Then There Was Jasper
By Susan Haywood
May 2010
Fanfiction based on Twilight
By Stephanie Meyer
*All copyright belongs to Stephanie Meyer
France
Gene was an intriguing American fashion designer in France. His pieces were inspired. The morning I met him, I stood outside his door, and listened as he engaged in angry conversation. I didn't hear anyone else in the flat. He was arguing with himself. I knocked.
"Enter," he barked.
I opened the door, and he stood with a jacket displayed on his right arm and five belts draped over his left arm.
"Stop! Tell me! Which belt would you choose to go with this blazer?"
"The brown one of course," I answered.
"Brown? Brown? Brown! There is no brown. Chestnut, cinnamon, tan, russet, tawny, umber, camel, caramel, cocoa, ginger, mahogany, even crap after Indian curry. Never brown."
"I see your point. I think the chestnut belt is best, although, if I had my druthers, I'd choose a slightly warmer color. Perhaps something between russet and cinnamon."
"The fashion gods have smiled on me this day. You will be my new assistant."
"When do I start?"
"Immediately."
And that is how I came to work for Gene. No last name. Just Gene. But then, I was just Alice.
About three months into my career with Gene, I carried a sack of croissants to his studio. I sidestepped a bolt of blue, er teal, fabric as it flew over his balcony.
"Good Morning, Gene" I chirped up at him.
His head popped over the railing.
"Good Morning, Darling."
Inside coffee percolated and bathed the flat in morning aromas. I remembered thinking Robert smelled of coffee, but that had not been an adequate description. I handed Gene the croissants. They always elevated his mood. Nasty things. I tried a bite once, and spent an hour working it back up my throat.
Gene poured himself a cup of coffee.
"Would you like a cup Sweets?" he offered.
"No thank you Gene, you know I prefer blood in the morning."
"Of course you do Darling. This is why you are the only one who can assist me."
"So, the new fabric makes you unhappy?" I asked of the bolt that now lay on the street below.
"Pssh, Fabric! That is not fabric. That is a cellulose concoction that the French invented and the Americans make in their factories!"
"Ah, imitation silk. Rayon."
"Imitation silk. It's heresy. From what twisted mind did such an evil idea spew forth? Introduce me to the blasphemer and I shall wrench the beating heart from his chest."
Gene's emotions were nearly as volatile as a newborn vampire's. I had mellowed quite a bit over the last few years, but I remembered those angry days. As a human, Gene entertained and amused me. If he were a vampire, I suspected he would scare me. I pictured him ripping throats out for the sheer joy of it.
"Darling, what color would you say this is?" I imagined him asking while holding up a bloody esophugus.
"Red?"
"No! Never Red. Crimson, Scarlet, …"
"Sanguine?" I interjected.
"Sanguine! Perfect. Excellent. You see Darling, this is why only you can assist me."
I smiled at the little scene I had created in my head. Gene still ranted about the bolt of discarded rayon.
"Today, fake silk. Tomorrow, it will be fake leather. What will be next? If they can spin thread from petroleum, does that mean that one should wear it on the skin?"
"No Gene."
"No! That's right Darling. This is why you are my assistant."
Gene set his mug of coffee down, and completely missed the table. My hand flashed out and caught the cup before a drop spilled. I set it on the table, and Gene picked it up for another sip, without missing a beat. He paced the floor and I examined his features.
He resembled a vampire on many levels. His rich auburn hair framed a pale face with chiseled features. Although quite subtle, my sharp eyes saw that this effect was expertly achieved with colored powders and face make-up. I knew without the makeup, his nose was a bit too wide, his chin not so defined.
"As if the nightmare of faux fur isn't enough to give me cold sweats, Darling."
I decided to intervene before Gene worked himself into a seizure. I unsheathed a bundle of papers I had been hiding in my jacket.
"Gene, I have a surprise for you," I said as I waved my gift. Gene snatched the bundle from my hand.
"What is this you wicked assistant," He said as he paged through the packet.
"No. This can't be. Alice! These are Pierre Dubeaux's designs. You wonderful little thief, how did you get them?"
"It was a bit tricky. You know, he sleeps with them under his pillow. Still, I asked myself what would make Gene happy for a month? The answer was the designs of his number one competitor."
"A month? Alice, you have made me happy for the entire season," Gene swung the papers back and forth, knocking his coffee mug from the table. I could have saved the cup ten times before it hit the floor, but Gene was watching me. So, I helplessly watched it shatter on the tiles, splashing coffee on my new shoes.
"Oh, forgive me Alice, for ruining your shoes. I will create a gift just for you. You will walk in a Gene original tomorrow."
"Yayyyyy," I sang as I bounced and clapped.
The next morning, I showed up with my offering of croissants. Gene, true to his word, presented his own offering.
"I have named the design, Alice," he said as he held up the dress. Shadows under his eyes told me he hadn't slept the night before.
