Dylan’s show begins with Taylor Mitchell striding out in a brown velvet ensemble of fitted pants and a gorgeous jacket. At the end of the runway, she gracefully removes the flowing jacket to reveal a gold satin blouse beneath. The belt, accessories, boots—all is perfection. And the crowd shows their approval with applause. Model after model comes out, quickly making her way up and down the runway, never missing a beat. And each outfit is fantastic. Okay, maybe not clothes I’d be comfortable in, but not over-the-top either. And I’ve learned enough about design to know that runway fashion is not the same as off-the-rack fashion. These clothes are a dramatized exaggeration of what will be available to retailers soon, but even still, as I watch this show I’m thinking Dylan Marceau might be my favorite designer. Sure, some of his outfits, like the peacock cocktail dress with feathers everywhere, are a little weird, but a lot of them could be fun to wear. All in all, I can only assume that his show is a success. When he finally emerges, to thundering applause, walking the runway with Taylor at his side, it’s obvious that he’s pleased.
Paige manages to get some of the models, including Taylor, in front of the camera as she discusses their outfits. I mostly just watch, wondering how my sister manages to come up with so many questions and comments without ever sounding redundant.
“Okay,” she says to JJ. “I think we’ve got enough, don’t you?”
He nods and lowers his camera. “Unless you want me to come with you to the after party.”
Paige just laughs. “No, thank you.”
“Then I’ll head outside and see what kind of candid spots I can catch.”
“Great idea.”
“And I told Fran I’d meet up with her at the salon,” he adds. “She thought she might be able to get a press pass.”
The after party is at a nearby hotel, but when I call for our town car, the driver tells me that traffic is too jammed to get through. “It’ll be at least an hour to get in,” he explains, “and it could be another hour to get you to the hotel.” I ask him to hold, then relay this to Paige.
“Two hours to go like eight blocks?”
I just nod.
She frowns. “I guess we’ll just have to hoof it.”
I look down at my red Pradas, which are already starting to make my feet ache. I cannot imagine walking eight New York blocks right now. “Are you sure?”
“What else can we do?”
“A cab?” I nod over to where a number of cabs are lined up.
“Those are either engaged or waiting. And even if we got one, they would be stuck in traffic too.”
I shake my head. “Next time I’m bringing some walking shoes to change into.”
“That’s not a bad idea. Well, unless a camera catches us. That wouldn’t be too pretty.” Paige points toward 42nd Street. “That way.”
We’ve only gone a block and I know I won’t make it in these shoes. I’m about to beg Paige to call for our town car even if it does mean an hour-long wait, but then I see a street vendor who is selling, among other things, rubber flip-flops. I practically run to him, opening my purse and happily plunking down fifteen dollars for footwear that’s probably worth two bucks. Paige laughs at me as I do a quick shoe switch. But she’s not laughing seven blocks later when she starts complaining that her feet are now screaming at her.
It’s nearly nine o’clock when we make it to the hotel, but Paige doesn’t want to go up to the party yet. “It’s probably barely even started,” she tells me.
“I don’t care,” I protest. “I just want to sit down and put my feet up.”
“Let’s go use the restroom, freshen up, and get a coffee first.” She frowns at my flip-flops. “And get rid of those things before someone sees us.”
So I comply with Paige’s wishes, but instead of dumping the flip-flops like Paige wants, I hide them behind the trash can just in case I need them later. We manage to kill more time drinking coffee and I even have the foresight to call and ask for the town car to pick us up at midnight, although Paige insists that’s too early.
Finally it’s 9:45 and Paige thinks it’s okay to go up. As it turns out, she was right. The party does seem to be just beginning as people are trickling in. But Paige immediately finds someone and starts chatting and schmoozing—almost as if she thinks she’s on camera still—while I try not to look too awkward as I stand beside her. We continue to move around, “working the room,” as she says. And, although I’m tired and just want to kick back a little, I soon realize there aren’t too many places left to sit. The few chairs available are near people significantly older than I am, so I know I’ll look like a serious party pooper if I join them.
