A/N: I didn't start out trying to make Sarah this neurotic – I swear. Lol Hope you guys get a few giggles out of this one. :)
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Sarah had been too wired to sleep well when she climbed into bed this morning at four thirty. She was jittery from all the coffee she'd consumed after her three hours of restless dozing, and now stood in front of Madame Fay's.
She remembered to draw in breath as she took in the strange castle-like building attached to a humongous billboard depicting the giant silver, winged silhouette proclaiming, "Casa de La Costurera ~ Making every occasion magical!". The winged figure seemed to draw her in with it's glitterific glow; the sun glinting off the sparkles.
What the fuck? A fairy? Fairy Godmother? Noooo... That can't be right. Her internal warning system went off with red flags waving violently like a hurricane was coming.
She took a few deep breaths; well this is just weird. Maybe she's really good with a needle and thread and... Am I really that naïve? She sighed and drew herself up; I can't go thinking every little bit of magic in this world has to do with him. It's all wishful thinking, she bolstered herself.
Sarah refocused and closed the door to those other neurotic thoughts, for the moment and took in the rest of the building.
"Dayum...business must be good," she murmured as she looked her fill.
At least three stories tall, the building looked like relatively new construction with a lovely stained glass dome top, surrounded by four stone turrets and weathered stone walls. The entrance was true craftsmanship – scroll work with symbols thrown in in the archway – it looked like something out of Norm Abram's New Yankee Workshop that her dad used to watch on PBS. I've never seen a man so talented with wood, she grinned.
As strange as it sounded the materials came together seamlessly in a simple, yet elegant design. She couldn't wait to get a view from the glass dome inside.
Revolving crystalline glass doors had been installed to bring the design into the present however, and she took a step towards them, but stopped, waging an inner war with herself. She clenched her fists by her sides.
Can I really play at being callow? Can I talk myself into enjoying this experience without seeing his specter around every damn corner? Just because something has glitter – it doesn't mean it's his. She took a deep breath and reminded herself; Why would he choose you to harass if he couldn't stand to look at you? True, true, she nodded.
Either extreme desire or constipation caused that look that crossed his finely chiseled features, and dollface, let's face it: he could have his pick of any other woman in the worlds. He surely doesn't want lil ol' you, Sarah Williams, washed up actress and Madame of a – Sarah bitch slapped her inner self to cut her off and set her shoulders back, head regally raised, and put her Doc Martens to the pavement. As she made her way through the doors, she felt a small chill wiggle down her spine upon entering the unfamiliar business.
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Nothing but white as far as the eye could see – except for the insubstantial iridescent rays from above an the people milling about randomly. The staff were dressed in silver tones that seemed to shine no matter which way they moved in the naturally lit room. Sarah looked up to view the beauty of the sun streaming through the stained glass dome within the tall building. Vague hues scattered to the floor, watered down from the colors above depicting breathtaking stylized blossoms upon a tree. She filed that away that information for later, seeing but not. Weirdness number two, she mentally kept track.
She made her way to the long curved desk boasting "Reception" and cleared her throat politely.
The ageless woman who had been looking under the reception desk looked up. Her soft white hair was pulled up into a sleek chignon; sparkling blue eyes were directed at Sarah in inquiry, "How may I help you, my dear?" This woman could have been twenty-four or four hundred-twenty-four, but her husky British tones hinted at youth. Her skin appeared opalescent; a fact that didn't escape Sarah. She forcibly blinked and made herself say, "I have a ten am appointment with Madame Fay; I'm Miss Samantha."
The receptionist picked up a dusty book and opened it to the day's date. She followed down the appointment line with her perfectly manicured nail. "Ahhh... I see. Miss Samantha from V. E.?" She arched her eyebrow and smiled conspiratorially with Sarah. "I will alert Madame. One moment."
The receptionist picked up the phone and announced quietly that Mme. Fay's ten o'clock had arrived to whomever was on the other end of the line. She gently placed the receiver down and smiled at Sarah, motioning for her to have a seat.
Sarah looked at the wall and noticed the chairs were white. White walls, white desks, white chairs, and holy hell... carpet!
Someone seriously needs to bring a kid in here with crayons, she smirked.
Sarah had turned around to wonder why someone would use white carpet in a high traffic location as she inspected it under her scuffed brown Docs, when she heard another voice.
"My dear Samantha! So nice to finally meet you. Mr. Rey has spoken so highly of you, my lady."
Sarah turned back to see a slim, raven-haired, gray-eyed woman bustle towards her, who was as tiny as – well shit, she was as short as a second and twice as quick apparently – and dressed in sparkling red robes with bell sleeves.
