Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing (6 page)

Can you relate? If so, I have the perfect example to share.

This flamboyant flashback is from an exclusive interview that Daisy’s high school best friend, Saide Gomez, gave to
Vanity Fair
in 1985. Of all the Daisy articles and press clippings I’ve collected over the years, this is, by far, one of my favorites. I cry every time I read it. The article ran in honor of the thirty-year anniversary of Casa de la Flora.

First of all, cue the mambo music!

The year? 1953. Daisy, sixteen, turned heads every time she stepped out of her aunt and uncle’s house, which was nestled in a modest suburb in Miami’s Coconut Grove area. If she wasn’t on her way to school or one of her two jobs; she was headed to the movie house to soak up a flick by her idol, Carmen Miranda. But Daisy didn’t go for the tropical tanginess of the star. No, she
considered it practical education and went with a notepad and a sharpened pencil to sketch all of Carmen’s delicious outfits and accessories.

While most other teenagers in America were obsessed with Marilyn, Daisy’s mind swirled with the music, colors, and art of Carmen. The world perceived Carmen as “The lady in the tutti frutti hat,” but Daisy knew she was more than that—a painter and fashion designer as much as she was a dancer, singer, and actress. (Did you know that from early in her Hollywood career to the very end, Carmen designed and even made many of her multitiered gowns, stacks of heavy beaded necklaces, and chandelier-inspired headdresses?)

After school, Daisy worked as a waitress at the corner coffee shop, and on weekends, after the movies, she attached clasps at her aunt and uncle’s leather handbag factory. After almost every shift, she brought home small bags of unwanted findings, studs, and trims. On a good day, she’d leave with a few defective bags. To her, they were blank canvases to play with. Daisy spent hours each evening painting and glazing mini-strawberries, bananas, and other fake fruit she sculpted from bread dough, and let harden in the sun. She used the items, along with gems and feathers to Daisy-fy belts, shoes, hats, and clutches and then wore them with every outfit she owned.

Saide said in the interview that by the time Daisy turned seventeen, she had a steady roster of local customers who loved her flamboyant creations. They consisted mostly of circus, stage, or burlesque performers, but still, they were fans. Go, Daisy!

Daisy’s dream was to give Carmen one of her treasured items. But how does a lowly Miami teenager make good
with one of the highest-paid entertainers in show business? The only way Daisy could think of: fan letters.

Once a week for a year and a half, Daisy sent a package to Carmen. She shared her sketches, comments on her films, and even suggestions for new costume ideas. She decorated each package with doodles and pasted-on fashion pictures and mailed them along with a sample of her work to Carmen’s fan P.O. Box address that she found in the back of a magazine.

Daisy’s sisters and aunt and uncle frowned at her obsession, scolding her for wasting her money and time. Embarrassed by her flamboyant lifestyle, they criticized, but Daisy simply responded by adding extra crystals and sequins to her designs. (Now we know why her work was so sparkly.) Her uncle even tried to tell her that Carmen was nothing more than a drug addict and a Hollywood puppet. He despised the woman’s act and hated that Daisy worshipped her. Little did he know, his resentment made Daisy adore Carmen even more.

Someday, Daisy thought, she would escape Coconut Grove and her stuffy family forever and find her way into Carmen’s entourage.

Then one day, a small parcel arrived.

Daisy’s face flushed when she read the return address, and she raced to her best friend Saide’s house to open it.

The package was from the president of Carmen’s fan club. She thanked Daisy for her support, and informed her that Carmen had indeed received, adored, and even wore one of her gifts—a wrist cuff featuring the outline of a parrot, accented with rows of gems, sequins, and rhinestones. Also included in the package was a small glass jar of green buttons from Carmen’s personal dressmaking
stash. Carmen, impressed by Daisy’s devotion, had them sent as a good-luck charm for her design career. She invited the teen to attend a musical stage show and requested that Daisy bring samples of her collection. Carmen’s people would introduce her to a team of national sales reps, who would also be in attendance that night. Enclosed was a set of two show tickets to a live broadcast of The Perry Como Show and a reservation for a hotel.

