Material Girls (25 page)

Instead, I continued down the hall of labeled doors and past the branching hallways of Adequates to the elevator. “Down,” I whispered at the voicebox. The doors opened, and with relief, I saw that the elevator cab was empty. “Basement,” I said, stepping inside quickly.

The doors closed. Inside, a stale smell—body odor and perfume, presumably from the morning's commuters—continued to clear the traces of fog from my head. What Hugo and Adele had offered me glittered with all the fun of my old life. I would be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. Chief justice—who wouldn't like the sound of that? But I knew what would happen. I'd already lived it. I'd serve for a year, maybe two, and then get transferred somewhere else, just like before. Just like the current court had been. Nothing would change. I didn't want to go back. I wanted to go forward. To find a way to do what I loved for as long as possible.

No Superior Court. I saw the nine empty chairs in my mind's eye, the current judges shocked, brokenhearted, furious. Furious enough to march in a strike? It might be the perfect time for the makeover Vivienne and the others had come up with.

I hesitated. So I was making my choice. Committing to marching and protesting and coming out publicly against Torro. I thought about the possibility of a new Torro-LeBlanc, then pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth again and thought of the alternative. What, really, did I have to lose? And there was so much to gain . . .

We needed to act fast. I juggled the various pieces in my head, trying to fit them together. It would take Vivienne, the drafters, the patternmakers; even the Junior Courts might see things our way . . . And then I had a flash of genius. Ivy Wilde could help us out. The question was, would she?

Before the elevator could finish its journey, and before I could lose my nerve, I called out “one.” The doors to the lobby opened and I stepped out. I found the quietest corner I could, took my Unum out of my briefcase, turned it on, and dialed a number. “Pick up, pick up,” I whispered.

“Hey.” Ivy Wilde's face filled my screen. Her hair was all done up like she was someplace important. “I was wondering what happened to you.”

“I'm really sorry if I'm bothering you,” I said.

“You're not. I'm just at brunch. I tried to call you after
Hot with Hyman
to thank you for the look. You probably saw—it went over well.”

“Yeah. You looked amazing. Thank you for mentioning my name.” I could do this. Just get the words out, I told myself. “I thought you might be able to do something for me.”

Ivy tilted her head to the side.

I took a deep breath. “I was wondering—since you liked the look so much—if I continued to design for you, would you stop buying Torro-LeBlanc clothing? And let people know that you aren't?”

The screen went black, and for a second I thought that she had hung up. When her voice returned, I realized she had switched over to the private audio setting.

“What do you mean?” Ivy's voice came faintly through the speaker.

“I will personally continue to design anything you want if you don't buy from Torro anymore,” I said, holding the Unum to my ear. “They don't treat their Taps fairly. People get fired and demoted left and right. No one has any say in what job they hold and for how long. And the drafters—the people actually designing the clothes, you know?—work really hard and don't get any recognition.” I remembered Hugo raising his mug to me. “They have some twisted ways of getting their workers to do what they want. I was hoping you could not wear their clothing . . . for a little while.” I paused nervously, hoping I'd made a good enough case.

Finally, Ivy spoke in the softest whisper. “Did Vivienne Graves tell you to call me?”

“What? No. I haven't talked to Vivienne in a while. Why?”

“She came by last night.”

“What?” What was Vivienne doing at Ivy's? I tried to think of possible explanations. Did she know her through Felix?

“I can't really talk about it,” said Ivy in a louder voice. “But yeah, I'll do it. What you said. I love my new look, and I'd love to wear anything you design for me.”

I unleashed a massive stream of gratitude that I knew made me sound like a fan-girl, but I didn't care. I said goodbye to Ivy and ran back to the elevator.

“Marla!” Her fringe swaying, Julia advanced on me as soon as the doors to the basement opened. “I thought we could have lunch and talk about—”

“No, thank you,” I cut her off. The things I wanted to say filled my head, but I held them back. I needed Julia to leave quietly, not report my frame of mind to the Silents. “Nothing's decided, I mean.” I leveled my voice. “I have an offer to consider. They've agreed to leave me alone to think about it. I need some time.”

