“Here’s our autograph box.” With the antenna of her cell phone Lucinda tapped a Lucite box that had been mounted on the wall. “We have signatures from every celebrity we’ve ever worked with in here.”
“My brother keeps his World Series tickets in a case exactly like that,” Olivia said.
“Really?” Lucinda said to her BlackBerry.
“I bet you could sell that for quite a pretty penny,” Dean said, pressing his bulbous nose against the box. The plastic fogged up from his breath.
“Ew, stand back, Dean.” Alicia was looking at Lucinda when she spoke. “You’ll melt it.”
“Seriously,” Lucinda said.
Alicia rolled her eyes and mouthed the word sorry. Gawd forbid the editor thought Alicia approved of her driver’s gauche behavior.
“Okay, who’s ready to see The Closet?” Lucinda led them down another sparkle-filled corridor.
Alicia and Olivia’s hands shot straight up into the air.
Everyone at school had heard of the mythical fashion paradise called The Closet, but no one could prove its existence. Some said it was magazine folklore. Others claimed to have cousins or friends of cousins who had seen it. But either way, Alicia was about to discover the truth.
They stopped in front of a big door that looked more like a full-length mirror. The Closet was written across the top in red lipstick.
Alicia dug into her purse and quickly applied a fresh coat of gloss. She adjusted her side part and pinched her cheeks for some extra color. She could feel her palms sweat with anticipation.
“Excuse me.” Lucinda reached into her shirt and pulled a long gold chain out of her cleavage. An old-fashioned key dangled off the end. She lowered her neck and stuck the key in the lock of The Closet’s door. Her hand disappeared inside. “Voila,” she said, flicking on the light switch.
“Ehmagawd,” Alicia and Olivia declared at the same time. It was twenty times bigger than Alicia’s walk-in and it smelled as sweet as the perfume counter at Bergdorf’s.
The Closet was set up to look like a runway show. A long catwalk with flashing lights divided the room, and mannequins were positioned to look like they were walking it during a show.
“Look at those models.” Olivia was pointing to the seven mannequins dressed in the latest trends: colorful ponchos, blazers dotted with sparkly brooches, Juicy sweats in brand-new colors, ballet flats with fuzzy pom-poms, and knee-high Uggs with miniskirts. It was like looking into a fashion crystal ball.
“Are any of those ladies single?” Dean asked with a playful smile.
No one bothered to answer.
Alicia was speechless. All she could do was slap Olivia on the shoulder and point to the different racks of clothes that lined both sides of the runway.
Olivia ran straight to the trendy cartoon Tshirts. “Look,” she said, sliding the hangers across the bar. “They have Elmo, Barbie, and Strawberry Shortcake. These are ah-dora-ball!”
“Those are super-big for spring,” Lucinda said. “So are these super-skinny straight-legged jeans.” She pointed to a tower of denim in a rainbow of different washes. “Esti, our photo editor, tried a pair of these on without taking her shoes off and we almost had to amputate.”
Stacks of leather belts, piles of bright bead necklaces, and boxes of handbags were everywhere. Wedge-heeled boots, strappy sandals, and metallic clogs in pink, silver, and gold hung in wire baskets suspended from the ceiling. It looked like it was raining shoes.
“What’s that?” Alicia asked, pointing to an outfit that had been tacked to a giant Teen Vogue magazine cover made entirely of cork.
“Oh, Avril’s wearing that tomorrow for her cover shoot,” Lucinda said. She popped a piece of Nicorette gum into her mouth and started chomping. “This reminds me, I still have to find a new makeup artist.” She flipped open her cell phone and started dialing. “It’s like everyone decided to have a death in the family the day before my shoot.”
While Lucinda barked orders into her phone, Alicia and Olivia walked closer to the board.
“I can so see Avril in this,” Alicia whispered, running her fingers across a boat-neck cashmere black-and-white-striped sweater. They had it paired with a pair of deep red, ultra-straight-legged cords that were covered in zippers. Vintage combat boots and a black velvet riding blazer were there to complete the look.
Olivia pulled what appeared to be a black mesh tube top off the corkboard. “Alicia, what do you think this is for?”
