Fran scowls at him. “Now you and Alistair better figure out a way to decide who gets to go to which show. Flip a coin if necessary.”
Paige focuses in on Luis and Shauna, our hair and makeup people. “And you guys will come to our hotel three hours before every fashion show, right?”
“You got it,” Luis promises. “Earlier if you like. This place is way nicer than the fleabag motel we’re staying at over in New Jersey.”
“Three hours before the shows will be plenty of time,” Fran assures Paige. “Bryant Park is only a few blocks from here. Even if traffic is a mess, which is likely, we can always walk there in less than twenty minutes.”
“What if it’s raining?” Paige demands.
“We’ll use umbrellas,” I suggest.
Paige just glares at me.
“We’ll figure something out,” Fran promises. “Don’t worry.”
“And if it’s raining,” I point out, “we won’t be the only ones who are wet.”
“Speak for yourself,” she tells me. “I do not plan to show up looking like a drowned rat.”
“Speaking of bad looks,” Luis teases, “nothing can beat that look you had going on at the first Good Morning America last week. We watched while we were stuck in O’Hare and enjoyed a good hard laugh.”
“Thanks a lot.” Paige makes a face. “So compassionate.”
“Hey, we needed a laugh,” says JJ.
“At least your cheek is back to normal,” Shauna tells Paige. “We won’t need the extra coverage makeup anymore.”
“Quiet, everyone,” Fran is telling us. She’s on the phone, probably to Helen. “What, can you repeat that?” She waits and listens. “Oh, that’s fantastic. Yes, absolutely. I’ll call them right away and get it set. Yes, have Sabrina email their numbers. Great.” She puts down her phone now and beams at us. “Guess who wants you girls on their shows?”
“Shows?” Paige says hopefully. “As in more than one?”
Fran nods. “Producers from both the Today Show and Live with Regis and Kelly have contacted Helen about interviewing you during Fashion Week. Isn’t that great?”
So we sit back down again, and with everyone there, we go over our schedule, waiting as Fran puts in calls to the producers. It’s starting to look like next week is going to be crazy-busy. But that’s why we’re here.
On Friday morning we first do The Early Show, which is even earlier than GMA was yesterday. And after that we do the Today Show with Kathie Lee and Hoda Kotb, and they turn out to be pretty laid back and a lot of fun. They even invite Paige to critique their outfits and, thankfully, she doesn’t say anything too mean or offensive. Mostly it’s just humorous. Then, as we’re heading back to the hotel in the town car, Paige gets a phone call. “It’s Taylor Mitchell,” she happily announces as she reads the caller ID.
“Hey, Taylor,” she says. “What’s up?” She waits and listens. “Really? That is awesome.” She pauses again, this time for several minutes. “Yes, I think we can fit it in. Let me check with the powers that be and get back to you ASAP, okay?”
“What’s happening?” Fran asks after Paige hangs up.
“Taylor got us tickets to Ralph Lauren and an interview with him, if we wait until after his show, which is Saturday night.”
“Awesome!” Fran gives Paige a high five.
“What’s the hitch?” I ask.
“Taylor wants us to meet her designer friend. She’s actually a student at FIT.”
“F-I-T?” I question. “As in fit?”
“As in Fashion Institute of Technology,” Paige tells me.
“Right.” I guess I should’ve seen that one coming.
“Anyway, her friend’s name is Rhiannon and she’s interning for a no-name designer, but according to Taylor, Rhiannon has real talent.”
“But if she’s not really a designer,” I begin slowly, “and just an intern attending FIT…what will you interview her about?”
“I’m not really sure yet, but maybe we can find an angle.” Paige frowns a little. “Taylor said the main reason she wants to do this is because Rhiannon is a good friend and she’s been through some pretty tough times recently. Apparently her mom died before Christmas. Tragically, Taylor said, but she didn’t go into details. Anyway, Rhiannon is depressed and Taylor thought an interview on our show might boost her spirits.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Fran says suddenly. “The angle is young creative hopefuls who are getting ready to work in the design world and what it takes to get them there. We can do a show following the Oscars Red Carpet show about this very thing. Maybe Rhiannon will know some other young designers to introduce us to, and maybe we can pick up some more back in LA.”
