“Just because Paige is engaged?”
I think about that. “Yeah, maybe I am overreacting.”
“Seriously, you don’t think they’ll run off and get married and just give up their careers, do you?” He chuckles. “I’m guessing they’ll have a long engagement.”
“You could be right.” Suddenly I feel a bit hopeful.
“And, really, what good does it do for you to be bummed, Erin? It’s Paige’s life, right? As her sister all you can do is support her and love her. You, of all people, should know that she makes her own choices.”
“You’re right, Blake.” I let out a relieved sigh. “I knew I would feel better talking to you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You almost always make me feel better.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Okay, now remember to not breathe a word of this to anyone yet.”
“I promise.”
“I’m sure Paige will break the news soon enough.” I wince at the thought.
“Poor Ben.”
“I know. But I’m sure he’ll get over her.”
Blake doesn’t say anything in response.
“Anyway, like you said, there’s nothing we can do about it,” I add, a bit awkwardly.
“Yes. That’s right. I’ll be praying for Paige and Dylan … and you too. Although I was doing that anyway.”
I thank him and we hang up, and I realize that he really is right: There’s nothing I can do about this anyway. I might as well be happy for Paige. And really, isn’t this better than seeing her all depressed over the Britain’s Got Style rejection? Then I remember how Jesus said we should rejoice with those who rejoice, and right now my sister is rejoicing. So I will join her!
I decide to stop at a bakery not far from the hotel and buy a chocolate torte for my sister. (Hopefully, in her happy state, she won’t think about the calories.) The baker uses pink frosting to write Dylan & Paige and frames it in a heart. Then I go back to my room and prepare myself to wait until noon. But as I wait, I pray. I ask God to help me to be supportive and positive about this new era of Paige’s life. I ask him to help me to trust him more for my own life—knowing that no matter what my sister does, it’s God’s direction that should lead me. And finally I ask him to bless my sister and Dylan.
It’s about eleven thirty when I hear a tapping at the adjoining door. I go and get my celebratory cake and open the door with a big smile.
“Is that for me?” Paige asks happily.
“Yeah. I thought we should celebrate.”
“Oh, Erin.” Paige takes the cake, sets it on a side table, then gives me a big, hard hug. “Thank you!”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more excited earlier,” I say as I get the cake and follow her into the suite. “I was in shock and not quite awake.”
“I know,” she says as she gets out plates and forks from the kitchenette and I start a pot of coffee. “I should’ve broken it to you a bit more gently. But I was so excited. I couldn’t wait another minute.”
“I understand. I mean, I saw how much you brightened up yesterday … after Dylan called.”
“So you knew he called?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. He and I had a little chat yesterday—after he heard about my little press conference.”
“It’s funny—I was mad at you for saying that. But now … well, I’m so happy.”
I slice into the cake, putting a big piece on Paige’s plate. “So when are you guys going to announce this publicly?”
She forks into the torte. “Probably today. No sense in waiting … because with my luck, someone probably knows now anyway.”
We talk about the logistics of this new development as we eat our chocolate torte. Then as Paige is pouring us some coffee, she turns to me. “I’ll need you more than ever now, Erin.”
I laugh. “You’ll need me?”
“Dylan and I talked about this. He thinks I need to share more of the show with you, Erin, and I think he’s right.”
Dylan is growing on me more and more. “So you plan to continue with the show?”
“For now I do.”
I slowly nod. “Do you have any idea when you’ll actually get married?”
“Of course, we haven’t set the date. If Dylan had his way, which he says he won’t push for, it would be next week.”
“Seriously?”
Paige nods with sparkling eyes.
“But how about you?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I’m not really sure. I definitely need at least a year to plan a fantastic wedding.”
“And you’d continue with the show throughout that year?”
“Well, we are under contract, Erin.”
“But we both know contracts can be broken.”
“Yes, Dylan pointed that out.” Her smile gets even bigger, if that’s possible. “Which reminds me of something.”
“What?”
“Fran called this morning. It seems Mark McCall is rethinking his decision about having me on his show.”
“Really?”
“Fran said that Helen is putting some pressure on his boss. Now there’s a possibility we will do his show after all.”
I look at the clock and realize we were originally scheduled to start the show today. “Then we better get busy to make it there—”
“Not here in London, Erin.”
“Huh?”
“In the Bahamas.”
“The Bahamas?”
Her eyes sparkle as she grins. “Yes. How cool would that be?” Then she explains that the Bahamas trip will be scheduled after we get back home.
“So we are going to be busy.” I study her closely. “And you’re okay with that… I mean, in light of this engagement biz?”
“I think so. I think I’ll take Dylan’s advice too.”
“What advice?”
“Remember I told you that Dylan thinks you should be more involved in the show, Erin? The more I think about it, the more I think he’s right. If you stepped up more … I might be able to step back a little.”
Okay, I’ve been down this road before, but I’m not going to say that. “So you think you’re really ready to share the spotlight with me now?”
She nods. “I really do. I was silly and selfish to try to hog it all to myself. Look where it got me—I almost had a complete breakdown.”
