Rendezvous

by Zondervan

  “This could be our best interview of the whole trip,” she tells me as Luis finishes up with her hair.

  “Next,” he calls to me.

  “But I don’t need—”

  “Erin!” Paige points to the chair. “Sit.”

  I cooperate and listen as Paige drones on about how Givenchy was ahead of his time, how his designs revolutionized fashion, how he is one of her all-time favorites. “You know Hubert Givenchy designed for both Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly,” she says as we head outside of the hotel.

  “Not to mention Jackie O,” Fran adds as we get into the car.

  “If we’re lucky, we’ll get a word with Riccardo Tisci,” she tells me as we’re riding through the city.

  “Not Givenchy himself?” I ask.

  She laughs. “That is doubtful since Hubert’s quite ancient and not really part of the company now.”

  “If he’s even still alive,” Fran adds.

  “So who is Riccardo Tisci?” I ask Paige.

  “The main Givenchy designer, and very talented,” she explains.

  As we enter the building, I’m expecting this to be a pretty interesting interview, but I begin to notice a pattern as we’re being given the usual tour. It seems that the models I’m seeing, both in photos and in the fitting room, are all extremely thin. That concerns me. Not that I will mention it here, but it’s a reminder that I’ve been promised our show will do an episode dedicated to the health issues and concerns that are part of this industry. I am determined to make sure that we follow through with it.

  For now I will remain safely and quietly behind my camera, focusing on Paige as she does the final wrap-up of the interview. For some reason she seems frustrated. I suspect it’s because on the last leg of our tour, we’ve been assisted by a young designer named André. For some reason André has been a bit on the cool and aloof side. In fact, it reminds me a bit of the day we did Vogue Paris last week. No matter how hard Paige tries, or how friendly she is, it’s like André is keeping her at arm’s length.

  “Thank you for your time,” she tells him, still smiling brightly. “Givenchy is definitely one of the most important leaders in Parisian fashion—in fact the fashion world at large. And we are honored to have spent this time with you.”

  He nods with a slightly bored expression. “But before you go, I must ask you one question.”

  Paige brightens. “Certainly. Anything.”

  He nods over to me. “And who is this?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Paige tells him. “I forgot you weren’t with us when we did introductions. This is my younger sister, Erin. She’s part of the show.”

  To be polite I let my camera down and give him a slightly chilly smile. To my surprise he moves in closer, as if he’s examining me like a bug under a magnifying glass. I actually step back. He laughs. “You do not realize why I am looking at you?”

  I shake my head no.

  “You are so much like Audrey Hepburn that you caught my eye.”

  “Oh.” I nod. “Thank you.”

  “I wish Hubert Givenchy could see you.”

  “We’ll be happy to send you a DVD of our show,” Paige tells him. I can hear a trace of irritation in her voice. “Perhaps you can share that with him.”

  André reaches for my chin, tilting it slightly to the left. “Ah…yes. You would be good in print.”

  “Thank you very much,” Paige says in a formal tone. “I’m sure Erin will keep that in mind.”

  He lets go of my chin, looking me up and down carefully, like he’s taking some kind of inventory. “Of course, you would never do on the runway.”

  “No,” I say quietly. “I’m aware of that.”

  He smiles. “But if you are ever interested in print modeling—”

  “Thank you,” I say quickly. “But I’m not interested in any kind of modeling. I prefer being on this side of the camera.” I put my camera in front of my face again and continue to film.

  “Too bad,” he says abruptly. He turns and without even saying good-bye, leaves the room.

  “And so here we are,” Paige says to the still-running cameras. “Givenchy Paris where my little sister has just turned to print modeling.” She laughs, but I can tell she doesn’t think it’s funny. “And remember, you never know who’s watching…so don’t forget to always put your best foot forward.” She pauses to hold out a sleek black pump. “And that would be Christian Louboutin today. This is Paige Forrester for On the Runway. See you next week!”

