by Zondervan
I also overheard Paige telling Fran that some fashion icons had warned Dylan not to even make this attempt. Some said that he was too new, too young, and that his clothes, along with his reputation, would be chewed up and spit out by the French elite. For Dylan’s sake I hope and pray they are wrong. Because I’ve met a lot of designers and people involved in fashion and Dylan is right amongst the top of my favorites list. I’d hate to see him hurt.
Paige manages to snag some interviews with some of the models, although language is a challenge since some of them are from countries besides France. Then just as more models arrive and things begin to speed up—getting louder and busier—our crew arrives. Fran puts them to work filming behind the scenes with models and then, as guests arrive, taping whatever off-the-cuff interviews Paige is able to capture. With some of the snootier French critics it’s a challenge, and this worries me even more.
Suddenly everyone is seated, the lights are turned down low, and it’s show time. Camera flashes are banned until after the show, and so I simply sit next to Paige and watch as model after model struts forward—much like New York Fashion Week, but even better. Yet the audience seems unresponsive. Even when Dylan’s star—Taylor Mitchell—struts the runway, there’s not the usual rush of excitement. Despite Paige’s and my attempts to clap and generate enthusiasm, it feels as if almost everyone else is asleep.
Finally the show ends and there is polite applause. Feeling worried for Dylan’s sake, I rejoin the camera crew and using my digital with a flash, I continue to shoot photos of the models. Of course, Eliza and Taylor are among them, and although I don’t want to be too obvious, I don’t go out of my way to shoot Eliza. For two reasons: One, I’m still a little irked with her, and two, she’s not nearly as interesting as the other models.
Because there is no ovation, Dylan never makes another appearance and I feel even worse as I imagine him hiding in the back somewhere, feeling like a failure. I wish there was something we could do—some way to help. Then I notice that Paige is still conducting interviews with our camera guys still filming her, and I decide to go over and see what’s happening.
To my surprise the audience’s reaction is a bit warmer than I realized. As I pull out my video camera, I’m able to catch some of it on tape. To my huge relief, Paige is getting them to comment on Dylan’s line and the comments are really rather positive. I can tell that Paige is kind of fishing for some compliments as she compares Dylan’s work to some of the more classic French designers, playing the ancestor card, and pointing out how France really is the gold standard of fashion and style. Naturally, this pleases them and they warm up even more.
And, although Paige is using her charm and knowledge to influence them, I’m not stupid. I happen to know that Parisians can be very stubborn about style. If they don’t like something there’s no way you can convince them they do. If anything, Paige is simply helping them to admit that Dylan is a good designer. “Il est l’un de leurs propres” she says more than once. One of their own.
By the time we finish up shooting, I think they agree. Dylan Marceau really is one of their own. Unfortunately, Heather has looked everywhere and Dylan is nowhere to be found, so he can’t enjoy this. Heather thanks Paige over and over and promises to relay this good news to Dylan.
“Poor Dylan,” Paige says as we’re riding back to the hotel. “He must’ve been devastated.”
“I’ve never seen a chillier audience,” Fran admits. “I honestly thought Dylan’s design career was over.”
“Me too,” I say. “I was actually praying for him.”
“Hopefully he’ll feel better about all this in time for the after party,” Paige says. “Because he really should be celebrating tonight. Despite how things looked, I think he’ll be pleased when he sees the reviews. At least I hope so.” She releases a nervous sigh.
“Who knew that the French would be such a tough crowd?” I shake my head. “It reminds me of a place in the Bible where Jesus mentions about how he’s not accepted in his hometown. I wonder if that’s kind of how Dylan felt today.”
Neither of them responds and I suspect either they don’t get it…or maybe I made them uncomfortable. I really do think there’s a similarity, and I think it must hurt a lot when the people you expect to accept you don’t.
We get back to the hotel in time for a short nap before Luis and Shauna arrive to help with our hair and makeup. As Shauna works on me, she commiserates over the Dylan dilemma.
