Then asked, "Did they give you enough time to correct the problems?"
The older woman laughed.
"Time?"
The other seamstresses looked toward us.
One shook her head.
"We've been working twelve-hour days."
The first woman nodded.
"And they told us we'd be paid the standard event rate, no extra compensation for the additional work."
My jaw tightened.
"Who told you that?"
She named a production contractor.
I recognized the company.
It had been approved to handle final fittings, not to replace the main manufacturing facility.
I looked toward the garment rack.
There were dozens of pieces.
Each represented hours of labor.
Each carried my label.
And several had apparently been altered through a process I hadn't approved.
I took a slow breath.
"Have you kept your schedules?"
The older seamstress nodded.
"Of course."
"Time sheets?"
"Yes."
"Messages about the changes?"
She looked at me suspiciously.
"Why?"
For a moment, I considered revealing my identity.
Then I realized it wasn't necessary yet.
I looked directly at her.
"Because whoever pays for this work needs to account for the hours you actually worked."
The seamstress stared.
Then she gave a tired smile.
"Well, tell them that."
I nodded.
"I will."
She looked toward my gown.
For the first time, her expression changed.
She studied the twisted bodice.
The ruching.
The carefully controlled movement of the fabric.
Then she leaned closer.
"That's an AVERY piece."
I smiled faintly.
"Yes."
She examined the neckline.
"Not from this collection."
"No."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Who made it?"
I looked toward her.
For a moment, I thought about lying.
Then I decided she deserved the truth.
"I did."
The seamstress stared.
Her eyes moved toward my face.
Then toward the gown again.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Finally, she whispered, "You're kidding."
I smiled.
"No."
She looked toward the other women.
Then back at me.
"Are you...?"
I nodded.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
The other seamstresses stood.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then the older woman began laughing.