One day, Héctor is forced to help tidy up Ceci’s studio after losing one of her hand sewn dresses in the lake.
“Make yourself useful and organize that desk,” she tells him, pointing at a small desk over in a corner under piles of folded fabric, tattered papers, and five dozen pin holders.
“It’s going to be more organized than ever, Ceci,” Héctor says, only for his friend to roll her eyes and march back to the costume covered in fake jewels she was working on.
With a shrug, Héctor decides he will start with the papers, because they seem easy enough to store away in the drawers. One pile of folded papers teeters high above his head, and he grabs one of his arms with the other to grab a handful at the top.
He pulls them down, wincing at the way the pile sways dangerously side to side, and glances briefly at the handful of letters.
The words are written so elegantly that they’re almost impossible to read, but read them he does, but only the words that are visible without unfolding the delicate papers:
Ceci, darling, you must visit me this summer. I won’t hear no for an answer! I’ve designed a new fabric that you simply must have…
…and they call themselves “”””high end designers”””” darling, high end designers! They can hardly design an oven mitt, much less a line of practical clothing! All their frilly slips of cloth, priced at more than my house…
…I heard that a super was seen in Mexico City sporting some lovely jade tights and emerald boots with thin, breathable bullet proof fabric, darling, don’t think I didn’t recognize your design, you must tell me your secret…
…there was a time when we designed only for the GODS, and now we are here, trading notes in secret and designing glittery gowns for snooty models and “””super stars””” to wear for a day. You must wish for the challenges of the past as I do, Ceci, dear…
…I have been waiting for a word from you, and I hear from an acquaintance that you are sick! I don’t mean to pry, dear–but I do darling, I do–tell me Ceci, why work when you must rest? Even I, Edna Mode, knows that such a disease can only be fought one way….
“Was Edna Mode one of your fancy designer friends?” Héctor asks, waving one letter at Ceci. Ceci shoots him a narrowed eye glare from across the room, hands still sewing the strap of the dress as she looks away.
“What did I tell you about questions, Héctor?”
“Get back to work and don’t lose any of those! You’re already in enough trouble, muchacho!”
“Going, going,” Héctor says, and carefully gathers the letters together neatly to tie them in a bunch with a string. He reaches for another handful, and glances through them, noting that many of them are signed by the same woman, Edna Mode, designer for the gods
2087
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