Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista

by Aven Ellis

  “We were supposed to be together forever,” Bree says, breaking through my angry thoughts. “I mean, he had been acting distant and irritated lately, but I thought that was the stress from graduation and getting ready to move. I had no idea he was thinking of this. None. Alex was supposed to marry me. How do I deal with this, Avery? How?”

  I quickly hug her, holding her tightly to me. I have to answer this carefully. I can’t say Alex is a bastard. Because if they did work it out—which I’m not in favor of because this is a huge red flag if this is how he deals with things—but if they did, Bree would know my true feelings forever. I have to say something thoughtful. Something soothing and wise. Suddenly my eyes land on the stack of magazines on the coffee table. Last month’s FLIRTY! is on top, and I see this headline: “Don’t Let His Emotional Immaturity Ruin Your Life.”

  Bingo.

  “Bree, don’t let Alex’s emotional immaturity ruin your life,” I say gently. “This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with his own maturity issues.”

  Bree moves back from me, amazement etched on her tear-stained face. “How do you always know what to say?”

  “Because you’re my best friend. Now go on back to my bedroom, first door on the left. You can wash your face in my bathroom, and there is a fabulous Jo Malone facial mask you can try. You can curl up in my bed, and I’ll bring you something stronger than wine.”

  “I’m so glad I’m here. I love you, Avery,” Bree says, sniffling.

  “I love you, too,” I say to the friend who is like my sister. “Now go on,” I add, standing up and pulling her up off the couch. “I’ll be right there.”

  “God, I haven’t even asked you how you are,” Bree says slowly, as if her brain has a million thoughts swirling in it. “So how’s Sullivan? Any progress on that front?”

  “Who’s Sullivan?” Deke asks.

  Oh.My.God. This is so not what I want to be shown on national TV. I’m about to backpedal when Sasha barges into the room.

  “Sullivan is Avery’s lover,” she says, strolling into the kitchen and opening the fridge. “Or Avery wishes he was her lover.”

  “Shut up,” I yell, mortified. “Honestly, he’s just a guy who lives upstairs. That’s all.”

  Sasha takes out a bottle of water and stops in the living room, staring at Bree with a wrinkled brow.

  “Who are you?” she asks, taking a sip of water.

  “I’m Bree,” Bree says, sniffling. “And I’m a wreck because my boyfriend, whom I thought was The One, just dumped me.”

  “Bastard,” Sasha spits. “They’re all bastards.”

  And the way Sasha says it makes all of us crack up.

  Bree then smiles at me. “That felt good.”

  “Go on and wash your face,” I encourage. “You’ll feel even better.”

  Bree nods and escapes down the hall, opening the door to my room. Sasha then retreats back to her room, too, leaving me alone with Deke. I feel the camera light go off my face, and I turn to find he’s lowered it.

  “Let’s do a one-on-one interview,” Deke says.

  “Sure,” I say, taking another sip of wine.

  He quickly sets up a backdrop and puts his camera on a tripod. I sit down on a barstool in front of the black screen, and Deke asks me to talk about my friendship with Bree. I give a brief history, explaining how close we are and how we’ve gone through the ups and downs of life together and always will.

  Deke then shuts off the camera.

  “That’s interesting advice that you gave to Bree tonight,” he says slowly, his eyes piercing through me.

  And damn it, despite the fact that I don’t like him, a tingle shoots down my spine.

  “Well, it’s easy to give advice to Bree. We’re more like sisters than friends. And because we know each other so well, I know what to say to her in a time of crisis.”

  “I see,” Deke says slowly. “So are you going to advise her on the hot colors for pedicures this season, too?”

  Suddenly I can see the FLIRTY! cover on the coffee table in my head. I quickly glance over at it and see the pedicure headline, right underneath the “Don’t Let His Emotional Immaturity Ruin Your Life” one.

  Oh shit.

  My face and neck are burning with fire as I glance back at him, and I see he’s raised an eyebrow at me.

  “I . . . had to say something,” I sputter, embarrassed beyond belief. “And if you think it’s so easy, how would you have advised Bree, Mr. Ryan?”

  “I would have told her that she deserves a man who would love her better. One who loved her so much he wouldn’t dream of leaving without taking her with him. That’s what Bree deserves,” he says, as if this is the most obvious answer in the world.

  And, to be honest, it kind of is.

  “Well, my advice, no matter where it came from, is still good,” I say, not ready to concede that Deke has much better relationship advice than I do.

  “I tell you what, Avery,” he says, bending down and putting his camera back in the case, “I’ll cut this short tonight. I think I need to wait to ask Bree to sign a consent form when she’s thinking clearly. Tomorrow she probably won’t want any of this on tape.”

  Wow. That’s incredibly compassionate of Deke, considering he had A+ reality footage here. I nod and begin to take off my mic. “That’s very nice of you. Thanks.” I unclip the transmitter and hand both items back to Deke. “I guess I should get started on Bree’s drink.”

  “A cutesy-flavored martini?” he asks.

  I glare at him. “Why do you say that? Just because you saw the vodka in my pantry doesn’t mean I make cutesy martinis.”

