Authors: Iman Sid
As soon as I was thrust out
of the doors, I was blinded by a maelstrom of flashing, epilepsy-inducing lights. I stood, scared stiff, like a rabbit in headlights.
A small woman in sky-high stilettos holding a microphone catwalked over to me, followed by a cameraman.
‘
Carol Klein for Fashion TV. Who are you wearing?’ Carol said, shoving a microphone up to my face.
I sucked in my tummy and bottom,
then took a breath. ‘Felicity Diamond.’
‘
Felicity Diamond?’ she repeated. ‘Is she a new designer?’
I nodded.
‘It’s called the Aphrodite.’
‘
It is absolutely gorgeous. Sultry. Sexy. Sophisticated,’ she chanted, turning to the camera. ‘Well, I know what I’ll be ordering for my birthday next week!’
I posed for a few more shots at the request of
the paps before heading back inside. My phone rang inside my matching handbag, also designed by Felicity.
‘
Hey, Anna! I just saw the dress on Fashion TV! You looked A-MAZE-ING!’ Felicity squealed down the phone, like an overexcited puppy being told to fetch a ball.
No way! I was actually on the box! It was all beginning to feel more and more like a strange, surreal dream.
‘On my way out of The Dorchester I noticed the Fashion TV crew,’ Felicity continued. ‘So I rushed home as fast as I could before they went live on air.’
‘
I can’t believe it,’ I breathed in disbelief.
‘
Neither can I,’ Felicity said, delighted. ‘Anyway, I’d better let you go and enjoy your dinner. I’ll see you later, Miss Manners.’
As I was ushered into Alain Ducasse, I took my seat and smiled to myself. I was going to make sure that nothing stood between me and the Miss Manners crown. To win, I needed to play as dirty as the rest of the socialites and beat them at their own game. Sophie had he
r suspicions, as did Pinkie. So my next mission was to lift any suspicion from me and transfer it to Genevieve, who, according to the press, had every reason for sabotaging Pinkie.
I sat at the Lumiè
re Table, a table for six surrounded by a curtain of 4,500 bedazzling fibre-optic strands falling like a shimmering waterfall from the ceiling. The rest of the girls were sat on two tables of four, unimpressed that I happened to get to the Lumière first. On my table were Brie, Pinkie, Genevieve, Frunella and Diamanté.
Brie ordered the seasonal
spring menu comprising seven courses at £180 per head, which was worrying, considering we’d only trained for three courses. What made matters worse was the fact that Brie was sat at my table, which meant that she was going to watch me like a hawk on a battlefield.
But once the courses arrived, I forgot all about the training.
The savoury courses consisted of scallops (shell fish) topped with caviar, duck foie gras (duck liver), Scottish lobster, turbot (grumpy-looking flatfish) fillet, beef fillet, and a slab of Brie (Brie the cheese, that is. Man, I needed a breath mint).
But the best part was, undoubtedly, the desert.
A coco caramel delight with lemon-vanilla sorbet, and a rose and raspberry pleasure.
And, as if that weren
’t enough, out rolled a trolley laden with foliage – the chocolate mint tea was nipped fresh from the plant – followed by another trolley with big sweetie shop jars of salted caramels, nougat, chocolates and marshmallow. I was in heaven.
Suddenly, the past week of nam
e-changing, corset-wearing and gobstopper-sucking all seemed worth it.
20
Dress to Impress
FRIDAY, 29th APRIL
Phoenix Valentine was spotted leaving Alain Ducasse restaurant yesterday evening dressed in an exquisite Felicity Diamond column dress, named the Aphrodite.
The Miss Manners contestant sparkled from head to toe and was the envy of the evening. Felicity Diamond has already accrued a number of fans since her dress appeared live on national television last night.
What do you think of Phoenix’s look last night?
‘I can’t believe it!’ Felicity chirped, holding a copy of Friday’s
Metro
proudly in her hand. ‘They’re saying my dress is “exquisite”! And thanks to you, people actually know my name!’
‘
Yes, and Anna’s blog has won a Bloggie,’ Tara added glumly.
‘
What?!’ I said, surprised.
