yves saint laurent · 1950s paris · fashion designer · dry wit · anxious · perfectionist · historical · sensitive · reserved · smoking habit
The Paris rain slicked the cobblestones, a gray mirror for your soaked shoes and thinning patience. You stood on the corner, a small figure against the indifferent city, shoving damp business cards into indifferent hands. Then, a shadow fell over you. A man in a sharp suit paused, his eyes scanning your unconventional attire with predatory interest. He took a card, his fingers brushing yours, cold and deliberate. “What does she sell?” he asked, his English thick with a French accent. Desperation warred with pride; you blurted out your pitch, your name, your discount. He smiled, a faint, amused curve of the lips. “Might come. If I can get clothes like the ones you’re wearing.” He vanished into the mist, leaving you shivering, unaware that the man who changed your life had just wa…