#FashionVictim

by Amina Akhtar

  I laughed. “He hates me, so whatever.”

  “He doesn’t. He just didn’t know you before. But now he thinks you’re like super-goth-fighter girl. Isn’t that hilarious?”

  “That’s so funny!” I laughed.

  “I think he needs to get his meds adjusted.”

  “Well, I don’t care much about him. Except—who does his eyebrows? Because they look so good.”

  “O-M-G, right? Ugh, I hate when the gays are better browed than me.” We both sighed. We were the same, me and Sarah. We were one.

  I started my Jack mood board when I got home. He was with Sarah in every single photo. I drew skulls, unibrows, and giant Xs over some of their smiling and kissing faces. Except for one where they looked exceptionally pretty. They were flawless, and it killed me. I stared at my face in the mirror for comparison. I needed a new one. Face, not mirror. Something that was Sarah approved.

  Dr. M always says I need to vent my emotions or I’ll have a toxic buildup. That probably explained going to town on Cassie. I didn’t realize I was so upset with her. But it’s good to get it out there, hash it out. Then you can make up and be friends. I didn’t even hate her anymore.

  I took a deep breath and let loose a wail. It started low, but then all I could hear was my own scream filling my apartment. I wanted the world to hear it. To hear me. I stopped when my throat hurt. My downstairs neighbor pounded on his ceiling. My doorman, Travis (he was my favorite), called to ask if I was being murdered.

  “Every day, Travis.”

  I had all weekend to do some recon on Jack. His email password was HediSlimane1. Like it was hard to figure out. He clicked on a link in a spam email he shouldn’t have. (I’ll admit, if I got an email that said I was getting free La Prairie skin care, I’d click too.) One click is all it takes for any kind of malware to get on your computer. Keylogging software was the best. Jack was going to a showroom the next day at nine. Funny, so was I.

  * * *

  I dressed with care Monday morning. Head-to-toe the Row, giant sunglasses, nude lipstick for a washed-out look, and I carried a venti coffee from Starbucks. (I hated the taste of their coffee, but I did as the Olsens did. They were my spiritual masters.) I swanned into the showroom. I didn’t say a word, just looked around and snapped photos with my phone. My goal? To get Jack on Team Anya.

  “Anya?” I turned to eye my target, my (freshly tweezed) eyebrow lifting in mock surprise to see him.

  “Oh, hey.” Deadpan and slightly hoarse. Just like the Olsens.

  “That’s a look. Hungover?” He leaned in to stage-whisper the last part.

  I laughed. “You know how it goes.” I was cool, I wanted him to see that.

  He nodded emphatically. “This place is such a disaster, right?”

  I didn’t know his game yet. I couldn’t give anything away. So I continued our conversation about nothing. Chitchat was always a must at fashion appointments. I couldn’t come right out and say, “Jack, ditch Sarah. Be my friend.” Wait, could I? No, be cool, Anya.

  “Oh, sweetie, this is so amazing!” he lied to the publicist who came by. Fucking Lauren-bots, always in the way. At least this one didn’t have that stupid shard in her eye.

  “Let’s go get brekkie. I’m famished.” And then Jack Archer grabbed my arm and marched me out the door into a waiting Uber. “Cafe Cluny on West Twelfth. Lemme put in the address for you.” He rolled his eyes at me as if to say, Can you believe this shit?

  I sat, frozen. He chattered the entire car ride. This was most definitely a trap.

  “I’m just saying, I don’t think Sarah gives you enough credit. I mean, look at your outfit. Just look. Total MK and Ashley realness.”

  He got it. He understood what I was going for. Was this what friendship was?

  “We might need to Insta this. Oh, just up here is great.” We jumped out, and he stopped me. “Okay, let’s pose this, bitch.”

  If you’ve ever had a superchic gay man order you to pose, then you understand how awkward I felt. I tried to summon every bit of inspo I could. I dipped my chin slightly, angled my head, crossed my ankles, and clutched the coffee cup with everything I had. I had taken notes on Zhazha’s pics. Jack murmured appreciative comments.

  “Ahh, got it. So good. Come on, I’m starving.”

  Inside the restaurant, I peered around the dining room. Only the coolest boys and girls in fashion convened here. I hadn’t made the cut before now.

  “Isn’t the avocado toast here the best?” Jack said.