“I like that,” I say. “It might be inspiring to that viewer who’s watching our show and maybe she thinks she’d like to get into design herself.” I make a face at Paige. “Because not everyone is cut out to be a model.”
Paige shrugs this off.
“But Erin is right. We need to expand the market and pull in as many viewers as possible, Paige. And a lot of girls are into design. We need to reach them too. Every fashion designer has to start somewhere. They aren’t born as Marc Jacobs or Kate Spade—they work up to it.”
Paige nods. “You’re right. I think I could run with this. And it could make an interesting show.” So she calls Taylor for Rhiannon’s number, and then makes arrangements with Rhiannon to pop in on Monday morning. “I just want to meet you,” Paige casually tells her after she introduces herself as a “friend of Taylor’s” without giving her name. “And I’d like to see some of your designs and who knows…?” Then she thanks her and says she’ll see her next week.
“Does Rhiannon even get that this is a TV show?” I ask after Paige puts her phone away. The town car pulls up to the hotel entrance and the doorman is helping us out.
“No, I thought we could just surprise her with that.”
“She’ll still have to sign the waiver forms and everything,” Fran says as we go into the lobby.
“We’ll figure that out when the time comes.”
We’re just inside our suite when Paige’s phone rings again. And this time she’s even more excited. Sure, her voice is controlled and professional, but I can see her eyes glittering as she listens. “Yes, thank you,” she says finally. “I’m looking forward to it. Yes, see you then. Thanks.” Then she closes her phone and grabs me, letting out a squeal that makes my ears ring, and I’m wondering if security will be on their way up here.
“That was Dylan’s assistant!”
“And?” I wait.
“And I’ve been invited to the after party.”
“The after party?” I question. “After what?”
“After the show, you moron!”
“Wow.” Fran nods as if this really is impressive. “Just you?”
“Sorry, that’s all she said.”
“That’s okay,” I say quickly. “I’m not into after parties anyway.”
“Well, maybe I am.” Fran frowns.
“I’m sorry, Fran.” Paige puts her hand on Fran’s shoulder. “You want me to call back and see if—”
“No, don’t make me any more pathetic than I already sound.” Fran laughs. “Good grief, I’ll probably be fast asleep, and glad of it, by the time that party kicks into high gear.”
“Me too.” I nod.
“Not me,” Paige grins as she dances around the living room of our suite. “I’m going to be having the time of my life.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” I say. “I mean, you won’t drink or anything, will you?”
“Moi?” She flutters her long eyelashes at me.
“Paige.” I put the warning in my voice and realize I sound a little like Mom.
“Oh, come on, one eensie-weensie-teensie glass of champagne won’t hurt anything, will it?”
Fran frowns. “Paige,” she says sternly, “Helen Hudson will have my head on a platter if you pull a Lindsay on us.”
/> “Hey, Lindsay’s doing okay these days.”
“Yes, whatever. You know what I mean, Paige.”
Paige holds her head high. “I plan to be very grown-up tonight.”
“That’s what worries me.” Fran frowns at me now, like this is somehow my fault. “Erin, what would your mother say?”
I just shrug and suddenly feel tired. I wonder how I can sneak off to my bed to catch a few more winks, since we’ve been up since around five thirty and it’s nearly one in the afternoon now.
“Well, I may not be your mother, but I know what I’m saying about this.” It sounds like Fran is making an ultimatum and I pause to hear it.
“What?” Paige puts her hands on her hips with a worried brow.
“If you go, Erin goes.”
“Wait a minute.” I hold up my hands. “I don’t want to—”
“This is about work, Erin. And you signed on with Paige to—”
“Why don’t you go instead?” I plead.
Fran just laughs. “Yes, I’m sure they want to see an almost forty-year-old woman coming to—”
“You’re almost forty?” Paige looks stunned.