It doesn’t take long to figure out that this party is mostly about being seen. I notice there are a few cameras here and I wonder why we didn’t have JJ come too. After an hour or so, Dylan spots us and waves. Then, to my surprise, he comes right over. He takes Paige’s hands in his and they exchange air kisses as she congratulates him on his show. And then, to my huge relief, he invites us to join him at his table, where there are chairs.
Champagne is flowing and I don’t throw a hissy fit when Paige accepts a glass. And to show I’m a good sport, I accept a glass too. But I mostly just pretend to sip it. I really don’t like the taste anyway.
“Hey, everyone,” says Taylor Mitchell as she and two other beautiful girls come to our table. “Room for more?”
“Always for you girls,” Dylan tells her. Then he waves to one of the waiters, asking him to round up three more chairs.
“This is my best friend, DJ,” Taylor says as they sit down with us. “Her grandmother is Katherine Carter—”
“You’re Katherine Carter’s granddaughter!” Paige exclaims as she shakes DJ’s hand. “You’re a professional model too, right?”
DJ kind of shrugs. “Not really. I mean, I’ve done some work, but I’m mostly a student now.”
“We’re trying to talk her into coming back to New York this summer,” Taylor says. “She has no problem finding work.”
“And you don’t want to do that?” Paige looks shocked.
DJ looks uncomfortable now, like this isn’t really her thing. I think maybe I can relate to this girl. Then Taylor introduces us to her roommate, Eliza Wilton.
“And you’re a model too.” Paige smiles at her.
“I am for now,” Eliza says lightly. “I hear you girls are going to stay with us for a day or two after Fashion Week.”
Paige talks a bit about our show now and what she’d like to accomplish when we’re at their apartment. “Kind of a day in the life of a model sort of thing,” she says finally. And then they’re all talking about Dylan’s brilliant show tonight and congratulating him on his fall lineup. I realize that DJ, who’s sitting next to me, doesn’t seem to be fully engaged in this conversation. Of course, I’m not either.
“So, let me guess,” I say to her. “You’re not as into fashion as Taylor and Eliza?”
She laughs. “Is it that obvious?”
“Maybe it’s just that I can relate.”
She looks curiously at me. “You’re not into it either? What about your TV show?”
I shake my head. “I’m doing that for my sister’s sake. Anyway, mostly I signed on to be the camera girl.” I make a face. “That was the producer’s idea. A way to get both of us on the show. A sister act, you know.”
“Very clever.”
“The truth is I’m really much more interested in photography.” Then I tell her about UCLA and how it was hard to give it up in exchange for the show.
“That’s exactly how I feel about school. Taylor didn’t want me to leave New York last fall, but by the end of summer I was so sick of fashion and modeling, I couldn’t wait to get back to a normal life.”
“That’s how I feel a lot of the time. But I have to admit I’m getting some good experience. I even got to shoot all the footage when we did Dylan’s studio. It was pretty fun.”
DJ and I talk some more and I learn that she attends
a small college in Connecticut and that she has a boyfriend. I also learn that both she and Taylor are Christians, and can’t help but be a little stunned.
“That surprises you?” she asks.
“Well, I just didn’t expect to discover too many believers in the fashion industry.”
“That’s kind of true. But Taylor is sincere in her faith. And I think she’s making an impression. She’ll talk to anyone about God and most of the time, people listen. It’s really cool.”
I nod. “Definitely.”
We continue to talk and I realize that I really like this girl. She’s grounded and smart and, like me, she takes her faith seriously. Finally, the party seems to be winding down and Taylor and her friends are getting ready to leave, which I use as a cue to get Paige to go too.
“Are you going to be at Taylor’s when we come to stay?” Paige asks DJ as we’re going down the elevator together.
“No, I’ll be back at school.”
“I could barely talk her into coming for Dylan’s show,” Taylor admits. “In fact, I had to get her grandmother involved.”
DJ laughs. “Yes, Taylor enticed my grandmother to come for the Ralph Lauren show tomorrow, then used that to get me to commit to come too.”