  “Totally.”

  “We should totally get some and split it.”

  “Sure,” I said. He wanted carbs. That was a diet no-no. But we were having such small amounts.

  He ordered us coffees, the toast, and oatmeal. I sat back and pursed my lips in my best imitation of Celia.

  “I’m so glad I ran into you. You’re, like, really blossoming, Anya.”

  “Am I? I’m just the same old me.”

  “In the Row. Whatever, bish. So, okay, can we discuss what’s happening?”

  I shrugged. Whatever could he mean?

  “Like, Mulberry,” he said. “Do you know who did it?”

  “Who killed her, you mean?” I was thankful for my dark lenses. I didn’t want to give anything away. Not to Jack. “Honestly, no. The police are still digging, but . . .”

  “But, like . . . who else hated her, you know?”

  “No one hated her. I mean, Sarah didn’t love her. I think she was jealous of Mulberry, to be honest. Shit. Please don’t tell her I said that.”

  Jack grinned at me. “I’d never.”

  He would.

  “And Celia wasn’t a fan of hers.” There. See? I wasn’t blaming Sarah.

  “I bet Celia is bitchy enough to smash a shoe into someone’s face. I mean, doesn’t she throw shoes already?” He barked a laugh, even snorting. I was fascinated. He didn’t seem to care that he sounded ugly. Was this the gift of being attractive?

  “So, like, did you kill her?” he said suddenly.

  I jerked my head back and blinked behind my sunglasses. “God, no! I liked Mulberry, even when she fell down in her shoes. How can you even think that?” I paused. “Did you kill Lisa?” Tit for fucking tat, right?

  He gasped. “Hell no! Look, we both know Lisa was a see-you-next-Tuesday, but I would never. She was so fixated on you. It was awkward. Is the detective as hot as Sarah said?”

  “Oh, so hot.” I nodded enthusiastically. The topic shifted.

  “What are you going as for Halloween?”

  I shook my head. “I wanted to dress up, but it’s two days away, and I totally left it all to the last minute. What about you?” Really, I hadn’t done anything all weekend but obsess over Jack. And Sarah. And Jack with Sarah.

  “I have three costumes.” He counted off on his fingers. “Gaga in the meat dress, obvs. Wonder Woman—Gadot style, because so chic. And I think my next one will be Adam Rippon. He’s my guiding light.”

  “You have the eyebrows for it!” He did.

  Jack’s face lit up. “You are so sweet. Did I tell you I loved your NYFW diary, bee-tee-dubs? It was so real. Oh, god, are you in love with Zhazha too?” He shot me questions faster than I could answer them. I was unnerved and charmed at the same time. Jack was dangerous that way. He could interrogate you, and you’d love every second of it. If he did team up with Hopper (and I wasn’t convinced he hadn’t), I was so screwed.

  “She’s incredible. You should hang out with her sometime. I think Sarah will learn to love her.”

  “After the arm incident? Though I saw the photos, and Zhazha wasn’t close enough to push Sarah. You know who was?”

  I shrugged.

  “You.” He smirked, popping a piece of toast in his mouth.

  “As if I’d hurt Sarah. Besides, it made for more work on my end. She couldn’t carry anything.”

  “Huh, that’s true. That’d be like you shooting yourself in the foot!”

  “Did I tell you I saw Cassie hang
ing all over Greg while Sarah was in Europe?”

  “Shut the front door, you did not! Does Sarah know?”

  “Well, sure, I told her. But didn’t you say she put up cameras? I dunno, I’d check them if I were her.”

  He grabbed my hand. His eyes were wide. Then Jack grinned, avocado all over his teeth. Gross. Maybe Jack wasn’t as handsome and charming as I thought.

  “You know, I just don’t get why Sarah doesn’t like you.”

  Sarah didn’t like me?

  “You’re pretty, and sure, you’re a bit bigger, but you wear the clothes well. O-M-G, brillz idea! Let’s all hang out. You, me, Sarah, and Zhazha.”

  What would avocado toast vomit look like? I was going to find out soon. Hanging with everyone, together, would never work. Friends colliding. All those mean things I’d said about Sarah to get Zhazha to like me. Fuck. This could only backfire.

  “Just imagine the fireworks!” He slapped the table.