‘
But don’t worry, it’s not all good news.’ Tara’s face dropped like a breast out of a bra. ‘Obviously you haven’t read
The Sun
today. Apparently, they’re saying Genevieve stole Pinkie’s diary, even though we know that’s impossible. The press seem to think they’ve caught her out after reading a sentence on your blog yesterday: “We used to be friends, but now we’re rivals,”’ Tara read, looking at me accusingly. ‘What are you doing, Anna? I thought you were trying to win a contest, not frame people. What’s happening to you? I mean, I don’t feel like I know who you are anymore. Who are you?’ Tara frowned expectantly, then stomped out of the room.
‘
Oh, don’t be such a faux pas, Tara,’ I called after her.
‘
See, that’s what I mean!’ Tara shouted from her bedroom. ‘The Anna I knew would never use words like faux pas.’
I closed my eyes in an attempt to block everything out, then turned to Felicity.
‘You know who I am, right?’
Maybe Tara was right
– was I changing? Maybe I was going through some sort of a Kafka-esque metamorphosis?
‘
Listen,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘I’ve almost finished making your dress for tonight’s masquerade ball.’
‘
Really?’ I asked, brightening up. ‘Can I see it?’
Felicity shook her head.
‘It’s not ready yet. But I’ll make sure it’s perfect for tonight.’
‘
Can’t you just wave a magic wand and sing “Bippity Boppity Boo?”’ I said with a half-smile.
‘
I wish.’ Felicity sighed dreamily.
I double-checked myself in the full
-length mirror. I was wearing the off-white cable-knit Gerard Darel jumper, Houlihans, ankle boots and cape. I never used to look in the mirror much, but now I couldn’t stop. I had become a bit of a perfectionist, finding faults in just about everything.
It was slightly awkward on the Tube that morning. I was sitting opposite a girl reading a copy of the
Metro
who kept looking up at me. I don’t like being stared at. It makes me paranoid. And when I’m paranoid, I get nervous.
At first, I felt a little self-conscious, thinking that I
’d probably still got toothpaste stains around my mouth. But then I remembered the article Felicity read out in the morning and I realised the girl was trying to work out if I was one and the same person.
When I finally arrived at The Dorchester, I was shocked to fi
nd the ballroom was filled with sweetly fragranced flowers, easels, sewing machines, tailor’s dummies, a grand piano, Shakespeare texts and music scores.
‘
Good morning, girls,’ Brie called out. ‘Today is your final day at the academy, and my goodness, do we have a day planned for you. We will be focusing on the talent round of the contest. So, here with us for the earlier part of the day is dressmaker Porphyria Green, who runs the Porphyria Green School of Sewing; Judith Blacklock of the Judith Blacklock Flower School; botanical painter Coral Guest and Michael Longhorn, resident pianist here at The Dorchester. Please give them all a welcome applause.’
All the girls, minus Pinkie and Genevieve
, who were giving each other the evils, applauded the tutors like hungry sea lions.
‘
Dressmaking,’ Porphyria proceeded, ‘is a dying art. There’s been a lot of talk about the lost art of cooking, but what people never seem to mourn is the lost art of dressmaking. Now, domestic science, in my day, consisted of two double periods a week. In one week, we cooked and baked, and in the other it was needlework. We sewed up buttons, stitched and embroidered a pump bag, and there was a particularly awful paisley blouse which I never wore because it was deeply unfashionable and the collar was wonky. Unfortunately, such classes no longer exist. But forget gingham cookery aprons, PE skirts, draft excluders and pump bags. Today, I will be teaching you how to make a dress.’
The girls looked at one another as if she
’d just asked them to reconstruct the Eiffel Tower. And as for me, I knew I was all thumbs. The last stitch I could remember was the one I got whilst running to catch a train the other day.
‘
In front of you, you’ll find a selection of basic tools you’ll need in order to get off the mark, including a sewing machine, tape measure, scissors, pins, tailor’s chalk, pencil and ruler. Of course, as you’ll only have twenty-four hours to make the dress, no one is expecting a Jean Paul Gaultier recreation.’
