Catwalk (2 page)

So they shake hands and it’s like the green gauntlet’s been
thrown. And while I like that Paige is giving this a fair shot, I’m worried for Granada’s sake. I know my sister’s influence is growing. What if Paige humiliates Granada on our show? And, if she does, will it be my fault? Will I be to blame if green fashion goes backward in the minds of some of our viewers?

“I agree with you, Erin,” Blake tells me as
he drives us to our college fellowship group at church, “but I can see Paige’s side too. She’s all about style and if she compromises herself, well, it might weaken the show.”

“But there are all kinds of styles,” I argue.

“Absolutely. But your show—
On the Runway
—sets the fashion bar high, which your viewers now expect. And you have to hand it to Paige—she knows how to deliver.”

“Man, you sound just like Helen Hudson now.”

“Hey, thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I don’t admit that it was meant as a slam. “Maybe
you
should be a producer too,” I say teasingly.

I enjoy talking with Blake like this, but I’m still not sure that I’m doing the right thing by giving Blake another chance. I keep telling myself that if he breaks my heart again, I will walk away and never look back. I just hope I’m not fooling myself.

I know that my friend Lionel Stevens doesn’t think too highly of Blake. In fact, sometimes he’s downright rude—even
in fellowship group. Like last week, all three of us were talking and Lionel just walked away. It surprised me, because that’s not exactly how Jesus tells us to treat each other. What about forgiveness and second chances? Maybe Lionel is just being protective of me. Why are these things never simple?

“I wish I could be a producer.” Blake shakes his head. “I told my dad I was thinking about switching schools and changing my major to film and TV, and his face got so red, I thought he was going to have a stroke or something. He wouldn’t even speak to me. Then he had my mom inform me they don’t plan to support me for the rest of my life.”

“Ouch.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I guess I should be thankful for my mom.”

“Sure, but you’re an industry kid, Erin. You kind of grew up in TV land.”

I laugh. “That sounds like I’m stuck in some old rerun. Like maybe
The Beverly Hillbillies.
I used to be addicted to that show in grade school. Paige used to worry that Elly May was my role model.”

“I don’t mean TV Land the network, silly. I mean having parents who work in TV. With a news anchor dad and producer mom, you practically grew up on Channel Five news, so of course your mom would encourage you.” He pauses. “Your dad too…if he was alive.”

“Yeah…I sometimes wonder what he’d think of our show.”

“He’d be proud of you, Erin.”

As Blake pulls into the church parking lot I’m not so sure. Maybe Dad would be proud of Paige since she’s actually chasing her dreams. Dad used to tell us to dream big…and then to go after those dreams. As for me, well, I’m not even sure
what my dream is anymore. Recently it feels like I’m just tagging along with Paige while she pursues her dream career.

We get out of the car and I spot Tony and Mollie. We wave and call out, hurrying across the lot to catch up with them. I’m still feeling cautious about my “best” friend Mollie these days. It’s like something in her has changed these past few weeks. It’s kind of like she’s pushing me away, or keeping me at arm’s length. I know she’s been jealous over the show—she even admitted as much. Yet it’s hard to believe that would make her edge me out the way she has lately. And maybe she should get over it. I mean, I know she wants to break into acting, and that can be frustrating because it’s a cutthroat, competitive world. But if you suffer from jealousy or can’t take rejection, you should just get out.

“What’s up,
Runway
?" she says as we walk toward the church together. Tony and Blake are discussing the possibility of going to a Lakers game next week. I’ve been pretending I don’t mind the nickname she’s been calling me lately, but it’s starting to get old.

“Not much,
Commercial Queen
,” I jab back—as in
hint-hint.

But she just frowns. “That’s not funny.”

“Sorry.” I force a smile. “So, how’s it really going, Mollie? How’s school? How’s life?”

“Same as usual.”

“Any auditions?”

“Not really.”

Then, to change the subject and because I know she used to be into green fashion, I decide to tell her about Granada Ruez. I give her the quick rundown on Paige’s fashion snobbery and how I actually did the interview. “And get this,” I finally say. “Granada even invited me to be in her fashion show.”