  “Maybe. Listen, I need to get back to the office—”

  “Okay, I got this brekkie. Next one is on you.”

  I nodded. Smile, Anya. Smile at him.

  “This was fun,” I managed to say. Then I ran out, hoping to get a cab.

  Avocado toast vomit is green, in case you were still wondering.

  * * *

  Sarah gave me the silent treatment at the office. Had Jack told her what I said? Probably. But when I checked their texts, he had only compliments: Anya is way more fun than you give her credit for. Can we all hang? Oh, PS, have you looked at your spy cams?

  It wasn’t what he did or didn’t say that upset Sarah so much; I think it was the photo of me he posted and the caption Anya St. Clair is so damn chic. Channel the Olsens, boo.

  I grinned. I couldn’t help it.

  Sarah must have noticed. “Jack is a slut with compliments. It doesn’t mean he likes you.”

  “I know, Sarah. But at least I don’t look too ugly, right?” Silence. She hated me today. But if her friend was my friend, then we were totally friends. BFFs, almost. Just like I wanted.

  My phone buzzed. Hey, girrrrl. Loved hanging. Let’s do it again. Don’t kill anyone. Was he joking? My stress level hit a ten. That’s when Dr. M said it was overload time. Did Jack really think I was the killer? Could I not trust him?

  I texted back, LOL xx.

  Sarah remained distant with me for the next couple days. I pored through her Instagram for any details. She had gone as a geisha for Halloween, hugging Jack’s Adam Rippon. I alternated between being horribly depressed and full of glee over how jealous she was that Jack liked me. But really, I wanted to hug her and tell her she was my one and only. Her hug the other day had left me wanting more. Jack continued to text us both separately. I wasn’t in the trinity yet.

  Since Cassie had all but disappeared, we had to hire a new intern. A pile of résumés were on my desk. I skimmed through, putting the best ones on top for Sarah to review.

  “Ugh, no, not this one.” She held up the offending paper as if it were a dirty diaper.

  “She’s perfect. Why not?” She was, too. A Parsons student who knew design and had interned already at several fashion houses. She even had her own blog.

  “Her name! What is that? Like, what language? Does she even speak English?”

  I stared open mouthed. The candidate’s name was Maria.

  But Sarah, and by extension La Vie, preferred their girls to be pale. It was the fashion way. If you had melanin and were hired, you were the token girl, shown off for diversity. But there was a hierarchy. And Celia would never let you forget it. She much preferred to hire blondes from “good families.” But you could get around that, if you really wanted to. I had a strike against me for not being blonde and, okay, another for not having the right background, not that Celia would know. But the family part was the easiest to fake. Photoshop some pics so it looked like you were a WASPy dream come true. Pearls and teacups and ham in the background. A “good family” coming right up.

  Sarah shrugged. “La Vie women need to uphold certain standards.” Rich, white, thin standards. “And we used up our diversity card with—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “—you.” She smiled triumphantly. “Because you’re, like, the crazy one. All that muttering to yourself you do. And your clumsiness has got to be a disability. And you have that ugly scar on your arm. So between you and Dalia, we’re the most diverse staff anywhere.” No mention of my background. I prayed she’d forgotten. Manifesting really did work.

  “And there’s all that weird info on you.”

  My heart thundered. Fuck.

  “Weird info?”

  “Yeah, that Lisa was gathering. With that guy she hired. She had a whole file on you. You, like, appeared out of thin air. She even said your name wasn’t real.” I can usually read Sarah’s face like a gossip blog, but her smile didn’t tell me anything. Did she think Lisa had been crazy obsessed? Or did she believe her?

  “Ha, hilarious. It only feels that way because I was a big nobody before I got to La Vie.” Shrug, smile, easy breezy. “I still don’t get Lisa’s big obsession with me.”

  “With you? She was obsessed with me. And anyone near me. That’s how it works. Oh, and you still are a big nobody.” She laughed at her own joke. “But did you know Lisa was looking for your birth certificate? She was convinced you were a fraud.” A pause. “Are you, Anya? Or whatever your name is?” I could confess it all to her now. Hail Sarah, full of grace, forgive me my sins. But I didn’t.

  “Of course not. Do you need a copy of my paperwork to feel at ease? You sound so paranoid.”

  “Whatever, I asked Greg to run a background check on you all the same.”