“So, we’ll see you tomorrow then,” Paige says as we go into the lobby.
“Grandmother and I will be there,” DJ promises. “Front row seats.”
“Mrs. Carter is an old friend of Ralph Lauren,” Eliza explains.
“Mrs. Carter is an old friend of almost anyone in the fashion industry,” Taylor adds. “Well, unless they’re too new. Although, Dylan is new and she somehow connected with him.”
“Well, I would love to meet Mrs. Carter,” Paige says. “Do you think she’d be willing to be on our show?”
DJ laughs. “Are you kidding?”
Taylor nods. “Oh, yeah, you won’t have to twist her arm much.”
“And the old girl can tell some stories,” Eliza adds.
So we part ways, and to my relief our town car has made it through traffic and is outside waiting for us. And although the streets are still clogged with taxis and limos and town cars, we manage to make it to our hotel before one. And, really, the after party turned out to be better than expected—and getting to know Taylor and DJ was the best part.
Chapter 15
The Ralph Lauren show is also in the tent, but this time it’s an afternoon show. This time I think to pack a pair of walking shoes in my oversized bag. And since it’s an afternoon event—with no after party—we dress a bit more casually. At least I do, wearing pants today. Paige still looks like she could be meeting the queen in a sleek navy dress and matching coat along with navy and white spectator pumps—all Prada. But unless there’s a beach or a picnic involved, Paige rarely does casual.
After the show, which is very good, Fran gets an idea. “Let’s invite Mrs. Carter and anyone else who’s free to come to lunch with us,” she suggests. Everyone is milling around now, chatting and doing closer inspections of the models’ outfits. Fran nods to Paige as she’s reaching for her phone. “I’ll see what I can set up while you girls go talk to Mrs. Carter and her granddaughter.”
Paige and I work our way through the crowd to where Mrs. Carter, a white-haired woman dressed impeccably in a pale blue suit with a striped pastel scarf draped around her neck, seems to be holding court with a small group of fashion freaks. Okay, I’m trying not to think in such negative terms, but it does get overwhelming.
As she’s talking, Mrs. Carter seems to notice Paige and smiles directly at her, then waves us to come over and join her. DJ introduced us before the show, and I could tell Mrs. Carter was interested in our TV series.
“Paige Forrester,” Mrs. Carter calls out, “come over here, darling. You and your sister. I’d like you to meet some friends.” And just like that, we’re being introduced to the current editor-in-chief of Couture and a couple of editors from other fashion magazines. I’m thinking this would’ve been a great scene to include in our show and that it’s too bad we didn’t have a press pass to allow some of our crew in here. Or even me with my camera. But at least JJ is outside, waiting for us. Paige kept him busy for much of the morning doing spots with anyone who seemed interested in getting face time on TV.
“I know this is very last minute,” Paige jumps in after the editors have moved along. “But we wondered if you and DJ might like to join us for lunch, Mrs. Carter.”
“That sounds delightful,” she tells her. “I already made a reservation at our hotel, but I asked for a large table just in case I ran into friends today. I’d be happy to share it if that works for you.” Then she tells us the name of the hotel—it’s the same one we’re staying in.
“You’re welcome to ride with us,” Paige offers, “but our camera guy will be along too. So, unless you’re opposed to being on our show, there could be some filming.”
Mrs. Carter laughs. “Well, if you can stand to have my old face on your show, I’m happy to oblige.”
“I have so many questions for you,” Paige bubbles. “You’re such a fashion icon and you know everything and everybody.”
Mrs. Carter waves her hand, but I suspect she’s flattered. DJ actually winks at me, as if to indicate that her grandmother is eating this up. And before long we’re loaded into the limo, and JJ is sitting across from Paige and Mrs. Carter as they have what seems like just a casual and candid conversation while they’re leaving the Ralph Lauren show.
Paige asks the standard questions about Mrs. Carter’s background, her years as a professional model, and her position as editor-in-chief at Couture.
