Rendezvous

by Zondervan

  Thankful for a distraction, I pick up my fork and delicately cut into my apple-and-almond-filled croissant. I decide to focus my attention on this delectable treat while the others continue to chatter away about French designers—who is hot and who is not. I nod and feign interest between bites, but fortunately, their fashion-obsessed conversation is nonstop and I doubt my absence is even noticed. This frees me up to relish every delicious crumb of this lovely Parisian patisserie.

  “What happened to your croissant, Erin?” Eliza looks at me with wide blue eyes.

  I shrug. “I ate it.”

  “The whole thing?” She looks slightly horrified.

  “Well…yeah.” I notice that she hasn’t even touched hers, and Paige appears only to have taken a bite or two. Taylor’s looks a bit more nibbled on. I feel like an ill-mannered sow.

  “You’re not concerned about carbs?”

  “Not really.” I frown at her.

  “Do you realize how much butter is in a croissant?” she asks with concern. “What the fat count is?”

  “Hey, lighten up,” I say in a joking tone. “I mean, this is Paris.”

  “I am lightening up,” she tells me. “Which is precisely why I’m avoiding French pastries.”

  “But the French are famous for their food and especially their pastries. Aren’t you at least going to try it?”

  “Are you kidding?” She looks appalled as she slides her untouched plate away.

  I shake my head, controlling myself from forking into her uneaten raspberry scone. “How sad.”

  Taylor forks back into her croissant. “It’s really delicious,” she tells Eliza. “And you’re absolutely right, Erin. This is Paris, and we should be enjoying the wonderful cuisine just as much as the fashion.”

  Paige doesn’t look convinced as she cuts off a tiny bite. Meanwhile Eliza simply picks up her espresso, with a slightly sour expression, and takes a dainty sip. Does she think coffee has calories too?

  I peer at her. “You’re obviously watching your weight.”

  She smiles at me in a slightly superior way, a way that I find extremely aggravating. “Of course.”

  “Why?” I demand. “You’re already too skinny.”

  She laughs. “Thank you.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” I tell her.

  “Erin has a problem with stick-thin models,” Paige injects. “In fact, I’m not overly fond of anorexia myself.”

  Eliza points at my sister’s barely touched pastry. “Then why aren’t you eating that?”

  Paige holds her head high as she picks up her fork, cuts off a normal-sized bite, and eats it.

  “I’m with you,” Taylor tells me. “I think models should look more like real people. Dylan thinks so too.”

  “Then what’s Eliza’s problem?” I ask—perhaps a bit rudely. Well, wasn’t she rude to tell me about the fat and calories?

  “Dylan isn’t the only designer,” Eliza tells me. “There are some who will only hire thin models. I want to be ready for them.”

  “But they’re wrong,” I say. “Why would you even—”

  “That’s enough.” Paige holds up a hand with a congenial smile that she shares with the table. “Okay, girls, enough talk about weight issues.” She looks at me. “That’s another show, Erin. Today we are simply four girls on the town. Our focus is fashion and we are going to shop until we drop. Okay?”

  I nod my agreement. “Some of us might drop sooner than others if that’s okay with you.”

  She laughs. “Yes, I understand completely.”

  “Let the games begin,” Eliza says cheerfully.

  And the games do begin cheerfully, with Paige, Taylor, and Eliza lightly sparring over style and design. I know enough to keep my mouth shut. Unfortunately, the sparring soon evolves into what feels more like a competitive sport, like Paige and Eliza keep trying to one-up each other. And while Paige, in my opinion, has better taste and more fashion expertise, Eliza appears to have a lot more money.

  Although no one is officially keeping count, by the end of the day I’m sure that Eliza has spent more than $ 10,000 and I am astounded. Even Taylor seems a little surprised, although she doesn’t say much. I sense that she knows better.

  Now I realize that Eliza’s family is very wealthy, but I still don’t get that kind of spending. And for what? A few pieces of clothing and accessories that will probably be out of style next year—at least in some circles. And, excuse me, but I think an African village could eat well for several years on what Miss Wilton spent today. Although I won’t make a scene, I suddenly find this whole thing rather disturbing.

