Free Noon at Tiffany's by Echo Heron

please direct your attention here.”
    Tiffany stepped closer, his eyes focused on the vision of vibrant red poppies nestled like rubies among intricately veined leaves of liquid green, all on a background of deep yellow.
    “It’s a design I’ve been working on for some time. I wanted to wait until it was completed before showing it to you. I was hoping to …”
    Tiffany was no longer listening. He set aside his walking stick and took the shade gently from her hands. Examining it closely, he seemed mesmerized by the colors and the fluid curve of the piece.
    Design sketches and odd bits of cartoons scattered under her fingers as she rifled through the confusion of papers in her desk. She found her drawing for the lamp base and held it out to him. “I thought the base should be of copper or brass.”
    Pulling a pencil from her hair, she pointed at the four finely detailed poppy leaves that made up the feet of the base, their delicate stems weaving together in an exquisite and harmonious pattern that twisted up the length of the metal arm. “Inlaid here in these narrow panels between the stems will be mosaic tiles in colors complementary to the glass.”
    “Hideous!” Mitchell blurted. “It is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. No one would be foolish enough to buy such unappealing frippery. The production costs alone would put us out of business.”
    She whirled on him. “It is not hideous! Truth be told, it’s the most original and interesting thing in the place! If you don’t believe me, Mr. Mitchell, display this lamp in the showroom, and we’ll just see how well it sells.”
    Tiffany took the shade to Clara’s desk and sat down.
    “Out of the question!” retorted Mitchell. “However, since we’ve caught you red-handed, might I inquire what business you have wasting company time and materials on this useless enterprise?”
    “I beg your pardon!” she snapped, her voice high and loud. She promptly lowered it—sounding like a fishwife would get her nowhere. “I created this piece on my own time. As for the materials, every inch of the shade has come from scraps I recovered from the dustbins or scrap glass that I purchased with my own money.”
    Unrelenting in his attack, Mitchell shook his head. “That makes no difference whatsoever. You did not have my permission to engage in this this waste of company resources. You simply took it upon yourself to—”
    “This is ingenious, Miss Wolcott,” Tiffany said quietly, turning the lampshade so that the glass sparkled. “I applaud you.”
    “Louis!” Mitchell pushed her aside. “The cost of producing thisdesign would exceed any profit we might realize from its sale, if indeed it sold at all.”
    Tiffany held up a hand. “I’ve said nothing about putting it into production.” He returned his attention to the shade. “How did you come by this design?”
    Cautiously she crossed in front of Mitchell. “Last winter being what it was with so much snow, Josephine talked incessantly about how much she longed for the bright colors of the other seasons. That became the seed of an idea that took root and blossomed when I saw how our landscape windows come alive when the light shines through them.
    “I thought, why not a stained glass lampshade sporting colorful designs from nature? What could be more cheerful than all those colors on a dreary winter day?”
    Tiffany nodded. “And the shape?”
    “It seemed to match the natural lines of the flowers.” She leaned over him, running her fingers down the curve of the shade. “You can see here how I used copper wire to mimic the fine veins of the leaves. It worked …”
    She was at once acutely aware of him, the side of his face so close to hers she could smell the faint scent of apples on his breath. Tiffany caught her fingers under his. With the lightest of pressure, he caressed her hand, and then released it.
    The event was so subtle and unexpected that, for an instant, she doubted it had actually happened.