“It’s not like they can ever use me to replace you,” I remind her. “On the Runway is what it is because of you, Paige. But I could help to share the load a little more.”
“And you don’t mind?” She sets down her fork and looks into my eyes. “I mean, I’m not stupid, Erin. I know this was never your dream. I don’t want to feel like I’m dragging you along against your will.”
“I’ll admit I’ve been kind of grumpy … especially when I’m not quite sure what my role is. But I actually enjoyed doing those interviews after you broke down. When I’m allowed to be myself, it’s kind of fun.”
She looks relieved. “So maybe we can do this? I can be engaged and we can still do a first-rate show?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Because I really do love Dylan, Erin. If I had to choose between him and the show, I would choose Dylan.”
I smile as I raise a forkful of chocolate torte in a toast. “Here’s to you and Dylan, Paige. May God bless you both!”
She has tears in her eyes. “Thanks.” She lifts her fork again. “And here’s to sisters sticking together through thick and thin.” She looks down at what little is left of her cake and giggles. “And if I keep eating this, I’ll be more thick than thin.”
I laugh and hold up my fork. “Here’s to sisters! Sisters forever!”
We click forks and as I take a bite I know that somehow, some way, and with God’s help—despite obstacles of competition, jealousy, misunderstanding, and all the other challenges of sisterhood—Paige and I really will be sisters forever.
Check out this excerpt from book five in the On the Runway series<
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Chapter
1
After nearly six months of the drama and chaos connected to it, I hoped we’d finally left the reality show Malibu Beach behind. Far behind. And really, it seemed a natural assumption. Especially after Paige permanently distanced herself from one of the show’s ex-stars, Benjamin Kross, by getting engaged to brilliant young designer Dylan Marceau last month in London. Apparently I was wrong.
It turns out that Malibu Beach is the reality show that keeps on giving. And now they want us to “give us the opportunity” to devote an entire On the Runway episode to one of their popular stars, Brogan Braxton. Brogan, who is only nineteen, recently declared herself a fashion expert, and is now coming out with a new line of beach clothing called The BBB (aka Brogan Braxton Beachwear).
“But these are awful,” Paige tells our producer, Helen Hudson, as we all lean forward to peer at the images on the screen of Fran’s laptop computer.
“I have to admit I’m with my sister on this one,” I tell them. “What made Brogan Braxton suddenly decide she was a designer?”
“You mean besides Daddy’s wallet?” Paige teases.
“I think you’re missing the point,” Fran says as she closes the laptop.
Helen adjusts her glasses and clears her throat. “Brogan is still one of the hottest commodities in the teen market.”
Fran waves a piece of paper. “According to this, Brogan has almost as many Facebook friends as Ellen DeGeneres.”
“Yes, and they’re real friends too.” I roll my eyes. I may be the last person on this continent to join Facebook, but I’m still holding out.
“I consider my Facebook friends to be real,” Paige says to me in a slightly wounded way.
“Yes, and I’m sure they’d still be your friends if you didn’t have a show, right?” I turn back to Helen. She’s encouraging me to take a bigger role in our show and I am trying. “But I thought we were talking about fashion, and I still don’t get Brogan Braxton, or The BBB … which, by the way, also stands for the Better Business Bureau, and I wonder how they feel about—”
“You’re missing the point,” Fran says with a bit of aggravation.
“Remember the R word, girls?” Helen asks in a slightly bored tone.
“Ratings.” Paige sighs. “Never mind whether it’s fashionable or not, as long as the viewers tune in.”
“Wait a minute,” I say. “Just because we feature a fashion designer doesn’t mean we have to approve of their style, does it?”
“That’s true.” Paige nods. “And my fans expect me to be honest. Do you have a problem if we do the show and I express my candid opinions about The BBB?”
Helen shrugs, then pushes her chair away from the conference table. “Just keep the fans happy, Paige. Keep the ratings up.” She stands and peers down at her. “And keep it clean.”
“Oh, you know I always keep it clean, Helen.” Paige flashes her best smile.
Helen reaches down and pats Paige’s cheek. “Yes, darling, but you know what I mean. Keep it polite and respectable. You have an image to maintain. One element that makes On the Runway different from the other shows is that Paige Forrester, for the most part, is a lady. And the sponsors seem to appreciate that.”
“You don’t ask for much,” Fran says to Helen. “Just keep the ratings up and play nice. That’s so easy to do.”
“Yes, well, our Paige is quite expert at it.” Helen laughs as she heads for the door. “Sorry to meet and run, girls, but I have a major appointment with the network in about ten minutes. Ta-ta!”
Fran shuffles some papers into a stack, then slides them over to her assistant, Leah. “Brogan’s show is scheduled for this Saturday at two.” Fran gets a worried look. “That’s not your mom’s wedding date, is it?”
“No, that’s the following weekend,” Paige says. “You are coming, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course, I already RSVP’d. I just blanked it.” Fran takes a long drink from her bottle of water.
“The crew is scheduled already,” Leah fills in for her. “You girls can come to wardrobe around ten then we’ll head over to the site and do the pre-show shoot. After the fashion show, we’ll do the wrap-up.” Leah smiles. “The usual stuff.”