Julia leaned in. “Hon, what's to think about?” Her eyes flashed seductively.

“Please, Julia. Hugo said I'd have the rest of the day to make my decision.” I lowered my voice. “He said I'd have complete control over who gets to stay on the fifth floor.” The threat was cruel, I knew, but I needed to get rid of her.

Julia paused to chew her glossed lip. “Take your time, dear,” she said. “I'll be on five if you need me.”

I made my way past her and the drafters, some craning their necks to watch me. I ignored them and headed toward my table. Felix, Randall, Dido, and Kevin looked like owls marking my approach. I leaned in as the circle of heads drew tight.

“What happened?” whispered Randall.

“How quickly can Vivienne get the former employees ready?” I asked.

Everyone exchanged glances. “I don't know,” said Felix.

“You were right,” I said to his questioning expression. I looked at Kevin. “You all were.”

“What happened?” Randall repeated.

“They offered me a new position. Chief justice of the Superior Court.”

Dido gasped.

“I can pick all the other judges. And then they drugged me to make me say yes. Placidophilus in my coffee. I could taste it.”

Randall's eyes got large. Felix's expression didn't change, but I could feel him watching me carefully.

“Did you accept?” Dido sputtered.

I glared at her. “I have till the end of the day to decide. But no. I'm not going to.”

“Right,” said Dido, shrinking a little.

“P pills,” said Kevin, shaking his head. “That's messed up.”

I pressed both hands on the table. “So what I want to know,” I whispered, “is what's stopping us from getting up and walking out right now.”

For the first time since I'd known him, Felix appeared to be at a loss for words. He opened his mouth.

“Torro fired its Superior Court this weekend,” I went on. “If we walk out this morning with the patternmakers, and get the ex–Superior Court judges to join, that's the majority of the tapped workforce. The Silents have got to listen. Who knows? We might convince the Junior Courts to walk too. And the best thing—Ivy Wilde has agreed not to buy from Torro-LeBlanc for a while. I just called her.”

“Really? You know her that well?” said Dido. “That's totally prime.”

“Leverage,” muttered Kevin.

“Yes, leverage,” I repeated. “Call Vivienne. Tell her to get down here with the fired workers. Call the media, too.”

“Now?” said Kevin.

“The way these things usually work,” said Felix, finding his voice at last, “is that we present our demands. The board sees them so they know what we want, then we threaten a strike if they don't comply.”

I thought about this idea for a half second. “That seems like a feeble waste of time. I've been up there. The Silents are never going to listen to us unless we show them we mean business.” I picked up Felix's Unum. “You said about a third of the drafters and patternmakers are on our side? Can you send the makeover demands to them? And to the fired judges, too?”

“I can, but—”

“Felix.” I looked at him hard. “There's
no
Superior Court. Tomorrow, though I won't be on it, the Silents will appoint a new one. There's not going to be a better time to do this. It might blow up in our faces; it might not. But if we have this chance to get rid of the courts once and for all, how can you sit around? I personally can't stand the thought of sitting here in the basement one more minute.”

In the silence that followed, the atmosphere in our circle changed. It became real, the crazy gamble of what I was suggesting. I watched as a deranged grin broke out on Randall's face, then Kevin's. “Can we really do this?” whispered Dido.

“You win.” Felix's eyes flickered at me. “Let's do it.”

I could feel my adrenaline spiking. “Send out the demands,” I ordered.

Felix turned to Kevin. “You have the addresses saved?”

“I'm on it.” Kevin spent a few moments on his Unum. I sent him the addresses of my former bench mates so he could include them as well. “Done,” he said. Around me, in the silence, I heard the simultaneous buzzing of Unums. This was it.

“Oh, jeez,” said Dido.

“No turning back now,” Felix said gleefully. “Kev, go outside and call Vivienne. We'll start things off with current employees. Her recruits can join us later today, whenever they can get down here. Then start calling reporters.”

Kevin nodded. “Prime. Good luck.” Quickly, he clasped hands with Felix and jogged toward the elevator.