“Yes, I had thought I was retired,” Mrs. Carter says as she reaches for her granddaughter’s hand. “But then Desiree’s—I mean DJ’s, she doesn’t really like being called Desiree…As I was saying, DJ’s mother was killed in a car accident and DJ came to live with me. I saw this gorgeous young girl and I knew that she had real model potential. Not just because she is tall and pretty, but she has the bone structure and, when she stands up straight, the posture and stance. And I knew this girl could really be something.”
DJ laughs so loudly that she snorts. “Except for the small hitch that this girl didn’t really want to be a model.”
“That’s true.” Mrs. Carter nods sadly, as if she’s still getting over this. “But I do understand. DJ marches to her own drummer and that’s okay. She’s a wonderful granddaughter and I couldn’t be prouder of her.”
“But you had other girls living in your home too, is that right?” Paige continues.
“Yes. Because of my hopes to groom DJ into—well, you know how that went. And because some other situations arose where other teenage girls had a need for housing, and I had this overly large Victorian home in Connecticut…well, it just seemed to fall into place. So a couple of years ago, I took five other young women into my home.”
“You had six teenage girls under one roof?” Paige looks shocked.
Mrs. Carter laughs. “It’s true. I had no idea what I was getting into.” Mrs. Carter and DJ take turns regaling us with wild tales of the goings on at Carter House and how the Carter House girls made quite a name for themselves in the local high school. It’s good entertainment. And it makes the hour-long car ride (through snail’s-pace traffic) pass quickly.
The stories continue on through lunch, only now I’m the one behind the camera—attempting to be discreet as I capture this conversation, which Fran is hoping might fill up an entire episode of On the Runway. Then, just as we’re considering dessert and coffee, Taylor joins us, and the stories not only continue, but become much more colorful too. It ends up being a three-hour lunch, but as we’re heading off to our rooms, it seems that we’ve all enjoyed it.
On Sunday morning, we do the Marc Jacobs show. This time, our camera guys have press passes and Paige manages to get some pretty hot off-the-cuff interviews, which pleases Fran immensely.
Then on Monday morning it’s cold and drizzly and we get in our town ca
r and head over to a small studio on the edge of the garment district, apparently owned by a designer who’s not having a show for Fashion Week, and there we meet Rhiannon Farley. We already know that Rhiannon is a former Carter House girl and that she is much loved by DJ, Taylor, and Mrs. Carter. We also know that Rhiannon wants to be a designer and that her mother recently died of a drug overdose.
Rhiannon is the one who lets us into the studio, explaining that she’s the only one here today. “The others are trying to take in as much of Fashion Week as possible.”
“Did we keep you from that?” Paige asks as we go inside.
“No, not really. I mean, I’ll go to some of the shows—our school gets passes and we’re expected to attend. But I hadn’t planned to go to all of them. It’s too overwhelming, not to mention impossible.” Rhiannon looks at us with a puzzled brow and I can tell she wonders why we’re here.
“I’m sorry,” Paige says quickly to recover. Then she goes into a brief introduction and asks if it’s okay for me to use my camera.
Rhiannon still looks confused. “Why?”
Paige reaches in her pocket and hands Rhiannon a card. “I forgot to mention that we’re from—”
“On the Runway?” Rhiannon’s jaw literally drops. “I’ve heard of this show and I’ve been wanting to see it, but I don’t have a TV in my dorm room. Are you really from this show?”
Paige smiles and nods. “And if it’s okay with you, Erin will begin filming until the camera crew arrives. We’d like to do an episode about young designers and what it takes to make it, and we want to feature you.”
“Me?” Rhiannon looks stunned. “Why?”
“Because we’ve heard you’re really talented.” Paige explains what Taylor and Mrs. Carter had said, and then Fran gets Rhiannon to sign the release form. But I can tell she’s still shocked by all this, and I’m wondering if it would’ve been better to give this poor girl some warning. I mean, what if she wore an outfit she hates today? Although she looks great in her short plaid skirt, black tights, and a lacy white blouse, which I’m guessing might be one of her own creations.
Catwalk Page 12