  Equally unsettling is the way Eliza and Paige appear to be stuck in this ridiculous competition. At the last boutique, Christian Dior, they actually get into a squabble over a white patent belt that Paige asked the clerk to set aside for her to purchase—but while Paige is trying on a suede jacket, Eliza sneaks the belt from behind the counter and buys it from another sales person.

  “That’s my belt,” Paige points out as she sees the unwary sales girl wrapping it in tissue.

  “I just bought it,” Eliza smugly tells her.

  “But I had set it aside,” Paige nods to the other clerk, speaking in French, and the clerk confirms this and even attempts to take it away from the other sales girl.

  “I’ve already paid for it.” Eliza holds up her American Express card, which I’m surprised hasn’t melted after all the action it’s seen today.

  “I’m sure they can credit it back to—”

  “I don’t want them to credit it back.” Eliza gives Paige a defiant look and Paige looks momentarily stymied.

  Now, while Fran and the crew and even Taylor seem somewhat amused by all this, I think Eliza is being more than a little rude. And I’m halfway tempted to say so. But fortunately, and probably because cameras are still running, Paige quickly recovers and even manages to make light of it.

  “Oh, well, you know what they say,” she quietly tells the cameras. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I should feel honored that Eliza Wilton wants what I want so badly she practically has to steal it from me.” She laughs.

  But it doesn’t seem that funny when Eliza continues her attempts to upstage Paige. It’s almost as if she thinks our show is up for grabs and whoever gets the most airtime wins. Thankfully there is such a thing as editing and I’m sure that much of Eliza’s grasping will end up on the cutting room floor. Yet even as Paige is trying to wrap it up with her best foot forward line, pointing to her shoes, which naturally are Louboutins, Eliza interrupts with what I’m sure she thinks is a witty comment as she describes her own shoes. But with cameras still rolling, no one sees the humor and JJ lets out a groan as Fran just shakes her head. The crew is worn out and ready to call it a day, and Eliza is still trying to be clever.

  Of course this simply results in a retake. I can tell that Paige is getting fed up too, although she manages to keep her humor intact, delivers her final lines, and then the cameras shut down. At this juncture Paige gives Eliza a chilly smile and says that we’ll see them at Dylan’s show tomorrow before she walks off to join Fran—as in, enough is enough!

  Trying to sound more congenial than I feel, I also tell Taylor and Eliza good-bye. Eliza acts slightly affronted as she picks up her bags and walks away. Taylor laughs, “It’s always interesting to witness someone’s true colors, especially on film.” JJ chuckles as he puts his camera back into its case, but I notice that he and Taylor exchange glances. I’m relieved to know that I’m not the only one who gets put out at Eliza’s games.

  And Taylor is right. It is interesting to see how some people act when they’re in the limelight. Not to mention revealing. I just hope that our viewers can see beyond the facade of fashion and the influence of money and other superficialities…and figure out for themselves what’s really important.

  Chapter 11

  It’s reassuring to hear that Blake feels much better now. I have a nice long chat with him on Thursday ni
ght and he seems back to his old cheerful self. I even risk telling him about my dinner out with Gabin, even though I’m careful to call it an “undate.” To my relief, Blake does not sound jealous. And, really, why should he be?

  On Friday morning we visit Vogue Paris and, although Paige does her best to be charming and witty and smart, they seem unilaterally unimpressed. The interview wraps up much sooner than expected and it feels as if they can’t wait to be rid of us.

  “Ne permettez pas à la porte de vous frapper sur la voie dehors,” Paige says as we walk to the car.

  “Huh?” I ask.

  “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out,” Fran translates for me, then laughs.

  Paige laughs too, although I can tell by her creased forehead that she does not find this funny. I feel for her. She was really trying in there.

  “That’s how it goes sometimes,” Fran says as we climb back in the car. “You can’t let it get to you.”

