Authors: Elizabeth Briggs
“Like, dumpster diving?” Nika asked, sounding disgusted. For once, I was in agreement with her.
“It’s up to you how you get the materials. There are no restrictions, as long as you don’t pay for them with money. And don’t do anything illegal, obviously. But I will say this: we are hoping to see some unconventional materials. If your dress is made entirely of fabric, we won’t be impressed.”
Exploring New York seemed a lot less fun now that I knew I’d have to be scouring the city for free stuff to make an outfit with. I’d known a challenge like this was coming, since they always did one where the designers had to use unconventional materials, but that didn’t mean I was prepared for it.
“You have four hours to explore,” Lola said. “And one day to design your New York-inspired looks with the materials you find.”
Kelsey handed us each an oversized tote bag to put our materials in, plus a map of the city. Then they released us into the wild. Gavin was at the door first and held it open for the rest of us, being a gentleman again. I waited until everyone else had dashed out into the city, then slipped through the door. Once on the other side, I took a moment to close my eyes, feel the morning sun bathing my skin, and listen to the vibrant pulse of the city before I turned back to Gavin.
“I’ve never been to New York before. I can’t wait to check it out. Do you have any ideas on where to go?”
“Not really. My two visits before were brief. I auditioned and didn’t have time for much else.”
We studied our maps for a moment. We only had four hours, and I was torn between hunting down materials and wanting to experience as much of New York as possible. But if our time ran out and we hadn’t collected enough materials we could use to make a look, we’d be screwed.
I gave up and tried to close my map, but couldn’t figure out how to get it folded correctly, finally crumpling it up and shoving it in my bag. “I think we should just pick a direction and start walking.”
“Spontaneous. I like it.” He folded his map precisely, not a single crease out of place. “Central Park isn’t far. I suggest we wander in that direction.”
“That sounds perfect.”
He slipped his hand into mine, and I was so startled I almost pulled away. But of course, he was doing it for the cameras. I smiled at Gavin in my best impression of a lovesick girl, and together we started down the street in the direction he said would take us to Central Park. My idea of wandering the city and seeing where it led us would have made Carla crazy, but Gavin seemed willing to go with it, as long as he could provide some sort of direction or goal. The cameraman followed, recording everything.
The city flowed around us, people hustling to work, grabbing coffee and hot dogs, honking and walking and living their daily lives. We passed small neighborhood markets and hole-in-the-wall restaurants packed with people and used bookstores that looked like they’d been there forever. The skyscrapers towered over all, and the street was flooded with a sea of yellow cabs.
The city was so different from Los Angeles. LA was more relaxed, more spread out, with a few clusters of tall buildings scattered around the city. New York was more frantic, more rushed, more crammed together. But I loved its energy.
The air was especially cool for the last week of August, and clouds blotted out the sky, casting everything in a fierce gray tone. Fall seemed to be coming early this year. Yet I was outside and had a handsome man at my side in a city I’d never explored before. It couldn’t get much better than that.
“How did you become a designer?” Gavin asked me as we walked down the street together, scouring the sidewalk for anything we could pick up and use for the challenge.
“My parents came here from Korea before my sister and I were born. They opened up a dry cleaner in northern California, and for most of childhood we were pretty poor. I got all of my older sister Helen’s hand-me-downs. Her clothes. Her Barbies. I hated it. I wanted my own stuff. All my friends wanted to be just like their older brothers or sisters, but even back then, I didn’t want to be anything like her.”
I picked up an empty Dr. Pepper can on the side of the road and tried to imagine how I’d make a dress with it, but ended up throwing it in a nearby trash bin. “We didn’t have money to buy new things, so I started making clothes for my Barbies. Then I switched to making clothes for myself. I used to even steal clothes from my mom or from our house for fabric. My parents hated it. They told me to stop wasting my time on stuff like that. And they weren’t super happy about me ruining their curtains or seat cushions either.”
“Why does it not surprise me that you were something of a handful?” Gavin asked with a laugh.
