When I Was a Girl
“The hem fluttered as apple blossoms wave in a breeze. A foamy string of petals is what it was in my child’s mind. When she twirled in that gown my heart soared, and the dreams we dream in youth crashed upon me. There they would remain, in perpetuity. I will never forget the hill that was her stage nor the pallid lights as moonlight, or the rivery flow of the ribbons dancing with her hair. Thus, my passion was born.”
“What are the six Focuses of the Parakapo?”
Opaline tapped the end of her quill over the desk in thought. She sat up straight. “Veracity to or of theme...” she started, and paused. Flicking her eyes upward, she continued, “Coordination, clarity of voice, anatomical complementation, material, and...”
Marigo tilted her head, making Opaline smile.
“Attribution, of course. Did you think I forgot?”
Marigo shook her head and the bouncy nut-brown hair upon it. “No, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t worried.” The beautician winked.
“Are you still working on my winter gowns?” asked Opaline, setting her quill down.
“In my spare time. It’s harder now that our schedules are so full.” Marigo picked up her sketchpad from the desk and took it across the dingy room to a squat and overburdened shelf against a wall.
The room within which the girls inhabited was full of a tittering gray light and matching grayed wood floors. The single room was separated by the cedar desk into a kitchen and living arrangement. Before the shelf stuffed of books and papers was a sunken couch. Marigo leapt over the back of the couch and landed with her face in the cushions.
“I know,” said Opaline with a sigh. “Still, how can we complain? My springshow was the best. Third place! I still can’t believe it. We didn’t land a belium, but I liked that Rose who approached us.”
“Yeah, she seems talented,” Marigo replied into the cushions. She propped herself up, staring over at the doll to whom she had long been acquainted. The dainty girl, now a young woman, could easily be misconstrued as weak. She danced with zeal, however, and her hair was a terrible envy of other dolls. Opaline toyed with a sun-yellow end of her hair.
“If we could get a Honeysuckle,” Marigo added thoughtfully, causing Opaline to look up.
“Honeysuckle? But you love sketching and design-work. What are you talking about?”
“I know, I know. It would loosen up my schedule to work on important projects, though, as well as the more immediate project of dressing you for all of the shows you pick up.”
Opaline crooked one edge of her mouth. “True. I suppose that could be good. Just so long as you keep working on my winter gowns! I need what I’ve seen!”
Marigo scoffed and threw her head back into the cushions. “I’m tired. Good night,” she groaned.
“I’m serious, you know?” Opaline said, to no avail. So she took out her polishes and did her toenails. The little copper award gleamed lustrously at her from the desktop as she worked. The promise of her future reflected out of the little medallion, an admiring eye.
The following day, Marigo and Opaline stood outside a yellow boutique shop. They were in the heart of Umbris, Kalinga’s renowned city of beauty. It had been three weeks since the springshow and Opaline felt overjoyed to be alive at that hour.
“Fion’s?” she gushed, taking her friend’s hand. Just then, a red-haired girl approached. Opaline dropped Marigo’s hand and squealed, “Andela!”
The two girls embraced, then, Andela stepping back, they made a frenzied exchange of greetings until Andela looked up at the boutique. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “Rich already?”
“I wish,” Marigo chimed in, waving. “We have five-hundred free to spend. That’s it, Opaline.”
“Why are you getting on my case?”
“Because you always go over. And I don’t want to hear it about return investments. We got lucky at that show.”
“The way I see it, the ball is rolling,” said Opaline.
“Hell yeah!” added Andela. “Let’s go inside!”
The Frausca door squeaked as it opened. A little bell chimed. Quickly, a tall, cocoa-haired woman rose from behind the counter, grinning.
“You gotta remember not to buy things just because they’re cute though,” Marigo was saying, but stopped.
“New patrons, I see!” Jill, the manager, beamed. “Not just any though, but some fresh starts!”
“Did you see me?” Opaline breathed, rushing up to the counter.
“Jill, tell her not to get too excited,” Marigo said, shaking her head.
