Catwalk (16 page)

“Shalimar’s. We know,” says Felinez.

“He’s also hoping that all admiring ‘delovelies’ consider becoming his design muses. I guess that’s what he meant by ‘Tag, you’re it’?” Angora reflects.

“Delovelies? He’s not a designer—he’s a dunce,” comments Aphro.

“Also on dunce detail—Delilah Diddy waylaid me
after textile science today to show me pictures of her cat and her sketchbook,” I report to my crew about one candidate too anxious to wait for the scheduled interview rendezvous. “Her style is so predictable, the only things she should consider designing are crystal balls.”

“Je comprends,”
Angora says, concurring.

“Oy, maybe we should forget about cat lovers. At this rate, I’m gonna need a CAT scan!” I moan in jest.

Suddenly, there’s a loud cackling outside the studio and I look up, hoping the graffiti artist will grace us with his wearable denim art and goofy grin. Instead, I realize it was merely a cacophony orchestrated by Chandelier and Tina, who hurriedly walk by, peering into the studio on the fly.

“I don’t think he’s coming,” Aphro snarls, reading my troubled mind.

Now I feel like a dunce—and compelled to share my secret obsession with my crew. “Remember those Pepe LePone peep-toe slingbacks? I saw them on sale at the Shoe Shack, but I didn’t buy them? Then I went back the next week hoping they had slashed the price some more, but somebody else had already snatched ’em. Remember how I couldn’t stop obsessing about them? Well, that’s how I feel about Ice Très, okay.”

“So you’re saying, you’re not really interested in a guy until he’s been marked down?” Angora interprets.

“No, that’s not it. Pink Head’s saying she wasn’t
feeling Ice Très till somebody else was!” blurts out Felinez.

I shrug. I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore.

“Well, I know Shalimar ain’t feeling Ice Très’s fashion thuggery. She
must
be peepin’ something else—” Aphro starts in, but smacks her lips instead, blotting her freshly applied lipstick.

We all giggle uncontrollably while Zeus appears in the doorway with a supa-shortie in tow.

“This is my man Lupo Saltimbocca,” announces Zeus, his flash-ready smile lighting up the studio. Maybe Aphro is right. Maybe I don’t think I’m good enough for Zeus. I know that’s not what she said, but maybe that’s what she was thinking. He’s got it made in the shade, while I have to deal with family drama.

Lupo blushes and looks up at Zeus, who is a head taller than him. He has a really big nose and a grin that’s goofier than Ice Très’s.

“Come on, now. I had to put you on blast. Show them your work,” Zeus instructs Lupo, obviously eager for us to give his recruit our feline seal of approval.

Lupo clumsily opens his portfolio, and a pile of photos plops on the floor. I watch him pick them up, hoping he has more luck loading his camera. “These are some of the models I shoot already,” Lupo explains excitedly, his big brown eyes getting pop-eyed. I zoom right in on the head shots of Elgamela that landed on
the top of the heap, while Aphro homes in on the silver lily pendant dangling on a platinum chain around Lupo’s short, thick neck.

“Did you make that?” she asks.

“No, I’m not a designer,” Lupo clarifies.

“I know, but it’s handmade,” Aphro continues.

“Yes, by Agnello. He makes jewelry back in Firenze,” Lupo explains in his thick Italian accent. “This is the, how do you say, the symbol, yes, for my region.
Gigli.
”

“The lily pad is the symbol for Firenze?” asks Felinez, trying to help Lupo. “We’re all taking Italian.”

“Oh, bravo,” says Lupo, impressed.

“See, we’re trying to do more than order ice cream in Italian—that is, if we win,” I giggle.

“Gelato,
per favore
!” Lupo giggles, too. “I can help you with that, you know?”

“Ordering gelato?” Felinez asks, her mouth salivating. “Where—here?”

“No, I can help you study Italian,” he clarifies.

“Well, that settles it—” I start, realizing what an asset Lupo really is to the House of Pashmina.

“You’re in there like swimwear!” Zeus says, finishing my sentence.

“Seriously, though—these photos are hot!” I exclaim, flipping through his portfolio and noticing eight more photos of Elgamela posed in slinky black Lycra
outfits against a stark white backdrop. I wonder if Lupo is obsessed with her. Maybe he has already interviewed to be in Chandelier’s house just to be close to his model muse.

Right on cue, Zeus adds, “You know that Chandelier wants him in her house, but I told him this is the move.”

“Do you know Elgamela?” Lupo asks, turning to me. “For me, she is incredible.” Sensing my hesitation, he quickly adds, “You are very beautiful, too. And you.” Now Lupo is pointing to Aphro. “I want to take pictures of both of you.”

