Fatshionista

by Vanessa McKnight

  How many more years was I going to put up with this? Could I afford to go out on my own or find another company? Other production companies had often courted me, but I stayed here not because of Marta, but because of the caliber of designers with which she worked. All of them found working with a former model to be oh-so-chic. Her mystique and aged fame was what got them in the door. It was my ideas and execution that kept them coming back. Damn her for trying to imply that all this was my fault.

  “Which leads me to the introduction I wish to make, although I fear it is quite unnecessary since she is so well known in her own right. Nevertheless, I would like to introduce you all to Scarlett Marshall. She will be joining our team in a new position I have created. She will be the new head of client retention and social media. She will oversee all aspects of our publicity and marketing and will act as my eyes and ears in my absence. I expect you all to give her the same respect and authority you offer me.

  “Millicent, you will work with Scarlett to keep her informed of the day-to-day details that you oversee, and you will include her in all client meetings. Think of her as my right-hand man, if you will.”

  Right-hand man? Right-hand man? What the hell did that make me? I had been the right hand, left hand, eyes, ears, and brains of this company ever since my first day five years ago. Granted I wasn’t some rich daddy’s girl and didn’t have a socially elite contact list to draw upon, but I damn well knew this company, I knew our clients, and I knew how to work with and around Marta when necessary. And now I had a mini-Marta? A socialite mini-Marta? And I kept falling lower and lower down the totem poll. Maybe Marta’s next step would be bringing in Paris Hilton and making her head of video production. Excellent idea!

  “Scarlett, why don’t you say a few words to your new team?” Marta said over her shoulder as she exited the conference room. I guessed she was good to go now that she had launched her protégé. Dear God, how could this get any worse?

  “Well, hello everyone,” Scarlett said while rising. Apparently she felt the need to stand to address…her team.

  “I am happy to be a part of your team. As Marta said, she has brought me in to try and increase the level of exposure the company has and to use the knowledge I possess to take this company to the next level. I look forward to meeting with each of you to hear your ideas and to see how we can all work together to create the best production company in New York.” The only thing missing from her speech was a set of pom-poms. Seriously, how old was this girl? Twenty? Twenty-one? Was she even out of college?

  “I will also be creating an M. Spencer Productions blog. As most of you are aware, social media is the advertising of the future. While we do have an outstanding website, we do not have any presence on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, or any number of other social media outlets. This is where my technological and social expertise will come together to help create an overall brand for the company, using those tools and my contacts to increase exposure of our company.”

  I sincerely hoped there was something to back up the insanely high level of confidence this cheerleader sported. Maybe I had become jaded and cynical at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. I knew about Facebook, I tweeted. But who wanted to follow tweets about lighting shipments and drapery colors? What was there to tweet about here? This was a business, not the Kappa Psi house.

  “I don’t know how many of you are familiar with blogging or how it can be used to increase social awareness of a company, but I feel if we can get some momentum behind this new blog I am creating, it will expand the branding of this company to a more, shall we say, younger clientele. Now obviously Marta is the driving force behind her company, but most people under the age of thirty have no idea who Marta is. They don’t even know she used to be a model. Time marches on and this company needs to get in step.

  “If any one of you says any of that to Marta, I will deny it and throw you under the bus the first chance I get. I may look young and naïve, but my father taught me at an early age that it’s about giving people what they want, and people in fashion do not want an old woman telling them what is fresh, what is new, what is fashion.”

  And with that, Scarlett returned to her seat.

  No one said a word. They all looked around the room at one another, looked at the tabletops, anywhere but at the cheerleader. I felt as the former second in command I should say something. It wasn’t like Scarlett didn’t have some good ideas, but I needed to see if she could back any of it up. I, better than most, knew the power of a great blog. One thing I learned early in this industry was that talk was cheap; it all came down to the walk. Could she walk the walk? As over-the-top and artsy and flamboyant as this business could be, it was still a business. The companies that owned these design houses owned them to make a profit. Scarlett might be on to something; I would just have to wait and see.

  “Scarlett, on behalf of our team, I would like to welcome you. We’re a tight-knit bunch, we work hard, we get on one another’s last nerves, but we do good work. And we enjoy doing it with each other. I’m sure that you will be a great addition to our team. And please let me know if there is anything you need from us as you’re settling in.” There, I played nice. We would see if this ended up working in my favor or blowing up in my face. Sometimes there was a thin line between the two.

  The team took their cue from me and started nodding and making eye contact with Scarlett. Almost as if the teacher had just announced that the new kid was here and she also had candy for everyone. If Scarlett could do what she said she could, we would all benefit. It was just a matter of seeing if she could put up—and if she could or would ever shut up.

