Page 1 of British Daddy to Go

1

Maggie

Racks of designer tuxes flash by as I struggle to keep pace with the spritely old man giving me a tour of my new job.

“This is the front end,” he explains. The pitch of his voice is higher than mine, and his steps are a bit too jovial for his age. “You won’t be spending much time up here unless you’re working for a specific client. You’re still expected to dress professionally in case we need to you to take measurements or check a fitting. However, our customers will rarely see you.”

Roger Cooper’s eyes rake over my frumpy outfit. My body folds into itself under his scrutiny. These clothes looked good when I stared at myself in the mirror this morning, but compared to other salespeople, I look like one of the homeless people lining the city streets. With my first few paychecks, I’ll be buying some nicer clothes from the other Madison Avenue stores I pass by to get here.

“Understood,” I say meekly. Roger pauses to talk with another salesperson, and I take the opportunity to look around the actual store. Designer suits line the walls and make even the plastic mannequins look worthy of a job on Wall Street. During my initial interview, Roger told me that Havisham’s has a minimum price for the suits they sell: $2,000. The number made me gasp, seeing that I’ve never had that kind of money in my life.

Just from where we stand, I can see designer tags I’ve only ever glimpsed while window shopping. There’s Brioni, Burberry, Armani… my whole life, I’ve dreamed of walking among clothes like these. I wonder if this is going to be the only chance I’ll ever get.

Roger finishes his conversation with the leggy blonde model saleswoman. Apparently, you have to look like you could walk in New York Fashion Week to get a front office job at Havisham’s. But I’m okay with being behind the scenes. I worked the front desk at my parents’ dry cleaning business until two weeks ago, so I know how difficult it can be to manage customers sometimes. Instead, I prefer holding fabric in my hands and feeling the steady vibration of a sewing machine as I perfectly stich a quarter-inch seam. The back of Havisham’s is where I belong. Plus, working up front won’t get me closer to my dream of being a designer anyway. I need the hands-on experience of being a tailor if I want my dream to become a reality.

“Now, let’s get you settled into your work station,” Roger trills. We travel from the front of the store through a curtain to where they keep the less beautiful people. A few women much older than me sit behind ancient sewing machines with their eyes focused on dark pants and pin-striped suit jackets. No one as much as glances up at us, keeping their hands steady as they hem and pull their various projects.

“As you can see, every one of our special tailors has a station back here. You are to work from your station on any projects to which you are assigned. Since you’re new and only an assistant tailor, you’ll only have one or two clients per week. Once you’ve proven yourself, there will be the chance for more.” He looks down his heavily arched nose at me with a questioning brow. I nod meekly. “Of course,” I say. Satisfied, he nods once and moves on.

“This is your station.” Roger stops in front of a desk identical to the others in the room, right down to the outdated sewing machine. Beside the machine is a basket of other important materials that any good tailor can’t go without, like a measuring tape, hand-sewing needles, and extra spools of sturdy thread. “You are expected to maintain a certain level of neatness. When your shift is over, your station is to be left in the same manner in which you found it. You may keep small trinkets or photos on your station, but they should be kept to a minimum.”

I swallow nervously. Havisham’s is turning out to be a lot more intense than I’d expected. It’s nothing like the dry cleaners my parents own. We hire outside employees to handle whatever the three of us can’t do, but those people are never scrutinized as if for show. But what can I do?

“Okay,” I mumble when I realize he’s waiting for a response.

“If you need any more supplies, you will ask the head tailor. Her name is Gloria, and you’ll meet her in a few minutes when her shift begins.”

This time, Roger doesn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, he takes a few long strides toward the back of the crowded room and points to a paper tacked on the wall. “These are the assignments for each day. As I mentioned earlier, you’ll only have a couple of clients at a time, so your assignments won’t change much. If you’re still here after thirty days, this sheet will list which piece you are to work on each day. The chart keeps things moving efficiently.”

It sounds rigid to me, but I don’t say anything. Havisham’s has been in business for longer than my parents have been alive. If this system works for them, then it must be a good system. Who am I to say how to run a business? They have to be good to compete with the other designer shops surrounding this tall brick building.

Roger moves on to a white board hanging on the wall a few feet from the assignment sheet. “This is the break chart. Each morning, the shift leader will designate break times for everyone who’s working that day. If you miss your break, you maynotgo later. It is your responsibility to take your break at the scheduled time.”

“Understood,” I say again. I’m not up on my New York labor laws, but I’m fairly certain it’s the employer’s responsibility to make sure everyone takes their breaks. Again, I can’t say anything, though. My parents would gladly give me my old job back if I asked them, but that’s the last thing I want. I got this job to gain some independence, not to fail on my first day.

“Roger,” someone shouts from behind another set of dark curtains. “Are you here?”

Roger claps his hands together. “I’m giving the new assistant tailor a tour, Andrea. Is there something I can help you with?”

A petite blonde emerges from behind the curtain. “I have your client list ready for you.”

“Perfect, Andrea. Meet our new assistant tailor. This is Maggie. Maggie, this is my assistant, Andrea.”

Her smile is pleasant, and her handshake is firm. “It’s nice to meet you, Maggie,” she tells me. “Welcome to Havisham’s.”

I smile hesitantly. “Thank you. I’m really excited to be here.”

Andrea goes back behind the curtain, which I now remember leads to Roger’s office. I had my interview there. I was so nervous at the time that I hadn’t paid any attention to the rest of the back-end. It was my first interview ever. I’m still surprised Roger offered me the job.

“Shall we continue the tour?” Roger asks. He waves his arm with an exaggerated flourish. “Over here is the break room. Label any food you put in the fridge. Clean up after yourself. Don’t talk loudly on your cell phone if other people are in the room with you. All common courtesy stuff.”

“I can handle that.”

I’m running out of affirmative phrases. Pretty soon, I’ll be forced to break out the informal ones like, “Got it.” Roger seems like the kind of guy who would be okay with a little informal speak, but I’m not going to risk it. It’s only my first day, and I want to stay on Roger’s good side.

“Do you have any questions, Maggie?”

I shake my head. “I think I understand everything. I’m excited to get to work.”