by Thérèse
“Shall we?” Alex answered, with a charmless nod, gesturing to the doorway.
India followed him down a labyrinth of backstage corridors into a spacious room with high ceilings and exposed brickwork. The place was buzzing with energy. Cocktail tables were being dragged into place, screens and scaffolding hauled onto a makeshift platform, and students were setting out pamphlets and exhibits for the silent auction.
“Let’s start with the red carpet area,” Alex said, steering her to the foyer where the sponsors’ company logos were displayed on step and repeat boards and lighting engineers were assembling cables.
“I thought you said ‘red’ carpet.” India laughed with a tilt of her head. “It may just be me, but that looks green.”
“The students voted to keep with the environmental awareness theme,” he answered humorlessly.
“Right.” India nodded.
“Entrance over there.” Alex pointed.
“Okay.” India nodded again.
“Ron and I will be looking after Annabelle Butler and Jean-Luc when you get here. We’ll get them on and off the carpet, a few autographs, plenty of shots, a couple of interviews and then backstage the way we’ve just come to the green room. They’ll put in a brief appearance at the end of the VIP reception, and then I’ll get them behind the curtain for the opening. After the show – that’ll be around nine thirty – I’ll give them five minutes backstage with students, ten minutes for comfort breaks, then through there for the after-party, more photographs, drinks and schmoozing. I’ll make sure the sponsors get plenty of one on one. We aim to have them both out of there by ten thirty at the latest.”
Alex checked his watch. “Any questions?” he asked, looking over her shoulder as a technician came toward him.
“What time do you need Luella?” she asked.
“You can get her here around seven twenty. Ron doesn’t want her first on the carpet. It’ll be good to have a bit of a buzz going.”
“Okay,” India said, “and then where?”
“You’ll take her through to the reception to meet and greet and then sit in the two reserved front-row seats at the right-hand side of the stage. I’ll show you. Let’s walk it through now.”
He turned and led India backstage and into the auditorium. “After Annabelle gives her closing speech, she’ll invite Luella up from here and introduce her,” he said pointing out the seats. “Luella will make her speech, then Annabelle will hand her the LIFT award to present to the winning student. Annabelle will thank her. She’ll stay onstage until Jean-Luc has given his award. Applause and then all exit stage left.”
“Okay. So, let me get this straight. Red…sorry, green carpet, backstage, seated, speech, then she hands out the LIFT award, stays onstage until they all get signal to leave stage left.”
“Yes. Are we done?” he asked, pulling out his phone. “I have a gazillion things to be doing.”
We’re SO done, India thought. She nodded.
Alex walked away as if India had suddenly become invisible.
India spotted Annabelle sitting in the back row of the theater talking with a group of students and went across. “Ready?” she said. “Are you needed for anything more?”
“Not sure, darling.”
India ran over to Ron and signaled to him. He jumped down from a plinth where he had been adjusting an installation and wiped a line of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Do you have Luella’s call sheet?” he asked.
“Yes. I just walked it through with Alex. It’s all pretty straightforward.”
“Great,” he said.
“Do you need Annabelle for anything else?”
“No. Let me check in with her to see if she needs anything more.”
Taking the steps two at a time, he reached Annabelle. “Thanks for your patience just now,” he said.
“Always.” Annabelle smiled graciously. “Be gentle with them. Remember, they’re kids. Am I free to go?”
“Yes. You are. Thanks again. See you tomorrow.”
Settling back in the car on the way from the theater, Annie turned to India. “That was fun. Where shall we go for dinner? I hear there are some great restaurants in Brooklyn; shall I ask Tess to find us one?”
“How about we go to The Greenwich?” India said. “Luella’s arriving there tonight, and I could leave her schedule at the desk.”
“Okay. Let me call Tess and have her reserve us a couch. We’ll eat in the sitting room; it’ll be more private.”
India checked her makeup in a hand mirror as they drew up to the hotel. “I feel like a toe rag,” she said. “The time difference is catching up with me.”
“You’ll feel better when you’ve had something to eat,” Annabelle answered, taking the mirror from her and touching up her lipstick. “We’ll make it an early night. We’ve a long day tomorrow. I’m so proud of you, darling. This is going to be such a great event.”
Waking up early the morning of the show, India crept out of their suite and left Annabelle to sleep on. After a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and coffee in the gloriously elegant hotel dining room, she moved into a quiet sitting area to a sofa and pulled out her computer and cell phone.
She called Samantha and Patricia, had a long conversation with Rebecca, and double-checked with Henry that everything was on track at his end. She was relieved to hear that Jean-Luc was already in town. He was staying at the Soho House.
How much simpler is all this? India thought, remembering the many school productions she had directed virtually single-handed. Now, with hours to spare, she even had time to get a manicure and have her hair blown out. She was planning on wearing her little black dress and the black patent Louboutins she hadn’t worn since she was in LA.
Making sure that Annabelle had all she needed and that her driver was booked, India headed downtown to wait to meet and brief Luella at The Greenwich. Two hours later, she was still waiting.