“Paige told me all about it,” she says. “These French people can be so snooty.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say in defense. “I’ve met some very nice ones. I think they’re not that different from Americans. Some can be arrogant, others can be sweet.” Of course, I’m thinking of Gabin. He really is a great guy. But just thinking about him makes me think about Blake…and then Lionel. I cannot believe I am thinking about three guys. What is going on with me?
“Maybe…but that day we were at Dominique’s for your makeovers, I felt the snub from several of the employees.”
“Maybe they were intimidated by you and Luis,” I point out. “You probably have more experience than some. And you’ve worked on celebrities.” I kind of laugh. “Not me. But I’ve heard Fran mention some names.”
“Hey, I’d rather work on you than a lot of celebs.”
“So, see, Americans can be snooty too.”
She nods as she fluffs a blush brush. “I guess you’re right.”
I determine to use today’s experience as a reminder. Every country has its own selection of snobs and everyday good people. Who knows, maybe people simply reflect what they think we’re giving to them. Anyway, it makes me determined to sport a better attitude. I guess I should take lessons from my sister because when it comes to graciousness, she’s much more of a natural than I am. Seriously, I can be such a whiner sometimes. I decide I will definitely try harder…even with snooty people like Eliza Wilton. God help me. Because, really, God is the only one who can help me to love someone like that.
Chapter 12
Paige decides she wants to arrive fashionably late to Dylan’s after party and since that means we get a little more time to linger over dinner and visit with the crew, I don’t mind a bit. It turns out that Fran’s hunch about JJ being into Taylor was spot on. When Paige mentions Taylor’s name, it seems to be written all over JJ’s face that the poor guy is smitten with her. Alistair gets him to admit it, and after we all soundly tease him about his little infatuation, JJ begs us to keep it under our hats. For his sake, I will. I can’t make any promises for my sister though, because on our way over to the party, she acts almost as if she plans to play Cupid tonight. Poor JJ.
“Do you girls have any plans for what you’re going to do with your three and a half days off?” Fran asks absently as she checks her phone for messages.
“You mean besides shop?” Paige answers as she opens her phone to check for messages.
“I’d like to see the Louvre,” I admit. “And some of the other sites.”
“Hey, here’s good news from Benjamin,” Paige announces.
“Mia’s family has settled out of court. And for only about half of what his attorney was predicting.”
“That was lucky,” Fran says.
“The condition was that he has to make a final appearance on Malibu Beach,” Paige continues to read. “And confess that he was an idiot to drink and drive, and encourage fans to learn from this hard lesson.”
“That seems like a step in the right direction,” I say as I turn on my phone. This is a good time of day (night here and morning at home) to catch up on emails and texts. I see a similar message from Blake, explaining the settlement and that Benjamin not only agreed to it, but scheduled the shoot segment today. And that he’d invited Blake to join him for moral support. I report this news to Paige.
“Text Blake back and thank him for me,” Paige tells me. “I owe that boy.”
“Don’t you mean Benjamin owes him?” I point out.
“Yes, of course. But it takes such a load off knowing that Blake is being a good friend. You know how guilty I’ve felt about kind of abandoning Benjamin?”
“It’s not like you had much choice,” Fran tells her. “All things considered, Benjamin was lucky you’d even speak to him after all that.”
I’m texting Blake now, repeating Paige’s thanks and telling him about the party we’re headed to. I mention how Dylan is probably a little blue, but that I think Paige will cheer him up. I finish with “more tomorrow” and sign off.
“This looks like the place,” Fran announces as our driver pulls to a stop. “Now the plan is to only have the crew there for about half an hour,” she tells Paige. “It was very generous of Dylan to allow that much.”
“Hey, it’s publicity,” I remind her.
She winks at me. “I know it. But the day will come when the boy will be so famous he’ll turn away all forms of press at events like this.”
“Even us?” Paige makes a wounded face.
Fran laughs. “Probably not you, dear. I have a feeling Dylan will always have a soft spot for you.”