  But it’s already gotten to her. I can tell she’s seriously bummed. I know that she had great expectations for Vogue Paris. Expectations that fell flatter than a crepe.

  “Was it something I said?” she asks both of us. “Do you think I offended someone?”

  “I have no idea,” I admit. “I honestly thought you were doing great.”

  “Maybe they were having a bad publishing day,” Fran tells her.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Or maybe someone’s dog died.”

  “Or maybe some valuable client canceled all their ad space in next month’s issue,” Fran suggests.

  “Or maybe someone lost a great cover photo,” I try.

  “Okay, okay.” Paige holds up her hands. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe they were just having a bad day.”

  “So, let’s move on and let it go,” Fran advises her. “We still have the Dylan Marceau show this afternoon.”

  “And you’ve been looking forward to that,” I remind her.

  “Except that Eliza Wilton is going to be there.” She frowns. “Can you try to keep her away from me, Fran?”

  Fran chuckles. “I’m not making any promises. Besides, you know how we feel about controversy in reality TV.”

  Paige rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the viewers will eat it up.”

  “Put the candies where the kiddies can reach them.” I sarcastically repeat one of Helen Hudson’s favorite adages. It means we should give the audience what they want even if it’s not that good for them.

  “So…did you girls notice the sparks between JJ and Taylor yesterday?” Fran asks nonchalantly.

  “Sparks as in romance?” Paige questions.

  Fran nods.

  “Seriously?” I try to remember when I saw them looking at each other.

  “I first noticed JJ was sticking pretty close to Taylor when you were in Gucci. I couldn’t blame him though.” Fran talks as she checks phone messages. “That girl is so gorgeous. No wonder Dylan Marceau loves having her model for him.”

  “But what makes you think sparks?” I ask curiously. “Was it mutual? Was Taylor looking back?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Fran nods. “She was subtle about it, but she was definitely looking—maybe even flirting.”

  “Well, JJ’s a good guy. And nice looking too,” Paige says. “How old is he anyway?”

  “I’m not sure. Mid twenties.”

  “But he has a girlfriend,” I point out. I happen to know things like this since I hang with the camera crew so much.

  “Had a girlfriend,” Fran corrects me. “They broke up a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh.” I nod. “But it’s not like JJ and Taylor would get serious. They live on different sides of the country.”

  Fran laughs. “I wasn’t suggesting they’re about to get married, Erin. I merely mentioned that there seemed to be some electricity going on between them. But enough of that.” Fran begins to go over the plan for our afternoon event—or what we’ve dubbed the Dylan Marceau French Debut. She goes over her notes and although it really doesn’t sound much different than the way we’ve covered fashion shows in the past, I listen.

  Fortunately, I’ll be on camera crew this time so most of the pressure is off. Maybe I’ll catch some sparks flying between JJ and Taylor—that might be fun to get on tape and I’m sure our viewers would enjoy it. And, really, a relationship between those two might even make sense, because they’re both genuinely nice people.

  “And after the show,” Fran is continuing, “we’ll head back to the hotel for a little rest. Then Luis and Shauna will come over around six to do hair and makeup.”

  “Why?” I ask, wondering if I missed something.

  “The after show,” Paige informs me. “Remember?”

  I shrug. Truthfully, I don’t remember. “Dylan’s after show?”

  “Of course. It sounds like he’s invited a number of people in the fashion industry to this event.” Fran rattles off some names. “I think that’s very smart on Dylan’s part.”

  “And it won’t hurt him to have us there too,” Paige points out.

  So it’s going to be a long night, and I’m already feeling a little tired after a fairly long week. “What about the weekend?” I ask. “Do we get any time off for good behavior?”

  Fran laughs. “As a matter of fact, you do. Saturday and Sunday are completely free.”

  “Don’t you ever look at the schedule?” Paige asks.

  “Sure,” I say. “But it’s not like I memorize it.”

  “And thanks to a cancellation on Monday, you can have a three-day weekend. We don’t have another booking until Tuesday afternoon.”