Mollie laughs. “No way. Is she doing a show for short people? Maybe she’d like me to model too.”

Then I tell her about the lineup of professionals. “Talk about intimidating,” I admit. “I really wanted to back out when I heard who was in it.”

“Oh, that
would
be hard. I wonder why she wants
you
to model anyway. You think it’s just to get on your TV show?”

“Maybe, but she knows I’m a fan.” Okay, I hear Mollie’s jab plain and clear, but I know it’s probably just jealousy. “I suppose Granada
might’ve
been trying to win favors…or maybe she was just being nice.” Then I tell Mollie about Paige accepting Granada’s challenge. “So there’s a slim possibility that Paige will be in the fashion show too.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she says as we enter the building.

“Yeah, me too.” As we head into the fellowship hall I’m thinking maybe Mollie is back to her old self, or maybe I just imagined the whole chill-factor thing. But then our other friends come and gather around us. Suddenly they’re talking about the
Malibu Beach
show that Paige and I were on and the Golden Globes runway that we walked and, as I respond, Mollie sort of slinks off to the sidelines like she’s unwanted, which is perfectly ridiculous. And I think—what am I supposed to do right now? Just ignore everyone but Mollie? Tell them it’s none of their business and to take a hike? And why is Mollie acting so weird anyway? As if to make things worse, she sits down in the front, where we usually like to sit together, but only saves one seat for Tony, and by the time Blake and I sit down (after fielding questions from Paige’s fan club), the only seats left are clear in the back.

I know Christians aren’t perfect, but it seems like we
should be kinder to each other, and that we shouldn’t be too easily offended. Of course, even as I say this, I realize that I’m offended too. But I actually think I have a right to feel offended since Mollie, my supposed best friend, keeps treating me like this. The truth is I’m so offended that I can barely focus on the worship time now. But then, when we’re praying, I silently ask God to help me with Mollie…and for us to forgive each other if necessary. And it does seem necessary.

But as soon as the message ends and the meeting breaks up, Mollie and Tony just take off instead of sticking around for refreshments and fellowship. They don’t even say good-bye.

“What’s with them?” I ask Blake.

“Huh?” He pauses with a tortilla chip halfway to his mouth.

“Tony and Mollie. It’s like they just keep to themselves lately. I don’t get it.”

Blake just shrugs then bites into the chip. “Maybe they just needed to get home early.”

I nod like that might be it, but I’m thinking it’s probably not. My guess is that Mollie is punishing me. By shutting me out, I wonder if she thinks she’s teaching me a lesson.

So when I get home, I decide to just get this out into the open via email. I write my note quickly. I tell her that she’s hurt my feelings a lot lately, that it seems like we’re barely friends, and that I’d like to know what’s up. And then I hit send even more quickly. Of course, now I wonder…will the email come across all wrong and end up hurting Mollie? Was it too aggressive? Hopefully not, because it wasn’t my intent to hurt her. Still, hasn’t Mollie been hurting me? And intentionally too, it seems. The best thing is to just get it out there and
then deal with it. At least that’s how we used to handle our differences…

A couple days passed without a response from Mollie. At first I checked my email obsessively. Then I considered calling her, but I’d already tried to communicate with her. She obviously didn’t care whether or not we were still best friends. Maybe we’re not friends at all anymore. But it seems I have gotten so busy with the show that I don’t have much time to worry about it.

“I can’t believe there are this many top designers in LA,” I tell Paige as we go to yet another designer’s studio on Tuesday. It’s the last one of the day, and I hope we’re not too late.

“They’re all from the list that Helen sent Fran.” Paige grimaces as she turns onto a derelict street in what we already determined was a slightly questionable neighborhood.

“Who is this designer anyway?” I question. “Maybe I put the address in wrong.” I look at the GPS and then back at the paper in my hand. “Or maybe Fran’s assistant got it wrong. Although Leah usually gets everything right.”

“Apparently she got this right too.” Paige points ahead. “There’s the van. This is the place.”