  Fran calls it a wrap and Paige lets out an aggravated sigh then walks out of the room. After the door closes, I hear JJ and Alistair chuckling.

  “You guys thought that was funny?” I ask them as I turn off my camera, sliding it down into my Birkin bag.

  “A little bit.” JJ makes a sheepish smile.

  “Well, I doubt that Paige agrees with you.” I zip my bag. “And now she’s probably mad at me too.”

  “She’ll get over it,” Fran assures me.

  Sure enough, as we ride back to the hotel, Paige is extra quiet and I can tell she’s unhappy. I consider asking her about it, but then decide to just let her chill for awhile. When we get to the hotel, she’s still giving us the silent treatment. Fran and I exchange glances and then just shrug.

  “Anyone interested in dinner later?” Fran asks as we get out of the elevator.

  “I’ll do room service tonight,” Paige tells her as she unlocks her door.

  “I better check my phone messages,” I say. “In case Blake made it into town. I’ll let you know.”

  Fran just nods then goes to her room. As I go into my room, I feel guilty. Like maybe this is my fault that Paige is feeling hurt. It’s a familiar feeling, a feeling that I’ve struggled with my whole life—whenever Paige threw a tantrum, I would give in and give her what she wanted. But is it really my job to make sure my sister is happy? Seriously, it’s not like I had any control over André. And what about his runway comment to me? I could have hurt feelings over that too, but did Paige do anything to make me feel better? Suddenly I feel irritated at my sister. I shake my head and kick off my shoes as I check for phone messages, deciding to put the whole thing behind me. I’m partially relieved to learn that Blake and Benjamin won’t make it to Paris until tomorrow.

  I change into comfortable clothes, telling myself that I’m not going to obsess over my sister and her little hang ups. If she wants to have a pity party of one in Paris, she’s more than welcome to it. But as soon as I make that decision, I start to feel guilty. What kind of sister am I anyway? Furthermore, what kind of a Christian am I? Where is my love and compassion?

  I’m just about to go over and knock on her door when the landline phone in my room rings. Hoping it’s Paige wanting to be friends again, I grab it up, but someone in a thick French accent tells me there is something for me to pick up from the concierge. I hurry down, thinking that maybe Blake has done something sweet like send me flowers or candy—and candy actually sounds good since I’m starving. But it turns out to be a large box. A very nice box with an envelope taped to the top of it with my name on it.

  I take it up to my room and open the envelope and quickly read.

  Dear Erin,

  I know you love your sister. And I know your sister loves your

  Birkin bag. So here is a bag for you to give to her.

  Sincerely,

  Gabin

  I tear open the tissue paper and there it is—a pale pink Birkin bag! I can’t believe it—I go totally nuts, hugging the bag to my chest and hopping up and down like I just won the lottery. This is too good! I cannot wait. But first I calm myself down. With the bag behind my back, I quietly knock on Paige’s door. When she opens the door, she is already in her pajamas, her hair is pulled into a sloppy bun, and she’s got some kind of white paste all over her face, which makes her look kind of ghostly.

  “I have a surprise for you,” I tell her with a totally blank expression.

  “Oh?” She waves me into her room. “Fir
st let me go wash this masque off before it turns to cement, okay?”

  “Okay.” I stand by her bathroom door, the bag still concealed behind my back.

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she calls out as she splashes water on her face. “For the way I acted at Givenchy. It was really childish.”

  “That’s okay,” I tell her. “I understand.”

  She’s drying her face. “I knew you’d understand, Erin. But I still need to say I’m sorry.” She makes a sad little smile. “I mean, you’re not just my sister, you’re my best friend, and I hate it when I act like that. So, forgive me, okay?”

  “Absolutely.” Now I can’t help myself; I’m grinning.

  “What have you got?” she asks curiously.

  “Oh, nothing much…” I start to giggle.

  “What?”

  I hold out the pink Birkin bag and it looks like Paige’s eyes are going to pop out. “No way,” she says quietly.

  I nod. “Uh-huh. Way.”