But when we get up to the penthouse where the party should be in full swing, there is an odd sort of quiet in the room. Sure, there’s music playing, but the guests seem rather subdued. We soon learn that Dylan hasn’t shown up yet.
“He took off right after the show,” Taylor explains when she and Eliza come over to join us. “Everyone thinks it’s because he was so bummed by the response.”
“You mean lack of response,” Eliza adds.
“Has anyone tried to call him?” Paige asks.
“Eliza just tried,” Taylor says. “Went straight to voicemail.”
Paige whips out her phone. “Well, maybe I’ll try to call him.”
“It won’t do any good,” Eliza says glumly.
We all wait, with cameras still running, and the next thing we know Paige is bubbling away, telling him what a success the show was and how she’s here at the after party and asking where he is. It appears she’s leaving a message, but then she pauses and nods like she’s listening, and it seems as if Dylan is on the other end.
Everyone presses a little closer to Paige, as if they want to hear what he’s saying.
“No, Dylan, I’m not just saying that. It’s true. I talked to lots of people afterward. If you don’t believe me, you can watch it on tape. It just took people a bit to warm up. And the more we chatted, the more it became obvious that they really liked you. Hey, some of them really loved you. If you come tonight, you can hear some of this from their very own mouths. Or else you will read about it in the papers tomorrow and the magazines when they come out.” She pauses again. “I’m totally serious, Dylan. If you don’t get over here in the next ten minutes, I will take my crew and leave.” Another pause. “Yes, I would be devastated too, darling. Voir-vous bienôt!” She hangs up and smiles to the cameras. “The party boy will be here shortly.”
Naturally, she has gotten everyone’s attention. She takes turns chatting with everyone and anyone while the cameras are rolling, and I can tell we’re going to have some good out-takes from this evening. When Dylan arrives, he rushes directly to Paige as if she’s his personal savior, and, swooping her into his arms, he plants a kiss right on her lips. Of course, this too is caught by the cameras and a lot of onlookers actually clap and laugh and even cheer. Suddenly this previously lackluster party swings into high gear.
For the next half hour or so, Dylan, with Paige at his side, greets his other guests and receives their compliments and makes his apologies. I feel a little unnecessary, and since my feet are already screaming from the Christian Louboutins that Paige loaned me, I find a quiet table and just sit and wait. To my surprise, Eliza eventually joins me. She’s very quiet and I can tell she’s feeling bummed over something. Thinking she’s still worried about Dylan, I try to reassure her that the worst is over.
“Yes, I’m sure it seems that way.” She looks away, as if she wants someone more interesting to talk to. Instead of feeling offended, I remember my earlier resolve to be nicer. Plus, she’s the one who came to sit by me.
“That was sure a beautiful place to have Dylan’s show,” I tell her. “I heard you had something to do with that.”
She brightens. “Yes. Actually my mother found it. And a number of my mother’s friends were there today too.”
“Was that fun for them to see you on the runway?” I ask. “I’ll bet your mother was proud.”
She shrugs. “My mother isn’t really into any of this. She thinks I’m just going through a phase.”
I can’t help but think her mother must be right. After all, most models have the shelf life of, say, a tomato. But I’m so not going there. Instead, I compliment her on her runway expertise. “I actually had to model once,” I confess. “I was pretty bad.”
“Well, it’s not easy,” she confides. “I’ll never be as good as Taylor.” She frowns. “No one is as good as Taylor.”
“She does make it look easy.”
“Yes, but it’s not easy.”
“Then why do you want to do it?” I ask. I still remember the night in New York when she and Taylor and some friends got into it one night—the discussion over modeling and why someone as wealthy as Eliza would invest so much energy into it. But I don’t recall her reasoning.
“I don’t know.” She sighs. “I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.”
This makes me laugh and Taylor comes our way. “Hey, girls,” she says as she pulls out a chair. “What’s so funny?” I fill her in on our conversation, which doesn’t seem so funny anymore.
