Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, I set out for the arts and crafts cabin to find Big Bertha, the old Singer sewing machine that once belonged to Gordy’s grandmother. When she died, long before I was even a camper, Gordy couldn’t bear to part with the machine and had found it a home at Chinooka. I taught myself to sew on Big Bertha and constructed many of the costumes for the centennial production of Fiddler on the Roof on her. Gordy told me last night that my work on Fiddler had inspired a new generation of campers to become interested in fashion design. To encourage them, the camp purchased brand new electric sewing machines and even set up a small workshop so the kids would have a place to create. Even though Big Bertha retired from Chinooka the same summer I did, she’d always have a home in the arts and crafts cabin.
I walked into the studio and looked around. Hanging from the walls were all the past winning Color War plaques by year. I counted back to the banner from my last summer at Chinooka, when Perry was the captain of the Villains team and I was the captain of the Heroes. The Villains plaque featured different bad guys from comics, movies, and TV, depicted in black-and-white mug shots. Their names and prison identification numbers were printed below each portrait. The word Villains was spray-painted across the plaque in bright blue. It was still irritatingly clever. Perry’s team truly deserved the win.
I went to the back of the studio where the additional workspace had been added for the new sewing machines, dress forms, and drafting tables. Big Bertha was propped up against the far wall, almost as if she was the one in charge, supervising the other sewing machines. I ran my fingers over her iron frame and sat down. I pumped the foot pedal a few times and thought back to the dozens of afternoons I’d sat in this very seat, turning out piece after piece, wondering how I was going to break the news to my mother that I wanted to be a fashion designer and not a lawyer. Back when I was just a camper here, I didn’t have the first clue what that really meant, or how competitive and difficult a road it would be to become one. All I knew was I had millions of ideas, and fashion was the medium I best expressed them.
But Trini was right. At some point along the way, I’d convinced myself that someone else’s vision had to be more brilliant and their execution more refined than mine. Whether it was losing Top Designer in the home stretch or concealing my feelings for Joshua, whenever the spotlight shone too big or too bright, I ducked out of it. Now, with the eyes of the world on me, I was doing it again.
I grabbed a sketch pad and some pencils from the shelf and stuffed them into my bag. I walked down to the lake and sat on an old wooden chaise lounge and pulled out my phone to scroll through Gemma’s most recent emails to see if there were any new developments. She’d sent over updates to the dossier including an additional meet and greet with foreign dignitaries and heads of state—bringing the grand total of wedding ensembles to fourteen. The wedding dress, plus thirteen additional looks.
When I finished, I tucked the phone into my bag and leaned back on the chair. After spending last weekend in gray and dreary England, the sun felt fantastic on my skin, and I soaked in the Vitamin D. I was starting to doze off when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I blinked my eyes open.
“Gigi, right?”
Nodding, I propped myself up on my elbows, using my hand as a visor from the sun so I could see her through the glare.
“I’m Linda, Alan’s wife. We met last night. Do you happen to know if the Canteen’s open? I’m looking for some Band-Aids.”
Linda was dressed as Elizabeth I for the Renaissance fair. As was typical for Elizabeth, the dress was white, symbolizing virginity and purity, with long sleeves as well as neck and wrist ruffs. It was gorgeously hand embroidered with all sorts of colored thread and decorated with fake diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. Linda’d clearly been laced into a corset and was wearing several petticoats under the gown.
To complete the authenticity of her appearance, she was even wearing replicas of the ruby and diamond ring containing a miniature enameled portrait of Anne Boleyn and the watch encased in a bracelet given to the Queen by Robert Dudley. It had been the first known wristwatch in England and a detail Perry desperately wanted to include in Elizabeth. I’d helped him find the right moment in the second act and he came up with an incredible duet between Elizabeth and Dudley about time and missed opportunities.
“No, I don’t think it’s open until later. I might have some in my cabin, though.”
“That’d be great. These shoes are giving me the worst blisters.”
I looked down at her period kitten heels. “Those do not look comfortable.”
“They’re not.”
Linda slipped off her shoes and held them as she followed me back to my cabin.
When we got inside, I poked around the bathroom and through all the drawers of the small cabinet under the sink.
“Found them.” I passed her the tin box.
“Bless you.” She pulled two out and placed them over two sizable blisters on each of her heels. “I should be able to get through the day now.”
“Want to borrow some flip-flops? I don’t think anyone will see them under that skirt.”
“We try to remain as authentically dressed as possible. It’s all part of the experience.”
“You look pretty on point. I’ve actually seen the real version of the dress you’re wearing on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum. It’s different, though, to see it on an actual person and not on a dress form. This might sound weird, but would you mind if I sketched you in it?”
“Are you an artist?”
“Fashion designer.”
She grabbed my arm. “Wait, are you the Georgica of G. Malone? The one designing Victoria Ellicott’s wedding gown? Gordy was going on and on about you when we first got here.”
“That’s me.”
Her eyes got huge. “Alan and I are true Anglophiles, still, by anyone’s standards, getting asked to design the dress for the future Queen of England is a real honor.”
“Thank you. So, it’s okay if I sketch you?”