“So who’s this George Mabin guy anyway? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Besides your buddy Granada, you’ve never heard of most designers, Erin. You barely know Valentino, Gucci, or Prada.”

“Maybe it’s because they don’t impress me that much.”

But once we’re inside, I quickly realize that I
am
impressed with George Mabin. His studio is one of the coolest I’ve seen. This guy is into color and graphics big-time. I pull out my
camera and start trying to catch everything I can while he and Paige talk about his designs. Every garment is like a work of art. Some look native with mixtures of animal prints and tribal designs. Others are more like modern art with colored blocks and angles. “My grandmother raised me,” he tells Paige during the interview segment. “She was really into African culture so her whole apartment was like this natural-art museum.”

“That must explain some of the items here in your studio,” Paige observes, motioning her hand to a white wall where a number of African artifacts—including large colorful shields, batik fabrics, and dramatic carvings—are displayed.

“My grandmother left everything she owned to me when she passed a few years ago. I like keeping it around me now.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Paige nods toward a rack of his latest designs—the ones he just gave us a sneak preview of. “But I’m guessing your grandmother’s influence is still going strong. Does it show up in your work?”

“Absolutely. She’s my inspiration. She’s the one who sent me to design school and helped me get started when it looked like a hopeless uphill battle.”

“Tell us about why you located your studio here…in this part of town.”

“Well, besides cheap real estate, you mean?” He grins. “You see, this neighborhood here, it’s also a part of my roots. Something I need to remember, because I got kind of rebellious as a teen. I thought I was so smart…and that my grandmother was overly protective. I started hanging with some really bad kids—gangbanger types, you know. Anyway, I got myself into some big trouble, which included juvenile detention for about a year…but it also gave me time to figure some things out.” He chuckles. “The best thing about the gang was doing graffiti.
It was my first experience with art and design, and I continued playing with it while I was in juvie. Then I got out and realized how much I loved art. And when my grandmother recognized I had talent, she encouraged me to really go for it.”

“Some people in the design world don’t take you seriously if you don’t live in New York,” Paige continues. It’s a lead-up to a question she’s asked all the LA designers. “What do you have to say to that?”

He nods. “I tried New York for a while, but it didn’t work for me. I had to come back here to get the creative juices flowing. And even if I miss out on some opportunities back East, I have to live my own life, you know. If I’m not happy, my designs aren’t happy either.”

With my camera, I zoom in on his face. His dark eyes are sparkling and it’s obvious that he’s totally passionate about his work, and that he enjoys his life. And I think—that’s what I want too. I want the career that makes me most happy. Will it always be filming for
On the Runway
? I doubt it. And yet I know there’s still a lot to be learned. I also think it’s going to be a process—a series of experiences—before I find out who I really am or what I’m really good at. But I do want to get there. I want to chase my dreams.

“George is a cool guy,” I say to Paige as she drives us home.

“And a good designer too. Not really my style, but I can see why he’s so popular.”

“So you can admit that good design reaches beyond your own personal taste and style?”

“Of course. I never said it didn’t.”

“But what about Granada Greenwear?”

“Like I told you, Erin, I don’t see
that
as good design. The kinds of clothes Granada makes wouldn’t look good on anybody. But George Mabin is different. His clothes look fantastic on the right women. Not me, I know. But you saw the photos in his studio. Those clothes, those women, those vibrant colors and dramatic styles…they were absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. I’m glad Helen put him on the list.”

I guess I’m not really surprised that Paige liked his designs. I should’ve known she can see past cultural differences and appreciate a really talented designer. But that only makes me more concerned about Granada Greenwear. Maybe Paige is right. Maybe that really isn’t good design. But I can’t think of anything worse than giving an eco-friendly designer a black eye on our show when, more than ever, I believe that we need to think more globally…and respect the planet.

When we preview this week’s show—the one
featuring local designers in their studios—I’m pleasantly surprised to see that Granada Greenwear has made the final cut. And although I don’t think I’m terribly brilliant at interviewing—I’m not the natural that my sister is, anyway—I think I did okay.