"Oh, Gene, it's exquisite." The dress was form fitting, not at all the popular style, but still, just perfect. The velvet was dyed a black nearly as dark as my hair. The crisp white collar cut to dagger-like points. A haphazard crimson stripe zigzagged around the garment from bodice to hemline. Gene did not know I was a vampire, but somehow, his genius had captured my essence.
"So, you like it?" He asked.
"I love it."
"That is not all." He snatched a pair of shoes from his table. Scarlet with toes and heals that stabbed like the collar.
"And this," he said as he opened a black box. A ruby pendant hung from a gold chain.
"It's only costume jewelry, but if I could Alice, I would buy you the real gem. You have made me happy for a season."
"I'm touched Gene. It's all perfect."
"Of course it is Darling. Now, I'd like to discuss some Italian buttons with you. Vincento Salerno is using a technique called millefiori to craft the most striking buttons,"
And so our day continued.
Gene wasn't aware that I didn't sleep, yet he reaped the benefits of my nighttime exploits. Pierre's stolen designs were just one example of the treats I gathered. I often brought him fabrics, in the newest colors and patterns, with his morning croissants. The edge this afforded him against other designers was quite profound. While they were all stuck designing with available neutrals, Gene was designing in future jewel tones. The others worked with today's stripes while Gene created with tomorrow's plaids.
Tonight the headlights on the car I borrowed cut through the darkness. I didn't plan on staying in Italy for long, the entire country gave me the willies, but I wanted Gene to have those buttons. Several miles before the border, I hid the car off the road. I would run the rest of the way to Italy, and I didn't want the car's owner to reclaim it before my mission was completed.
I rarely had Volturi visions any more. Still being this close to them caused me some anxiety. Vincento made plans to be out with friends, so my errand would be relatively easy. Pierre had been much more difficult since he kept his designs in his possession at all times. Of course, I could have simply snapped his neck, but just the thought alone dismissed Jasper from my mind. I guessed killing humans was off-limits, even if I didn't drink their blood. Besides, even though I thought of Pierre as a low-life rascal, he did have talent.
While Vincento drank and sang with his friends, I squirreled away with his buttons. I exited Italy with a constant desire to look over my shoulder. I would see, in my brain, before anything major happened. But I remembered several years ago hiding in a tree. A human woman had said she felt like she was being watched. I now knew exactly what she had meant.
Back in my borrowed car, I relaxed. I thought about Gene's current designs. I loved what he was doing with zippers. I knew they would become quite popular in the future, but for now, the designers were still experimenting with them. I loved the smooth look of them. They gave the impression that a garment was sewn directly onto the flesh.
The car's vibrations hummed through my body. A few raindrops splashed on the windshield, and I clicked on the wipers. I pictured Jasper escaping the rain in Philadelphia. I wore my cream jacket with the large blue buttons. I supposed navy was a better description of the buttons. Nothing in the current styles looked like my jacket. I couldn't yet see when it would come into fashion, but it seemed a long way off.
I could draw the jacket and ask Gene to design it. Would that work? Would that speed my meeting with Jasper? I decided to ask Gene in the morning, while he was still grateful for my gift of Italian buttons. Grinding noises disturbed my reverie. I smelled the clutch burning and knew I had blown another transmission.
The car didn't carry me much quicker than I could run, but I enjoyed the feel of the ride. Unfortunately, I tended to push cars too hard. Well, I would rebuild this transmission to pass the time until morning. The owner should be grateful, although, they would never know.
Under the car I hummed a French folk song and thought about my future. Gene's companionship and my work helped to distract me from my longing for Jasper. Still, some evenings the yearning overwhelmed me. I already knew how comforting Jasper's arms would be, and yet, I'd never felt them. In the circle of his arms existed a warm and private spot in which the two of us would dwell. It would be my favorite place in the whole world.
A vision intruded on my dreams of Jasper. I dropped my wrench and it clanged on the ground. One sixteenth of a second later, I was running toward Gene. I saw him, weaving and drunk as he made his way home. He wasn't going to make it. A vampire stalked him. Oh Gene! I ran faster, but I already knew, I would be too late.
I didn't attend the church services for Gene. I had built up a certain immunity to the smell of human blood, but large crowds in enclosed spaces were still off limits. And Gene drew a large and fashionable crowd. I watched as Pierre Dubeaux entered the church dabbing artificial tears. I should have snapped his neck.
All of the attendees wore black, but a few managed to sneak in a little color. A woman with a single peacock feather in her hat. A man with a silk, fusia handkerchief peeking out of his suit pocket. Gene would have appreciated that.
The graveside was also out of the queston, because the sun shone brightly. Gene wasn't particularly fond of sunny days. His creative juices flowed more freely in dreary weather. The pastor droned generic words, and a woman comforted Pierre. The mourners filed past the coffin and returned to their lives. This was one event they were obligated to be seen at.
When the sun finally went down, I sat in the shadows at Gene's graveside. It had not been filled in yet, and I stared at the casket, already lowered into the ground. Gene had been my first human and my only friend. I dropped the Italian buttons into his grave. Goodbye Gene.