Jill laughed. “A springshow is no small deal to a doll! And you left quite the impression.”
“Did I?”
“You’ve a solid eye for design Marigo, and your showmanship was thrilling, Opal. Those were some of the things I heard. But Marigo has a point. Many dolls peak at their springshow. Musn’t allow your zeal to diminish.”
“Jill! I never will!” Opaline scolded, to the manager’s amusement.
“I see that. Well then, what’s next on the agenda?”
“A midsummer display. Then, winter,” explained Marigo.
Andela and Opaline waded arm-in-arm out among the stock—through elegant gowns of lace or silk, and hundreds of hundreds of accessories, to the small library of fabrics in a back corner.
“Winter? All the way to winter?” Jill remarked.
“Marigo is working on something special for winter,” Opaline called over.
“But that’s only two shows for the rest of the year.”
Opaline whirled about-face. “Is that bad?” she gasped.
“Of course not,” Marigo reassured. “Opaline is something special, a rarity, she doesn’t need a show every month. We’re going to build her up slowly. Nobody believes in mystery anymore, but that’s the best way to attract attention.”
Jill raised her brows. “Well said! Seems she isn’t the only ‘something special’ here. You’ll go far with an attitude of that caliber.”
While Marigo beamed in the glow of Jill’s praise, Opaline and Andela fawned over silver-teal and gold silks.
Andela held up a quaint cotton ribbon beside the teal fabric. “This would be so cute,” she said. “What is the theme again? For midsummer, I mean.”
“The flyer just said ‘Gingko.’ I assume that means pre-fall, so I’m thinking of going with an innocent theme. The leaves are still green and there won’t be seeds yet, so maybe we won’t incorporate gold.”
“Oh my gosh!” Andela exclaimed. She pulled down a yard of embroidered silk. The metallic embroidery followed silver rivers betwixt leafy emerald patterning. “Can you make something with this?”
Opaline touched her chin. “It’s so beautiful,” she muttered, “but it looks so elegant.”
“So? If we’re talking innocence and pre-seed season, then you should be a bride, right? A gingko bride!”
Opaline’s eyes widened. “Andela! You’re a genius!”
The red-head giggled and held the fabric triumphantly. Marigo quickly joined their enthusiasm and the three girls soon spread out among all that was available, rejoining only to share a valuable find or three. Marigo was showing off a pair of crescent gold earrings when the door squeaked apart and the bell rang. Everyone looked. Two young girls waltzed in excitedly, looking no more than thirteen years apiece. Jill greeted their bashful faces.
“Aww. They remind me of us when we were in preparatory school,” Opaline cooed.
Marigo squinted. “No, they are us, look.” She pointed out a small gold badge on the taller girl’s shoulder, ensconced in cotton ribbons. “She’s got honors in beautistry. She’s a training beautician. I bet her friend is her doll.”
“You have such an eye,” Andela whispered.
The three girls watched as the supposed baby doll led her taller friend about, pulling incongruent items off the shelves and pairing them. The beautician minor quickly grew nervous as the number of accessories piled up. Nonetheless, she quietly followed her friend about. That is, until they went to the fabrics corner.
“But I’ll need them,” they heard the baby doll insist.
“Uh oh,” said Marigo.
“She’s as willful as you, Lina,” Andela laughed.
“Oh, whatever.” Opaline waved a hand.
Marigo pushed through her friends and made her way to the two minors.
“Ah! A fellow beautician,” she said. The girls exchanged looks but managed to give cordial smiles. Marigo rested an arm about Opaline’s shoulders as she approached, saying, “This is my doll, Opaline. My name is Marigo.”
“Mandi is mine. My name is Yvon,” the beautician minor said, gesturing to her friend and herself respectively. They were really rather stunning creatures. The baby doll, Mandi, was petite and blonde, as many of her kind were. She had a cute button nose and porcelain skin. But the jewels of her appearance were her eyes—stormy blue with a sunset rim, wide and amply lashed. And Yvon was a beauty all her own. Her nose was upturned but that wasn’t always considered a fault, especially paired with her soft freckles and sandy bob. Opaline marveled over the pair.
