Catwalk (58 page)

“Yes, I know,” I say curtly.

Benny Madina, an avid Ninja hater, asks, “All I wanna know is how’d
he
steal our hookup?”

I refrain from commenting, but looking around at my Catwalk crew, I realize that I’m being called into action. “Look, I know that you’ve all turned in your hookup sheets—but if anyone has a shoe lead we can
explore, exhaust, beg, borrow, or steal, please let me know?”

“Go Manolo or go solo, that’s what I always say,” quips Bobby Beat, our star makeup artist.

“Well, put your money where your mouth is,” heckles Dame Leeds. “Enough with the false advertisement.”

“At this point I’d take Kmart shoes and Prada manners, people,” I warn Dame, sounding an awful lot like the Ferocious One, Ms. Lynx. “We’ve got eight weeks to showtime. Also, for the next Catwalk meeting, I need all of you to hand in your lists with email addresses for all the friends and family members you’re inviting to our fashion show. Zeus will be designing the Hold the Date email announcement that Angora and I will be sending to all guests. For the purposes of top secrecy, the final invitations will be sent out to our guests a few days before our fashion show. Everyone clear?”

“Crystal,” heaves Dame.

The door swings open and I jump, startled, but it’s Michelette and Juanito instead of the usual intrusive suspects, the Teen Style Network crew.

“Hola!” Michelette coos excitedly.

Felinez doesn’t hide her agitation. “You didn’t keep Juanito waiting at school, I hope?”

Michelette doesn’t answer her younger sister—subtly establishing who’s in charge. See, their parents gig-hop around the world—mostly on cruise ships—
performing with their sixties cover band, Las Madres and Los Padres, so Michelette is in charge most of the time. There’s also no question about who’s blonder. Michelette has been streaking her hair platinum blond since I can remember. Felinez thinks it’s tacky, but then again, she’s not a fan of “shady” hair—she won’t even use a red henna rinse on hers.

“You’re going to work the runway for us?” asks Aphro, teasing Juanito.

Juanito shrugs his shoulders and doesn’t respond. His curly hair is even wilder and darker than Fifi’s.

“No?” prods Angora. “You’re telling me someone as cute as you doesn’t dream about becoming a supermodel?”

“No,” Juanito says, shaking his curly head.

“Then what do you want to do?” Angora quizzes further.

“I wanna be an artist,” Juanito says confidently.

Now Lupo Saltimbocca, our star photographer, perks up. “What kind of artist?” He has been quietly snapping photos from his catty corner. Inspired by Juanito’s stance, Lupo gets up and zooms in for a close-up of his face.

“A con artist,” answers Juanito.

“Juanito!” shrieks Felinez, then covers her face with the palms of her hands, embarrassed.

“That’s so funny!” laughs Stellina. Tiara stares at her beat-up brown loafers. I wonder if she laughs at all.

The ripple of laughter rises when Nole returns without Diamond. He thinks we’re laughing about Diamond’s disappearing act. “I tried to talk her off the ledge!”

I shrug my shoulders, letting Nole know
Not so funny
.

Zeus senses my agitation and slides out the door. I assume he’s going after Diamond. If anyone can convince her to come back, he can.

“Let’s all move to the left side,” I instruct my crew, so we can make space for the child models to walk on the right side of the conference room.

I position my adorable child models in a single line while I quiz them. “Everybody knows what a fashion show is, right?”

Stellina throws me a look like
Don’t try it
, then answers. “Yes, we’re gonna wear fierce clothes and walk on the catwalk!”

“That’s right—and the fierce clothes have been made by us—because you’re going to represent the House of Pashmina by opening our fashion show!” I say, hyping my junior models’ crucial position. “Okay, one by one, I want each of you to walk all the way down to Felinez, stop in the middle on the way back, twirl, then
walk the rest of the way and make a left like you’re going backstage. Everybody understand?”

My child models nod. One by one, they proceed to walk as instructed and we watch on the sidelines. That is, until we get to Kiki. She stops in the middle—and doesn’t move.

“Come on, Kiki—go ahead and twirl!” Mini Mo coaxes her cousin. But Kiki won’t budge. She stands there, twirling her foot in a circular motion.

“Come on, Kiki!” Mini Mo shouts again.

This time Kiki screws up her face and starts to cry.

“That’s okay, Kiki. You don’t have to.”

“You can do it,” coaxes model Mink Yong. She babbles in Japanese to Kiki.

“She doesn’t understand!” Mini Mo snaps.