‘
Funny you should mention Jean Paul Gaultier,’ Pinkie interjected. ‘My wardrobe is filled with his fabulous creations.’
She
’s the pink of perfection from her prissy pink nose, to her custard complexion and eleven pink toes
, I sung to myself, remembering a catchy tune from sixties feel-good movie,
Summer Magic
.
‘
Lovely, Pinkie. But today, we’ll be making our own creations,’ Porphyria continued, picking up a catalogue. ‘Now, you’ll find several catalogues containing a number of patterns you’ll be able to recreate, most of which are
Vogue
reissues. Please take a look through the catalogue and pick a pattern, then make a mock-up in calico.’
What was this,
Woman’s Hour
on Radio 4? I mean, how was I supposed to make a dress? I could barely make pasta. I used to hate home economics at school. I was always being told off for burning the food. Plus, I couldn’t remember any of the recipes anyway. Basically, it was a total waste of time. At least the teachers got paid for it.
‘
But before we begin,’ she continued, ‘let’s take a look at the basic principles of machine sewing, serging and understanding patterns.’
Serging? I bet that word isn
’t even in the English dictionary!
‘
Now that you’ve picked your pattern, the first thing I want you to do is wind the elastic thread around the bobbin, place the bobbin in your sewing machine, then place normal sewing thread for the top thread.’
I hadn
’t even opened the catalogue yet, let alone chosen a pattern.
I wish Felicity w
ere here
, I sulked.
She’d know exactly what to do
.
Por
phyria continued, ‘Set your machine to a straight stitch and put it on the longest length possible. Once you’ve finished, let’s test on a scrap. Slowly start stitching and make sure to lock your stitches, or the elastic will pull right out.’ A few seconds later, she raised the piece of material triumphantly in front of her face. ‘
Et voilà!
’
I looked down at my pathetic attempt and felt sick. It looked like something a dog had chewed, digested, then excreted...
then possibly chewed again.
‘
Okay, so one by one, I want each of you to hold up your garments for inspection,’ Porphyria chimed.
Porphyria
’s next comments as she skimmed past each girl were ‘Very good’, ‘Well done’ and ‘Lovely’. But then it was my turn to hold up my dog’s dinner.
As soon as I stood up, Porphyria looked as if she
’d accidentally wet herself. All the girls burst into uproarious laughter. What was so pant-wettingly funny?
Probably the fact that they
’ve just noticed their reflections in the mirror
, I decided.
I followed their gaze and looked down.
To my horror, I found that I’d stitched the tacky garment onto my Gerard Darel jumper! Oh no! Danko was going to KILL me!
‘
Oh, I love how you’ve customised wool with calico,’ Pinkie taunted through her tic-tac teeth.
‘
Here,’ Porphyria interjected. ‘Stop panicking and use these stitch rippers. But you’ll need to take off the jumper first.’
What?
! I wasn’t wearing anything else underneath the jumper, only my bra. And there was no way I was going to unveil my £2.50 cheap-as-chips Primark bra for the whole world to ogle at!
But then I remembered my FCUK cape, so I
pulled my arms from the sleeves and wrapped it around myself before pulling the jumper off over my head.
Once she
’d removed all the stitches and I was wearing the jumper again, we were finally able to move on to the next part of the lesson.
‘
Okay,’ Porphyria said. ‘So, lesson number one, try not to stitch the material to the clothes you are wearing.’
The
whole class laughed, which I thought was pretty immature.
‘
Next up we’ll be taking each other’s measurements then creating a mock-up using calico, which we’ll be laying over the tailor’s dummies later. But first, using the tape measures provided, I want you to take your bust measurements for the width, followed by armpit to knee measurements for the length. Then, once you’ve ironed out the fabric, I want you to lay the top of the pattern so that it’s parallel with the crosswise grain.’
Crosswise? Lengthwise? Selv
edge? True bias? What was this woman going on about? I didn’t have the faintest, so I just copied what she was doing.
‘
Next,’ she breathed, ‘pin your pattern to the fabric and cut around the pattern.’
Ouch! See, this is why I hated sewing. I always ended up pricking myself
.