“I really was. Still am, I guess. My poor parents.” I laughed with him. “As I got older, my parents were able to expand their dry cleaners into a chain, and things got a lot better for us. But by then, I was hooked and loved making my own clothes. As much as my parents hoped I would grow out of that phase, I never did.”
We passed a street vendor making something that smelled amazing and both of us stared at it with longing, but unfortunately neither of us had money on us. Once we’d pulled ourselves away, Gavin asked, “So why are you in a pre-med program and not in fashion school?”
“I don’t know. I guess… I guess my parents convinced me I’d never make it as a fashion designer. They said it was a waste of time and effort to try something that had no guaranteed payoff or to pursue a career that was so uncertain and unstable. And when my sister became a doctor, they pushed me to follow in her footsteps. Being a doctor was a much safer path, even if it bored me to tears, so I went for it.”
We checked the steps leading down to a subway station that reeked of urine, but didn’t find anything we could use. We briefly considered taking a lone traffic cone, but a cop on a horse trotted by and we decided against it.
“Why didn’t you say no to becoming a doctor?” Gavin asked.
I shrugged. “I was raised to respect my parents. I figured they were probably right, and it was too risky for me to go into fashion. And I guess I worried I wasn’t good enough to make it as a designer.”
He stopped in the middle of the busy sidewalk and turned to me, taking my face in his hands as he stared into my eyes. “Never doubt for a second that you deserve to be on this show.”
He rendered me speechless, my heart racing under his touch and his gaze and his words. Even with the city rushing around us, all I saw were his eyes, the same color as the sky above. I smiled at him and took his hands, kissing each one, including the one with the rose. I wanted to know the story behind why he had his sister’s name tattooed on his hand, but I suspected it wasn’t something he shared easily, judging by how he’d shut down when I’d mentioned it.
“Now it’s your turn,” I said as we continued walking. “How did you become a designer? You don’t really seem the type.”
“Why? Because I’m not gay?” He said the words sarcastically. “What a load of rubbish. I don’t know why everyone keeps dwelling on that. Apparently in the States, if a man is clean, well-dressed, and interested in art and culture, he must be gay.”
“No! That’s silly. Straight guys can like clothes and sewing and design, too. You just seem… I don’t know.” I remembered the way he’d designed our steampunk skirt like a blueprint and how he built pyramids out of coffee creamers when we ate. “You seem like you enjoy the structure and design of it more than the fashion aspect. If that makes sense.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “I’m surprised you noticed that.”
“You also introduced yourself as an artist to me. Not a designer.”
“I’ve learned many women lose interest if I tell them I’m a fashion designer. And I very much wanted your interest.”
“Those women are dumb,” I said. “But you haven’t answered the question.”
“My little sister, Rose, was the one who grew up interested in fashion. We both loved art and design and creating things, but as you guessed, I was more interested in architecture and structural engineering. That’s what I planned to do with my life. But when my sister…” His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat. “When my sister got leukemia, things changed.”
I took his hand again, and this time it wasn’t for show. “How old was she?”
“Fifteen. I was seventeen.”
“I’m sorry.” I squeezed his hand, both dreading this story and desperately wanting him to go on. I’d never heard Gavin speak so openly about his past or his life outside the show.
“It got harder for her to work on her clothes with the chemo, but it made her happy, so I started helping her more and more. We created beautiful looks together, but as she got weaker, I ended up taking over completely. She would guide me and supervise, and once the clothes were done, I’d convince her to wear them. Even once she was in the hospital. Even after she lost all her hair. Even when she was so weak she couldn’t sit up without help. I still wanted her to feel beautiful.”
My heart clenched, and something shifted in me. “Gavin, that’s…” My throat felt tight. His story had brought out all sorts of emotions in me that I usually tried very hard not to feel. “That’s a really wonderful thing you did for her.”
We walked together in silence for a minute before he spoke again. “She passed away when I was twenty, just shy of her eighteenth birthday. By then, I’d already switched my focus from architecture to fashion design so I could carry on her dream and her memory. I got the tattoo on my hand the day after her funeral. As long as I’m designing clothes, I feel like she’s still with me, guiding my hand.”
