LowCountry Bride And Gown

William Morrow and Harper Audio present A Low Country Bride Unabridged, A Novel by Preslaysa Williams, Performed by Carmen Jewel Jones. Chapter 1 I need to get this dress right. More than right, I need to get this dress perfect. Maya Jackson dug into the plastic bin set atop her ironing board dress design table in her tiny living room. Yeah, an ironing board doubled as her workspace. Once she made enough money from her wedding dress design job, she'd buy a real work table. But this would do for now. A wave of dizziness overcame her, and she wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead. Not now, she whispered. I have to finish this dress. But sickle cell anemia flare-ups didn't wait for bridal gown designers. Ten to fifteen years. That was what the doctor had said. She had ten to fifteen years left on planet Earth. Maya had to make the most of it. She sat on the wooden stool and took a few breaths. The dizziness relented. It was gone for now. Back to work. This latest dress project wasn't coming together. It looked Every other wouldn't cut it if she wanted to secure her promotion to head dress designer for Laura Whitcomb, Inc. , the nation's top bridal gown designer. Maya stood and circled the dress form. The dress would have to stand out. Maya ran her hand across the dress's bodice, her fingers catching on the swirly pearlescent beads. Waves of tulle cascaded into a long, seamless train. He needed something more. But what? She bit her lower lip and stepped over the bolts of satin and tulle. Scissors, pins, and thread spools rolled around underfoot, cluttering her scratched wooden floor. She hadn't done anything to tidy up this place in forever. Working sixty hours a week for Laura could mess up a housekeeping schedule pretty quickly. Fine. Maybe Maya had never had an actual cleaning schedule, but still, once she secured her promotion, she'd hire a maid. Today, she worked. She grabbed her portfolio, which lived on the l Should she go fancy schmancy, a la English royalty? Nah. Simple and elegant, a la the late Carolyn Bassette. Nah. The dress needed something different. It needed her personal touch. Always put yourself into your work, Maya. You'll never go wrong by staying true to yourself. Mama's advice never failed her. She surveyed the bright white gown, a sense of overwhelm pressed on her chest. This wasn'the way she wanted the gown to look. Color. The bodice needed color, not monotone white with shades of ivory. This dress would determine her fate. The thought nearly made her sick. The Maya could zip around her tiny New York City apartment, fueled on nothing but willpower, and caffeine, of course, if it meant she'd be promoted. She'd prepared for this for years. This was her chance. If she could only fix this dress in time. She had to. She had to. Maya didn't have much time left. Her cell phone blasted a Beyonce song. Maya glanced up and dropped the pen she'd been holding between her teeth. That was Pops calling from Charleston. She reached for her phone and pressed talk. Hey, what's up? My daughter finally has time to answer her phone. Maya shifted her weight from side to side. He always joked with her. What's that supposed to mean? It means I've been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday. Have you checked your messages? No. I understand. Her neck tensed. Guilt set in. Her father understood too well. He understood that Maya worked around the clock. He understood that Maya was hustling up here in New York City. Workaholism had grabbed Maya by the throat and wouldn't let her go. I was working late at the design studio. When I got home, I crashed and I just now started redesigning my latest dress project. How are things with you? Sample complete. Ready to continue?