Chapter Text
Chapter 1: The fifth visit —
This is so stupid, why am I doing this? And where is this damned place anyway? C.C. thought, as she turned another corner, hoping it was the right one this time. She swore last time that she wouldn’t do this again, because what was she even doing anyway, going to get her clothes mended by someone who showed a vague interest in her and by now had probably already forgotten who she was, and why? All because she liked how her clothes smelled when she got them back, and a little of how they reminded her of the seamstress, but it was mostly about the clothes. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. Adjusting the shopping bag hanging from her arm, she realized she was wearing the same jacket she’d had tailored by the very same seamstress she was on her way to see. This realization made C.C. feel a bit ridiculous, here she was taking back another garment wearing one she’d just, a month or so ago, had adjusted at the same store. It suddenly occurred to her that she may be considered a regular customer now, oh god. She stopped in her tracks, shaking her head at the thought, no, she reasoned, it’s fine, she needed these things mended and the woman in that particular store did a good job, that’s all. Once she convinced herself that she wasn’t just making excuses to see the seamstress again, she started walking, and started to recognise a few of the other stores, she knew she was on the right street.
She approached the store, Fran’s Fine Stitching, she hated the way she smiled at the cutesy name every time she saw it. The font it was written in was a cutesy cursive style too, which made it even worse. The windows were always filled with mannequins wearing very bright and colorful clothing, she always wondered how anyone could dress like that anyway, without blinding everyone who ever looked in their direction. It certainly wasn’t her taste, but it fit Fran, the woman who owned the store, to a tee. She reached her hand out and pushed open the door, the chime hanging from above it jingled as she did, why did it have to be so loud? It was bad enough that she came here once, let alone what was it? Five times now?
She was brought out of her thoughts by voice of the only other person in the store, “Ah, back again Miss Babcock? What have you got for me this time?”
Damn, she does remember my name. C.C. thought, faking a polite smile and handing over the bag, “Just a blouse, it’s needed mending for a while, figured I should bring it by,” she said.
“At this rate I will have mended and adjusted everything in your closet,” she replied, taking the bag from C.C., “I have to wonder though, what are you doing to need so many clothes mended and altered anyway?” She asked, walking back around behind the counter.
C.C. involuntarily laughed, god this is so stupid, now I’m laughing at her jokes, I’m pathetic, she thought.
“I’ll have this done for ya by tomorrow, I’ll give you a call to let you know when it’s done, ‘kay?”
“Fine, that’s fine, I have to go anyway,” C.C. said, deciding to play it cool, as if she hadn’t rearranged her schedule to make time to come over to this part of town, just for the possibility that she would get to see Fran again.
“See ya honey,” Fran waved, as C.C. pulled the door open. Once she was gone Fran pulled the white blouse out of the bag, holding it up looking for the spot she needed to mend. Fran wondered how C.C. had managed to tear this one, if her first visit was any indication it was probably at some fancy party again. She examined the spot and decided it wasn’t going to be too difficult and figured she’d work on it now.
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The first visit —
“Maxwell! I can’t go in there like this!” C.C. protested, “Look at my dress!”
“C.C. it’s fine, no one will notice, just wear a coat, we don’t have time to be standing around.”
“A coat? Maxwell, are you insane? How do you think it would look for me to be wearing a coat indoors, all evening? I have to get this fixed,” C.C. replied.
“We can go back and get Niles to fix it then,” Maxwell suggested.
“Like I would trust Niles with this dress, knowing him he’d make the hole bigger, besides we don’t have time,” C.C. retorted, “so if you have any other bright ideas I’d love to hear them.”
“Well, I don’t know, is there anywhere around here that does alterations or mending or something?”
“How should I know, I never come to this part of town,” C.C. said, hoping like hell she’d magically find somewhere if she looked around enough.
“Let’s walk for a while and see if we can find anything, this is New York City, there has to be somewhere,” Maxwell said, starting to walk ahead.
“Maxwell, this isn’t the garment district there’s not—,” C.C. said, quickening her pace to catch up to him, clinging to the side of her dress, hoping it wouldn’t tear more. Before she could finish, Maxwell interrupted her, “Look, across the street,” he said, pointing to the store.
C.C. felt a rush of relief, “Oh good, let’s go,” she said, walking over there as quickly as she could, while still managing to keep a hold of her dress.
Once they got to the store, C.C. quickly pushed the door open, of course there’s a stupid chime, she thought, she looked around hoping to find someone who worked there, “Hello!” She called out, “Why is there no one here, what kind of store is this anyway? Excuse me?”
“All right, already, I heard ya the first time,” a woman emerged from what C.C. supposed was the back workroom, she was quite unlike anyone C.C. had seen before, she was dressed in the brightest pink and green jacket C.C. had ever seen, with a matching mini skirt, emphasis on mini. With hair so fluffed out C.C. wondered how she didn’t tip over from the weight of it.“What can I do for ya?” She asked, looking both C.C. and Maxwell in the eye.
“My dress, my very expensive dress, is torn, it got caught in the door of the limo, can you fix it?”
“A limo? In this neighborhood?”
“We were on our way to a party, anyway, that’s not important, can you fix my dress?” C.C. asked, impatiently.
“A party, hey? In a limo? Boy that must be some kinda fancy schamcy party,” the woman walked out from behind the counter to come and take a closer look at C.C.’s dress.
C.C. looked over at Maxwell, “Aren’t you going to wait outside? I can’t show her with you here.”
Maxwell, who had been aimlessly looking around the store, turned back to C.C., “Oh, right, yes, of course, I’ll just be outside,” he said, walking back over to the door.
Once he was outside, C.C. held her coat back so that the tear was visible.
“That’s some tear, you did a good job—ah, what was your name?”
“Yes, but can you fix it?”
“No need to be like that, of course I can fix it,” she said, walking back over to behind the counter, grabbing a needle and some thread. She walked back over to C.C., “You didn’t answer my question,” she said starting to sew the fabric back together.
“What question?”
“I asked you what your name was.”
“C.C. Babcock, but what does that matter, just fix my dress.”
“Boy aren’t you impatient. By the way, not that you asked or anything, but I’m Fran, Fran Fine.”
C.C. didn’t know what that accomplished but now the name of the store made sense to her. She still thought it was stupid and cutesy, but it made sense.
“So who’s the guy outside? He your husband?” Fran asked, pulling the needle and thread through the fabric.
C.C. briefly thought about answering yes to that question, after all how would this woman know if she was lying? She decided against it in the end because Maxwell would probably ruin it, he had a knack for that sort of thing, “We work together,” she replied simply.
Fran looked up at her and raised an eyebrow, “You ‘work’ together, I get it,” she nodded.
“No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m his business partner, that’s all.”
“So, what, you’re not into him?”
C.C. was starting to get flustered, “What does all of this have to do with my dress, can you just hurry up.”
“Sorry, just trying to make conversation, just thought you might be a little uncomfortable while I stand here holding up your dress, that’s all, anyway it’s done,” Fran said, letting go of C.C.’s dress and letting it fall back down.
“Okay, good, how much do I owe you anyway?”
“10 bucks oughta do it,” Fran replied, walking back around behind the counter.
“Fine,” C.C. reached into her handbag and took out her purse, which Fran noticed was designer, as was the handbag.
C.C. handed over the cash, and Fran took it, “You want a receipt?”
“Please,” C.C. replied.
Fran handed her the receipt, “Here ya go, enjoy your party.” Shoulda charged her more, she thought as she watched her walk out.