  And Deke doesn’t need to know that I was going to make Bree a chocolate-flavored martini.

  “Come on. It’s in the fashionista handbook, isn’t it?” he says, arranging his gear in his case.

  “If I recall, Deke, you don’t exist,” I say angrily, storming into the kitchen.

  I watch as he stands up, and I get even madder when I notice that he’s smiling.

  “You’re absolutely right. So I would say goodnight, but since I’m not here, I’ll just leave.”

  And then he picks up his stuff and strides out the door.

  “AARRGGH” I cry, storming over to the door and angrily locking it behind him.

  I hear two doors open and both Bree and Sasha come out.

  “Where’s the creepy cameraman?” Sasha asks.

  “Is the camera guy really creepy?” Bree asks, wrinkling her brow.

  “No,” I say honestly, shooting Sasha a look. “the videographer isn’t creepy. But he is the most impossible, annoying, and improperly dressed person on earth.”

  Bree slides out a stool at the counter and sinks down. “Tell me all about him. I don’t want to think about my problems.”

  Sasha sits down on the stool next to her. “Can I have some wine?”

  “I could make chocolate martinis,” I suggest.

  “Oh, let’s just drink the wine,” Bree says. “It’s faster.”

  I nod and retrieve our glasses off the coffee table. So I tell them all about the awful Deke Ryan, and when I get to the part about overhearing him on his cell, they both gasp with horror and yell, “Bastard!”

  “But I know he’s sorry,” I say, suddenly feeling like I want to defend him, for some reason I don’t understand. “And Deke helped me out at work the other day, too.”

  And as Bree and Sasha talk, I think of how nice he was a few minutes ago, walking away from shooting so Bree could really decide if this is what she wanted to do.

  But then he had to ruin everything by making fun of my fashionista status.

  Oh, God, this is so confusing. And why am I thinking about Deke so much? Who cares? I know I don’t.

 
; I don’t. So I won’t think about him anymore.

  We keep drinking and talking and the subject drifts back to the evil bastard Alex. Suddenly Bree takes a deep breath of air and put her head in her hands.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do about my apartment. I can’t afford it by myself, and my name is on the lease. I’ll have to break it. I’ll have to move home.”

  “No,” I say, “I can loan you some money.”

  “What?” both Bree and Sasha ask at the same time.

  “Bree, I get supplemental pay for the documentary. I’m paying Sasha back some money tomorrow. But I can loan you the rest of it until you can find a roommate.”

  After all, I can put off my shopping plans until Bree has her life sorted out.

  Bree’s eyes get watery. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

  “I know you will,” I say, smiling warmly at her. “And you know I’ll always help you if I can.”

  And then I think that this was the only good thing to arise from my working relationship with the awful videographer. I get paid extra money so I can help Bree, and I’ll show everyone there’s more to me than just being a vapid fashionista.

  And at the weekly marketing meeting next week, I’ll prove just that in front of the skeptical eyes of Deke Ryan.

  Chapter 6

  “Tell me what you are doing and why,” Deke asks.

  I turn my attention from artfully arranging pastries on a silver tray and stare at him. It’s Wednesday morning, and I’m trying to get the conference room ready for a very important Marketing Department meeting today.

  And I could get it ready a lot faster if I didn’t have to stop and try to come up with intelligent, career-womanish prose about putting pastries on a tray and how I hope this furthers my career at Premier Airlines.

  “Are you serious?” I blurt out, the camera light burning into my eyes. “Isn’t it obvious that I’m putting Danish on a serving tray?”

  I hear a heavy sigh escape Deke’s lips as he shuts the camera light off. He lowers it and gives me a wary look.

  “Avery, I know that’s what you’re doing, you know that’s what you are doing, but I need for you to explain it for the camera, all right? I’ll make it easier by prompting you with questions, but we still need to do it.”

  I pick up a raspberry-filled pastry out of the gourmet bakery box. “Right,” I say, sighing in defeat and thinking I’m going to be known as the most boring woman in America by the 3rd episode.

  Deke hoists the camera back up on his shoulder and turns the light back on.

  I clear my throat and begin speaking.

  “Today is a brainstorming session for a new campaign Premier Airlines will launch next year,” I say, setting a blueberry Danish on the tray. “We’re going to offer something new in our Luxury Class service, although that has been kept under wraps. This morning will be the unveiling of the idea.”

  Thank God I remembered what my supervisor, Lindsay Chin, told me about this meeting earlier this week.

  “And what’s your role in this meeting?” he asks.

  Shit. What do I say? To supply gourmet pastries and coffee for the marketing team? Normally I sit at these meetings and try to blend into the wall behind me. Nobody expects me to participate. Nor do I think they want me to. Unless they run out of creamer or something.

  But saying that on camera will do nothing to destroy my vapid image, now will it?

  “My role is to make sure everyone has what they need this morning to be able to think creatively,” I say, thinking on my feet as I take the now-empty Danish box and toss it into a trashcan. “And everyone knows a good morning starts with breakfast.”

  And I silently thank my mom for drilling that into my head. Who knew it would come in handy for a documentary?