  “No way!”

  “Gabin sent it here for me to give to you, Paige.”

  She grabs the bag, acting exactly like I did just minutes ago. “It’s perfect. It’s wonderful. It’s gorgeous!” She’s parading in front of the mirror. “It even looks great with pajamas!” She comes over and hugs me. “Thanks, Erin! You are the best sister in the world.”

  I laugh. “Well, Gabin’s the one you need to thank. We both do.”

  “Man, he really must have it bad for you, Erin.” She looks at me with wide eyes. “I thought you said it was over.”

  I shrug. “There really wasn’t anything to be over. I mean, we really were only friends.”

  Still hugging the bag, she sits down on her bed, patting the spot beside her. “We really need to talk, little sister. Between Benjamin and Dylan…and Blake and Gabin…you and I have some things to start sorting out and thinking through.”

  I sit down and consider this. I fully realize that Paige probably has a lot more sorting to do than me, but at the same time it’s nice to be included. I nod. “Where do we begin?” I ask.

  So here we sit, just two slightly confused sisters in Paris, talking about guys and life and even God, while we wait for room service to arrive with our dinner. And I think, this is good—this is how it should be. Although we still have a couple of things left to do in Paris, I think that the most important part of this trip is right here in this room. And I thank God for that.

  Preview

  Chapter 1

  I never wanted to be famous. I know there are people, like my best friend Mollie, who probably don’t believe me. Of course, that’s because Mollie would absolutely love to be famous. Unfortunately, Mollie’s acting career is on hold because her baby is due in about three months.

  Since I never wanted to be a celebrity, I’m experiencing some real culture shock over what’s happened since our show On the Runway became a real hit. According to our producer, Helen Hudson, we’re one of the hottest reality TV shows running right now and sponsors are lining up. This is totally great news—and I am happy for my sister, Paige, because this is her dream. But I’m still not comfortable with all that comes with it.

  My general dislike of the limelight is not because I’m some highly evolved Christian who is too holy and humble to want to hog all this attention. Paige’s theory that my fame-phobia is a result of my poor self-image isn’t exactly right either. In fact, I think my self-image is fairly normal. I mean, how many young women—or old women—look in the mirror and absolutely adore what they see? Well, besides Paige. But honestly, I’m pretty much okay with my looks. And most of the time, despite having a drop-dead gorgeous sibling, I’m thankful that God made me the way he did.

  My discomfort with celebrity is basically selfish—I happen to like my normal life and I enjoy my privacy, and I’d rather fly beneath the radar of the paparazzi than be running from them.

  I think being in Paris last month gave me a false sense of obscurity-security, because Paige and I were able to film our episodes and go about our daily lives with very little intrusion from the media. Of course, Paige was a little troubled by this.

  “It’s like no even one knows who we are,” she said as we walked through the Charles de Gaulle International Airport unobserved.

  “Or they just don’t care,” I teased. And, really, Paris is kind of like that—subdued and slightly aloof. I think Parisians, totally unlike Americans, aren’t too interested in celebrity spotting.

  But Paige seemed bummed. Her way to protest was to sport her newest pair of Gucci sunglasses, hold her chin high, and strut through the terminal like she was a real star. And I’ll admit I noticed heads turn. I’m not sure they knew who she was, or cared, though: she is simply an eye-catcher.

  Fortunately, for Paige, we were spotted and even photographed when we arrived at LAX the next day. By then I had on sunglasses too, but mine were to hide the dark circles beneath my eyes after a mostly sleepless night during the eleven-hour flight.

  “Is it true that you and Benjamin Kross were vacationing together in France?” a reporter from one of the gossip shows asked Paige as we waited to spot our luggage in baggage claim.

  Paige smiled and tossed her head. “We were with a number of interesting people in France,” she said brightly. “Benjamin was there for a few days as well.”

  “What did you think about Benjamin’s settlement with Mia Renwick’s family?” the reporter persisted.