“Another great show,” Helen says as the lights come back on. “Good work, girls. And I think Paige stumbled onto something, Erin.”

“What’s that?”

“Letting you do the less-stylish fashion spots.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Helen just laughs as she leads the way out of the viewing room and toward the conference area where she’s asked us to reconvene. She’s not exactly a hands-on kind of producer. Mostly she’s the one who finds the money and works out the contracts with the networks—and she knows everyone who is anyone. But I know she likes to feel involved since this show was her baby to start with. “You girls know that any way we
can increase our viewership is okay with me. And our sponsors too.” She turns to one of the lesser producers, a young woman who’s worked her way up from an assistant position and seems a little unsure of her new role. “You should be looking for some sponsors who’ll appreciate our new global focus, Leslie.”

Leslie makes note of this as we settle around the big conference table, and the group of producers and assistants as well as Fran begin to chat amongst themselves about which companies to consider. Finally Helen turns back to us. “So, girls, how’s next week’s New York show coming together?”

“It’s looking great,” Paige tells her. “We’ve been working on a killer lineup, although I haven’t seen the final list yet.”

Helen turns to the director. “How many fashion shows do you plan to cover?”

“Well, as you know, the timing is perfect,” Fran explains. “With everyone getting geared for Fashion Week, there are some dress rehearsals going on around town. Right now I have about six shows to choose from. Unfortunately some of the dates overlap, so we’ll need to pick and choose.” Then she rattles off the list of designers and I realize that Granada Greenwear isn’t on it.

“Don’t forget Granada Ruez,” I remind her. “I’m actually going to be in that show. And maybe Paige too.”

Helen frowns. “Oh, I think that’s one we can safely leave off the list, Erin.”

“But I promised Granada,” I protest.

“Yes, but we only have so much time,” Fran points out.

“But what about green sponsors?” I question Helen. “Or about increasing our viewership?”

“And did you know that Sunera is going to be in Granada’s show?” Paige tosses me a bone here. “That alone makes it newsworthy, don’t you think?”

“Sunera Makewa?” Helen looks shocked. “She’s doing Granada’s show?”

“For free,” I add. I explain how the proceeds will benefit FIFTI. “So it’s actually a good cause too.”

“Okay.” Helen nods and both she and Fran make changes to their lists. “Granada Greenwear too. Good grief, you girls are going to be busy for the next week.”

“And then the following Thursday it’s off to New York—for the
real
Fashion Week,” Fran announces happily. “Leah’s already got it all booked.”

“That’s right,” Leah confirms. Leah just graduated from film school, something I barely started, and yet Leah’s job is pretty much to keep Paige and me comfortable and happy and successful. Fran’s made it clear numerous times that if we need anything, we call Leah and she will deliver. If I think about it too hard, it almost hurts my head. “I’ll email you the itinerary in a day or two,” Leah promises. “I’m still working on the hotel, which is a challenge to say the least. I’m hoping you won’t have to switch hotels midstream, but Fashion Week really ties that town into knots.”

“But Fashion Week doesn’t start until the following week,” Helen points out. “What’s the big rush?”

“I want the girls there early to interview the New York designers,” Fran explains.

Helen looks skeptical. “Do you seriously think the New York designers will give you the time of day during the week before their big event?”

“I’ve already talked to a couple of designers who are interested.” Fran looks down at her notebook. “I think we’ve got the Olsen twins on board too, right, Leah?”

Leah nods. “And I’ve got some good tips on some of the
newest and possibly hottest models, and I’m thinking they should be eager for some airtime. We’re lining up some of the morning news shows and—”

“Oh, I just remembered something.” Helen holds a finger in the air importantly. “My good friend Eva Perez has a daughter, Taylor Mitchell, who’s modeling in New York. And I want you girls to meet her and have her on the show.”

“You mean Eva Perez the singer?” Fran asks.

“That’s right.”

“So is Eva’s daughter any good as a model, or is this just a friendly goodwill gesture on your part?” Fran looks dubious.

“From what I hear, Taylor is considered to be quite good.”

