like her to arrive early and get a jump on the competition.

“They take themselves very seriously here,” Mr. Kaye said, holding a finger to his lips. “No talking above a whisper while class is in session.” He looked around and marveled, “Amazing. It's exactly the same. Even the
Silence, s'il vous plait
signs everywhere.”

JC rolled his eyes. “You're kidding, right? Who would want to go to a school like this where you have to keep quiet all the time?”

“I would. Or did,” Mr. Kaye replied. “A long, long time ago, I attended classes at FIFI, and it was the only place in the world I wanted to be.”

“So why did you leave?” Mickey asked.

“I didn't have a choice,” Mr. Kaye said. He sounded both angry and sad. “The job I thought I would have here after college, the job I always wanted, went to someone else.”

“You mean Tony the phony?” JC asked him.

“Gaston. Yes. We were once great friends, not unlike the two of you.”

“So what happened?” Mickey said. “Did you have a fight?”

“Not a fight, really. He just didn't play fair. He was too afraid I'd overshadow him.”

“Sound like any Designzilla we know?” JC elbowed Mickey. “Jade's obviously been taking lessons from the Tony playbook.”

“Regardless, I found my way to FAB and guiding brilliant young designers like the two of you,” Mr. Kaye added. “So do not embarrass me.”

Mickey and JC looked at each other. Mr. Kaye meant it. He left them waiting in the lobby and went to register.

“He sure knows how to turn a warm and fuzzy moment into a threat, doesn't he?” JC joked.

When their teacher returned, he was holding a single manila envelope. “Your ultimate challenge,” he said. “It's assigned at random, so no team has any advantage. You get what you get, and you don't get upset.”

He handed her the envelope, and she stood there staring at it. Then she closed her eyes and made a silent wish that it would be something good.

“If you're not opening it, I will,” JC said anxiously.

Finally, Mickey tore open the envelope and read the paper inside several times.

“What does it say?” JC asked. “Spill it!”

“It says ‘Fashion Hero,'” Mickey replied, puzzled. “That's it. Just two words.”

“What does that even mean?” JC asked.

“It's entirely up to your interpretation,” Mr. Kaye said. “A very FIFI assignment, as I anticipated. I suggest you two go sit in the FIFI yard and figure out what you want to make.” He glanced at his watch. “The fabric stores open in an hour, and you have one hundred dollars to spend.”

Mickey's eyes lit up. “One hundred dollars? Wow! We can really make something amazing with that much money.”

JC dragged her to the front door. “Come on, come on. Time's a-tickin'!”

They found a quiet bench and began to brainstorm.

“I'm seeing a superhero design—maybe a cape, a mask. Ooh! Red spandex leggings?” Mickey said. She pulled out her sketchbook and a red colored pencil.

JC made a face. “Ew, that's cheesy. I think we should do a Madonna early-eighties ensemble.”

“Madonna?” Mickey exclaimed. “Where do you get Madonna from?”

“Well, if there's one true fashion hero on this planet, it's her,” JC said. “Can't you just see it: black lace leggings and combat boots! A tulle skirt and a leather bustier!”

Now it was Mickey's turn to make a face. “That's just so retro. I hate it.”

“Well, I hate your idea,” JC snapped back. “So we're even.”

They continued arguing for another thirty minutes. “What about a spiderweb skirt—ooh! With a batwing blouse!”

JC groaned. “What is she supposed to be? A confused superhero?”

“I suppose you have a better idea?” Mickey asked.

“Totally! Let's do a meat dress à la Lady Gaga—with a red lace hat over her eyes. Wait! We're in Paris, so let's make it an escargot dress!”

“Stop!” Mickey said, shaking her head. “No pop star, no snails.”

“Fine—no more Spider-Man and Batman looks,” JC shot back. “Next thing you know, you're going to make our model look like the Incredible Hulk.”

Mickey held up a green colored pencil. “Now you're talkin'!”

JC grabbed the pencil out of her hand. “No way. Don't even think about it!”

Mr. Kaye came outside to find them.

“So, what have you come up with?” he asked.

“Nothing,” JC huffed. “She doesn't like any of my ideas.”

“And he thinks my ideas are cheesy!”

Mr. Kaye looked confounded. “Are you telling me you can't agree on a single design?”

Mickey and JC shook their heads in unison. “Nuh-uh.”

“Well,” their teacher said, “this is a less-than-ideal situation.”

“Are you kidding?” JC shouted. “It's a disaster. Mickey wants to walk Supergirl down the runway!”

“I said Style Girl, not Supergirl,” she interrupted.

“Same thing,” JC insisted. “With a big gold
S
on her shirt. It's just too tacky. I can't. I really can't.”

“Then don't!” Mickey suddenly shouted. “I don't need your help if that's how you feel. I'll make it myself.”

“Fine!” JC fired back.

“Fine!” Mickey said.

“This is not fine—not by any means,” Mr. Kaye said, rubbing his temples. “You're supposed to be a team, and a team works together. If Mickey does this alone…”

“I'll win,” she jumped in. “It's a great idea, Mr. Kaye, and I believe in it.”

Mr. Kaye raised an eyebrow. “All right then, if you feel that strongly.”

JC was fuming. He hadn't come all the way to Paris
not
to work on a design for the competition. He was one half of the team. But Mickey was being so stubborn…

“My cousin Angelique and I will enjoy a lovely day shopping while you slave over your design,” he said. “Have a good time.”

Mickey saw that he was hurt, but what choice did she have? There was no way she was going to send a Madonna costume down the runway. And JC just wouldn't give in. Sometimes he could be so bossy!

“I
will
have a great time—without you,” she said. The words hung between them in the air, and she knew she didn't really mean them. But it was too late to take them back.