  “So you arrange for food and coffee to start. What else do you do in one of these meetings?”

  Damn it. Why can’t he be satisfied with me nourishing the marketing team? Isn’t that enough of a task for an entry-level person like me? Think. Think. What should be my goal this morning if I really wanted a career?

  “I hope to absorb the knowledge of staff around me this morning,” I say, going over to the carafes of coffee and bringing them to the conference table. “I want to soak up their experience like a sponge.”

  “I see,” Deke says slowly. “But don’t you want to contribute?”

  I jerk my head up, but I can’t see his face because he’s hiding behind that stupid camera. But I sense he’s trying to challenge me with that question.

  “Of course I do,” I say defiantly. “It’s just that I’m very new here. I don’t know as much as they do about the industry.”

  And it might help if I had actually taken a flight since my senior year of high school, when I went out with Bree’s family to Tucson to check out the University of Arizona. The return flight was horrible. It was so turbulent that I thought we were going to fall from the sky in a death spiral, crash into a million pieces over Colorado, and I’d end up being featured on National Geographic’s Seconds From Disaster. But I made it back alive to Chicago, and I haven’t stepped on an airplane since.

  But I’m certainly not telling that to Deke Ryan, or anyone else for that matter.

  “So because you’re new, you don’t have any valid ideas?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “I have ideas,” I say, frustrated. I avoid looking into the camera lens by playing with the swizzle sticks in a ceramic mug.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that, Avery,” Craig Potanski says, his deep voice booming as he leads a pack of unfamiliar executives into the conference room. “Because that’s what I want to hear from everyone this morning. Ideas.”

  My face and neck flame with embarrassment as everyone stares expectantly at me. Oh, this is terrific. I’m the only person in this room who hasn’t stepped foot on an airplane in like five years. And now I’m expected to tell Craig Potanski, the most innovative leader in the entire airline industry, my thoughts on the new service that is going to be provided in Luxury Class.

  Shit. I might as well go get a box from the mail room, dump my In Style magazines in it, return my security badge and head out the door this second.

  “Craig, should the camera really be on during the meeting?” Rebecca asks, sounding oh-so-alarmed about the security of the marketing team ideas.

  Craig reaches for a pastry as the rest of the team settles around the huge conference table. He shakes his head as he puts one on to a plate and takes his usual seat.

  “No, Rebecca, it’s fine,” Craig says, waving his hand dismissively in the air. “Our campaign will be off the ground before this airs. Isn’t that right, Deke?”

  All eyes in the room turn toward Deke, wanting confirmation that the footage will not be leaked to unveil our new campaign in advance of the launch date.

  I watch as he turns off the light and lowers his camera. “Yes, sir. That’s correct.”

  I study him for a moment and realize that Deke is very uncomfortable being the center of attention. He glances at Craig, then his eyes move around the table, quickly scanning his audience. But I notice he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, and then clears his throat in a nervous manner.

  “Good,” Craig says, taking a bite of his pastry. Then everyone reaches for Danish and coffee and begins gearing up for the unveiling of the campaign.

  But my eyes are riveted to Deke. As soon as the attention is off him, he immediately goes over to his case, putting the camera down and picking up the tripod, and appears as though he’d rather mess with his equipment for another hour than have all eyes in the room on him.

  He’s more comfortable behind the camera, I suddenly realize. Deke disappears behind the lens, content to observe the world around him rather
than star in it.

  My thoughts about Deke are interrupted when Lindsay sweeps into the room, taking the seat next to me. She’s fairly nice, as far as a supervisor goes. But Lindsay is all business, all the time. The only thing we’ve ever talked about is Premier Airlines, actually.

  “Are you excited to be a part of a new campaign?” she asks quietly, her almond eyes glowing with excitement as she studies me.

  “Oh, yes,” I force myself to say. “Very excited.”

  “All right, everyone, let’s get started,” Craig says, standing up and going over to the large plasma TV and video equipment built into the wall.

  I swivel in my large chair and notice that Deke has put his camera on a tripod to shoot the meeting. He’s at the back of the room, ready to observe the unveiling of Premier Airline’s new enhancements to Luxury Class service.

  “Today we have with us our account executives from Triggs & Livingston, our ad agency out of New York,” Craig says, introducing them to the group. “And this campaign will launch first quarter of next year. Avery, will you please dim the lights?”

  I get up out of my seat and lower the lights, and Craig picks up the remote. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a new service available in Luxury Class on Premier Airlines—traveling Spa Style.”

  He turns on the TV and footage starts rolling.

  I stand still, riveted to the screen. Spa style? Now this sounds intriguing.

  I watch as spa-like images roll by. Tranquil ocean scenes and mountains. Healthy cuisine. Bottled mineral water. A person stretching. White bed linens. And after the images have flown by, a soothing voice comes over and says, “Premier Airlines. The Aaaahhh Experience.”

  An electric feeling sweeps through the room. People start murmuring, and I can feel anticipation climb up my spine. This is something I understand. I love going to spas! And if we can translate that experience to the sky—well, who wouldn’t want to experience that?