Catwalk (10 page)

“Did it seem like Dylan was into me?” Paige
asks later that evening when we’re all just crashing in our pajamas in the hotel suite.

“I think he’s just friendly like that,” Fran says as she flips through the channels on the TV.

Paige looks unconvinced. “I don’t know…usually I have pretty good instincts about guys. It seemed like he was into me.”

“It kind of did to me too,” I admit.

Just then her phone rings and I can tell by the tone of Paige’s voice that it’s Benjamin on the other end. She starts out very cool and formal and then suddenly she’s telling him about Dylan and how great the interview went and how she thinks Dylan is “into her.”

Fran and I exchange glances, but Paige seems totally oblivious to the way she sounds as she rambles on and on about Dylan and his studio, but eventually she switches over to talking about the interview with Taylor Mitchell. “And she seems like she’s looking forward to having us stay in their apartment.” She pauses to listen and probably catch her
breath. “Well, yeah, she’s hot. Maybe even better-looking in person than in print. I don’t know, Benjamin. I mean it’s not like we’re BFFs or anything.” She pauses. “Fine.” Her voice is crisp now. “I’ll ask her.” And then the conversation winds down and Paige snaps her phone closed.

“Can you believe that?” she says to us.

“What?” I ask as I flip through the photography magazine I’ve been studying.

“Benjamin wants me to arrange for him to meet Taylor Mitchell.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Obviously, you couldn’t hear yourself talking to him.” I look over to Fran, but she’s engrossed in a new reality TV show.

“What do you mean?” Paige demands.

“You were going on and on about Dylan, saying how you thought he was into you and it sounded more like you were crushing on Dylan. I’m sure Benjamin was just jealous.”

Now Paige smiles…but it’s a catty smile. “You think?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I stand and stretch. “Maybe Benjamin really does want to meet Taylor. I mean, the girl is stunning.”

Now Paige frowns and I think my work here is done. “Good night,” I say as I head off to bed.

The next day, Sunday, is officially our day off. We all sleep in until almost noon and then agree to do as we like with the remainder of the day and to reconvene for dinner in the hotel restaurant at six. Fran wants to make it an early evening so we can be fresh in the morning. “The camera crew will meet us at Marc Jacobs at nine o’clock sharp, and I want the whole thing to go as smoothly as yesterday—only with the full crew. This is a big opportunity and there’s no room for error.”

Paige tries to talk me into going shopping with her, but I beg out. “I already bought a ticket online for the MoMA,” I explain. “I’m going to take in the film exhibits and watch some trailers and things. But you’re welcome to come with me. It’s really an amazing—”

“No thanks.”

“I have an idea,” Fran tells Paige. “Why don’t we go to the fashion museum at FIT?”

Paige seems interested and I take this as my cue to make a getaway. I feel a little bit guilty bailing on my sister like that, but I can only handle so much of her fashion obsession. Although I must admit the fashion museum might be interesting…on another day.

After a couple of hours of film indulgence, I take a break and get a soda at the café, taking a moment to turn on my phone. As I listen to a voicemail from Mom, returning my call to her this morning with a sweet message about how she and Jon are driving to Balboa today but that she’d rather be with her two girls, I feel oddly homesick. The next message is from Blake, just checking in to see how it’s going. We talked yesterday, but I decide to give him a call just the same.

“Hey,” he says cheerfully. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I just got out of church and I’m sitting in my car, still in the parking lot, and wondering what I’m going to do with myself for the day. I was wishing you were here so we could hang out together. It’s a gorgeous day.”

“Lucky you,” I tell him. “It’s cold and cloudy in New York.”

“I’d gladly put up with rain, sleet, and snow just to be there with you.”

“Kind of like a mailman, eh?”

He chuckles. “Yes, I’m that faithful sort. You can count on me.”

“Did you see Mollie at church?” I’m not even sure why I ask this; I guess I’m just curious.

“No. In fact, she and Tony weren’t at the fellowship last night either.”

“Oh.”

“So, where are you right now?” he asks.

I tell him about MoMA and he acts like he’s totally jealous. Then I tell him about how Paige thinks Dylan Marceau is into her and how Benjamin wants to meet Taylor Mitchell. We talk and laugh for about half an hour and by the time we hang up, I don’t feel homesick anymore. I even decide to give Mollie a call and am slightly taken aback when she answers.

