Fran points to the TV and shakes her head. “It’s too iffy. The storm could be here by noon … or later tonight.”
“Or not at all,” I offer.
“Yes … or not at all.” She waves her hand. “You need to go get ready for Britain’s Got Style.” She looks at her clock. “Really, you should be in hair and makeup by now, Erin.”
“Right …” I turn and leave. No way am I going to tell her what a mess that’s going to be. I head for Paige’s room, but then I see Luis and Shauna coming down the hallway. I quickly give them the lowdown on the hangover.
“What are you going to do?” Shauna asks me as I knock on the door of Paige’s room.
“I have no idea.” When no one answers, I pull out the key card Paige gave me when we arrived, slide it through, and let us in. “Hello?” I call.
Dylan comes out of the bedroom with a guilty expression.
But Shauna and Luis simply greet him as if it’s no big deal that he obviously slept here last night.
“Hey, Erin,” he says to me, looking sheepish. “Your mom told me about your idea for me to replace Paige on the show. I’m sure no one would notice.”
Luis thinks that’s funny and he jokingly introduces the possibility of dressing Dylan up like Paige. “Dylan could probably make a big splash on their show.”
“Hilarious,” I say as Shauna points me to the makeup station. I frown at her. “I don’t really see the point in getting me ready,” I tell her as I sit down. “There’s no way I can pull this off without Paige. We all know I’m no fashion expert.”
“Well, at least you’ll look nice for the day,” Shauna says, using a sponge to blend foundation.
“I have an idea,” Mom says as she emerges from the bedroom.
“How’s Paige?” Luis asks with sympathy.
“Wiped out, but resting.” Mom goes over to where Dylan is sitting by the window with a sad expression. She points at him. “It will require cooperation from you. Paige says your show’s not until tomorrow. So you’re probably not too busy today.”
He shrugs. “Not too busy.”
And just like that, like my mom thinks she’s turned into a CIA agent, she starts describing a wild techie plan that is supposed to save the day. She wants me to wear a hidden earphone and for Dylan to be offstage watching the show via one of our cameras, which will be linked directly to his laptop. He will feed me fashion advice, direction, and critique.
“No way!” I shake my head, causing Shauna to jump back and scowl at me. “That is crazy.”
“Why?” Luis asks. “It sounds like fun to me.”
“That’s because you don’t have to do it,” I tell him.
Dylan comes over to my chair. “I think we can pull it off.”
“Seriously?” I frown at him. “But you wouldn’t be the one on the hot seat, now would you?” I turn to Mom. “What happens if we lose our connection? Or if the Britain’s Got Style people figure it out? And besides that, isn’t it a little unethical?”
“We do that in the news all the time,” Mom tells me. “Sometimes we need to get a message to the anchor while he’s on the air and we can’t always get it written out quickly enough. So we use—”
“But won’t they see it?” I ask. “An earpiece?”
“I can cover it with your hair,” Luis says quickly.
“And I can help conceal it on your neck,” Shauna offers. “I’ve done things like that before.”
“And you can wear big earrings and something with a collar,” Mom suggests.
“This is crazy,” I tell them, but they’re already scrambling. Mom’s on the phone with our crew, checking to see if they have the equipment. Dylan’s on his computer trying to find out more about the British style show. Shauna leads me to the walk-in closet in the bedroom to find an appropriate outfit.
Meanwhile Paige looks a little green around the gills, curled up in a fetal position on the bed, groaning softly. I actually consider sniping something mean at her, but thankfully stop myself. Not only do I stop, but I feel slightly disgusted with myself. Especially in light of what Rhiannon told me last night. I can’t believe how angry and judgmental I can be sometimes. A lot of times. Really, what is wrong with me?
So instead I go over and gently touch Paige’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry you feel so lousy,” I say quietly. “I hope you get to feeling better soon. I’ll do what I can to rescue this.”
“Thanks,” she whispers.
Okay, I know that’s a small step for most people, but in light of knowing how Paige got in this position and in light of the position she’s put me in, it’s a giant step for me.
Chapter
17
We arrive at the hotel where the show is being recorded this week and, to my relief, Mom is up front with the producer of Britain’s Got Style. Without going into too much detail, she explains that Paige suddenly became ill and that because I’m not used to going solo yet, I will be wearing an earpiece and getting some direction.
“If you have a problem with this, we understand,” she tells him. “But it was the only way we could accommodate you. We really want this opportunity to have your show be promoted on ours.”
He looks at me. “And you’re comfortable with this?”
I make what I hope doesn’t look like a forced smile. “I think so. We’ve been practicing a bit and it should be okay.”
He pats me on the back. “All right then. Just be sure to tell that elusive sister of yours that she owes us one.”
I nod. “I’ll do that.”
It takes about twenty minutes before we’re all set and ready to go. During this time I discover that another guest judge on the show is Eliza Wilton. I try not to act shocked, but I’m wondering what sets Eliza up as an expert. Sure, she used to do some modeling. And now she’s partnering with Rhiannon. But an expert? Of course, I have to weigh that against myself. An expert? Ha!