“Well, I…uh, I exaggerated. Even so, if you go, Erin goes too, Paige. Do you understand?”
“But I?—”
“Don’t forget you’re under contract.” Fran holds her pointer finger out.
“But they didn’t invite Erin.” Paige’s voice is whiny now and she looks like she’s about to go into pout mode.
“You’re a smart girl. You know how these things work,” Fran assures her. “It’s not who you are, but who you know. Dylan wants you there, Erin is your sister. Trust me, they’ll let her in too.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say. It’s bad enough being forced to attend a party you don’t want to, but to feel like you’re extra baggage as well? Give me a break.
“And if they don’t let Erin in, you’d better turn around and come back here ASAP,” Fran tells her.
“If Erin has to come, she needs to look stylish. No way am I dragging in Camera Girl tonight. Forget it.”
“I’m sure we can manage that.” Fran is checking her phone now. “With all the clothes we’re gathering up here, I think we might even be able to make me look stylish.”
“You do look stylish,” I tell her.
Fran smiles and thanks me, then tells me to hush as she says, “Hello, Helen. What’s up?” Then she goes into a conversation about this week’s film and edits and technical things that should interest me, and usually do, except that I feel like I’m falling asleep. And considering I might have a late night to look forward to, I’m going to really need this nap.
Chapter 14
“Stand up straight,” Paige commands me.
I comply, but I feel like screaming. “I don’t really like this dress,” I tell her. “I feel like I’m wearing a slip.”
“You said that already,” she tells me as she narrows her eyes, scrutinizing me from all angles.
“Yes, but you weren’t listening.”
“You’re right,” she concedes. “It does look like a slip.” She picks up another dress from the bed. “I know Dylan is a fan of Valentino. Try this.”
“Paige?” Luis is calling now. “Time to do your hair, sweetheart.”
“And put on those red Prada pumps with it. Then come and show me,” Paige calls as she hurries off to get her makeup done.
So I remove the slip-dress and put on the Valentino, which I don’t even think is going to fit me since, according to the tag, it’s one size too small. But it hugs me just right. I’m not sure if this line runs large or if I’ve lost some weight in our crazy run-around schedule, but when I look at it in the mirror, I’m surprised to see that the dress actually looks pretty good. It’s mostly black, a heavy satin with red beaded trim. And it’s elegant, yet understated. I’m not so sure about the red pumps, but when I put them on, they’re obviously right. So I strut out to where Paige is getting her hair done and she lets out a happy squeal.
“Erin!” she cries. “You look awesome.”
“Ooh-la-la,” gushes Luis. “You look lovely.”
JJ, our camera guy for tonight’s suite shots, zooms in on me. And Fran comes over and nods with approval. “And you can be sure there will be press around tonight. You girls make sure to catch some of the action, okay?”
“I know just what to do with your hair,” Luis says as he holds up his thumbs and forefingers as if to frame my face. “An updo. Definitely.”
“Hey, Luis,” calls Paige. “Remember me?”
He laughs and returns to the hair station he’s set up in the living room. “Yes, my darling, you first.”
“And I’ll work on your makeup,” Shauna says to me. “I’m thinking red lips, Erin. And I know you like the natural look, but tonight you are going for full glam, understand? So get out of that dress for now.” And as if reading my mind, she adds, “And get over yourself.”
“I’ve got the perfect coat for you to wear,” Fran says as Shauna is working on my makeup. “It’s a sweet little Kate Spade swing coat that she sent over the other day. And it’ll be perfect with that dress and shoes.”
And so when it’s time to go, with JJ still shooting us, trying to get every angle, I feel almost as glamorous as Paige looks. Oh, I’m not delusional or anything. I know she looks absolutely fabulous. But I look pretty good too. Well, in a shorter, more compact, and more sensible way.
