Of course, as I go into the hotel, which is thankfully free of paparazzi, I am exhausted. I’m barely in my room and am just getting ready for bed when Paige comes rushing through the adjoining door and falls onto my bed, sobbing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask in horror as I pop my head out of my nightgown.
“Everything,” she cries.
“What?” I demand, sitting down next to her. “Is it Mom?”
She sits up and looks at me with a tear-streaked face. “Where have you been all day?”
“On a bus tour—but tell me, is it Mom? Did something happen?”
“No … it’s not Mom. Mom is fine, although she was a bit miffed at you. She’d tried to call you—and so did I—but it seems your phone was turned off.”
I shrug. “I didn’t see any reason to leave it on.”
“Well, except for the fact that you are here with me and here with our show and I was in the midst of a crisis!”
“What crisis?” I demand. I look closely at her now. “I don’t see any broken bones, no bleeding wounds. What are you talking about?”
“I had the worst day ever.”
“And …?” Okay, I hate to seem totally unfeeling, but what am I supposed to do about it?
“And it would’ve been nice to have had you around … for moral support, you know?”
“But all you wanted to do was sleep in and do a little shopping,” I remind her. “I can hardly see how you’d need my help to do that.”
“Except for the paparazzi.”
“You had paparazzi following you while you were shopping?”
She nods. “They were horrible. And being by myself—well, they just kept hammering away at me. They all seem certain that Ben and I are going to be married, that I’m pregnant, that Ben is a dirty rat, as they called him. It’s all getting bigger and bigger.” She sighs. “It’s like the blogs’ and networks’ stories have taken on a life of their own and no matter what I say or do, no one is listening.”
“Welcome to celebrity.” I hold up my hands in a helpless gesture. “I mean … what did you expect, Paige?”
“A little more respect.”
“Are you serious?” I study her and wonder if she’s really as naïve about this as she sounds. “You used to follow all the tabloids and Hollywood gossip yourself,” I remind her. “Remember how obsessed you were when Brad Pitt dumped Jennifer for Angelina? You totally hated Angelina for almost a year.”
“Well, I was young and silly.”
“And you were reading the tabloids and believing everything you read, Paige. Exactly what some people are doing right now.”
“But how do I stop them?”
I shrug. “I have no idea. How did Angelina get you to stop believing that she was the devil and had destroyed Jennifer Aniston’s life?”
She makes a sheepish smile. “I’m not sure she has stopped me.”
“Oh, Paige.” I shake my head.
“I’m kidding.” She lets out a long sigh.
“It’s the price of fame,” I tell her. “You know what they say—if you can’t take the heat…”
“But it’s so unfair … and mean.” She looks at me. “I would think you, of all people, would see how wrong it is. I would think you would be outraged, Erin.”
“I’ll admit that it really aggravates me. When I’m with you, I’ll try to speak out, like I’ve been doing. But I don’t think we can really stop them. Short of a lawsuit, and I’m not sure that even works.”
“What were you doing today?”
So I tell her about my bus tour with a bunch of old schoolteachers, and she actually looks envious. “That sounds like fun.”
I can’t help but laugh. I mean, seriously, go figure!
Chapter
15
As exhausted as I was, once Paige got done unloading on me I was wide awake. Now I can’t sleep. Something about this whole thing gets me. So I take out my computer and begin to write. My goal is to just get some of these thoughts down, at least for now. Maybe someday I’ll do like Helen has suggested and start my own blog. Or not.
Other than snickering over the occasional sensational headline while waiting in a checkout line, I’ve never paid much attention to tabloids and gossip rags. Mollie used to buy them sometimes, until she discovered she could find her dirt for free online. But I’ve always kind of stayed away from the smut. It never interested me before … and it wouldn’t interest me now except that suddenly it’s feeling personal.
Being in London has really opened up my eyes about this business. I’ve concluded that, although tabloids cover—and oftentimes create—a variety of stories (including bizarre alien abductions and UFO sightings), they seem to favor one particular sort of “breaking news event.”
And that is anything that involves the public humiliation of a popular celebrity. Of course, if the person weren’t a celebrity—a person of interest—there would be no point in public humiliation. Because everyone knows that writing embarrassing stories about ordinary people will not sell newspapers.
I’ve decided that tabloids thrive on celebrity downfall—or anything that can be portrayed as downfall. Their list of favorite topics include divorce, arrest, unwed pregnancy, bad parenting, rehab treatment, weight gain, arrests, or any negative experience that a public figure might prefer to keep private. And, naturally, the bigger the celebrity, the bigger the story.
But it seems to me that it wasn’t until this London trip that Paige became such a big focus of this mean-spirited mud-slinging. Why is London so interested in tearing my sister to shreds in their tabloid papers? To answer that question, I go to the lowest common denominator—money. Of course, those papers are all about making money. If consumers didn’t buy those smutty tabloids, they wouldn’t get printed. So apparently, there are people out there who enjoy reading bad things about my sister.