“We’re going to the Big Apple to meet Carmen!” Daisy cheered. The girls hugged, and jumped up and down on the bed. Saide snatched the letter from Daisy’s hands to reread it calmly, as if examining the fine print on a contract. A frown spread across her face.

“The event is the Saturday after next,” Saide said, dejected.

“Exactly!” Daisy replied. “We have two whole weeks to prepare!”

“Daisy, New York City is over a thousand miles away.” She asked Daisy how they could afford transportation, and reminded her that she didn’t even have any products to show because Daisy had either sold them or mailed them to Carmen.

Saide and Daisy had been soul sisters ever since grade school. Out of everyone in the universe, she knew how much this meant to Daisy. Can you believe she actually tried to talk Daisy out of going? Some friend, huh? Greeby. Instead of encouraging our Daisy, she tried to break her spirit. Grrr… people like that make me growl like a cranky mama tiger.

Anyhoo, back to the story…

You might think those little obstacles would hold Daisy back, but she clocked in extra hours at her jobs, even
pretended to be sick so she could stay home from school and work instead. By night the devoted designer enlisted her reluctant sister to help her build up the best samples ever. And, to add to the drama, she had to do it all undercover because no way would her aunt or uncle let her go alone with Saide to New York City! That was unheard of for two eighteen-year-old girls from Miami in the 1950s.

On August 5, 1955, Daisy and Saide checked into the Plaza Hotel.

Daisy couldn’t pinpoint why, but sadness hung in her heart. It took all her might not to cry, and that confused her. She hadn’t experienced such sorrow since a tragic bus accident took the lives of her parents ten years before. Those wounds were painful, so she pushed the memory out of her head and focused instead on her love of designing and the joy of seeing Carmen.

Decked out in Daisywear from head to toe, the girls waited in the humid August evening in front of the hotel for a cab to pick them up and drive them a few blocks to the Ziegfeld Theatre. Saide paid the driver and, just as they exited the vehicle and shut the door, he leaned over and said through the open window, “You gals dressed up like that in honor of Carmen?”

They nodded and giggled.

“It’s a real shame,” he said, bowing his head as he drove off.

Saide and Daisy exchanged confused expressions and went on inside, still giddy. Daisy took a deep breath and clenched her heavy suitcase of decorated hats, headbands, purses, gloves, and belts. She had planned to take one of each but couldn’t decide what to pick, so she brought everything to be safe. Hopefully she would be
going home in the morning with good news to share with her family.

“Is it just me, or does this scene feel… I don’t know… weird? This is supposed to be a lively concert, but it feels like a funeral,” Saide whispered, noticing a subdued buzz among the crowd. They walked past the main entrance and into the theater in awe, amazed at the gorgeous art deco architecture and lush upholstery. They found their seats, front and center in the second row! The girls hugged each other, proud of their successful journey and excited to see Carmen perform before their very eyes. Ready to dance and celebrate, they held hands, as well as their breath, when the house lights dimmed and the red velvet curtains opened.

Silence. No band, no dancers… no Carmen.

Instead, one spotlight shined down on a large, gold-framed portrait of Carmen that rested center stage. Dozens of floral bouquets and wreaths surrounded it, and draped across the front of it all hung a black ribbon that read
IN MEMORIAM.

Daisy gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand, while Saide tightened her grip on the other.

A man in a sharp black suit walked onstage, and the crowd rose and lowered their heads. Daisy’s chest began to heave. She knew what he was about to say.

Carmen Miranda, the Brazilian Bombshell, had died.

Saide recalled that being the longest night of her life. Of course, Daisy went into hysterics, and Saide had to practically carry her limp, sobbing body back to the hotel. She stayed up with her all night, cradling her head, rocking her to sleep.

By the way, Saide is back in my good graces at this point.

Daisy never met with the president of Carmen’s fan club, much less the Saks Fifth Avenue buyers that night. She didn’t care. Her creative spirit had vanished. The next morning, she quietly packed up all her belongings and prepared for the thirty-hour train ride home.