  With the announcement of Scarlett’s new role, I decided we could scrap the rest of the staff meeting. Everyone was anxious to break up into their little groups and discuss this amongst themselves anyway; keeping them here longer would only delay the meeting after the meeting. They had checked out from the moment Marta announced who Scarlett was and what she would be doing.

  “Let’s go ahead and wrap it up for today. It’s been a long, grueling week for all of us. Since it’s Friday, I’ll just move the rest of the agenda items to Monday.” Everyone started gathering their things and the side bar conversations had already begun.

  “Just a second, everyone. I did have a quick announcement I needed to make, if you all could kindly take your seats.” Scarlett, like a queen, stayed seated while making her announcement.

  I had already turned toward the door to head back to my hole of an office. I turned and saw all eyes on me. Apparently the rest of the team was waiting to see what I would do before they did anything. I buried my sigh deep inside me and returned to my seat.

  “I have brought on a new client. He will be coming in this afternoon to meet with Millicent to discuss his upcoming resort wear presentation. He is brand new to the American fashion scene. He’s a designer from India and has recently shown there at Lakme Fashion Week and Delhi Bridal Week.”

  Her voice drifted off as I listened with one ear. If her big announcement was another client, a resort wear one at that, I had nothing to say. I hadn’t missed her comment about him meeting with me today, although I knew for a fact my calendar was packed. But I knew I could handle one more client in the relatively quiet season of resort wear.

  “I know that he’ll have plenty of ideas about how he wants his clothing portrayed. As always, we will listen to those ideas and incorporate them into the overall presentation.”

  As always? Sounded like she had been here for years instead of merely minutes.

  “Millicent, I know you will give him the full breadth and width of your knowledge and experience.”

  Width? Was that a dig at my size? Could this tiny little socialite already be making veiled insults right to my face?

  “Millicent is one of our greatest assets here at M. Spencer. Her wide range of experience and her ability to absorb all types of ideas and bring them into one true, focused presentation will serve our new client well.”

&nbs
p; It was like that Gas-X commercial. I knew there were other words she said, but the only ones I heard were “wide,” “absorb,” and “ass-sets.” Maybe I was losing my mind.

  “Millicent, I look forward to hearing how your meeting goes with Daniel. Thank you, everyone; that will be all.” And with that, Scarlett turned on her five-inch platform heel and left out the same door as Marta. Everyone paused a beat to make sure the meeting was really over this time. I nodded to them and gathered my own things again. Now I just had to figure out how to work this new client into the already packed day I had lined up.

  ****

  I wedged my way into my cubbyhole of an office, barely missing the Jenga towerish pile of magazines that perpetually sat on the edge of my desk. In a perfect world, my office would be something out of a Kelly Wearstler show house, all gilded and shiny, a true example of Hollywood Regency meets mid-century modern.

  But alas, my office was more Sanford and Son meets Barney Miller. But I felt right at home in my cubbyhole full of battered metal file cabinets and pleather furniture. The wood veneer desk was peeling at the edges, and I had to be careful to not brush by it while navigating the tiny space. Many a shirt and sweater had fought this desk and lost.

  I propped my iPad up on the latest stack of Harper’s Bazaar and immediately began Googling Daniel…who? I called Lizzie to see if she had heard out in cubeworld the full name of our mystery designer.

  “Lizzie, any idea who this guy is that Scarlett was talking about? I got the first name but no last. I wanted to see what he’s done before I have to meet with him this afternoon.” Meanwhile I was Googling Lakme Fashion Week to see if I happened to see his name in the list of designers.

  “She didn’t say. Want me to ask? It’ll give me a chance to check out her office.”

  Office? She had an office? “What office?” It took me two years to earn this cubbyhole. She got an office on day one?

  “You didn’t hear? Boss lady set her up right outside her office. You know back when Marta had the two assistants but they could never coordinate what they were doing and she fired the blonde one? Her old office, she gave that to Scarlett.”

  “Well shit.” Maybe this was a sign. Like in the horror movies when you heard the voices yell “Get out!” Marta was a pain in my ass; I was underpaid, overworked, had no social life…but the job did have a few perks. Maybe instead of running to the door I should wait around until Marta showed me the door—more paychecks, more connections, more time to update my portfolio and my résumé.

  “Get your little tail out there and start digging up information. I hate going into a meeting blind.”

  “We can’t all be blessed with curves like you, Millie. Once I realized I would never have boobs, I decided everything else better look pretty damn good. Especially when I realized that the only people I wanted looking at them were other women; you know how critical we can be.”

  “Agreed, I can’t stand my own female inner monologue sometimes; I don’t see how you could want to add one more female voice into your head, but then again, I don’t understand your fascination with dressing like a farmer either.”

  “Comfort, my only motivation is comfort. And on that note, let the sleuthing begin!” And with that, Lizzie was off on her mission.