Around us, I noticed people were looking at their Unums curiously. Felix saw it too. “Okay, we've got to rally the drafters,” he said. “Go ahead, Marla. Tell them your story. Ask them to follow us.”

I almost expressed surprise, almost asked why Felix was willing to let someone else be the spokesperson for the new Torro-LeBlanc. But the protest died on my tongue. I
wanted
to speak. The company I'd loved so much had crushed the dreams of so many. It made me angry.

“I will,” I said. Feeling brave, I grabbed Felix's hand in the same clasp he'd exchanged with Kevin. I clasped Randall's and Dido's hands, too. I clambered on top of the drafting table, kicking the pencils to the floor with a clatter as I stood.

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me,” I began loudly. Every head in the basement swiveled toward me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Randall nodding encouragingly. “My name is Marla Klein. I'm a drafter,” I continued, trying to project my voice as best I could. “I've worked at Torro-LeBlanc since my Tap, just like all of you. I designed the eco-chic look that Ivy Wilde wore this weekend.” A hush settled over the room. I thought about what to say next. The truth would work. It was enough. “This morning, Hugo LeBlanc, Torro's chief creative officer, told me that I could be the new chief justice of the Superior Court. I would get to pick the other eight judges.”

Immediately, the room filled with angry murmurs. I put up my hands. “It's not fair, is it?” I said loudly. “Every day, we draft until our fingers cramp. And our designs are picked at random by strangers. And if we do get picked, most of us don't even have the money to buy the outfits we draft.”

Some of the drafters, the ones I figured already knew about the makeover, started to nod. “Damn right!” one shouted. The others stared at me expectantly.

“So, I've decided to turn down Hugo's offer, generous though it is.” I let sarcasm coat my words. “Just because design houses have drafters, patternmakers, sifters, selectors, and judges, it doesn't mean that's the only way it can work. On your Unums, you have a proposal for a new way to structure Torro-LeBlanc. A company makeover.” I thought back to the details of my conversation with Felix that morning. “A way that lets people work together in creative teams. A way that lets us share leadership. And a way that lets us get paid fairly.” I saw a few drafters craning their necks to read their neighbors' Unums. “If someone at your table didn't get the message, please send it along,” I added, glancing down at Felix. He gave me a nod.

“This morning, the Silents I met with bribed me and drugged me to get me to agree to their plan.” I ignored the shocked murmuring. “I think a better way to get people to do something is just to ask. So I'm asking you to put down your pencils right now and walk out with us. Don't let Torro take advantage of you anymore. If we all walk out right now, they have to take notice. They have to listen to our demands. We have the support of—”

“Get down from there!” A shrill voice cut me off. I turned and noticed Winnie Summers moving toward me through the maze of tables. “Do you really think you'll get away with this?” she yelled, looking around the room. “You'll all be fired. Is that what you want?” Her usually neat bangs were split like curtains in the center of her forehead.

“Winnie, how can you be happy?” I asked as I stared down at her. It was a question I'd wondered since my first week in the basement. “You judged for three years, and now you don't work with fashion at all. You just manage really unhappy people.”

Winnie ignored me. “Godfrey? Godfrey, I assume you're going to let them know about this upstairs?” She cast about and finally located the director of the Drafting Division standing near the elevator, holding a white cup. Winnie put her hands on her hips. “Well?”

Godfrey tilted his head and looked at his assistant. After a pause, he walked over to a free stool and sat down. He took a sip from the cup. “I'll get to it,” he said slowly. “No rush. I intend to finish my coffee while it's warm.” And he looked up at me, the side of his mouth twitching up in a smile.

More than half the drafters clapped and cheered. I beamed at him.

Winnie made an exasperated face. “Fine,” she said over the noise. “Then
I'll
go tell them. And I advise you all to stay down here,” she chirped. “Or there'll be big trouble.”

As she made her way to the elevator, a handful of drafters followed in her wake. Tess Peterson was one. I guessed the others, like Tess, were the most successful drafters, the ones whose ideas got approved most often. They would be loyal to the old Torro. It was a small group, but the sight still discouraged me. Other drafters hovered behind uncertainly. Felix and I had the support of many, but not all.