“That is theee latest accessory,” Lucinda said quietly, covering the mouthpiece of her cell phone before deciding to just hang up on the person she was talking to. “And Avril’s going to break it on our cover. It’s going to be bigger than her tie obsession in 2002.” She signaled for the girls to join her behind the pyramid of straw hats to avoid being overheard. “There are fifty-eight different ways to work it,” she whispered. “But Avril’s manager told me she wants to wear it over the cords, like a big wide butt belt. How f-in’ brilliant is that? It’s called a Dixon.”
“I love it!” Alicia said, unable to contain her excitement.
“Want one?” Lucinda asked, handing them each a circle of black mesh fabric. “Be the first ones in Winnchester to wear them.”
Alicia was so grateful she didn’t bother correcting Lucinda.
“What’s Winnchester?” Olivia giggled. “We live in West—”
Alicia elbowed her friend in the ribs. “Thanks so much, we love these,” she said.
“Hey, where’s my Dixon?” Dean asked, pretending to look offended. “Can’t forty-year-old men use them too? I could use it to drain my pasta.”
“Have this instead.” Lucinda handed Dean a black wallet. It had a thick silver chain hanging off it with a clasp on the end so it could be attached to his belt loop. “I’ve never seen a girl look cute wearing one of these yet, and it’s been here since the late nineties.”
“Awesome! Thanks!” Dean said, mocking Alicia and Olivia’s enthusiasm.
All three girls responded with eye rolls.
“Let’s move on.” Lucinda turned off the lights in The Closet. She led them back down the hall. “I have a five o’clock with Ashlee Simpson’s camp and her agent hates it when I’m late.”
“Is Ashlee going to be here?” Olivia asked.
“Unfortunately.” Lucinda groaned. “Hey, Olivia, is that poncho real rabbit?” She reached over and rubbed a tuft of white fur between her thumb and index finger. “J’adore rabbit.”
“N—Yeah, it’s real.” Olivia winked at Alicia. “Don’t tell Peter.”
Alicia wanted to scream, “It’s PETA! People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals!!! Not PETER.” But she didn’t. Instead she pretended she hadn’t heard Olivia, a trick she learned from Massie.
“And your boots are so retro,” Lucinda said to Alicia. “I haven’t seen square toed since my babysitter rented Young Frankenstein for me, like, ten years ago.”
Alicia felt the blood rush to her face. She wanted to sue Saks for selling her a pair of old-fashioned Frankenstein boots.
“Oh, these are from Spain,” Alicia lied. “They are very IN there. My mom just brought them back for me. They aren’t even out in America yet.”
“Kewel,” Lucinda said. She actually sounded excited. “You girls are pretty cool. I swear, you’re never going to believe this, but when I was in the seventh grade, I was a total beast. And I had no boobs.”
Alicia folded her arms across her chest when she noticed Lucinda checking her out.
“How much did you pay for those?” Lucinda asked. “I bet they were at least five grand a pop.”
“I didn’t pay for these; I would never—”
“Hey, Barnaby, come look at this girl’s boob job; it’s perfect,” Lucinda said to a guy who was walking toward them in the hall. He was wearing tight white pants, moccasins, and an off-the-shoulder cable-knit sweater.
“This is Barnaby, our staff photographer. Paolo, our other photog, is on assignment in Bora Bora.”
“Hay-ayyy.” Barnaby waved. “Those are fierce,” he said to Alicia’s boobs.
She smiled politely and put her Prada bag in front of her chest.
“I paid for my nose,” Olivia offered.
Normally Alicia would have been mortified, but she was grateful for the distraction.
“O-M-G, so did I.” Lucinda lifted her palm in the air and high-fived Olivia.
After their laughter died down, Lucinda’s expression suddenly became serious.
“Have you two ever modeled before?”
“Sure,” Alicia lied.
“Genius!” Lucinda clapped. “Not that it matters, because you’re both gor-jusss.” Without warning she stopped walking and leaned against the wall. Her head rested on a picture of Britney Spears’s navel. Her eyes shifted back and forth and she tapped her fingernail against her bottom teeth.