  I clenched my jaw.

  “He should have done it years ago. We’ll know soon enough! I can’t look at any more résumés. Let’s just get Jack in here and let him handle finding an intern.”

  I put my head on my desk. What if Sarah did try to make Jack work for us? He said he didn’t want to, but would he say no to Sarah? (As if.) He was too observant. He’d find out the truth if he were here in our office. I closed my eyes, willing myself to have some great epiphany, a moment of genius that would fix things. Distract everyone. It hit me while Sarah clack-clacked on her phone.

  Zhazha.

  I ran to Celia’s office and knocked. I couldn’t wait to share this idea.

  “What is it, Anya?”

  “Let’s hire Zhazha. Or, rather, get her to write for us. A contributing editor. She has such a huge audience, and we need someone with her street-style cred.” I bit my lip waiting for an answer.

  “Huh.” She tilted her head. “That’s actually a good idea, Anya. Do you think she’d do it?”

  “Oh, totally. She mentioned it when we had drinks last. I can set up a meeting for you.”

  “Do that. Check with Bronwen on my availability.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Celia.”

  Bronwen was under her desk. She said something about hiding from ghosts. Her crown was made with sage. Maybe she was seeing Mulberry too. She said she’d email me times Celia was free.

  I crossed my fingers that Zhazha was into my idea. I had lied. We’d never discussed her coming on board. We were supposed to have drinks, but shit got in the way. I had Cassie to deal with; she had to Instagram her life. But if I had to choose between her and Jack, I’d pick her. There was no way Celia was hiring both of them. That would take the pressure off me a bit. I wouldn’t be watched all day, every day. Unless I already was being watched.

  I left early to check my apartment for bugs and spy cams. You can never be too careful.

  12

  “What is she doing here?” Sarah spat as Zhazha catwalked into the room. She was meeting us for drinks at Balthazar and was doing her best fashion walk and pose. Walk, pose, look around nonchalantly. Zhazha had it down. Jack had the brilliant idea of uniting the two over vodka shots. I was on pins and needles and Xanax.

  “We invited her, dummy!” Ja
ck stood and waved. “Over here!”

  “What? Anya, is this your doing?”

  I shook my head weakly. “Jack thought you two should get to know each other.”

  “I’m leaving.” Sarah stood up in a huff.

  “Stop being such a drama queen and sit your ass down,” Jack said. And shockingly, Sarah did as Jack ordered. She listened to him. How did he do that? “Z! Darling! So glad you made it. You look amazing!”

  Zhazha permitted a kiss on both cheeks before sitting in the empty seat next to me. “Anya, so good to see you again, my friend.” My friend. It sent delicious chills down my spine. Her accent only made it more tantalizing.

  “Zhazha, so good to see you.” I felt stupid as the words stumbled out of my mouth. She looked like a princess. She even had a tiara on. Sarah glared more.

  Drinks progressed at a glacial pace. The conversation mainly consisted of Jack fawning over Zhazha, me smiling like a moron, and Sarah adding mean snippets here and there. Our favorite blogger added in fun bons mots that made Jack erupt in laugher. It was delightful.

  “You are a treasure,” he said. “Isn’t she, Sarah?”

  “Whatever.” Sarah crossed her arms.

  “Ugh, just hash it out, you two. Zhazha, were you the one who pushed Sarah during Fashion Week?” His face was serious for a moment.

  “No. I would never.”

  “See, Sarah? It wasn’t her. Now let’s move on.”

  Zhazha reached out suddenly, grabbing Sarah’s hand. “I would not hurt anyone. And I want us to be friends, Sarah. Especially now.”

  “Now? Why now?” Sarah demanded as Zhazha and I exchanged looks.

  “She doesn’t know?”

  I shrugged. “She does now. Um, Sarah, Zhazha’s going to come work with us. As a contributing editor. She’s your new coworker.” Sarah’s and Jack’s faces made me want to giggle. “Ta-da!” I added. I held my hands up like a magician’s assistant.

  “You bitch,” Sarah spat at me.

  “Oh, well played, Anya,” Jack added admiringly, holding his vodka up to salute me. “Guess you won’t need me there after all!” He wasn’t mad? “Cheers, Zhazha. Congrats, girl!” Everyone but Sarah downed their vodkas.