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Thanks Kat for posting this faded glory themed pic to #LuxvilleTales. Here is your story.

SUCH A PATTERN.

I pulled the pattern from my backpack with such excitement I tore the corner.

“Can you make me this?”

The Vietnamese tailor looked closely at the illustration on the front. Turning it over in his hands like I had turned in over so many times. It was an ink drawing of a woman in red silk. 1950s Hollywood glamour. Thin line legs, one foot forward, one back. Standing beside her was herself in a black velvet version. Both wore a silver brooch. Fitted bodice, square neckline, sleeveless with a ‘just below the knee’ skirt that had so much fabric it could twirl forever.

I had found it in a Luxville op shop years ago. Fifty cents didn’t seem respectful so I gave one dollar. In return I got a dream. Me twirling, me glamorous, me fabulous, holding a glass of champagne while a group of well dressed men stood around me adoringly, waiting on my every hilarious word.

Since then we moved house three times, had two babies, changed jobs, set up a business, crashed a car, started a band, moved schools, numerous family illnesses, and a couple of holidays. Still I saved my dream in a drawer with my undies and a bar of soap.

“No,” said the tailor. “Not me, my wife.” He called for her and she appeared slowly beside him. I had no idea where she had come from. The tiny shop was all glass front on two sides, another wall exclusively material samples to the low ceiling and the last wall a curtained dressing room.

The shop in Hanoi had been hard to find. Down this street, then that. Intriguing colours and smells. Lots of tiny shops each way we turned until we saw the sign. Mr Thinh Bui had been recommended.

I waited as Mrs Mai Bui turned the pattern over in her hands, glancing at the specs listed on the back. The indecipherable part no matter how many times I looked. She looked more intently at the front, the two women, the two dresses, two brooches.

“Colour?”

“Oh I think red silk, don’t you?” Expectantly. “It’s fabulous don’t you think?” Nothing.

“Up, up.” I lifted my arms as she took my measurements over my clothes.

“Five metres red silk. Four metres lining. Go there. Two blocks. Ask for Miss Linh. Come back tomorrow.” She pointed down the street and as we left she locked the door behind us and began to talk loudly and wildly to her husband.

Lynden and I had been in Hanoi for two weeks and had just three days left. I had thought making of dreams were quicker so left it until last.

We took 40 mins to go those two blocks. We had found ourselves in the dressmaking part of the city. The sights, sounds and textures needed time to behold. The cramped alleyways of every colour were a touch sensation. All the shop keepers out on the streets hawking for business, promising money exchange, so easy, so overwhelming.

We found Miss Linh, who found the red silk of my dream and carefully measured, cut and packed into something I could hold. Five beautiful metres of red floral embossed silk. So much material. I could feel it swishing around my legs as I danced barefoot across a field to music only I could hear.

Next day we went back to Mr Bui’s. The door was locked. He appeared in the street beside us and took the material from me. “Come back two days.” he said.

There wasn’t any time to explain our lack of time, as he rushed off down the street away from the shop.

In those last two days we wandered every street of Hanoi, had an altercation with the man in the Post Office who charged us too much for postcards, discovered beer in the French Quarter, the beauty of the arts quarter, the women’s museum and the lake where the Giant Turtles live.

We arrived at the shop for the last time, with our luggage in tow. I could see the dress hanging on the curtain from across the street. The colour dazzled even here where colour was queen. But it wasn’t right.

“It just looks weird on the hanger. It will be different when you put it on.” Lynden consoled.

I so wanted to believe her.

I stood stripped in the round curtain dressing room that showed my shoes and socks to the world, and pulled the dress over my head. It hung limply to my knees. There was no swishing, no twirling. And there certainly was no field. It looked like I had made it. Not good.

I reluctantly drew the curtain aside.

“Looks beautiful.” said Mrs Bui with a sour face, pinning the dress at my shoulder.

Lynden smiled a small frozen smile.

“Its fine as it is. No need for extra work. I’ll take it now, we must rush for our train.” I said as I pulled the curtain around me.

She packed it and gave it to me. I paid her what we had agreed.

“I’d like the extra material you didn’t use.”

“Not much left.” she said as she pushed some scraps of silk into the bag.

“I’d like the pattern please.”

“Cut up, so sorry.”

The dress in the brown paper bag was shoved into the bottom of my case and remained there until we arrived home. Then it was pushed hard into the back of the undies drawer.

I told the tale to the friend who had recommended Mr Bui.

“Yes,” she said “MR Bui. Not Mrs!”

If I didn’t wear it I could still dream. Couldn’t I?

LUXVILLE TALES with TALE BY Erin McCuskey and IMAGE BY Kat Pengelly (follow her facebook.com/katpengellyart)

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Please Note: The #LuxvilleTales are generated from reader contributed images. Post me an image themed ‘faded glory’ and I will write you a short tale. My most fave pic taker will be gifted the ‘Luxville Dolls’ book, due February 2016. Tag it #Luxville & #LuxvilleTales and tag me too! Love Madame Yum