“Are you kidding? Wait ‘til I tell the girls at the fair. Where should I stand?”
I picked up a pad and pencil off the couch. “Right there’s fine.”
Linda scooted back a few inches and then contorted herself into an over-exaggerated pose, careening over a chair, her hips and butt in the air.
“You can just stand how you normally do. I’m trying to capture the essence of the dress.”
“Do you know much about her?” Linda asked.
I looked up from behind the sketch pad. “Who?”
“Queen Elizabeth.”
“Probably not as much as you do, but I know a bit.”
“I think I fell in love with her as a girl. I read a book about her relationship with Robert Dudley and was hooked.”
I motioned her to slide over. “Can you turn a bit to the right?”
“There’s just something so tragically beautiful about two people who long to be together, who love each other but can’t make it work because of obligation and ambition. You know who captured that sentiment perfectly?”
I exhaled. “Perry Gillman in Elizabeth?”
“Yes! Oh, that’s right, Gordy mentioned he worked at the camp here a few years ago. Did you two know each other?”
“Can you turn a bit more to the left so I can get the dress’s train?”
Linda complied and shifted all her weight to the other leg.
“That’s perfect—stand just like that,” I said.
“Did you know Perry Gillman?” she asked again.
“A bit, yeah.”
“Gordy said he’s not the least bit surprised at how successful he’s become.”
“No, me neither.”
Linda looked down at her watch. “Are we almost finished? I told Alan I’d try to make the afternoon performance of A Man for All Seasons.”
“I’m all set,” I said, closing the sketch pad. “Thanks for your help.”
“Can I ask what you’re using the sketch for?”
“Honestly, I’m not really sure yet. I’m hoping it triggers some sort of inspiration.”
“Well, if anyone can, it’s Elizabeth.”
“So I hear.” I smiled and handed her back her shoes from the counter. “You sure you don’t want to borrow my flip-flops?”
“Nah, I’m okay. The corset’s the real bitch anyway.”
Later that night, I wandered over to The Canteen. A few of the Renaissance fair guests were hanging out in costume at the picnic tables in front. They waved as I walked past to the ordering counter. I tapped the bell, and Rita opened the shutters.
“Hiya, hon, what can I get ya?”
“Hi, Rita. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Georgica Goldstein. I was a counselor here a few years ago.”
She looked me up and down and narrowed her eyes before opening them wide. “Of course, you were the counselor who was friends with Jamie Malone from Top Designer.”
“I was on the show too,” I mumbled.
“How’s he doing?” she asked over me.
“He’s great,” I answered.
“Glad to hear it. What can I get you?”
I ran my finger down the laminated menu. “I’ll take a Chipwich.”
“Coming right up.”
I took the ice cream over to an empty picnic table and sat down. I pulled the sketch of Linda out of my pocket and used a rock to smooth it out across the table top. It was a beautiful gown. Regal and majestic, but also feminine and delicate. There was so much about the dress that reminded me of Victoria, but it didn’t quite capture her modern and classic style. I folded the sketch up and stuffed it back into my pocket. I finished the Chipwich and wandered down to the amphitheater.
Alan and the other members of his theater troupe were rehearsing A Man for All Seasons up on the stage. I took a seat in the audience and watched the scene from Act I when Henry VIII visits Sir Thomas Moore at his home to make the case for his marriage to be annulled, so he can marry Anne Boleyn. Alan was actually really good—all of the actors were. When the scene was over, I stood up to applaud them, and Alan came down off the stage to say hello.
“Linda told me you saved her life today,” he said.
“I gave her a couple of Band-Aids, that’s all.” I motioned to the stage. “You guys are great. I’ve only ever seen the movie version of the show, not the play.”
“Not to take anything away from Paul Scofield and Orson Wells, but I think our cast is pretty fantastic. It’s also this setting—what show wouldn’t be special here?”
“We put on Fiddler on the Roof here back when I was a counselor. We staged the wedding scene in the round with the chuppah right in the middle of the amphitheater and votive candles up and down the two main aisles.” I pointed to the long walkways that separated the audience so he could see the exact spot.
“Sounds really special.”
“Yeah, it was. Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to say goodbye. Gordy said you guys head home tomorrow?”
“Not home, just on to a different festival, but we’re leaving Milbank in the morning. What about you?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose I’ll have to go back to the real world eventually.”
“Or you can join the circus like we did. Every few weeks a new town and a new character to play.” He lifted some hair off my shoulders. “With your dark features, you’d make a wonderful Anne Boleyn.”
“Tempting…very tempting.”
Alan laughed and pulled me in for a hug before leaping back up onto the stage. I stayed and watched for another half hour or so and then left to walk around. I hadn’t been back to Cedar yet and wanted to see how the old bunks were faring. I pushed open the door to Bunk 14 and was hit with the familiar smell of mildew mixed with stale musty air. Bare bunkbed frames lined the walls while the mattresses were housed in a shed off the athletic field for the winter.