“I’m a little disappointed,” she tells me as we’re leaving the green room. “I was really looking forward to going up against your sister today.”
“Against her?” I frown. “You mean as in competition?”
She smiles smugly. “You obviously haven’t seen this show.”
She’s right; I haven’t—at least not an entire episode. I saw some very brief clips of it before our London trip. Not that I want Eliza to know that.
“There’s always some friendly bantering and competition between the judges,” she informs me. “It’s part of the fun. Everyone trying to one-up everyone else.”
“Right … fun.”
She chuckles. “I’m guessing we won’t have a problem with you.”
“Probably not.”
We go out to the set. A well-lit runway runs through the middle of the ballroom and a stage with black leather chairs and a long glass table is sitting parallel to it. Cameras and crew are positioned around the perimeter. We are introduced to the regular judges, a who’s who in the British fashion world. Then we’re led to our places, where we sit in front of fixed micro-phones—a relief, because it’s one less wire to worry about.
“If you can hear me, nod.” I try not to jump when I hear Dylan’s voice through the earpiece. I nod as I scoot my chair a bit closer to the table.
After a few more minutes of adjustments, the lights come on and the host and former supermodel, Chloe Brinkman, does her spiel. She introduces the judges, including the guest judges, and gives a brief explanation of why I’m here in lieu of my sister. Then she gives Eliza and me a chance to say a few words about ourselves, why we are on the panel, and if anything special has caught our attention at Bahamas Fashion Week.
Eliza goes first and is almost as smooth as Paige would be if she were here. And then it’s my turn, and suddenly I hear Dylan’s voice in my ear. We’ve prearranged a cue system, so if I don’t want him to speak I simply touch my chin. And that’s what I do.
“I’m the co-host of On the Runway,” I begin. “But as our viewers know, my sister, Paige F
orrester, is the one who has the real fashion sense. She’s a natural. In fact, she sometimes uses me as an example of fashion don’ts.” This elicits some chuckles. “However, I’ve been learning a lot about fashion this year. Paige is a great teacher, even though my interests in fashion differ from hers.” Then I briefly mention eco fashion, green design, and world trade.
“That’s great,” Chloe tells me. “You’re probably aware that this has been a big focus of our show as well. You’re in good company.” Then she introduces the premise of their show, which is not so different from the American version, where designers compete with each other for the prize of getting to create and show their own styles at London Fashion Week next fall. “As you know we’re down to the final five,” she says with enthusiasm. “And they have been here in the Bahamas, working for the past two days on a resort wear outfit.” She gets a catty smile. “We’ve made their challenge a bit more rigorous than usual, because we have limited them to only natural materials that are found on the island.” She points to me. “Someone as environmentally conscious as Erin Forrester should appreciate this particular show.”
Now, like any other show, the music gets loud and the spotlights turn to the runway. As the models take their turns parading up and down the platform, Dylan, who’s watching them via his laptop, gives me some tips as to what is good or bad about the ensembles. And it’s weird, because after the second model, I almost think I get it. Even so, I’m not sure I can verbalize it. And then, as the third model is coming out, Dylan’s voice goes dead. I discreetly reach up to touch the earpiece, but it makes no difference. For whatever reason, I’ve lost him.
Soon it’s time for critique and, although I pay attention to the other judges, I want my words to be my own. Even if I make our show look stupid, I decide to simply be myself. Design by design, I take my turn and a couple of times I even go first. I say why I think the shredded palm skirt is predictable and why the coconut husk vest is a bust. All in all, it’s kind of fun. I can’t believe it when the outfit I liked the most—the raffia dress trimmed in shells—wins. But I’m hugely relieved that we’re finished.
“Nicely done,” Mom tells me as I join my crew. “Very smooth and natural-sounding. And that comment about the coconut bust was really funny. Did Dylan come up with it?”
“As a matter of fact, Dylan and I got disconnected shortly after the show began.”
She blinks. “Really? Well, in that case, you did a fantastic job, honey. Good for you!”
As we head out to the lobby, Dylan meets us. “Why didn’t you use any of my comments?” he asks me in a slightly offended tone. I explain about the disconnect.
“So that was basically a waste of my time,” he says in a disgruntled tone. Before I can even think of a response, Eliza joins us with her usual catty smile.
“Hey, Dylan,” she says in what seems an overly familiar way. “What are you doing here?”
I shoot him a warning glance—I do not want him telling Eliza that I was wearing an earpiece, especially since it didn’t even work.
“I just had to pick something up for my show tomorrow.” He glances at his watch. “In fact, I need to get over to the Ritz to check on some things.”
“Hey, that’s where I’m going too. Let’s share a cab.” Eliza links her arm in his with a big smile. “My treat.”
And just like that, they take off together. Mom doesn’t even blink as she goes over her notes for the day. I’m sure she thinks it’s no big deal, but I know Eliza well enough to feel a tinge of concern. Eliza has been after Dylan since the days she modeled for him in New York. And I can’t help but wonder how Paige would feel if she witnessed those two trotting off together. But then I remind myself that Paige and I see things differently, and she’s always telling me that I’m old-fashioned. So maybe she’d think I was making a mountain out of a molehill.