“Oh, sorry,” Mink apologizes.

Mini Mo pulls Kiki aside so the rest of the child models can take their turns walking.

Secretly, I wish that Tiara would pull a divette fit, too, so she can exit door left. When it’s Tiara’s turn, she walks, all right—like a shivering penguin marching gingerly on thin ice at the North Pole!

“Tiara—walk like I told you,” whispers Stellina, who has obviously been coaching her friend beforehand. Tiara stares down at her feet and walks back, embarrassed. Stellina’s checks fill up like a balloon and she releases the air in a deep, disappointed sigh. Then, just
as quickly, Stellina puts her fashion face on like a pro—and walks, twirls, and returns in a fluid motion.

“Now, there’s a star in the making!” Nole applauds.

“Thank you,” coos Stellina, blowing a kiss.

“Not so much smiling at everyone when you’re on the runway, Ms. Stellina. Remember, you’re a model while you’re out there. Don’t react to anybody, just look straight ahead and keep walking till you hit the turn to go backstage.”

“Got it,” she says, taking another turn.

E.T. goes last—and delivers a nice quiet little strut. Even I can’t help clapping when he’s finished. “That’s
purrfecto
!”

“I knew you could work it,” seconds Stellina, like she’s been coaching her new crush.

Because Diamond has still not returned to the fashion fold, I decide it’s best to take all the child models’ measurements myself—even Kiki’s.

Afterward, I announce to everyone, “We’re going to have our runway training next week, then final fittings—for our child models, too—who can leave now if they’d like.”

“So does that mean Tiara is in the fashion show too?” Stellina asks me point-blank.

“I’ll work with her,” blurts out Aphro. Aphro is our choreographer and runway trainer. She begins her assigned duties at our next Catwalk meeting.

“Yes, she’s in,” I relent.

Tiara breaks into a smile.

“Bye, supermodel!” coos Stellina.

“Is someone picking you up?” I ask, concerned.

“Yes, my mother. She’s already downstairs,” Tiara says, flashing her phone in her palm.

I kiss Tiara goodbye.

“Is it okay if I leave now?” asks Mini Mo.

“Yes, go ahead. I appreciate you bringing, um—”

“Kiki,” says Mini Mo, filling in the blank.

Embarrassed by the lapse in my brain synapse, I continue, “Right, Kiki—but we won’t be able to use her.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Mini Mo says, kissing me on the cheek. “She asked for weeks when the audition was, then she gets here and freezes. Go figure.” Mini Mo shakes her head, causing the fine strands of her blunt, straight bob to flutter gently.

After Kiki is gone, Dame Leeds grunts, “You could have given that poor little girl a chance.”

I decide not to respond to Dame. I’ve had my quota of catfights with him: over Liza, over the designs—which he has no talent for. He should stick to hairstyling. I make the creative decisions—period.

Speaking of creative decisions, when Zeus returns with Diamond, I realize we won’t be able to go back to the way things were. Now I’m going to have to wrestle
the evening gown sketches out of her and decide what to do about the outfits for the five child models.

Since Diamond is his second in command, Nole luckily takes the lead. “Are you feeling better?” he asks the petulant pet activist, who slithers into her seat without so much as an apology.

Diamond picks up her precious sketch pad and stares at it without answering.

I gain eye contact with Zeus and say thank you with my eyes. He winks in acknowledgment.

“Well, can we see the evening gown sketches, at least?” asks Nole.

Diamond hands him the pad without saying a word.

I look over Nole’s shoulder and can’t believe my eyes. “These are Grecian?” I ask, surprised, staring at the sketches for a draped one-shoulder gown and a strapless one.

“That’s what you said you wanted,” Diamond says, bursting at the seams.

“No it isn’t,” I say, remaining calm. “This is clearly goddess inspiration—not feline fatale.”

“Okay, no worries—we’ll start over,” offers Nole.

“We’re supposed to have ruffles and flirty cascading hemlines for the gowns—for the pink Lurex,” I reiterate. Now I’m freaked out by Diamond’s obvious meltdown, which has been coming for months.

“The draping works with the Lurex, too,” protests Diamond.

“Yes, I know, but it’s not feline fatale—that’s all I’m saying,” I reiterate. But I can see Swarovski crystal clear that Diamond doesn’t agree.

“Okay, okay. Diamond, redo the sketches. By Friday. Now, let’s talk about the kids’ outfits,” Nole says forcefully.