It was hard to believe twelve of us had lived in this small space for eight weeks. No wonder Jordana and I were still such close friends—we’d spent almost two months with our beds practically touching. I couldn’t help but think of my campers and especially Madison who wept in my arms the last day of camp. She’d be around seventeen now, going into her senior year of high school. I wondered if she and Alex Shane had stayed in touch? Would she come back to Chinooka to work as a counselor now that she was old enough? I hoped so.
I walked into the bathroom and turned on the lights. It all looked the same with the exception of the added shower stalls. I laughed to myself remembering my nightly sprint from the old shower house into the bunk, with nothing between me and the world but a towel and a prayer.
I left Bunk 14 and sat down at the same picnic table where I’d spent so many nights sitting OD. The same spot Perry confessed his secret about Annie and how she died. That moment had been the turning point in our relationship, both of us finally admitting why we’d abandoned the real world for the refuge of Camp Chinooka. Things seemed so complicated back then, but really, they were simple. We were two people desperately trying to reinvent ourselves and start over again.
Now, there were obligations and expectations. There was press and pressure. There was so much more to lose and we both felt it. People say there’s always one summer that changes you. For me, it was my last one at Chinooka. Everything fuzzy in my life had finally come into absolute focus and I went home a different person.
Was it too much to hope these grounds could work their magic a second time?
When I got back to the cabin later that night, I searched the shelves of the entertainment center for the recording Gordy said he’d left for me. Wedged between Exodus and Gone with the Wind was the Camp Chinooka Centennial performance of Fiddler on the Roof. I popped the DVD into the player and waited for the unmistakable haunting melody of the opening overture. I closed my eyes and listened to Perry’s violin cadenza as it soared out over the audience and settled in the Chinooka woods.
I watched a few of the numbers from the beginning of Act I and then fast-forwarded to the wedding scene. The men coming down one side of the candlelit theater and the women down the other. Then, the bride, escorted by her mother and father, gliding down the center row. The wedding dress I’d designed especially for that moment was even more spectacular than I remembered. The dress itself was constructed in three complex parts: the lace bodice with an attached underbodice, a pleated silk faille skirt that incorporated a smoothing petticoat, and a pleated silk faille cummerbund.
One of my favorite things about the dress was its back. Jamie was of the firm opinion that the back of a wedding dress should be as interesting as the front; after all, the bride spends most of the service with her back to her guests. This one had a gorgeous lace train that cascaded down the bride’s back like a waterfall.
I paused the video and moved closer to the TV. I pulled out the folded-up sketch of Linda and held it up beside the paused frame. There was something so classic and elegant about the dress I’d created for the show and something so stately and imposing about the Elizabeth gown. It hit me—Victoria’s dress had to fall somewhere in-between. It needed to be both contemporary and sophisticated but also harken back to the traditions and institutions of the British crown and noble queens that preceded her future reign. I picked up my pad and began scribbling furiously.
The wedding gown was the first look to come pouring out. I took elements from each design and married them together to create something brand new. I incorporated the long sleeves and wrist ruffs from the Elizabeth gown and then came up with my own twist on the embroidered corset that was more modern and sleek. I looked back over to the sketch of Linda and studied the placement of the rubies, sapphires, and emeralds on the Elizabeth dress. The jewel tones weren’t quite right for a wedding gown, but the general effect was magnificent. Maybe I could come up with a different play on it? I reached for my colored pencils and drew large pink, canary yellow, and diamond stones on the collar and cuffs of the dress and scattered a few more down the train.
I was in an almost manic state, flipping back and forth from page to page grabbing elements from one look to incorporate into a different one, each look and ensemble building off the one before like a crescendo. Over the next few hours, I knocked out an entire lookbook. By the time the sun rose, I’d completed sketches for all fourteen of Victoria’s garments.
I got dressed, cleaned out the few items in the refrigerator, and packed up my belongings. I lifted the old turntable back onto the shelf and slid the records back into their sleeves. Debussy, Copland, Stravinsky, Schubert, Berlin, and finally Gershwin. I locked the cabin, carried my mug of coffee out to the porch, and stared out to Lake Chinooka.
The lake was completely still. The only noises were the sailboats as they rocked against the dock and the water as it lightly lapped onto the shore. Trini was right. Here, in the middle of the Poconos, away from the bloggers, fashion commentators, tabloids, and gossip columns, I could finally hear my own voice again.
I hurried to find Gordy before I took off to the city. He was putting a fresh coat of paint on the trim of the dining hall’s main door.
He climbed down off his ladder as soon as he spotted me. “Heading back?”
I nodded.
“Get everything you needed sorted out?”
“And then some.”
He smiled. “I’m glad.”
I dug into my bag and pulled out a bag with what remained of my s’mores ingredients—a half-finished bag of marshmallows, two chocolate bars, and a box of graham crackers. “I figured you or one of the guests could use this.”
“Nah, I have my own stash. Why don’t you take them home with you?”
“S’mores made in the microwave just aren’t the same as the ones made on a Chinooka campfire,” I said.
He shook his head in agreement and I passed him the bag.
“Anytime you ever feel like you need one…”
“I’ll know just where to come.”
I gave Gordy one last hug goodbye, threw on my aviators, and drove out of the gates of Camp Chinooka.