Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition by Elizabeth Knox (top 5 ebook reader txt) 📕

you mean it’s all wrong? It’s completely accurate,” I snap back at Ethan, my hands landing on my hips, and wishing I’d never taken this job working on his independent film. It’s become a complete nightmare.

“The lead in this picture is not wearing that god-awful gown. I don’t care how good a costume designer you are, if you can’t get it right . . .”

“What’s wrong with this?” I look at the beautiful gown I’ve sketched out for him. I jumped the gun and drew it up based on our first discussion, before the first scheduled design meeting that starts in a few minutes. Maybe I wanted to impress him, but apparently, I’ve miscalculated what he wants.

“It’s too . . . too . . . I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Try.”

“She should be elegant but reserved.”

“You said you wanted flamboyant. You wanted a fantasy element. I’m giving it to you.”

“Don’t tell me what I want. I know what I want, and that’s not it. That’s not what I asked for at all. Start. Over.”

I whirl on a heel, fuming and ready to blow, but I’m a professional, so I bite back the ugly words I want to hurl at his face, and resist the urge to slam the door on my way out.

My team is waiting in the hall. I don’t have to tell them how the meeting went; they heard every word.

“Come on, ladies.” I click down the hall in my skirt and heels, tablet in hand, and my team of three behind me.

Janice hands me a Starbucks mochaccino as we walk; it’s my drink of choice, and we all take turns getting the coffee. “Here, this will cheer you up.”

“I thought it was perfect,” Stephanie says, trying to console me.

“It was,” I snap back.

“I love the dress you designed, but I’d kill for that outfit you’re wearing now,” Tammy says, trying to distract me.

“Thanks.”

I like clothes. I love them in fact. I feel positively giddy when I put on my Jimmy Choo shoes. I especially love costumes. If I had to choose between my car and my sexy Lt. Uhura Star Trek uniform, I’d take the uniform.

I’ve loved making elaborate costumes since I was in high school, back when Comic-Con and the Halloween-once-a-year deal wasn’t enough. I wanted more, but back then I was aimless with no real direction, so when my high school counselor recommended I try to get into an art school and study fashion and costume design, I suddenly had a goal. When she helped me get a scholarship, the deal was sealed. Besides, being a dream, it was a ticket out of my crappy home life.

Now I’m a costume designer working on film sets in Hollywood. If that isn’t every girl’s dream job, I don’t know what is.

Aside from being around more shoes, hats, and cloth than I can shake a stick at, I get to take an active part in creating an important element of a piece of art. Depending on the project, it may also be a piece of shit, but the point is I’m being creative.

It’s a fun job, but there’s a lot of forethought that goes into it, and a lot of hard work to achieve the initial vision.

And sometimes you run into an arrogant ass like Ethan and life becomes hell.

We move down the hall and enter a set of double doors. I sit at the table in the conference room and sip my Starbucks.

“This should be easy,” Janice murmurs as the other teams walk in, set design, hair and makeup, director of photography, and lastly Ethan and his team assemble for the morning design meeting to discuss the look and feel of the project.

“Nothing’s easy in this business,” I whisper back.

“Oh, come on, Sara, an independent film set in the Old West? I could design it with my eyes closed. Hell, go home and watch an old Clint Eastwood movie and you’ll have everything you need to know.”

For the next two hours we listen to how this director wants everything in depressing muddy browns like a sepia film. The set design will be gloomy; almost like a horror film, and I wonder if this project is going to tank before it ever gets off the ground. I’ve been on more than one picture that was dumped by the studio or investors before it ever saw the light of day. It’s hardly the fantasy element he described to me when he talked me into coming on board this project.

Now, he’s going on about the color orange and how he doesn’t want to see a single drop of it on anything. I’ve known my share of quirky, artsy types, so an aversion to orange doesn’t faze me all that much. If he wants brown in ten shades, he’ll get it, by God.

When the meeting wraps up, I stand and gather my notes, then turn to my team of three assistants. “Come on, we’re heading over to the library at Western Costume.”

Stephanie actually groans. “Seriously?”

“Yes, research is important. We need to become experts on the dress, material, and style of the people of the given period. It won’t do just to watch a couple episodes of Deadwood, and assume we’ve got the idea. The research has to be meticulous, because if there are any historical inaccuracies in the finished product, believe me, someone will notice and make a big deal about it. Plus, I take pride in my work, and want to get it right. If you don’t feel the same, perhaps you’re on the wrong team.”

“Fine, but if you ask me, a cowboy’s a cowboy.”

“And what about the heroine? You heard Ethan; she’s just arrived from London. She’s going to have a completely different wardrobe. Lady Amelia Kent won’t be wearing homespun cotton, I assure you.”

“And apparently not the gorgeous design you came up with.”

I lift my chin. It’s one of the best designs I’ve ever created, but I won’t let him get me down. I’ve already got an