Paige is wearing Chanel—a perfectly cut sleeveless pink dress, trimmed in faux leopard, and topped with a matching coat that fits like it was made for her. The look is classy but sexy and totally Paige. Her hair is in a sleek French twist, her accessories are also Chanel, and her heels are faux-leopard Christian Louboutin. All are perfect.
“Will Dylan mind that you’re not wearing his designs?” I ask as we go down the elevator. JJ has his camera down now so we can talk candidly.
“Of course not. Unless he’s some kind of obsessed egomaniac, and I really don’t think that’s the case.”
JJ’s camera comes back up as we walk through the lobby. But at least he’s being discreet, and it’s not like he’s the only one with a camera. The lobby is packed—and getting more packed—as fashion fanatics pour through loaded down with bags, bags, and more bags.
Somehow Paige moves gracefully and effortlessly through the crowd and I try to imitate her. And I totally forget about JJ. After all, he’s a pro; if he can’t manage this, then there’s no way I can help him. As we make our way outside to where our town car is supposed to be waiting, I can tell we’re getting more than our fair share of looks. And once we’re outside, we actually see some camera flashes. It’s obvious that someone either knows who we are or thinks we’re people he or she should know.
“Hold it,” JJ says as we’re about to enter the town car. “I want to get this shot.”
The sidewalk and street are just as busy and noisy as the lobby and, once we’re in the town car, it’s obvious that traffic is snarled for blocks. I consider suggesting we just get out and walk, but these Pradas have very high heels and I’m worried I might trip and break something. Besides, we have plenty of time.
“This is kind of exciting,” I tell Paige.
She smiles and nods. “Our first show of Fashion Week. Sure, there have already been a few shows today, but there’s no way we can take them all in.” I can tell she’s talking for the sake of the camera now.
“It’s hard to believe that Fashion Week can go on like this for a full week,” I comment. “I mean, every day has around ten fashion shows, right?”
“By next Friday there will have been nearly a hundred shows.”
“Wow.” I shake my head. “I’m glad we’re not going to all of them. It sounds exhausting.”
“And if it makes you feel tired, think how the designers and their teams are feeling. Right now Dylan Marceau is probably on pins and needles.”
“Maybe even literally,” I add. “Those last-minute fixes and alterations.”
“But Fashion Week will be over for Dylan Marceau as well as some other designers after tonight,” Paige says. “Imagine what a relief it must be once your show is finished—and hopefully successful.”
“Then you can just kick back and relax,” I add, trying to play it up for the camera too.
“Of course, the price for this bit of relief is that designers like Dylan are the first ones out of the gates, while other designers still have up to eight days to see what the competition is like. And, you can bet that there’ll be a lot of last-minute changes being made in the next few days—once they see what the other designers have done.”
“Really? Do they worry that much about what the others are doing?”
Paige laughs. “Count on it. Fashion is a tough world. Spies are crawling all over these shows.”
“With cameras?”
“Absolutely.” She points toward JJ now. “That’s why you need a press pass to be packing tonight.”
JJ grins.
“Packing?” I frown. “A camera’s not quite the same as a gun, Paige.”
“It might be like that for a fashion designer. Their signature designs are their livelihood. If someone steals a design or upstages a designer, they might as well be packing a gun.”
I kind of laugh. “That seems overly dramatic to me. But I do know it’s a serious business.”
“And an enormous industry.” Paige begins tossing out some shockingly large figures. “It’s not just the billions of dollars associated with the fashion industry—it represents a lot of jobs as well. Like you and me.” She smiles. “And we take that seriously.”
When we arrive at Bryant Park, it looks like a circus. The big tent is lit up and people and press are milling all over the place. JJ follows us with the camera as we make our way through the crowd. And when Paige spots someone with any kind of celebrity, she pauses to say hello—and if they’re willing, she does a quick chat as JJ films.
Finally we are seated inside the tent. Front row! JJ is in the back with the rest of the press. For once, I’m not longing to be back there with them. Tonight I’m enjoying this. Tonight I’m perfectly happy being a fashionista sitting front row on the first night of Fashion Week.
Catwalk Page 11