“Oh, you’re definitely in with us now,” Aphro says, smoothing down her straight bangs.

“We love Elgamela. I mean, she hit the fashion trifecta—tall, exotic—and she can dance,” I say.

“Not as good as you,” Lupo squeals at Aphro. “I saw you in the café.
Madonna
, you were
marveloso
!”

Now I’m getting the impression that Lupo pulled Zeus’s strings for an intro, and not the other way around.

Aphro tilts her head like a peacock. “Well, I try.”

“See, Elgamela is friends with Nole and Dame—and
Chandelier
,” I continue, getting back on the Catwalk track.

“Yes, but Elgamela loves me. If we want her, I tell her that, no?” Lupo says earnestly.

Zeus nods behind Lupo’s back. “He’s the man, I’m telling you—things can be done, tassels can be pulled.”

Suddenly, I get hopeful. “Really? Then make it happen. I’ve got to hand in these sheets,” I say, pointing to the formidable stack of empty member forms that will need to be filled out and delivered to the Catwalk director’s office by Friday morning.

“Can I come in?” asks Diamond Tyler, knocking on the door.

“I didn’t think you would show,” I say like a bad hostess, I guess because I’m relieved that she
did
come.

Diamond stands in the doorway, her hands shoved in the pockets of her Free People Reindeer Love parka.

“Girl, don’t just stand there. Come on in and take your jacket off. The pawnshop’s closed!” Aphro yells out.

“Such great energy. I love her!” gushes Lupo. He’s definitely feeling Aphro. Diamond chuckles and plops her cute aqua-and-pink-striped Yak Pak on the floor, the two pandas perched on the front pockets positioned by my pink Mary Janes like they’re gonna smooch my toes.

“How’s Crutches?” I ask, watching as Diamond squirms on the edge of the chair.

“Oh, great! Now they’ve got her swimming with this new pussy paddle.”

Lupo and Zeus snicker, then burst out laughing. “Sorry,” Zeus says, trying to stifle his guffaws.

Diamond earnestly explains about the physical therapy contraption before she veers into her latest source of discomfort. “Did you hear about the sheep on the Grand Concourse?” she asks, turning to Felinez since they both live in the South Bronx.

“No,” Felinez responds guiltily. “I didn’t, um, count any sheep?”

Lupo giggles. I think that’s his calling card, along with the Nikon camera he has taken out of the case and strapped around his neck.

“There are five slaughterhouses right on Tremont,” Diamond explains seriously. “Well, one of the sheep escaped with the USDA clip hanging off her ear. She ran right into the street. She could have been killed. I mean, she’s escaped death twice. Really.”

I try to understand what she’s saying, then I get it.

“We’re petitioning to get her sent to a farm in Westchester,” Diamond goes on, “instead of being returned to the meatpacking district to be killed. The meeting is tonight, so I gotta get uptown.”

“I got you,” I say, eager to accommodate her busy animal-activism schedule. “Show us what you got, cuz I don’t think Aphro has seen your designs.”

Diamond gingerly lays her sketchbook on the table
and I turn the pages with tender care. “Sweet,” I comment with each passing page. I really do dig Diamond’s vibe, even though I can sense that the rest of my crew has doubts about her skills.

“What kind of stuff do you want to do?” Diamond asks hesitantly.

“We’re gonna feature regular and plus sizes for the Kats and Kitties,” I say proudly. “And we’ll open the show with a few fashions for kids, too.”

“That’s what feline fatale style is all about:
all sizes
,” Felinez says.

“I like that,” Diamond says, nodding approvingly.

“Yeah, we do too,” Zeus pipes up.

“I love all sizes too,” seconds Lupo, and the two of them start guffawing again.

“I think I’m gonna have to separate you two till recess,” I warn them.

Then I turn my head and mouth to Angora:
I don’t think he’s gay
. She nods back at me in agreement.

In the meantime, Lupo focuses his camera and starts clicking away. The flash from the Nikon startles Diamond, who puts her head down and tries to cover her face.

“We must document the whole process, I think?” explains Lupo. “For the fashion show, we can have a photo collage on the walls behind where the audience is sitting, no?”

“That’s
meowverlous
!” I coo in my British alter ego voice. Zeus and Lupo are making me giddy.

Diamond gets excited too, and pulls out another notebook of design sketches.

“Wow. Now, these I dig. The babydoll dresses—this one with the eyelet bib and the ruffles,” I say, tapping the page.

“And you can wear it on or off the shoulders. We could put some cat’s-eye shapes beveled with rhinestones around the neckline,” Diamond suggests. “And put some cat’s-eye tattoos on the model’s shoulders?”