“Here’s the deal. We’re looking for pretty-in-a-real-sort-of-way girls to model in our Christmas holiday issue. I envision a scene of girls dressed in this year’s hottest holiday fashions, holding tons of bags and waiting on line to get their photos taken with a mall Santa. How fun is that?”
“So fun,” Alicia said.
Dean smiled politely.
“Would you girls be interested?”
“Ehmagawd. Given.” This time Alicia couldn’t mask her excitement.
Barnaby put his hands on his hips and sighed. “Luce, Nina will so have you fired if you put them in the same issue twice.”
“Ugh! I hate you, Barn,” Lucinda pouted. “Not only is your waist smaller than mine, but you’re always right.”
“We don’t have to do the interview thing,” Alicia said, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “We totally heart modeling.” She drew an air heart with her two index fingers and Lucinda smiled.
“Oh, good.” Lucinda threw her hands up, “And I heart you guys.” She drew an air heart of her own.
“I’ll have to check with their mothers, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” Dean said.
The girls rolled their eyes once again.
Lucinda walked at high speed as she led them back to the elevators. “I need six models total, so e-mail pictures of your pretty-in-a-real-sort-of-way friends, ’kay?”
“Sure,” Alicia said. But she’d sooner donate her new Prada raffia handbag to the annual OCD holiday gift drive than include Massie, Kristen, and Dylan in her modeling debut. This was going to be all about her. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The elevator door opened and Alicia and Olivia were suddenly face-to-face with Ashlee Simpson and her people.
“Ash,” Lucinda said, double-kissing her. “Grrreat to see you.”
“Heyyyyy, honey,” Ashlee said, double-kissing back. “This is my mom-slash-manager, Linda; my agent, Seth; my makeup artist, Kristy; my stylist, Naomi; my trainer, Marcus; and my label rep, Vince.”
“Given,” Lucinda said with a huge smile.
“No way, I say given too,” Alicia said.
“Cute,” Lucinda said, holding the elevator door open for Alicia, Olivia, and Dean. “Thanks for coming. I’ll have my assistant, Franka, call you if she ever gets back from her stupid funeral.”
“Thanks for the tour, babe,” Alicia said, trying to sound cool in front of Ashlee. The girls hugged Lucinda goodbye and promised to have their parents call ASAP so they could get started on the arrangements.
Alicia took one last look at Ashlee and her outfit before she stepped onto the elevator. “Hate the black hair, love the black leather mini, double-love the denim blazer, detest the flower Doc Martens, adore the green eye shadow,” she said once the doors closed.
“Agreed,” Olivia said.
It was dark outside when they stepped out of the revolving door. The city streets were even busier than they had been earlier. Hordes of people rushed by carrying briefcases and heavy shopping bags from Bergdorf’s, Bloomingdale’s, and Saks. Everyone they passed had lowered their necks into their coat collars to shield themselves from the howling wind. But Alicia and Olivia were oblivious to the cold.
“This is the best day ever,” Olivia said. “Who should we tell first?”
“Where to begin, dahhh-ling?” Alicia did her best diva impersonation. “Where to begin?” She brought two fingers to her lips like she was taking a drag off a cigarette and exhaled. Her warm breath mixed with the freezing air looked like a puff cloud of smoke. They burst out laughing and walked the rest of the way to the limo with their arms linked through Dean’s, pretending to smoke.
“Who wants Chinese?” Dean asked as he turned out of the underground parking lot onto 50th Street.
“Meee,” shouted the girls. Now that they were no longer in the presence of magazine greatness, Alicia felt free to act as excited as she felt.
“I know a great place in Times Square called Ruby Foo’s.”
And off they went.
Their black lacquer table was covered in plates of glistening food: sweet-and-sour chicken, shrimp dumplings, moo shu pork, short ribs, wontons, and seven different dipping sauces. But the girls barely ate a thing. They were too busy trying to guess the fifty-eight different ways to wear their Dixons. They had come up with thirty-two by the time the check had arrived.
“How about we do a little exploring?” Dean reached across the hostess stand and grabbed a handful of toothpicks on their way out the door.
“What about the concert?” Alicia asked. She broke into an impression of Beyoncé’s famous booty shake, right in the middle of Broadway. Olivia laughed so hard she burped.