“Wow, you have a lot of items there,” Marigo pointed out.
Mandi shyly presented her armful of trinkets. “We’re preparing for my springshow!” she announced enthusiastically. Yvon flushed but nodded along.
“Springshow? Aren’t you two still in school?” asked Marigo.
“Oh, yes. But there’s no time like the present!” said Mandi.
Opaline laughed. Marigo, on the other hand, grew stern. “Now, I agree it’s good to be driven, but you two haven’t considered the hallmarks of a good springshow.”
Mandi’s eyes went wide. “What are those?”
“First, never overspend for a first display. Second, never overdress—simplicity accentuates the natural beauty of a new doll, which is prime. And third of all, patience is key. An eager doll tends to overact, but a baby doll, particularly. Have you mastered theatre? I don’t see a badge. And let’s not forget the power of sensuality. You aren’t at your full shape yet.”
Mandi melted. Yvon stuck out a reassuring arm. “Plenty of baby dolls have won springshows, though,” she argued.
“You mean Ilia and Pretti of the last twenty years? Unless you’re doing a show at your school tailored for baby dolls and parents, the chances of success are minimal. I would know, Opaline is a badge-winner.”
The two girls flushed and hugged closer. “So what do we do then? Yvon already made my dress!”
“Which show were you planning to attend?” asked Marigo.
“The Gingko midsummer,” Yvon admitted.
Opaline’s eyes nearly bugged. She looked at Andela, who was flushed and clearly uncomfortable by the situation.
“That won’t do,” Marigo said. “I’ve been making outfits for over ten years now and it took me eight of those years to master the craft. Only a little while ago I managed to craft a winning outfit. You should let me see the dress and maybe I can get you girls into a school display. That’s where you need to start.”
Opaline, bored of this exchange, took Andela back to the jewelry section where she admired the earrings picked by Marigo. The solid crescent band of gold hung down on two thin bars that conjoined at a stud. Typically, a simple design like this would be made overly gaudy or affordable by adding clear garnet gems along the band. Fion, however, knew how to add elegance to simplicity through suggestion. Small silver beads lined the center of the gold band. The earrings were perfect.
“Who is your tutor?” Marigo asked Yvon. They were standing in the center of Marigo’s living area, beside a juvenile mannequin wearing a ghastly beige dress. The object had eight skirt layers each lined with cream-colored and laced frills. The shoulders were poufed and the straight neckline wasn’t so straight. Opaline worked on her act for the midsummer with Andela as Marigo continued to scold and correct the girls from the shop.
“I don’t have a private tutor,” said Yvon.
“We go to a subsidary society,” added Mandi from the couch.
Marigo let out a sigh. “What is becoming of our future fashionistas?” she lamented. Then, “I really can’t let something like this slide. You have drive but no guidance.”
“You can guide us maybe?” asked Mandi.
Opaline looked up.
“I would but my schedule is full,” said Marigo.
“Well, I’m just not good enough then,” pouted Yvon.
“Hey, that’s not true!”
“Your friend’s right, it’s not entirely true,” Marigo said, “you just need a tutor.” The room filled with a thoughtful silence. Marigo snapped her fingers. “Ah! You know, I always learned better by making outfits over merely sketching them. An idea is fun, but you never know what you’re capable of until you’re doing that thing. You know?” The girls put on baffled faces. “I mean, I could use a couple of talented assistants for Opaline’s shows.”
Mandi lunged into the air. “Yes!” she cried.
Yvon smiled but was less enthusiastic than her friend. She nodded. “So, you mean we would get to see some real shows? And help out?”
“Most importantly, learn,” said Marigo. “What do you think, Opaline?”