“We should open full throttle with our color theme—pink and black—the boys wearing graffiti tees with our slogans and the girls wearing tiered sundresses so they can twirl to the maximus,” I say.

“Furbulous,” says Nole. “Let’s start on that this weekend—and we’re good to go?”

“
Oh
. I got it—how about matching umbrellas edged in ruffles, with slogans on them, and the girls open them while they’re twirling?” I say, excited.

“Genius!” coos Angora.

Everyone nods in agreement. Meeting over.

“I can’t believe we got through a Catwalk meeting without you-know-who barging in,” Nole quips, relieved. I know he’s referring to the Teen Style Network crew.

“Hard to believe,” I second, trying to take the rough edges off the Diamond disaster. “Ah, my masterful draper—what a ride. You know I couldn’t do this without you.” I smile at Nole. He waddles over to give me a hug.

Diamond shoots a furtive glance at our exchange. She was supposed to be my masterful illustrator—but I can clearly see I’m going to have to draw the line with this drama queen.

“Runway training begins next week, which means the time has come for the Pet
Pose Off
. Who’s it gonna be, Penelope or Fabbie Tabbie? Time to put their paws to the test,” I remind Nole. Penelope is Nole’s prized cat.

“Now you’re talking. Let’s set it up so Penelope can wipe the floor with your dishrag—oops, I mean tabby cat,” he snaps.

“I already signed up for a session to use the catwalk ramp tomorrow in the auditorium,” I say. The catwalk ramp is put up in the Fashion Auditorium for Special Events.

“What is the Special Event?” Ruthie Dragon asks.

“Who knows. We’ll find out tomorrow,” I respond. “Good thing is, they’re putting the ramp up.” Whenever the catwalk ramp is assembled in the auditorium, students can schedule sessions for their own use before it’s taken down and put in the storage area backstage.

“Sounds good,” Nole says confidently. “Diamond, this is right up your alley. Why don’t you come to the Tabbie-Penelope Pose Off—or I should say,
battle
—and be a judge? That way, you can bring the evening gown sketches, too.” Nole isn’t so much asking Diamond as ordering her.

For a
segundo
, Diamond registers approval and nods, but then she darts out the door like a mad matador. “I’ll deal with her drama later,” I mutter, shaking my head.

Now it’s time to end the meeting, so we stand in a circle, holding hands, while I read part of the Catwalk Credo. My crew say their good-byes and start streaming out the door.

“What is up with Diamond’s claws-and-paws attitude?” Aphro asks me.

“I have no idea,” I sigh wearily.

Aphro deciphers my message ASAP and snarls impatiently, “Awright, you coming?”

“In a minute,” I say, gathering my papers. No point in cutting off any Zeus interaction sooner than I have to. I always find myself lingering in his presence.

Nole lingers, too. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna fix the sketches,” he assures me.

“I know,” I sigh, frustrated that I can’t do the sketches myself, but illustration is not one of my strengths. Neither is draping, even though I’m an expert seamstress and got my first sewing machine on my eleventh birthday. My gift is a clear vision. Felinez thinks I should improvise and major in design anyway, but I’m old-school—like the haute couture masters.

Now Dame Leeds tries to step in, but I’m definitely not in the mood for his March madness, so I inch over
in Zeus’s direction. Blathering, I ask, “So, you’re going to start the fashion show mix?”

“I’ve already started it,” he says. “I’ll just do a Gaynor mix—and I was gonna have our first round ready for the runway training.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” I say, like I’m recalling music strategy discussed at our last meeting. Not.

My phone vibrates from a text message, so I pull it out to check if it’s an emergency from my mom. Out of the corner of my eye, I sense that Dame Leeds is getting my message—and stepping off. Even if Chris Midgett isn’t. The text is from him: “Sorry you didn’t talk to me this morning. Can you call me? Don’t want to bother you. Now it’s your move.”

“Not,” I mumble, turning off my phone.

Zeus’s next move, however, is the one I don’t see coming. “Listen, you wanna go get something? I wanted to swing by the Barbiecue Hut before I head home.”

“Really?” I ask. “I’m up for some Twizzlers.”

Zeus chuckles. Aphro not so much. Once we’re outside the Studio, I can tell from her face that she’d like to shove mine into a piping hot pizza pie. I know I told her I would go over to her house, but we’ve got plenty of time to formulate our runway moves before the next Catwalk meeting. I figure she can go hang with Lupo instead and get the attention she craves, since that’s
what she is really looking for right now—and Lupo lays it on thick like mozzarella made in his native Firenze.