“Why don’t we walk?” Dean stuck a toothpick between his two front teeth and Alicia looked away in disgust. “It’s only twenty short blocks. We can explore.”
Alicia and Olivia were already walking toward a guy wrapped in a wool blanket selling bootleg DVDs.
“I guess that means you’re up for it?” Dean said, following the girls to the wooden card table.
“Given,” Alicia said as they made their way downtown.
“Oh. My. God.” Olivia pointed to a man on the corner of 44th Street. He was standing behind a fold-out table just like the DVD guy’s, only his was covered in scarves. “Look at all of those Louis Vuittons!”
Stacks of white silk scarves dotted with green, red, purple, orange, blue, and black LVs were on display. A sign tacked to the edge of the table said LOUIS VUITON SCARVES $15.00.
“Fifteen dollars?” Olivia screeched. “Those are like three hundred bucks at home.”
“Are you serious?” Alicia said. She raised the corner of her upper lip to show her utter repulsion. “Oliv-i-ahhh, those are fake.”
Alicia reached into her purse and pulled out a sheet of Lucky stickers. She peeled off a no and stuck it on one of the scarves.
Olivia immediately tore off the sticker. “Why would you say that?”
“Look.” Alicia flicked the cardboard sign. “For starters, this Louis Vuitton spells his last name with one t, not two.” Alicia paused so Olivia could absorb the information. “And they’re only fifteen dollars.”
“So, they look real,” Olivia said.
“But they’re NOT!”
Alicia glanced at Dean for backup, but he shrugged and shook his head. He’d learned the hard way to stay out of Alicia’s shopping disputes.
“No one will ever know,” Olivia whispered. “I could give them away as holiday gifts. My shopping would be done before Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll give you a special deal,” said the guy behind the table. “Just for you, pretty lady.” He rubbed his black beard and squinted. He looked like he was giving this “special deal” some serious thought. “Ten for one hundred dollars.”
“Don’t do it,” Alicia said from the side of her mouth. “It’s a sin to give knockoffs at such a holy time of year.”
“Puh-lease,” Olivia said. “You’re just jealous ’cause you didn’t think of it first.” She handed five twenties to the guy in exchange for a handful of fake scarves.
“Whatevs,” Al
icia said, tightening her grip around her Prada handbag. “Maybe we’ll go plastic Christmas tree shopping next.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m going to start calling you Faux-livia from now on because everything you have is fake.”
“Oh, really, Alicia RIVERS,” Olivia fired back.
Alicia felt her stomach drop. “Thanks a lot. I was finally starting to forget about Massie.”
“Sorry,” Olivia said, looking down at the sidewalk. “I was just kidding.”
“It’s okay. I can’t wait to tell her we’re going to be models. She’ll regret every mean thing she’s ever said to me.”
“How are you going to tell her? I thought you weren’t talking.”
“Oh, I’ll find a way,” Alicia said, the corners of her lips curling up into a devious smile. “I always do.”
SUN OF A BEACH TANNING SALON
6:15 PM
November 14th
“I read that in California you have to be eighteen to go to a tanning salon,” Kristen said, braiding a small clump of light blond hair by her face. “You have to show ID and everything.”
“That’s only if you want to fake ’n’ bake.” Massie took every opportunity she could to correct her know-it-all friend. “Which no one does anymore.” She pulled off her gray tights and stuffed them in her boots. “Spray tans are much more aujourd’hui. Trust me, Kristen, you’re gonna love it.”
“What does oh jor dwi mean?” Dylan asked while pushing her red hair into a paper shower cap.
“Five-letter word for ‘in this day,’” Kristen said.
“Today,” Massie said.
Dylan stomped her foot. “You never let me guess.”
“We don’t have time,” Massie told her. “We only have this booth until six-thirty PM.”
“Are you sure this spray tanning isn’t poisonous?” Kristen pushed the instructional video back in the VCR so she could watch it again.
“Stop.” Massie hit eject and grabbed the tape. “This is so easy. The only thing you have to worry about is the Lohan tan.”
“What?” Kristen shrieked. “I’m not doing this.” She grabbed her Miss Sixty jeans off the changing room floor and started getting dressed.
Revenge of the Wannabes Page 5