“Hey, Mollie,” I say cheerfully.

“Erin?” She sounds almost happy, like she’s glad I called—and that surprises me.

“Yeah. How are you? I was thinking about you and decided to see what’s up.”

“Not much. I kind of slept in this morning…missed church. What’s up?”

“Well, it’s been awhile since we talked.”

“Yeah…Where are you?”

So I tell her about MoMA and the cool film exhibits I’ve been enjoying.

“You’re in New York?”

“Remember, I told you awhile back that we were doing Fashion Week in early February.”

“I guess. But the date seemed so far out there…and now New York seems far away…” Her voice trails off.

So, in an attempt to fill the space, I tell her about the Dylan Marceau interview and how I was the whole camera crew, but instead of making the kinds of comments or questions you expect in a normal conversation, Mollie is silent and it makes me almost wonder if we’re disconnected. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah…I guess so.”

“You guess so?” Okay, that’s a weird response. And it kind of hurts my feelings. Like, am I so boring that she’s fallen asleep on me? Or maybe she has something more important to do? Perhaps she’s actually watching TV and only pretending to listen to me.

“I’m feeling a little under the weather,” she says.

“Sorry to hear that. The flu?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Yuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I should let you go, Mollie.”

“Yeah…I guess.”

Now her voice sounds so sad that I almost want to demand to know what’s going on. But then I think if she’s got the flu, that’s probably depressing enough. “Well, you take care. Drink lots of green tea and get some rest.”

“I will.” She sighs loudly. “And you take care in New York. Have fun.”

“Thanks.” Then we hang up and I just shake my head. What is wrong with Mollie? Well, other than the flu. Or maybe nothing’s wrong. Maybe I’m just blowing things out of proportion.

Our hair and makeup stylists show up at the hotel on Monday morning and you’d think Paige had died and gone to beauty heaven. Two hours later, when we arrive at Marc Jacobs, our camera crew is in place and ready to go. It suddenly feels like we’re professionals again.

A Marc Jacobs publicity person named Millie meets us and acts as our guide as she gives us what turns out to be a pretty quick tour. But at least Paige gets a chance to meet Marc Jacobs, even if it’s only briefly. And he promises to spend more time with her some other day.

“When things aren’t so hectic,” he calls out as he ducks into a doorway marked “private.” Finally it seems our tour has come to an end and Millie takes us to a showroom where a number of Marc Jacobs’ finest designs are on display. Nothing for the upcoming season, of course, but the outfits are impressive and I think even I could become a Marc Jacobs fan. His style is clean and understated and classic. I don’t know a lot about fashion, but I know that. And I know that it’s a look I can appreciate.

“Marc Jacobs is definitely one of a kind,” Paige is saying into the cameras in an effort to stretch this thing out. “He certainly doesn’t cater to the whims of the crowd—and yet the crowd seems to follow him. And Mr. Jacobs has surprised us more than once in his choices of models. I remember when he used Dakota Fanning a few years back, when she was still a child. All his women’s clothes were sized down for her, even the shoes. It was clever and eye-catching. And then there was the scarf scandal.” She glances over at Millie now, and it’s clear that Millie doesn’t appreciate whatever the “scarf scandal” might be. But I know
I’m
curious.

“However, I happen to believe it was simply a mistake,” Paige continues with confidence. “I heard that the scarf was
actually a flea market find, obviously just something that someone had thrown out. It was only used as a prop in a print ad, and I think it was very self-serving and opportunistic for Olofsson to charge Mr. Jacobs with plagiarism. If anything, Olofsson should have been flattered that Marc chose to use his old scarf.” Paige chuckles.

Now Millie is beaming and I can only assume that whatever it is Paige is insinuating has pleased her tremendously.

“This is Paige Forrester,” she says with finality, “telling you to always put your best foot forward.” She sticks out a tall black boot. “And in this case it would definitely be Marc Jacobs. See you at Fashion Week!”