Taylor leans toward me, lowering her voice. “So, Erin, tell me about your camera guy.”
I grin knowingly. “You mean JJ?”
She just nods, and I laugh.
“What is it?” Eliza demands. “What’s the joke?”
I nod over to where JJ and Alistair are still trailing Paige and Dylan. “See the dark-haired camera guy, the younger one?” I tell her.
Eliza nods. “Oh, yeah, I noticed him before. He’s really good-looking.”
“He thinks Taylor’s good-looking too.”
“He’s also pretty nice,” Taylor says. “Anyway, he seems to be. Not that I really know him.”
“Well, he made us promise not to say anything.” I chuckle. “But it’s not like I brought it up.”
“So what did he say?” Taylor asks with a calm sort of interest.
“Just that he’d like to get to know you.”
She smiles.
“And guess what?” I tell her. “Our show is taking three and a half days off. We don’t go back to recording until Tuesday afternoon. So we’ll all be hanging out in the city with time to spare—if you know what I mean.”
Taylor makes a face then turns to Eliza. “We promised your mom we’d come visit this weekend.”
“Her benefit fashion show’s on Monday,” Eliza reminds her. “You can’t back out now.”
“A fashion show?” I venture. “Anything our TV show would be interested in?”
“It’s pretty small potatoes and I doubt—” Taylor stops then turns to Eliza. “Hey, why don’t we invite everyone down there too?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Eliza frowns. “I seriously doubt my mom will want her little soiree to turn into a reality show.”
Taylor nods. “Yes…you’re probably right.”
Just then Paige and Dylan come over to our table, trailed by the camera crew. “So this is where the cool kids’ table is.” Paige teases as she sits next to me.
Dylan takes a chair next to Eliza then lets out what sounds like a huge sigh of relief. “Ah, to be among real friends.”
Eliza turns to him. “I take it you’re feeling a little better about your show now, Dylan?”
He reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze. “Yes, dear. Much better. Thanks for asking.”
Eliza’s face lights up then clouds over slightly. “But why didn’t you belie
ve me when I called and left a message earlier?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I was so down. I listened to a few messages and figured everyone was trying to cheer me up. I just knew I was a colossal flop and I was so embarrassed I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to tuck my tail between my legs and run. And yet I was too humiliated to even go back to New York. I wanted to disappear.”
“Where did you go?” Taylor asks.
“Just down the street,” he admits. “A little bistro near where my grandmother used to live. I thought I’d find comfort there. Instead, I just got bluer and bluer. I kept thinking of all the money I’d wasted on this foolish little venture and how people had advised against it. And how much I’d owe my creditors and whether or not my company could survive it…or if my career could survive it.” He pauses to look across the table to Paige. “Thankfully, I was wrong.”
We all chat a bit more about Dylan’s show and the initial reaction and how the French can take a bit to warm up. Then Fran, who’s been hovering nearby, begins motioning to the camera crew that it’s time to shut it down. But I can tell Taylor is still wishing for an opportunity to get better acquainted with JJ, and I know he feels the same. So with no real plan in mind, I jump in.
“You know Taylor and Eliza are going down to her parents’ chateau and vineyard in Southern France tomorrow,” I begin slowly. “I’ve heard it’s really pretty down there…” I direct this to Paige. “I wonder if there might be some things we could shoot down there for our show.”
Paige looks skeptical. “Our show’s about fashion, Erin. I don’t really see the connection.”
“Besides,” Dylan speaks up, “I promised Paige that I’d show her the Parisian sites for the next few days while you girls are having your little sabbatical.”
I look directly at our camera guys, specifically JJ, as in hint-hint. “Well, you guys have time off too,” I say. “Maybe you’ll want to go down there and get some extra footage anyway. I’ll bet you could get some good photos of the French countryside to use as filler on the show.” Okay, I know this is ridiculous since filler is usually fashion shots, but hey, I’m trying. And I can tell that JJ is appreciative.