  “Wow…three and half days to do whatever.” I begin to mentally list the places I still haven’t seen, like the Louvre and Notre Dame and Sacre Coeur.

  Due to some confusion in scheduling, we arrive for Dylan’s show much earlier than necessary. This gives us a whole extra hour before our camera crew arrives. But Heather, one of Dylan’s assistants, is playing host and doesn’t even seem to mind that we’re early.

  “What a beautiful location,” Paige says as Heather gives us a quick tour of what once was a palatial estate but is now restored into an events center. Fortunately I brought both my digital and video cameras, and right now I’m taping our tour with Paige and Heather’s commentary because Fran thinks we might be able to use some of it for the show. “Wouldn’t it be a great spot for a wedding?”

  “One of Dylan’s models helped us get this place,” Heather explains. “Her mother has a home in Southern France and she seems to know everyone who is anyone.”

  “Let me guess…” Paige fakes a thoughtful expression. “Would that be Eliza Wilton by any chance?”

  “How did you know?” Heather asks.

  “We went shopping with Eliza and Taylor yesterday,” Paige explains. “We actually met them in New York last month.” Just then we spot Dylan, looking dapper and stylish in a white linen suit, hurrying through the gardens toward us. Fortunately I manage to get most of this on tape. With what looks to be a genuinely happy smile, he takes both of Paige’s hands and greets her like his long-lost love.

  “It’s so wonderful to see you again,” he tells her.

  “Dylan Marceau,” she says for the sake of my camera. “Today is your big day!”

  He beams at her. “Excitement is in the air.”

  “And I can’t believe you’re taking time out of your busy schedule to say hello to us.” She turns to my camera. “Does he look nervous to you?” Then back to Dylan. “Actually you look great, Dylan. And you seem cool as a cucumber.”

  Dylan laughs. “Then I’m a better actor than I thought.”

  “This is a huge event for you,” Paige says with enthusiasm. “Returning to the home of your ancestors as one of the latest, greatest American fashion designers. It must be wonderful. I know you’re busy and we don’t want to take too much of your time, but our viewers would love to hear how you’re feeling right now, Dylan.”

  “Well…I’m excited and nervous. Confident and worried. Ecst
atic and anxious.” He chuckles. “I am a regular dichotomy of emotion.” He leans over and kisses Paige on the cheek. “But I feel much better knowing you are here, Paige Forrester. Thank you for sharing in this moment with me.”

  Paige actually blushes—ever so slightly. “Thank you!”

  “And now I must run, darling. See you at the after party?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she calls as he heads back through the lush gardens. She turns back to me, smiling like a conspirator for the sake of her viewers. “Isn’t it amazing to be privy to the private moments of a great designer like Dylan Mar-ceau—just on the cusp of international fame? Imagine how it would feel to be an American of French descent, to be making your own mark in an arena where Parisians rule, standing up in front of everyone to display your own original designs—and knowing that fashion critics and harsh reviewers will be seated amongst your audience.” She shudders dramatically. “I’m not sure I could take the pressure, but I can’t wait to see how this turns out.”

  I smile at the irony as I continue shooting. I know full well that Paige can and does take the pressure every time she steps into center stage on our show. With confidence she lays her style sense and fashion opinions on the line almost every time she opens her mouth—at least when cameras are rolling. And, lucky for her, fans seem to respect her. According to Fran, Paige’s ratings are steadily climbing. We just learned that Japan is looking into syndicating our show, and some of the European markets are interested as well.

  “Do you want to get some of the behind-the-scenes shots with the models?” Heather offers. “Dylan said it was okay.”

  “That would be awesome,” Paige tells her. We follow Heather into a large room being used as the changing and staging area which is not nearly as chaotic as it will likely become in the next hour. While there are some last-minute alterations and fittings going on, it’s relatively calm. Or maybe it’s just the calm before the storm. Hopefully it will go well for Dylan today. As I remember the frosty reception we got at Vogue Paris this morning, I know that there’s no way to predict how the French couture world will receive Dylan’s fall lineup.