Opaline glanced at Andela, who was staring at her fingernails. The red-head looked up suddenly, with expectation. Opaline shrugged. She didn’t know why, but she felt, as far as she could tell, envious? She stared into Mandi’s perfect little face and just couldn’t understand. Shrugging a second time, she said, “Yeah, you said you needed help. We could really use a dedicated Honeysuckle, though. That’s what you said, anyway.”
“Precisely, and Yvon needs to work on her sketches. It would be a great experience, I think. You would learn so much. Here, I’ll show you some of my projects!” Opaline watched as Marigo flew to her shelf to withdraw several sketchpads, books, and old rough designs to show off. “These are from when I was in preparatory school. And these are the ones I passed my exam with. This one is what allowed me to graduate,” she said, pointing out the different works. The two girls ooh’d and aww’d over every piece. Opaline rolled her eyes.
“You okay?” asked Andela.
“Yeah. Fine. Hey, let’s stroll down fifth street! There’s an outfit I’ve been dying to take out.”
Opaline donned a short cross-strapped dress and matching burnt-orange highs. While Andela did her hair, Opaline returned to the kitchen to find a specific hairpiece.
“Oh, are you going out?” asked Marigo.
“Just down fifth,” Opaline replied, hoping that’s where the questions would end. Of course, she knew that tone.
“You should take Mandi! She’s bored to tears over here.”
Mandi gave a sheepish grin from back on the couch.
“Oh, but aren’t you teaching them something?” said Opaline, lamely.
“Of course not. A baby doll needs to learn from an experienced doll. What are you learning right now?”
Mandi pulled down her legs from swinging them in the air and sat up. “Acting, mostly. I’m trying to get my faces and poses down.”
“That’s perfect! Opaline’s a master at faces and poses!”
Opaline made a face. “Stop flattering me,” she laughed. “All right, are you going out in your current outfit?” she asked.
Mandi looked down at her clothes. She wasn’t dressed badly. In fact, she was dressed quite well for a girl her age. Her legs and blossoming hips were comfortably hugged by a pair of navy denim jeans. Her white satin blouse had a petal-frilled neckline and tight quarter sleeves accentuating the thin shape of her arms. She was like a single flowerhead over a long, elegant stem, much to Opaline’s distaste. She should be dressing her age! Alas, Opaline felt she had no choice but to accept the teen’s company. After all, Marigo had been so complimenting. And besides, she could teach the wayward soul a thing or two.
“You look fine, I was just asking,” Opaline added.
“Oh, all right! Then I’d love to.”
Opaline fishtailed her long, glassy tresses as Mandi watched. Andela read a magazine on the bed in the adjacent room.
“Damn, you’re good at that,” Mandi remarked.
Opaline smiled. “If you have patience, like Marigo says, you can pick up a lot of nifty skills.”
“Yeah. Was your mom a doll?”
Opaline balked, but quickly resumed her task. “Something like that,” she said.
“Something?” came Andela’s voice from behind. “She was an Angel!”
Mandi’s mouth fell open. “No way!” she said.
“Yep. God, Lina, way to downplay your mom.”
“I wasn’t downplaying her, I was being respectful,” Opaline shot back.
“Whatever.”
“Man, if my mom was an Angel I’d feel so lucky. No wonder you’re so beautiful.”
Opaline paused again. “Thanks,” she said. Then, “Is your mom a doll?”
“No. My dad used to be a Parakapo, but he stopped before I was born and works for a production company now. My mom was never really into beauty until she met my dad.”
“Never into beauty?”
“Yeah. She thought people obsessed over it too much. But she’s very beautiful actually and that’s why I wanted to become a doll. I think there’s so much beauty in everything that it makes sense to live that way, right? Especially if it’s your gift.”
Opaline snorted. “Is that what your teacher taught you?”
Mandi’s countenance drooped and Opaline faced her.
“Oh, that was harsh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. I guess. Then what were you taught?”
“Oh. I’ve wanted to be a doll since I was a girl. Maybe always.”
“As long as I’ve known you, anyway,” Andela chimed in, still buried in her magazine.
To Be Continued...
