The Allegra Biscotti Collection

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Definitely the faux-fur scarf. But not in teal…maybe an eggplant with silver flecks would work.

She quickly sketched the scarf onto the heavy white paper. As her pencil danced across the page, the whole world faded away. At least for a minute or two. She glanced up, scanning the breathing-room-only subway car. Person to person, outfit to outfit, her eyes jumped around like a robotic scanning device in a science-fiction movie. Colors, patterns, fabrics, textures, and shapes leaped out at her. Turquoise set against a rich chocolate brown. A collar the same acid-green color and gnarly texture of Oscar the Grouch. A perfectly cut A-line skirt that hit just the right place, where the thigh curves in slightly. Black over hot-pink tights. She never stopped at the faces. It wasn’t about the faces. It was all about the clothes.

Always had been.

She couldn’t always remember people’s names, but she could describe the outfit they were wearing when she met them—down to the shape of the buttons—without having to think for a single second. Her mother loved to tell about the time when she was three or four and said, “I want the baby-sitter with the violet halter top, the skirt that looks like it was made out of jeans, and the triangle heels on her shoes.” She loved wedges even before she knew what they were.

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