“I know who that is,” Paige says suddenly. “Taylor Mitchell originally modeled exclusively for Dylan Marceau, not long after his debut. She was eighteen and just out of high school. But she quickly became such a hot commodity that she can work for anyone now. And, trust me, the girl is absolutely gorgeous—she does both print and runway.”

Helen smiles at Paige. “It’s lovely to know that someone is doing her homework.”

Paige beams at the compliment.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking, girls. What if you actually stayed in the apartment with Taylor and her roommate for a night or two? I mean stay there
with
cameras running, like a reality show—a day or two in the life of a supermodel. I ran this idea by Eva the other night at dinner, and she said that thanks to Taylor’s roommate’s healthy budget, the apartment is quite large and luxurious. At least according to Manhattan standards. So you should be comfortable.”

“Well, aside from the cameras running,” I say. “I assume they won’t be running twenty-four seven.”

“No, I’m sure they’ll let you use the bathroom in private.” Helen winks at me.

“Do you really think Taylor and her roommate would agree to this?”

“Eva confided to me that the roommate, the one whose parents actually own the apartment, really wants to make it in fashion. And that she’d probably be glad to have you girls there…if she can get some good airtime on your show. My guess is that Taylor will be okay since it was her mom who helped hatch this idea.”

Paige nods. “This could be awesome.”

“Now the plan is to do this
after
Fashion Week,” Helen explains. “The girls won’t be as busy by then, but it will still be a nice little slice of their life. Then we’ll run it as our follow-up show after the actual Fashion Week episode. And after that, we’ll zip you girls back here to do the red carpet at the Oscars. How does that sound?”

The truth is I think it all sounds rather exhausting. I can’t even wrap my mind around it. But Paige seems to take this, like the rest of this business, in stride, and I guess if she can keep up, I can too. After all, she’s the one with the most pressure to perform.

“And I think we can milk two or more episodes out of Fashion Week alone,” Fran is telling Helen now. “The first show will focus on the designers in their studios, the models as they prepare and all that. It will be a great buildup for the next show—the actual Fashion Week show.”

“Great!” Helen claps her hands. “We’ll get at least three shows out of New York then. Brilliant.”

Paige and I are kept über-busy during the following week, literally running all over town to attend the local fashion shows. But the payoff is that these events are actually a lot easier than the previous week when we were interviewing designers. Mostly our crew just films snippets of the shows. (We’re not allowed to film too much since it seems most designers suffer from a serious paranoia that someone is going to steal their designs.) Then Paige does some quick interviews behind the scenes. Meanwhile, I mostly hang out with my camera, try to look necessary, and practice filming.

But on Saturday morning, we have to make an appearance at Granada’s studio for our fitting session. This is to be followed by a dress rehearsal for the show, which is scheduled for Sunday afternoon—just one part of LA’s pre-Fashion-Week warm-up. As I park my Jeep with Paige fidgeting next to me, I realize the pressure is on. And everything could easily go wrong.

“I am not looking forward to this,” Paige warns me as we stand outside the studio, waiting for Lucinda to come and unlock the door so we can go inside.

“Just be a good sport,” I say.

“The hardest part is that I really don’t want to offend her.”

“Seriously?” I have to laugh at the ludicrousness of this. “Since when has that stopped you before?”

“Well, I like her. And I like the things she stands for too.”

Go figure. But it does give me hope. For Paige, that is. I’m not so sure about this fashion show. Soon we are inside where a number of the other models are trying on clothes, not including Sunera, who isn’t due to arrive until this evening.

“What? No cameras today?” Lucinda smiles as she hands
me several hangers’ worth of clothing, wrapped in what I’m guessing is a recycled sheet.

“We’ll save that for tomorrow,” Paige tells her.

“Granada wants you to meet her in back,” Lucinda says to Paige.

The room is buzzing with girls trying on outfits and cooperating with seamstresses and stylists. I learn that I’m only expected to model one ensemble, a huge relief because I doubt that I’d be coordinated enough to perform the quick changes I’ve seen models make during a fast-paced show. I’m sure Lucinda realizes that I’m slightly fashion-challenged, so she sticks around to help me and make sure I get the pieces on right.