Again, I have to ask myself why? Why does the average person enjoy reading unkind and often untrue stories about a celeb? What makes men and women plunk down their hard-earned money to read what are mostly lies about someone they don’t even know?
After much deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that some people are just plain jealous and as a result they’re willing to buy into gossip and slander to make themselves feel better.
And so, even though I still think misleading tabloids are wrong-wrong-wrong, I guess I get why they’re so popular. It’s a human way of compensating. Some might go as far as to say this is how the playing field gets evened—a chance for the haves and the have-nots to be equal. The secret cost of fame, and a way celebrities pay their dues for being idolized, is by being victimized by tabloids. Blah, blah, blah … finally I even put myself to sleep.
Of course, morning comes and I have to shove my philosophical and slightly judgmental musings aside and get ready to “perform” with my star sister. The irony of this does not escape me. Fortunately, and probably because it’s early, we manage to exit the hotel without any fanfare.
“Where do you think they went?” Paige asks as the car pulls away.
“You sound like you miss them,” I point out.
“No,” she says quickly. “It’s more like noticing that a toothache stopped.”
“Well, I spoke to hotel security,” Fran says. “They promised to do what they can, but they also reminded me that there are other fashion personalities staying at the hotel who appreciate being pursued by paparazzi.”
Our first appointment is with Vivienne Westwood, the designer responsible for bringing punk into the mainstream, and I can’t believe how easily Paige converses with this woman who must be almost fifty years her senior. Of course, I have to give much of that credit to Ms. Westwood, who seems like she’s about our age and masquerading as an older woman.
“You are what I would call an extreme designer,” Paige says finally. “Years ago you were instrumental in the punk trend in fashion and most recently your designs were featured in the movie Sex and the City.” Paige smiles as if remembering. �
��I must say that wedding gown was exquisite and I wasn’t a bit surprised when Carrie picked it to wear in her wedding.”
Then Paige wraps up this interview and we head on to the next appointment, which amazingly enough is with former supermodel Naomi Campbell. Paige is ecstatic because she believes Naomi is one of the most beautiful women in the world. But when we get there, it seems that Naomi has changed her mind and her assistant informs us that Naomi only wants to do a one-on-one interview with Paige and one camera guy. Naturally, Paige agrees. Paige and JJ remain behind while Fran, the rest of the crew, and I go out for coffee.
“What was up with that?” I ask Fran as we sip our java and kill time.
“I’m guessing that Naomi wanted to be sure she had control of the interview.”
“Why?”
“She’s experienced some publicity issues.”
“As in bad publicity?”
Fran nods.
“So does she think we’re going to give her bad publicity?”
“I hear it’s happened. Frankly, I was surprised that Leah was able to line up the interview in the first place.” She frowns and looks at her watch. “I just hope it’s going okay.”
“Meaning what? How could it not go okay?”
“Hopefully Paige won’t ask any incendiary questions.”
“Such as?”
Fran rolls her eyes. “Such as some alleged assaults.”
“You mean Naomi’s been assaulted?”
“I mean Naomi’s been accused of assaulting others.”
“Oh … well, hopefully she and Paige won’t start smacking each other around.” I laugh to imagine my sister putting up her fists against anyone—especially someone as gorgeous as Naomi Campbell.
Fran laughs. “Yes, I suppose that’s unlikely.”
And when we go back to pick up Paige, she seems completely pleased with her interview, telling us that Naomi Campbell couldn’t be nicer. “She even does some great charity work with children in sub-Saharan Africa,” Paige tells us as we drive back to our hotel for a little break.
“So why was she so worried about having the crew at the interview?” I ask.
“She’s seen some of the bad publicity I’ve been getting,” Paige admits. “She thought I might be out for revenge in my own interviews.”
“Do people even do that?” I ask.
Paige shrugs. “I guess so.”
Fortunately, we are able to get into our hotel without any unwanted fanfare. Then we meet with the crew in Paige’s suite to look over tomorrow’s appointments, making some game plans. While we’re meeting, a room service lunch that Fran previously arranged for is delivered.
“What is this?” Alistair asks as he picks at a veggie platter. “Model food?”
Fran laughs. “Maybe so.”
“Where do we go to get some real food?” JJ teases.
“Or is this a hint?” Shauna shakes a celery stick at Fran. “Are you saying we need to lose some weight?”
“No,” Fran tells her. “I just ordered from the menu. I can’t help it if they cater more to anorexics. Consider their usual clientele.”
“Speaking of anorexics,” I glance at tomorrow’s schedule. “Kate Moss is our first appointment.” I look at Paige. “I don’t want to point fingers, but some people have. Are you going to ask her about her eating habits?”
Paige laughs then shakes her head. “No way.”
“Why not?” I demand.
“Because that’s not the point of my interview.”
“Why isn’t it?”
Paige looks at Fran, but Fran just shrugs.
“I was promised a show about body image and eating disorders,” I remind both of them. “Kate Moss would be a great place to start. Do you realize that she started the waif look?”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Paige picks up a carrot stick.
