Free Designing Berlin by Shara Azod

Chapter One
     
    Berlin frowned as she followed the directions her brand new navigation system gave her. Remote locations were one thing, but this was freaking ridiculous. Who knew West Virginia was full of mountains? Okay, maybe a lot of people did; but damn it, she hadn’t had time to investigate the landscape before heading out in search of “Uniquely American” designers. She shouldn’t have been on this trip at all. Her devoted assistant, Betty, had come down with the flu at the last minute, leaving Berlin to go check out the designs herself. Judging by the rugged rustic landscape and sparse housing, this designer was obviously a recluse. Who lived this far away from civilization? As the head buyer at Femme , the most exclusive department store in the eastern United States and Canada, Berlin had worked hard to get to where she was. She had offices in Miami, Jacksonville, Atlanta, Boston, Philadelphia, and New York.
    But not in Bumblefuck, West Virginia.
    She had been a major advocate for the “Uniquely American” promotion. The idea was to find designers outside of Los Angeles and New York and upscale them so to speak. The clothing line would be designed and produced only in America by stateside designers specializing in Americana; and after a few months of being sold exclusively in American stores for American women, the line would be sold internationally. The goal was to create something unique, something sexy, yet practical for the real bodies of real women. Too many demanded fine clothes for more voluptuous figures. She had managed to sign up three hot new designers so far—one from Atlanta with a unique kind of neo-soul style with a funky twist; one from Kansas who had a country edge with leather and textiles that were sexy and daring; and one from Wisconsin who incorporated fleece and twill in fun flirtatious ways. Generally, Betty would vet them, flying out to their home bases and bringing back examples she thought Berlin would approve. But with Betty sick, there was only one other person Berlin trusted to make these trips—herself.
    So here she was on a trek through the snow-covered mountains of West Virginia, going to see a woman who liked to mix Native-American designs with something indefinable. The pictures of designs from Mattie Mae Hartsfield of Somewhere, West Virginia touched Berlin in a way she hadn’t been since her first Vera Wang gown. Sure, she had to starve herself to get in the damn thing; seemed Vera definitely didn’t understand the dimensions of the modern African-American woman. On the other hand, good old Mattie Mae captured the imagination; her designs could be worn by women of many different body types without being based on a mu’umu’u or a sarong. It was astounding the way her designs understood a woman’s body, be that body full of curves, devoid of curves, or somewhere in between. Berlin had been excited she’d be the one to actually see the woman and designs herself, until the road got longer and the snow started falling harder.
    To her chagrin, Berlin had blown past a sad little town a few minutes ago, figuring Mattie Mae Hartsfield would live right outside of it. Apparently not. Berlin just hoped and prayed she would get to the woman’s house before she ran out of gas completely, or the damn snow that seemed to fall quite a bit steadier than when she had set out turned into a blizzard.
    A quick side glance at the GPS showed she was on the right road, though calling this expanse of hard-packed dirt a “road” was a bit of a stretch. Abruptly the car swerved a bit too much, forcing Berlin to cut the wheel to the right. Unfortunately, the tires failed to find purchase when she tried to straighten out once more. The car tumbled front first into a snow-packed ditch.
    Thankfully, there was enough snow to cushion the crash, but Berlin found she couldn’t back out of the ditch. When she tried to gun the engine, she just dug the tires deeper and deeper into the snow. The only