_OceanofPDF

Jean-Claude came out of the closet with a black cocktail dress. He
closed it and made sure it was locked with a beep. He was my age, with
skin as white as a snowfall and big blue eyes that made magazine editors
swoon.
“Pardon,” he said with a French accent.
“Jean-Claude,” Bianca said, “when we’re sleeping, what are they doing
in China?”
“Making T-shirts.” He shrugged, looking at me.
Fucker. I didn’t know what this was about, but fuck him for having the
code to my father’s closet.
“Thank you, darling.”
Dismissed, Jean-Claude left with the black gown trailing behind.
“Did you know that, Ella?” Bianca asked.
“I get the spinning of the earth.”
“While we sleep, our Chinese suppliers are executing our every wish.
And when we wake—ah! Done! Poof. Magic. An entire shipment of T-
shirts is now ready for packing, right on schedule. As if we dreamed them
into existence. But there’s a price for this sorcery, Estella.”
She sat finally, putting her hands in front of her and smiling like a
schoolteacher whose student didn’t know more about the business than she
ever would.
She was going to get on my case for not checking my email from home.
Did I have to be nice to her?
“The price?” she continued. “We pay in a language barrier—which can
sneak up on us—and we pay in margin for error—of which there is none.
Once you approve a pocket and lay your head to rest, it’s sewn on while
you dream of pretty things, and when you wake, it’s too late.”
She slid a printed-out email across the desk. I read it.
The Raquel tee didn’t have a pocket.
“You didn’t check the style number.”
“How did they not check?” I protested.
“Raquel looks a lot like Rachel, and the Rachel tee has a pocket, but it’s
in next month’s delivery. Did I mention the language barrier? The one
you’re quite aware of? Hmm?” Her voice went from fake sugarplum fairy
to a growl that was at least authentic. “Because I shouldn’t have to.”
“I’m sorry, I—”