  I was really quite lucky to have hired Lizzie and Ryan. Both learned pretty quickly that while it might be Marta’s name on the door, I was the one who ran the day to day around here. Both of them were always willing to jump in and do whatever needed to be done (the ladder incident not withstanding), and they were both loyal to me. Marta didn’t even know their names, let alone that Lizzie was one of the top graduates from her art school, specializing in lighting design. She had many opportunities for internships but picked us because she wanted a feel for boutique shows and smaller venues. Ryan was a set decorator, also an art school graduate. As a former art school graduate myself, I knew the harsh reality of coming out of that insular environment where you were a big fish in a small pond, living and breathing your art because you didn’t have to pay for anything.

  Life after college, the first job, the apartment, the bills; it wasn’t always something that art school students thought of when they decided on their majors. The idea of living for your art was all well and good until you realized you couldn’t even afford Ramen noodles. Ryan also had a great eye and in a pinch could shoot some of our smaller shows for the website. Overall, they were a great addition to our limited staff, and I felt confident they would help me navigate through this Scarlett situation.

  Lizzie poked her head in my office, saw the coast was clear, then pushed a dress form out of her way to close my door. The Jenga magazine pile did not survive her entrance. The office was so small I rarely made the effort to close the door; I just lowered my voice or went outside if I ever needed to make a private call. Any really juicy work conversations usually took place with Lizzie and Ryan in the bar across the street.

  “Oh my God, you have got to see her office. It’s like Hello Kitty meets Legally Blonde. The office is pink and frilly and the only thing missing is her canopy bed and a Justin Bieber poster. How is it that we’re the same age?” Lizzie shifted in the pleather chair, trying not to dislodge the stack of vintage Vogues I had pulled for some research.

  “How do you know she’s the same age as you? You were only in there a few minutes.”

  “Oh, she’s a talker. And she loves to talk about herself, surprise, surprise. I found out quite a bit in two minutes. Dad got her the job—we already knew that, but nice to have it confirmed. She just graduated in May from NYU, degree in fashion merchandising. She has no interest in running a production company; she just wanted to be the social media specialist, whatever that means, for a fashion-based company, and this was what Daddy could give her. Apparently Marta and C. go way back and she owed him a favor, hence her in our staff meeting.” Lizzie slouched back and sighed.

  “Impressive. Any chance you also happened to find out what I sent you in there for in the first place?” I really wanted to find out whether this meeting was going to interesting or painful.

  “Why yes, my dear Millicent.” Lizzie always used my full name, like Marta did, when she wanted to piss me off.

  “The gentleman in question is the older brother of Scarlett’s roommate at NYU. He grew up in Delhi but went to college in England. Studied architecture and design but always had a passion for fashion—and apparently for the boys as well. Rumor has it that he even dated British TV star Graham Norton.”

  “Graham Norton? Wow, impressive.” BBC America was another late-night habit of mine.

  “Indeed. And as for the last name, drum roll please.”

  I obliged and tapped out a little fanfare on my desk.

  “The name is Singh, Daniel Singh.”

  “Well, I should have guessed that one.” Singh was the Indian equivalent of Smith, so not surprising that my newest client was a Singh.

  “I wonder if he’s related to the Singhs that you lived with when you studied in Delhi? Wouldn’t that be a coincidence?”

  “Slim chance; Singh is such a common last name, and I think I would have remembered my host family talking about a gay relative who lived in England and studied fashion.” But then again, that might be the last person they would ever have talked about.

  “Well, it was a slim chance. And I think you were around before him.”

  “You mean before he was born? How old do you think I am?” I was the farthest from vain, but no woman liked to hear herself described as old.

  “I just meant he might not have found his calling at the time you were there, for fashion or for men. Anyway, mystery solved; now you can Google away and be ready for your meeting with him. I hope he’s as good as she claimed and not just someone she’s trotting in to make it look as if she can bring in business.”

  “Hmmmm. Agreed. Well, thanks again for the sleuthing. And let’s not say anything to Daniel about my time in India. Sometimes people like to impress you with inform
ation about their own country; I don’t want to come off as a know-it-all just because I lived there for a year.”

  “You didn’t just live there for a year; you go back almost every other year, and last year you almost married that guy you found on Shaadi.com.”

  Sometimes I forgot the things I confessed to after a long night of work and an even longer night of using alcohol to try and forget about work.

  “Iksnay on the indiskay, all right? I’m just working with this man; there is no need for him to know anything about anywhere I have ever been, okay?”

  “You got it, boss lady, whatever you say.”

  “How are you and Ryan doing with uploading and organizing all the photos from last week? We have the ones from the style websites, but I want to make sure we have the punch in shots you all got of the details of the set, lighting, that kind of thing. I want to get the website updated as soon as we can to attract any designers who haven’t committed to a production company for their fall collections.”