Damn it. I knew she was cutting it close, but where is she? she thought, drumming her hand against a chair, then turning and walking back through the sitting room and pacing up and down the adjoining courtyard for a few more minutes before calling Henry again.
“The plane’s landed; it was on time but Luella’s still not picking up,” she told him.
“Have you tried calling the driver?” he said.
“He’s not answering either. Henry, I’ve been waiting here for hours. If we don’t leave soon we’re going to miss the red carpet.”
“This isn’t at all like her,” Henry said, his voice tight with strain.
“All I have is the text last night saying she was getting the later flight,” India said, sitting down on a wicker chair.
“This is not Luella’s style. What time is it now?”
“Ten past six.”
“Shit. Okay. You keep trying the car. I’ll have Samantha check to see if she got on the plane. If she’s still not there by six thirty, text her to come straight to the theater and you jump in a cab and get here.”
Half an hour later India sat in the back of a yellow cab checking her cell repeatedly and then gazing out of the window at a loss for a plan. There was still no word from Luella. She leapt out of the cab when they reached the theater, dashed through the backstage door and flew up the stairs in search of Henry, who was nowhere to be seen. She ran back downstairs onto the street past the crowd waiting in line.
“Let me through, please,” she said, pushing her way through the doorway and waving to Joanne who escorted her through to the red carpet area. At that moment, a flurry of whirring lights signaled the arrival of Jean-Luc. India watched him stride forward and pose theatrically. He was bare-chested under a faux fur vest, his arm muscles glistening with his signature tattoos. His hands were thrust into black harem pants cut several inches above his black canvas sandals. Photographers leaned into the crash barriers yelling for him to face them as they fired off their cameras. “Over Her
e Jean-Luc.”
“Jean-Luc.”
“Jean-Luc.”
There was a riot of excitement as Annabelle strolled down to join him wearing a Stella McCartney lace evening gown, the iridescent red bouncing in the Chimera lighting. India caught her breath. Her sister was transcendentally beautiful, her skin translucent, her back a sinuous curve as she turned and posed. Then after checking her phone yet again, India watched as the other VIPs were shepherded onto the carpet.
At last, she spotted Henry sidestepping through the crowd, coming toward her.
“Where the fuck IS she?” he whispered.
India shook her head. “No idea.”
“Well, keep trying. We have another couple of hours before this gets serious. I’ve told Joanne not to move from the backstage entrance. You stay here. I’ll go sweet talk the sponsors at the reception.”
“Okay,” she said. “If she isn’t here by the time the show starts, what shall I do?”
“I’ll text you. Let’s hope she makes it by then. What the fuck?” he muttered. “I’m starting to get really worried. It’s so out of character.”
This is such a drag, India thought. I could slaughter a glass of wine. Fat chance now. She stood waiting as the last of the students were photographed and the carpet area stood eerily empty. She leaned against the wall as the foyer filled up with people jostling at will-call and watched as the last of the guests filed into the auditorium and the doors finally closed.
She texted Henry. No sign of her.
His reply came back seconds later. She didn’t get on the plane. Come to the green room. We need to talk.
India made her way backstage, whispering her apologies as she squeezed past the models crushed together waiting nervously for the opening signal. She reached the green room as the house lights went down.
“Close the door,” Henry said.
“What’s going on? Do you know where she is? Is she okay?” India whispered.
“She’s okay,” he said. “It’s Peter, her husband.”
“What about him?”
Henry lowered his voice. “He tried to commit suicide.”
India’s mouth fell open in horror. “How awful. Is he okay?”
“I can’t say. India, we mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“Of course. I won’t say anything, even to Annie.”
“Good. Luella was on her way to the airport when she got the call. She changed for a later flight. When she got to the hospital and found out how serious things were, she couldn’t leave.”
“So why didn’t she tell us sooner?”
“India, I don’t think she’s thinking straight.”
“Of course. Of course not. How stupid of me. Sorry, I’m still a bit shocked myself. What an awful thing. I do hope he’s okay.”
“I haven’t had any more news through yet.”
“So what do we do?”
“This is what’s going to happen. You are going to make the speech and give the award on Luella’s behalf.”
India looked at him, stunned. “I’m what?” she gasped. “No way. Why me? There must be someone else. Why not YOU?”
“I’ve talked to Ron and he agrees. You know what Luella was going to say. You helped her draft the speech. We’ve adapted it here,” he said, handing her a sheet of paper from the table next to him.
India began to feel queasy. Henry continued. “Annabelle will explain why you’re standing in and introduce you. Ron has already given her the wire. She’ll be there with you. You won’t be on your own onstage.”
“Henry, there are almost seven hundred people out there. I am terrified of public speaking. I’ve not had a rehearsal. I couldn’t possibly.”
“Come on, India. It’s only a student fashion show. It’s not the Oscars.”
“But it’s being filmed. It’s being streamed to LA and to Paris and London.”
“So?”
“Apart from anything else, I’m not dressed for it.”