Daisy told Saide she planned to ask her uncle for forgiveness and start fresh at his business, but not anywhere near the factory. She swore she never wanted to see another sequin as long as she lived. She would lead a quiet life and work in the office with her sisters. Carmen had been a bright shooting star in her life, and now that light was no more.

The girls walked in silence to the nearest subway that would take them to Penn Station. The brilliance of the city now appeared tarnished in their minds. Daisy allowed herself one sniffle of self-pity. Sadness consumed her, but she knew a greater destiny awaited her. She looked up to see her reflection in an empty store window. She stopped and blinked. Was that Carmen staring back at her?

Daisy pressed her face to the glass and cupped her hands around her eyes for a clearer view. A chill raced up her spine. There on the countertop sat a large picture of Carmen, her dainty hands framing her delightful chin, wearing the towering crown of fruit, smiling with a devilish grin as if she owned the world. It was an image that would later become iconic. Daisy looked into Carmen’s bright eyes and felt mysteriously compelled to enter the store.

Once inside, Daisy dropped her off-brand Samsonites and picked up the photo and gazed into it as if it were a crystal ball. Saide followed, but didn’t look at the photo. She was too intrigued with the merchandise of the bou
tique. Sleek party dresses, silky gowns, stunning tiaras, satin handbags, and the most scrumptious array of heels she had ever laid eyes on.

“Such a shame,” the handsome storeowner commented to Daisy. “Carmen Miranda was so full of light and love. She’ll be missed.”

Daisy nodded, clenching the picture to her chest.

“You have such lovely merchandise, why isn’t your store window filled up? I bet you could get a lot of business in here,” Saide said.

Daisy stepped back and glanced around the glitzy shop.

“Oh, I know that,” the shopkeeper chuckled. “My sister is queen of all that. We’re in between displays. Window dressing is an art form; we’re waiting for that flash of genius to strike, I guess you could say. Fall is right around the bend, but I’m bored with the usual autumn hues of brown and olive….”

Daisy perched up an eyebrow and approached the storeowner. “Let us decorate it. In honor of Carmen.”

The man hesitated and then folded his arms. “Well, may I ask who you are? Do you live in the city?”

Daisy scrambled from one dress to another, pausing only to put her hand on her chin and intensely ponder. So much for her plan of working in her uncle’s office. She’d leave that for her sisters.

The storeowner’s eyes flickered about, shadowing Daisy’s every move, not sure what to make of her. Saide noticed his concern.

“My friend is a designer who is… was… inspired by Carmen. She’s very shaken up about the news,” Saide whispered. “She’s still dealing with it as you can see.”

“
Is
inspired by Carmen,” Daisy corrected, picking up a business card from the counter. “ ‘Her Madgesty’s Closet.’ Cute name. Let me guess. Your sister is Madge?”

He nodded. “Isn’t it clever?”

“What’s your name?” Saide asked, flicking her lashes like a Cuban Betty Boop.

“Javier,” he said, flirting back.

“Hey, Javi,” Daisy said, interrupting the love connection. “I was supposed to meet Carmen last night. It sounds farfetched, but I swear, she was a fan of my work. We’re from Miami, and her fan club president paid our way out here to see her show. We came all this way, and well… anyway… it would be my honor to create the most elegant, beautiful window shrine dedicated to Carmen. I have a suitcase full of accessories, combined with your gorgeous dresses and mannequins—I think Carmen will smile down from heaven. Saide, would you do the honors?” she asked, gesturing to her friend.

Saide used the pointy tip of her leather flat to pop open the suitcase on the floor. She scooped up a black pillbox hat trimmed in a row of rhinestone swirls with a strawberry in the center of each one. “Take a gander at this. One hundred percent Daisy made,” Saide said proudly as she modeled the hat. “Maybe it’s something your wife would like?”

Javier removed the hat from her head, inspected it, and then stepped over to Sadie and looked into her eyes. “Actually, I don’t have a wife. Or a girlfriend.” He smiled at Sadie for a moment before remembering Daisy’s request. “Nice work, ladies. Let’s do this.”