“Hey, maybe I should get the camera out,” JJ suggests. He’s already on his feet, going for his bag.
“Not a bad idea,” Fran says. “Are you girls okay with that? Taping your candid conversation about this subject?” She points to me. “We could use this in your segment, Erin.”
And so we agree. The next thing I know Paige and I are seated on the swanky sofa in her suite, going head-to-head about models and how they influence the average American woman.
“So are you telling me that you think Kate Moss had nothing to do with the stick-thin model craze that took hold during the nineties, or that her influence on fashion hasn’t impacted the way the average American teen girl views her body?”
“That’s a lot to pin on one person,” Paige counters. “I don’t see how you can blame Kate Moss for every eating disorder in America.”
“I’m not trying to blame Kate Moss personally,” I point out. “After all, it was the fashion industry that hired Kate to model in the first place. The industry helped to make her a star. She was pretty young so maybe she couldn’t help that she was skinny. She probably had no way of knowing what a health hazard she would become to the average American woman.”
Paige laughs. “Health hazard? Don’t you think that’s blowing it a bit out of proportion, Erin?”
“No, I don’t. Not only was her lifestyle of under-eating a bad example, she may have used drugs too.”
“Allegedly.”
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” I say and then wish I hadn’t. “What I mean is that a lot of models use drugs to stay thin. Cocaine, amphetamines. It’s no secret, Paige. Let’s not pretend it doesn’t exist. Okay?”
She shrugs. “Okay. What’s your point?”
“My point is that Kate Moss is a huge influence in the fashion industry. I would think she could take some responsibility for that influence. Like it or not, she’s a role model in the industry for young women. She needs to own up to some things and help others make better choices.”
“Why?” Paige frowns. “Why should Kate Moss suddenly take responsibility for the choices we make? She’s a fashion model—not a life counselor.”
“Think about the word model,” I say suddenly. “What does it mean?”
Paige actually looks stumped.
“Model, just by nature of the word, means something we look to as an example. Or it can be an imitation. It can even be an ideal. So women who work as fashion models should know that they are examples. Examples that others will want to imitate and that they might even be perceived as an ideal.”
“But they’re simply modeling the clothes.”
“You can say that, Paige, but I know you don’t believe it. Even you follow the personal lives of some of your favorite models. And someone like Kate Moss, who is still in the spotlight, has followers too. Women, especially young ones, want to look like her. Even to the point were some will resort to bad choices like eating disorders and drugs to accomplish it.”
Paige seems to be considering this. “But models have always been thin, Erin. Everyone knows clothes look better on thin models.”
“That’s not true. I did some research and both actresses and models used to weigh more. Yes, there were a couple of short eras when the stick-thin models were popular for a while. But for the most part, models have been tall and slender, but not anorexic—at least they didn’t look that way. Before Kate Moss’s influence, the most popular models were women like Cindy Crawford, Claudia Schiffer, and Naomi Campbell.”
Paige nods. “I can see you’ve done some research.”
“I have. What I want to know is why we can’t get back to that. Why can’t we accept that the female human body is supposed to have curves, or that women are meant to carry more body fat than men, or that starving yourself or taking drugs to lose weight is a big mistake?”
Paige sighs. “Good points.”
We continue sparring for a while longer, and finally I get Paige to agree to bring up this subject with Kate Moss tomorrow. “I’ll put it in a non-confrontational way,” she says as if thinking out loud. “I’ll ask Kate to speak a bit about body image and hea
lth … and what kind of influence she thinks the fashion world in general has on women. That shouldn’t be too intimidating.” Paige looks at me. “Will that make you happy?”
I smile. “It’s a start.”
“And that’s a wrap,” Fran says. “Now we need to get ready for our last appointment of the day.”
I feel like I gained a bit of ground this afternoon. Okay, maybe it’s only a tiny bit of ground, and it remains to be seen whether or not my sister will be true to her word tomorrow. But I’ve decided that if she just happens to forget her little resolve to ask Kate her non-confrontational question … well, I might have to help her out a bit. After all, I am supposed to be costarring in this show.
Chapter
16
Our next appointment is with Jenny Packham, a popular Brit designer. To our surprise, she actually has set up a mini fashion show for us. I have to say her evening gowns are stunning. She uses a lot of beads and adornments along with interesting fabrics, and the end result is truly beautiful. My only complaint, which I keep to myself, is that her models—while pretty—look a little hungry. I wished I’d thought ahead to sneak some pastries into the changing area, although I’m sure I would’ve been raked over the coals for such a subversive attempt.
“Wasn’t that fantastic?” Paige says as we’re riding back through London. “I don’t know when I’ve seen such gorgeous gowns. You could take me to her showroom, blindfold me, and let me pick out any one of them and I’d be happy.”
“That’s high praise. But I have to admit Jenny’s designs were magical,” I say. “She reminds me a little of our designer friend Rhiannon, in New York, although Jenny’s designs are more sophisticated.”
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