As the crew shuts down, Millie comes over and shakes Paige’s hand. “That was excellent, Paige. And I know Marc will appreciate hearing how fairly you represented the, uh, scarf incident. Thank you.” She turns to her assistant. “Make sure that you give them the clothes we set aside.” Millie smiles at Paige. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Once the three of us are back in the town car, Fran pats Paige on the back. “You are brilliant, dear. Absolutely brilliant.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” I ask as I zip up my backpack. “Was it something you learned at the fashion museum yesterday?”

“The museum was closed,” Paige tells me. “But I know how to do my research…I never go into an interview without a little something in my back pocket.”

“And that probably helped you to leave with a lot of clothes in the trunk as well,” Fran says. “I have a feeling if you’d gone the other direction in the scarf story, you’d not only come back empty-handed, but our seats at the Marc Jacobs fashion show would’ve been mysteriously lost as well.”

Tuesday’s big interview is at the Kate Spade studio, but once again, the designer is too busy to do an actual sit-down interview. She stops by where we’re filming in one of the design rooms to say a quick hello.

“I got my first Kate Spade handbag when I was twelve,” Paige tells her. “I begged and begged until my dad finally caved and got it for me. It was pink and camel and I love it to this day, even more so since it reminds me of my father.” Paige looks a bit sentimental but then shakes it off.

Kate puts her hand on Paige’s arm. “Thank you.”

“No,” Paige gushes. “
Thank you!
You are both a fabulous designer and a wonderful role model for young women like me and it’s an honor to meet you.”

Kate nods and smiles. “I hope someday we have time to meet up again. You tell your people to call me and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Good luck with your show!” Paige calls as Kate leaves.

“I’m not just gushing,” Paige says to the cameras. “Kate Spade is a genuine inspiration to any young woman who’s into fashion. She was born just a regular Midwestern girl, but blessed with talent and motivation, Kate got a job at
Mademoiselle
and worked her way up in the fashion world. And look where she is now. Some of you may not know that Kate Spade’s husband, Andy, is the brother of actor and comedian David Spade. In fact, Kate Spade bags were spotted on an old TV sitcom that David Spade starred in—a show that I used to adore called
Just Shoot Me.
” Paige winks at the camera. “I’m guessing that having Nina Van Horn toting a Kate Spade handbag didn’t hurt the sales any either.”

Paige isn’t too excited about Wednesday’s interview, and as a result she seems to be dragging her heels this morning. While Fran and I are having coffee downstairs at the hotel (waiting for Paige to come down), Fran tells me about today’s assignment. “She’s a designer named Paige who used to be a fit model.”

“What’s a
fit model
?”

“Someone with the kind of body that actually makes clothes look good.” Fran laughs. “And I don’t mean good as in hanging on a hanger good.”

“As in
not
stick thin?”

“That’s right. Paige Adams-Geller is a beautiful woman, but not the kind you normally see during Fashion Week. She’s five foot seven and has a curvy figure that most women would kill for. Basically, she’s not the tall underweight type of girl we’re used to watching on the runway. And she’s taken a fair amount of heat for it. But some people applaud her courage to be a real woman.”

“So she’s someone I could relate to?” I venture.

“Absolutely.” Fran laughs. “You and me both.”

“I think this sounds like a great interview. I mean, think about it, like ninety-eight percent of American women do not look anything like runway models. Or even the ones we see in print ads. And yet that’s what gets shoved at us all the time. I, for one, get tired of it.”

“I’m with you, Erin. Unfortunately, those are the images that sell fashion. Those are the images that drive our show. Trust me, no one would watch
On the Runway
if we didn’t have girls like Taylor Mitchell showing up.”

“But what’s wrong with having a fashion icon—if that’s what Paige is—who is like the rest of us once in a while?”

“Maybe nothing. But don’t get me wrong, this woman is
not
like the rest of us,” Fran corrects me. “She’s gorgeous. She’s won pageants and been on TV shows like
Baywatch.
This woman is definitely hot. But I suspect Paige—your sister, Paige—isn’t overly impressed with this Paige. And I wasn’t either at first. But when I read a little more about her, I thought it could be fun. It was Helen’s idea originally: she thought Paige on Paige sounded clever.”

So when Paige comes down and we load up into the town car, I try to talk this other Paige up. “I think she sounds very cool,” I tell my sister. “And I’m sure our viewers will appreciate seeing someone in fashion who’s not into anorexia.”