“That’s easily fixed,” he said. “I’m taking you through to wardrobe right now. Come on, India. You can do it. You haven’t any choice. We need you, I need you,” he said pulling her out of the chair and leading her by the hand down the corridor.
India felt distinctly-light headed. This can’t be happening, she thought. Please tell me this isn’t happening.
Jean-Luc was holding the microphone and still speaking as India slid into Luella’s seat at the end of the front row a little while later.
“As you know, this event…to promote the innovation of young fashion students is the culmination of months of…and the collaboration…with…the students who produced that last incredibly creative collection. Please give them another round of applause…Now welcome the…”
India barely heard his remarks. She was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The whalebone corset in her gown was cutting into her ribs and was altogether too tight around her middle. Her hair had been caught up in a tight topknot with tendrils and her toes were squashed into wrongly sized pumps.
Aiming her cell phone light at the crumpled piece of paper on her lap, she blew on a ringlet and attempted to familiarize herself with what had been written for her. This is agony. I’d rather do another fire-walk, a bungee jump, anything other than stand up there and make a speech. I think I’m going to die, she thought as the electronic dance music heralded the eveningwear collection.
India watched the students stomping to the rhythmic beat of Paul Van Dyke’s Purple Haze modeling asymmetric designs, biker boots and balloon gowns made from recycled wood fibers. I can’t see these at a Beverly-Wilshire gala anytime soon, she thought. What’s next?
Scrutinizing her program, she saw that it was the men’s collection…the men’s collection…men’s collection? Why did that ring a bell? Shit, she thought. Ah! Yes. Luella was supposed to be onstage right after the men’s collection.
The pulsing rhythm gave way to a solitary Indian flute and six male students, their faces invisible behind Native American war paint, walked across the stage against images of the Appalachian mountain range.
Okay. What did Alex tell me? she thought, gripping the sides of her seat. Okay…carpet, backstage, seated…speech, then she hands out LIFT award, stays onstage until they all get signal to leave stage left.
India saw Ron crouched down and coming toward her from the side aisle. I can’t do this. I can’t do this, she thought.
“India,” he whispered. “Come with me. Annabelle is going to introduce you in about five minutes.”
These are going to be the worst five minutes of my life, she thought struggling to stand up and then smoothing down her gown.
Standing in the wings, Annabelle caught her eye. “You’ll be great,” she mouthed.
I will, won’t I? she thought. India Butler, you walked on fire, you went on The View…shit, you froze on The View. You died…but you DID walk on fire.
India took a deep breath. She could feel an elbow steadying her and then suddenly she was onstage, blinded for a moment by the Klieg lights, her heart pounding in her chest. Where was the audience? She couldn’t see anything beyond the edge of the stage.
Annabelle smiled at her. “Take a breath, darling. Smile. You’ll be fine,” she whispered as the measured beat of Mon Legionnaire filled the room and the models began to cross the stage and strut up the central aisle of the theater. Black and white images of a chain-smoking Serge Gainsbourg flashed up on the screens as half- clothed male dancers performed a stylized routine against the backdrop of a derelict warehouse. The audience rose to its feet and began clapping along to the music and, after a rousing applause, took their seats again as the house lights went up.
India saw the sea of expectant faces in front of her. I think I preferred the dark, she thought.
Annabelle stepped forward. “I think you will all agree with me that this has been a spectacular evening.”
This was greeted by thunderous applause.
“As you know, this design work has been inspired by a novel written by the much loved writer Luella Marchmont. Sadly Miss Marchmont is unable to be with us tonight to give the LIFT Award.”
India was trembling now. She leaned on the side of the podium, clinging onto her script.
“Stepping in for her tonight is the education consultant to the project. She is Luella’s friend and most important of all, she is my sister.” She paused. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the beautiful India Butler.”
Annabelle hugged India and kissed her on the cheek. “You’ll be great,” she whispered.
India stepped forward as the applause died down.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice aquiver. “Miss Marchmont is extremely sorry she can’t be with us tonight. She was honored to have been asked to present the LIFT award and delighted that Faux Fashion has inspired this stunning show.”
She hesitated and looked around her, reminded of the many presentations she had made at school productions. I can do this, she thought, putting her notes down on the podium and looking at the tense faces of the students assembled at the foot of the stage waiting to hear the name of the winner. She smiled.
“Over the last few months it has been my privilege to get to know many of you and to see the incredible work you have all produced.” Her voice was steady now.
“Your discipline, innovation, and creativity have inspired me. I salute your talent. I am looking at design through new eyes. We have all learned so much about ethical, cruelty-free fashion. All the work here tonight deserves the utmost praise. Let me read Luella’s message of congratulations to you all.”
India picked up her notes again and read Luella’s closing remarks. Pausing, she looked up. “And now, I would like to announce the winner.”
She opened the envelope, pulled out the card, and waited. The room was deathly silent, tense with expectation. India paused again, deliberately extending the suspense of the moment.
“Georgia Pullman.”
A whoop of delight and a shriek came from the stalls.