God, this guy was nearly bringing me to tears. I’d had no idea this incredibly sweet, thoughtful, dedicated man was under his cocky, sarcastic exterior.
No, that was a lie. I’d always known it was there. I just didn’t want to see it. Because if I did? I’d have to admit that he wasn’t a jerk. That he wasn’t an asshole. That he was a good guy.
And that I liked him a lot.
Dammit, when had that happened?
We passed a homeless guy with a giant cart full of stuff we’d be able to use, but I didn’t have the heart to ask him for anything.
“Is being a designer what you really want to do with your life?” I asked Gavin.
“Of course it is. Why?”
“You originally wanted to be an architect. Do you ever miss it?”
“Sometimes. Like when I look at buildings like that,” he said, gesturing to the Empire State Building in the distance. “I wish I could make something as permanent and lasting as that. But many of the same things I love about architecture, I love about making clothes, too. The design aspect. The creation of something that is both useable and beautiful. The merging of function and art.” He shrugged. “I started doing it to be closer to my sister, but I grew to enjoy it. So don’t worry, I’m very happy with my direction in life. The question is, are you?”
“No,” I admitted. “I don’t want to become a doctor. I don’t want to follow in my sister’s footsteps. That’s why I came on the show. I thought if I won, I could prove to my parents that I can succeed at this.”
His fingers tightened around mine, his face serious. “Julie, the only person you need to prove that to is yourself.”
I slid my arms around his neck and gave him a fierce kiss, showing him how much his encouragement meant to me. I didn’t know how much of what he said was for the camera, but I appreciated it either way. And after today’s conversation, I could guarantee the producers wouldn’t be sending us home any time soon.
As we broke apart, something caught his eye. He moved around me to a bus stop and grabbed a newspaper off the bench. He held it up to me, before shoving it into his bag. “My first material.”
“Nice one.” I’d completely forgotten about the challenge and all of that. Dammit. He was always doing that to me, distracting me from the goal. I needed to get my head back in the game. Gavin was still focused on the challenge. He hadn’t forgotten, not even for a second.
It’s not real
, I reminded myself.
He’s your competition. And this is all a game.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
W
e reached Central Park and started exploring, looking for materials we could use. Gavin collected more newspaper, even grabbing some out of the trash and recycling bins. As we carried on, I couldn’t stop admiring the leaves, which had just started to blanket the grass and walkways with a hint of autumn color. I began collecting them, grabbing the best ones, ranging from green to yellow to red to brown. I gathered some branches and sticks that had fallen, too. Even a few stray flower petals.
I had an idea for what to do with my look, but I needed
some
sort of fabric to arrange my materials on. How was I supposed to get fabric for free? While Gavin spoke with two men playing chess, I wandered off on my own, the cameraman right at my heels. I looked on park benches, under trees, beside fountains, and even inside trash cans. I was going to need a good long shower after this. Yet I couldn’t find any useable fabric. The stuff I did find was either too small, too gross, or completely wrong.
Overhead, the sky was growing darker and more ominous, threatening to open up and unleash on us at any moment. The air had that crisp, misty feel that always preceded rain, but they hadn’t given us umbrellas or anything. Hopefully the weather would hold out for another hour until the end of the challenge. I wondered how the other designers were doing and where they’d gone.
I had almost given up on finding any useable fabric when I came to an area with vendors selling different wares or handing out pamphlets and flyers. I spotted a pretty redheaded girl about my age setting up a table with candles and soap on a thin, flowy, white fabric almost like gauze. Exactly what I needed.
“Hey,” I said to her. She looked up at me and then at the camera guy behind me. “I’m a designer on
Behind The Seams
. Have you heard of it?”
“Sure,” she said. “I love that show.”
“Great!” I gave her a big, friendly smile. “For our current challenge, we have to wander around New York and find materials and fabric for free. I was wondering if, by any chance, I could use your tablecloth?”