“Nice,” says Zeus. Judging from the phoenix on his right arm, it’s not surprising tattoo sightings would get a rise out of the graphic artiste.

“We could do a whole babydoll segment. That would look great with headbands,” adds Felinez.

“For jewelry, I wanna make some necklaces with cat charms dangling from them,” adds Aphro.

“Oh, that totally works with this kind of neckline,” Diamond says, then turns to Felinez. “I really like the meowch pouches you’re wearing.”

“Oh, yeah. We want the models to carry those instead of the wristlet clutches everybody else is doing,” explains Felinez.

“What’s your thought on pom-poms?” I ask.

“If you’ve got them, you’d better shake ’em?”
Diamond says, shrugging as if she suddenly realizes that she is indeed auditioning.

Zeus, Lupo, and Felinez giggle.

“Well, I think we should give it a twirl, no?” I say to Diamond, hoping she’ll say yes. “I mean, I know you can’t stay, but we’ll see what the cat drags in.” What I really want to say is:
I pray that Nole Canoli smells the catnip and careens around the corner any
segundo.

“Is there any designer at FI you dig?” Zeus asks her outright.

“Yeah, your friend Nole Canoli. I mean, he was in my draping class and, well, he’s a genius,” Diamond says, like she’s telling us something we don’t know. “Have you asked him?”

“Yeah, I asked him,” Zeus admits. “He joined Chandelier’s house. She, um, did her interviews yesterday. I saw him there.”

I wince, of course, because Zeus has reminded me that we’re scrambling for talent.

“I’m happy you came to see us. I knew we had the same style sensibilities,” I say sincerely.

“You know what, I can stay,” Diamond decides on the spot.

“Meowverlous!”
I squeal again.

Diamond relaxes into the chair, like she has let go of caring for all the animals in the world except for the
desperate felines in front of her. “So, did you get a job?” she asks me, seeming genuinely interested.

“Um, no, but Felinez did,” I say, turning to Fifi.

“It’s just an internship, so don’t be jealous!”

“What about you?” I ask, wondering if Diamond will be able to contribute to our burgeoning demand for design supplies.

“Yes!” Diamond says excitedly; then she drops the doggie bag. “It’s at the Animal Care Center on 110th Street. Volunteering, you know.”

“Oh, right,” I say, then change the subject. “We’ll discuss the Catwalk budget later, but I’m getting about three hundred dollars for the first installment.”

“Hola!”
shouts Chintzy Colon, who walks into the studio with a tall blond girl in tow. I’ve seen the girl in the library, but I don’t know who she is, even though it’s obvious she hit the genetic lottery and we’re talking the Mega Millions jackpot.

“Your flyer was so cute!” the girl coos, interrupting Chintzy. She’s even taller than I am, and blonder than Angora. “You won’t believe, but my name is Kissa Sami!”

Now Lupo’s eyes really get pop-eyed. “You’re a model, right?” he asks.

“I will be soon!” Kissa coos. Lupo aims his camera at Kissa and clicks away. She poses without any prompting. “Do you want me to walk now?” Kissa asks, looking around to see who’s in charge.

“Yes, please,” I command, watching her sashay—sort of stiffly, but with definite potential.

Aphro jumps up and gives Kissa some instruction. “Push your hips forward, then let it flow. Don’t move your arms so much.” Kissa walks again, this time more assuredly.

“You have beautiful eyes,” I say, noticing how her eyes are slanty but blue and icy clear, not hazy like Zeus’s. “Where are you from?”

“Finland,” Kissa coos, then tells us how psyched she was to be chosen for FI’s student exchange program. She goes on to explain how long the waiting list is—longer than the one for a highly coveted Birkin Bag at Hermès (and that one is six years!). “My best friend was crushed—she couldn’t come. We dream together to be in the Catwalk competition!”

“Did you make up your name?” Aphro asks, half-joking.

“Oh no. It means ‘cat’ in Finnish. We have seven at home. I swear!”

“Seven Kissas, or seven cats?” Lupo asks for clarification.

“Seven furry, not seven tall like me!” Kissa giggles, then pulls out pictures from her shoulder bag. “You don’t believe.”

“Oh, we believe,” I giggle, looking at the photos of her most beloved feline—a black cat she tells me is
named Kuma. “My mother went to a sushi restaurant and she misunderstood the waiter. She thought he told her that ‘kuma’ means ‘black’ in Japanese, but it turns out it means ‘bear’!” While the kitty coo-fest continues between Kissa and Angora, a few more students enter the studio.