  “I think it’s really none of my business.” Paige smiled.

  “What about rumors that you and Dylan Marceau are engaged?” the other reporter asked next.

  Paige laughed. “They are just that—rumors.”

  “But are you involved with Dylan Mar—”

  “I think Dylan is a brilliant designer and he’s a good friend.”

  Just then I spotted some of our luggage on the carousel, and I abandoned my sister to her adoring paparazzi in order to help our director, Fran, drag the bags off. Sure, we might be “famous,” but we still carry our own bags. At least most of the time, anyway. Blake has reminded me more than once that his offer to carry my bags, do shoulder rubs and pedicures, run errands, take out the trash—or whatever—is still good if the show wants to take him along with us. So far I don’t think the show is too interested in Blake.

  Unfortunately, Blake’s interest in the show doesn’t seem to be going away. And way too often, despite me asking him not to, he wants to talk about it. So why am I surprised when he starts in after our fellowship group? Several of us, including Lionel, Sonya, and Mollie, decided to extend the evening by meeting at Starbucks for coffee, and I’ve just taken a sip of my mocha when Blake brings it up.

  “Did you guys hear that Erin is going to London next month?” he announces.

  “Yeah, and she’s not even excited about it.” Mollie rolls her eyes at me.

  “It’s not that I’m not excited,” I protest. “It’s just that we haven’t been back from Paris for that long. And we’re trying to plan my mom’s wedding and—”

  “Excuses, excuses…” Mollie waves her hand. “You are off living the life and all you do is complain, complain.”

  I frown at her. “Really? Do I complain that much?”

  She gives me a sheepish smile. “Well, I might exaggerate a bit. It’s only because I’m jealous. I would so love to go to London.”

  “Me too,” Blake chimes in.

  Mollie makes a face at Blake. “But you already got to go with Erin to Paris, so if anyone gets to go to London with her, it should be me.”

  “FYI,” I remind her, “Blake went to France with Benjamin Kross, not me.” And, okay, I know I’m doing this as much for Lionel’s sake as for Mollie’s, since he already questioned why Blake made that trip. I’m not sure if he was jealous or merely curious, but it’s a topic I try to avoid.

  Things have been a little awkward with both guys since I returned from the trip and put the brakes on both relationships. As soon as I got home from Paris, I called both Bla
ke and Lionel and told them the same thing: that Paige and I had made a pact not to date for a while and to focus on the show.

  “Yeah, Erin didn’t actually invite me.” Blake turns to Lionel, almost like he’s trying to get a reaction. “And when I got to Bordeaux, she already had a French boyfriend.”

  “You know that Gabin was not a boyfriend.” I shake my finger at Blake. “He’s just a good friend.” We’d been over this several times already.

  “Yeah, but he gave you that great bag.” Mollie points to my black Birkin bag, which has kind of become my signature piece of late. Not because it’s such a fashion statement as much as it’s really great for carrying my camera and junk.

  “So what are you going to be covering in London?” Lionel asks me.

  “Isn’t it Fashion Week there?” Mollie asks.

  “Actually Fashion Week London isn’t until September,” I explain. “And the show will probably send us back to London then. This trip is to coincide with a new British TV show. It’s kind of like America’s Next Top Model. Paige is going to be a judge and we’ll use that for an episode, then we’ll do some episodes on the Brit fashion scene. And we’ll stay at the May Fair and—”

  “The May Fair is like the swankiest hotel in the coolest fashion district in London,” Mollie explains. “I looked it up on the Internet and I was pea green with envy.”

  “And you’re not excited about that?” Sonya asks me. She’s been the quiet person in the group tonight. As usual, I wonder if she’s still feeling a little out of sorts because of her breakup with Blake. And because she might secretly blame me for losing him, although I’d beg to differ. Sometimes I catch these glances from her and, despite Blake’s assurance, I suspect Sonya isn’t totally over him.

  “It’s not that I’m not excited,” I say for the second time. Like is anyone listening. “It’s just that—”