I’m curious as to why Leah is telling us this … since it’s what Fran usually does. Maybe Leah, like me, is trying to take a more active role in the show.
“Brogan wants to do an interview before the show,” Fran says, then looks at Leah. “When was that scheduled?”
“She asked for Wednesday afternoon,” Leah tells us. “Two o’clock … on Malibu Beach turf.”
“So Brogan called us and asked us to interview her?” Paige frowns.
“Her people called us,” Leah clarifies.
“We thought we might get something to use for the show,” Fran says.
“And the interview is just with Brogan?” Paige asks. “Not any of the other cast members or the Malibu Beach crew, right?”
“I’m not totally sure about that,” Fran tells her. “In fact, it sounds as if their crew will be filming this too. Just in case it’s show-worthy.”
“You mean in case they want to make it show-worthy.” Paige groans. “Something about this whole thing is starting to smell fishy. It’s not some kind of setup to get me, is it?”
“No, of course not.” Fran shakes her head.
“Because I know Brogan was pretty close with Mia Renwick. I mean, they weren’t best friends. But when Mia died in that car accident after the Oscars, it was like everyone in the cast suddenly decided they had been her very best friends. And I can understand that. But I also understand that some of those girls seriously hate me, Fran.”
“At least you’re not with Ben now,” I remind her.
“And I hear he’s getting back with Waverly Stratton,” Leah says in a somewhat-gossipy tone. “I saw it on WWW last weekend.”
“The world wide web?” I ask.
Leah laughs. “No, that new entertainment show, Who’s Who and Why. Haven’t you seen it?”
I shake my head, thinking maybe it should be called Who’s Who and Who Cares?
“Really, Erin,” she tells me, “you need to keep up. Anyway, they showed some pics of Waverly and Benjamin at a club, and in the interview Waverly said that they were together.”
Paige looks skeptical. “That was a stretch on Waverly’s part.”
“So back to the topic at hand.” Fran taps her pen impatiently. “What exactly are you saying, Paige? That you don’t want to work with Brogan?”
“I just don’t want to be sabotaged and end up on their show looking like an evil backstabbing witch, like the time Mia and Ben set me up on their show after the dating scandal.”
“Seriously, Paige, what could they actually do?” I ask her. “If it starts to go sideways, we’ll just walk out.” I turn to Fran. “Right?”
She nods then takes another sip of water.
“Speaking of walking out …” Leah holds up her Black-Berry. “Don’t you need to get moving, Paige? I have you scheduled for that spot on ET this afternoon, remember?”
Paige suddenly stands. “That’s right.”
“Why don’t you let me drive you?” Leah offers. “That way you can get ready on the way over there. And we’ll be on time.”
“Great idea.” Paige reaches in her bag and then tosses me her car keys. “Guess I’ll see you at home.” And just like that they are gone.
I turn to Fran and study her for a moment.
“What?” she says in a slightly cranky tone.
“Are you … okay?” I use what I hope is a gentle voice.
She shrugs and reaches for her bag. “I’m fine.” We both get up, but before we leave the conference room I decide to try again.
“Really, Fran, you don’t seem like yourself. Is something bothering you?”
And just like that, like I pressed the wrong button, she starts to crumble. Tears are coming and her hands are shaking and I wonder if I should’ve kept my b
ig mouth closed. Just the same, I go over and close the blinds on the glass door and ask her to sit back down. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I didn’t want anyone to know—to know—that—” She chokes in a sob.
“Know what?” I’m seriously worried now. Something is really wrong.
She looks at me with watery eyes. “My cancer is back.”
I blink. “You had cancer?”
“Had … and now I have it again.”
I reach out and put my hand on her arm. “Oh, Fran.”
“I was diagnosed with leukemia in my early thirties. I went through all the treatment and it seemed to have worked. I thought it was gone. And now I have it again.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She nods as she opens her bag and retrieves a packet of tissues, pulls one out, then wipes her eyes. “I’d been in remission for almost six years. Six years!” She blows her nose. “And five years is considered cured. I really I believed I was cured.”
“But you’re getting treatment?”
“I started chemo last Friday.”
“Does Helen know?”
Fran shakes her head. “No one knows. Today I told Leah I was feeling under the weather so that she could help me out in the meeting.”
“I wondered why she was so involved.”
“But I don’t know if I can hide it for the whole time … I mean, while I’m doing chemo.”
I don’t know what to say. I’ve never known anyone with cancer before.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone,” she begs. “I wouldn’t have told you, Erin, except you pushed me. And I trust you. Just promise you won’t tell.”
I nod. “Sure, it’s not my place to talk about your personal life to anyone.”
“I want to be realistic, and if I can’t do my job … well, I will deal with that when the time comes.” She gives me a forced-looking smile. “But my oncologist was quite positive. She says the new drugs are better than before. And she really thinks the chemo will wipe it out again.”
“But doesn’t chemo kind of wipe a person out too?” I ask. “I mean, how can you expect to work while you’re going through treatment?” I don’t point out that, even today, she seemed wasted—and she’s barely begun her chemo.
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