“I love it,” I tell Lucinda when I emerge from the dressing room for my final inspection. The A-line skirt is made from recycled men’s ties that look like they’re from the fifties. It has an asymmetrical hemline that actually seems to make me look taller. And this is topped with a white blouse created with pieces of patchwork lace, again recycled fabric, with a pure organic cotton camisole underneath and a fitted black wool vest on top.

“That vest is made from a recycled sweater that was boiled to shrink the knit tightly like that,” Lucinda informs me. “And the buttons are from the forties.”

“I really love it,” I tell her as I look in the mirror. “I might have to buy the whole thing.”

She grins. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” Then she helps me with a red belt, which is made from a recycled seatbelt and old rodeo buckle. And my shoes are a pair of red Mary-Jane clogs made from hemp and vegetable dyed. I know Paige wouldn’t be caught dead in these shoes, but I think they’re fantastic. Not to mention comfortable.

“Well, I’m a happy camper,” I assure Lucinda. “If it’s okay, I’ll look around to see how the other models are doing.”

“And I’ll check on your sister.” Lucinda’s anxious expression is probably reflective of mine. “Hopefully it’s not going too badly.”

I walk around the room and am surprised to see that there’s really quite a variety of styles going on. Something for everyone. I even ask the models about how they like the garments and wish I had my camera as I hear, again and again, how comfortable, how breathable, how soft the materials are.

“I’m so used to suffering when I model,” a pale redhead tells me. “I just expect to be tortured during the fitting right up until the runway. But Granada’s clothes are delightful. I already have a few pieces in my closet and by tomorrow, I expect to have a few more.”

And so it goes. I decide that even if Paige hates her outfit, at least she can get some good quotes from the other models tomorrow. Then I hear Granada calling my name, and the next thing I know I’m ushered into the back room where Paige is wearing white linen pants—that fit perfectly—topped with a recycled lace blouse similar to mine, only longer and worn as a jacket, with a pale blue camisole underneath. Her sandals and low-slung belt are both made of natural hemp. I think she looks great.

“I love that outfit,” I tell her.

She nods at Granada. “I have to admit it’s really comfortable.”

“Something you could wear on an island vacation or just out to lunch with the girls,” Granada suggests.

“Or on the runway tomorrow.” Paige grins.

Granada’s brows lift. “So I’ve managed to convince you then?”

Paige fingers the lace on her blouse. “I won’t say I’m a total convert, but I guess green doesn’t have to be frumpy.”

“And you’ll do my show?” Granada looks hopeful.

“For sure.” Paige nods.

“And we’re pretty sure your fashion show will be on
Runway
next week,” I tell her.

“But we can’t make promises,” Paige reminds me. “That’s up to the editors.”

“But I pleaded your case,” I say.

Granada doesn’t seem concerned. “C’est la vie.”

I let out a sigh as Granada goes to check on something with one of the models. Catastrophe averted. Paige may never laud Granada Greenwear as
haute couture
, but at least she’s giving the line a fair shake.

We go through the paces of walking on the catwalk, and although Paige takes to it like a fish to water, it’s harder than I expected. Finally Granada tells me to simply be myself. “Just relax, Erin,” she urges me. “We’ll let the audience know that you’re not a pro.”

“Maybe she should carry her camera,” Paige teases. “That always puts her at ease.”

Granada nods. “Great idea. Erin, you will carry your video camera. And I’ll comment on that and how that’s part of your persona for your show. It’ll work just fine.”

“And Erin could even pretend to be shooting footage of the audience,” Paige suggests.

“Perfect.” Granada grins at Paige. “Very fun.”

“Only I won’t be pretending,” I tell them. “I’ll really be filming and maybe it’ll end up on next week’s show.” At least
that’s how I hope it will go. I suppose there’s always the possibility I could fall flat on my face. But at least we’re not wearing stilettos.

By the time Paige and I head home later in the day, we’re both feeling fairly positive about tomorrow’s fashion event. “It might even be fun,” I admit. “I really like the camera idea. Thanks for suggesting it.”