“Okay, kids,” Mom says to the crew and me. “Now it’s off to the Perry Ellis resort wear show. Everybody ready?”
And so goes the day, as we trek from one show to the next. In between shows, we keep checking the weather reports and the sky. This morning, it was so clear and blue that it was hard to imagine a hurricane lurking out there in the Atlantic. But as we move into the afternoon, the sky gets cloudy and has a weird greenish-yellow cast. Finally, at around four o’clock it starts to rain, hard.
Cars are lined up, waiting to pull under the protection of the hotel portico. We’re running late and need to get to the next show, so we get out and make a run for it, getting soaked as we hurry inside. Thankfully, this is our last show and it’s in our hotel. As we hurry through the lobby, it’s obvious that people are nervous about the impending storm.
By the time we come out of the fashion show, the hurricane is bearing down on us. Crowds of people are looking out the hotel lobby windows, watching as pieces of debris and anything not tied down goes shooting by. Palm trees whip and bend in the wind, and one of them actually breaks. Both JJ and Alistair have their cameras running.
“Come away from there,” Mom tells me. “It’s dangerous.”
The lobby is noisy and busy with people clustering about, as if unsure about what they should do. There seems to be a range of reactions and expressions—everything from party-mania to wide-eyed panic.
“We should go check on Paige and Fran,” Mom says.
I invite the crew to come up with us, but they want to stay downstairs. “It’s not every day you get to see a hurricane,” JJ explains. “And some of these shots will be great for the show.”
“I’ll be watching from my room,” I say. “You guys be careful.”
“I asked the concierge if there were any emergency procedures we should be aware of,” Mom tells me as we’re waiting for the elevator. “And he just said to stay inside and away from the windows.”
I laugh. “Right, I guess I won’t be sitting on the terrace then.”
“And, naturally, there’s no way to evacuate,” Mom says in a nervous tone. “Since we’re on an island.”
The elevator doors open and she just stands there.
“What?” I ask as I go in.
“I wonder if we should take the stairs.”
“Why?”
“What if the electricity goes out?”
“Oh.” I put my hand out to hold the door.
“Surely they have generators.” Mom steps in and I hurry to push the button.
“Surely.” I nervously watch as the floor numbers flash. “Are you scared?” I ask Mom.
She frowns. “Well, yes … aren’t you?”
“I guess I haven’t really had time to think about it.”
Mom puts an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me toward her. “You know, Erin, I need to tell you how proud I am of you. The way you kept it together today. The way you’re so responsible. How you’ve been helping Fran. Well, I know I don’t tell you enough, but I am really proud of you, sweetheart.”
I make an anxious laugh. “That sounds like the kind of thing someone says right before the ship sinks.”
“Well, I mean it.” Mom sighs with relief as the doors open on our floor and we both hurry out. “I’ll check on Paige while you check on Fran.”
When I go into Fran’s room, her eyes are closed. She is so still, I actually wonder if she’s breathing. But as I move closer to her bed, her eyes flutter open. “Erin,” she says in a hoarse voice.
“How are you doing?” I ask as I sit in the chair beside her.
She only sighs.
“The hurricane is coming.”
“Yes … I can hear it howling out there.”
“Do you want me to open the drapes so you can watch?”
She closes her eyes and I take the hint.
“How about some music?” I ask.
She doesn’t react, but I go to the TV and tune it to the channel with the soothing spa music. Then I check to see if she’s eaten anything from the lunch tray that I ordered from room service for her. It is untouched. Everything in me says she needs
medical treatment. But with a hurricane blowing, I don’t see how that’s even possible.
I make some green tea and set it beside her, along with some crackers. And then, feeling helpless to do more, I go back to my room and change out of my still-damp dress and into some sweats. I look out my window to see that the storm is still raging. But from up here, it almost seems less threatening, which I’m sure is an illusion. Thanks to the hotel’s generators, I’m able to turn on the TV now, tuning it to the Weather Channel. I discover I’m too restless to sit and watch, so I head to Paige’s room.
“How is she?” I ask Mom when she opens the door.
“Better.”
“Good.”
“I got to thinking we should probably have gotten some provisions,” Mom says with a worried brow.
“Provisions?”
“You know—some food and bottled water … in case we’re stuck here for a while and the hotel runs out of things.”
“Seriously? How long can a hurricane last?”
“Usually a few hours, but some can last up to eight or more.”
“Really?”
“And it’s not even solidly here yet.”
“Do you want me to go forage some things from the shops downstairs?” I offer.
“It might be wise, Erin. That is, unless they’ve already sold out.”
“Why don’t you call room service and order us dinner?” I suggest. “That way we might miss the rush later.”
“Good idea.”
“And I’m going to do everything possible to book a flight for Fran,” I say suddenly. “As soon as it’s safe, I want her on a plane out of here. I don’t even care how much it costs.”
“That seems wise.”
As I’m walking through the lobby, I try the traditional airline numbers that I saved in my iPhone this morning, but I’m getting the same results as before. The food section of the shop is picked over, but I decide to just gather up what I can, placing an odd assortment of cheese crackers, peanuts, chocolates, and some fruit drinks on the counter.
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