'My lady'? Weirdness number three, Sarah counted the quick and almost magical arrival of the seamstress. Only there hadn't been any glitter, she snickered to herself.
"Ah... well, Mr. Rey is a kind person. Madame Fay, yes?" she held out her hand to shake the presumed tiny virago named Madame Fay who laughed suddenly and grasped her hand firmly. "Oh dear! You must not know him too well after all these years – that you should still call him 'kind' says as much. Yes, I am the highly regarded Madame Fay. Let's get started, shall we." And with that, the small woman with the sparkling gray eyes led her through a door to the left of the receptionist's desk.
She followed, smiling benignly and thinking Mr. Rey had given a fictionalized story of 'their past' to this woman and shrugged mentally. Whatever made it easier for the client.
They walked down a long white – again, what else? - corridor to a privately curtained area.
Sarah was led to a dais surrounded by mirrors. "Please Samantha, if I may call you that, stand upon the platform and I will be right with you."
Madame Fay clapped her hands twice and several women dressed in silver robes seemed to materialize out of the white walls and corners carrying tailor accessories, pins, tapes, notebooks, and pencils. For the next hour, the Madame worked her magic as Sarah stood as they told her to – raising arms, changing stance, tilting her head this way and that to check for eye color clashing against the fabric samples they brought to Madame.
By the end of the hour, Sarah had said not two words to any living being. She was a little stiff and really had to pee from all the coffee earlier. "Madame Fay?"
Fay had been looking down at a bolt of fabric and combining swatches to see the shiny affects. "Hmm, Starling? What can I get for you?" She snapped her fingers and sent off some staff with the fabric, pleased.
"Madame, I believe I need to... well, 'use the facilities'." Sarah made air quotes as her bladder rebelled, "Okay, dammit, I have to pee now or I'm going to lose it on this catwalk from hell. Has anyone ever told you how annoying it is to see fifteen different versions of yourself doing the potty dance?" She made her way down from the dais while Madame Fay laughed outright, "Dearest, the ladies' room is just there -" she pointed to a door next to their curtained space. "We'll resume your fittings when you're... unburdened." Madame smiled indulgently.
Five minutes and an empty bladder later, Sarah returned; "I'm sorry – I shouldn't have -"
Madame waived her apology away, "Think nothing of it. You've done very well this morning. And I much prefer honesty to the silence of vapidness. Mr. Rey is going to be pleased with the selection, I think." Madame's eyes twinkled merrily.
Madame moved to a tall pub style table that Sarah could have sworn wasn't there before – but then again, everything was that damn white and blended into itself. Upon the table lay swatches of fabric and sketches. "Come see what you'll be wearing, dear Samantha."
Cautiously, Sarah approached the table and gasped as she drew abreast of it. Sapphire, emerald, silver, and white shimmering fabric swatches gleamed in the light. The sketches showed ball gowns, day dresses, and … and owl? pattern design worked into a white velvet cape.
"It's beautiful! They're all …."
Madame Faye tinkled a laugh, "Fit for a Queen, eh?" she smiled a smug – but kind – smile and Sarah narrowed her eyes at the woman. Weirdness number four, she tallied.
"Well, yes, I suppose that's appropriate," Sarah began slowly, "seeing as Mr. Rey is royalty of some kind." she paused for effect and watched Madame's face closely. "Minor royalty."
Madame grinned, "Of course. Mr. Rey is distantly related to some very powerful people, and he felt that your clothes should reflect his station and would add to your comfort in playing your part to keep him a ease." She started pinning the samples to the designs, packing up and clearing off the table. Sarah wondered how much this woman knew and the pieces she was putting together didn't make her comfortable.
"Wait! What about... this?" Sarah pointed to the white velvet owl design. She could have sworn that it was him looking back at her. Dammit. Maybe she was really too paranoid.
Madame smiled and arched her eyebrow inquiringly, "Oh Starling, did you not read the invitation? The Sunday dinner is open to the public to support the Ojai Raptor Center– guests are asked to dress in attire that represents or shows Avian features. It's going to be fabulous! And you, my dearest, will be the highlight of dinner. I have a matching masquerade mask to go with it. See?" Madame Fay pulled out another piece of paper showing a beautiful feathered half mask. Dammit again.
Sarah swallowed, hard. Of course she hadn't seen the invitation; she'd been sent a document by Jeeves detailing when and where the Ball would be held and how long she would be needed by Mr. Rey for the weekend. The dress code had been listed as well, but she didn't recall anything out of the ordinary. Weirdness number five, she whispered to herself. To Madame, "No, I guess I missed that. Oh boy!" she dredged up some false cheer and plastered a pained smile on her face.