“I suppose that’s a possibility. But usually there’s a grain of truth in their stories. Even if it is twisted.”
“The truth is probably that Eliza wishes she could get Dylan.”
Paige opens her fashion magazine, flipping through the pages so quickly, I’m sure she’s not even looking. I have nothing more to say, so I pull my book from my bag. I started Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice a couple of days ago and, although the book was written two centuries ago, I’m surprised at how relevant it still is today. In fact, in some ways the two older sisters—Jane and Elizabeth—remind me of Paige and me. Well, except that Jane (the pretty sister and the one who would be Paige) is quite shy. My sister is anything but shy.
It’s a little past six when we collect our bags in JFK, and we’re on our way to our town car when Paige stops in her tracks, pointing toward the doors. And there is Dylan, waving at her.
“Did you know he was meeting your flight?” Mom asks her.
“No.” Paige looks uncertain. “What do I do?”
“It’s up to you,” Mom says calmly.
When we reach the doors, Dylan is smiling. “I have a cab waiting,” he tells Paige.
“Our town car is already here,” Paige replies in a snooty tone.
His disappointment is obvious. “Oh …”
Mom and I exchange stilted greetings with him as we make our way out to the crowded sidewalk, where passengers are securing transportation. I wave to the driver who is holding a sign that says Forrester. “There’s our ride,” I tell Mom. Meanwhile Dylan just stands with his hands in his pockets, looking at Paige with sad eyes. I can’t help but feel sorry for him. He looks so clueless.
“Let me help with that.” Dylan grabs the luggage cart from me. The next thing we know, he’s helping our driver load our bags into the trunk of the town car. Paige is just getting in the car when Dylan stops her, grabbing her by the hand. “Can I take you to dinner?” he asks hopefully. “I made reservations at Babbo —”
“We need to talk,” she says in a chilly voice.
“I know.” He glances at Mom and me uncomfortably.
Mom and I get into the back of the car, and Mom closes the door to give them privacy. “Don’t leave yet,” she tells the driver. “Give us a couple more minutes.”
“This is so awkward,” I whisper. Mom just nods. Then we sit and try not to stare as Dylan and Paige exchange words.
Finally Paige opens the door. “I guess I’m going with him,” she says in a grumpy voice.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “You know you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
She shrugs. “No, it’s okay. I want to. We might as well hash it all out.” She makes a smirk. “Besides it’s Babbo. How can I resist?”
“Have fun,” I say in a teasing tone.
“Don’t be out too late,” Mom warns. Then she smiles. “Remember we have the interview with Rhiannon in the morning. And morning comes early on East-Coast time.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Paige nods and waves. “Don’t worry. I won’t be out late.”
Mom tells the driver we’re ready to leave and confirms which hotel we’re going to. I think that this isn’t all that different from how Fran would handle things.
“Ah, New York,” Mom sighs. “If you’d told me three weeks ago that I’d be here today I wouldn’t have believed it.”
“So you’re not sorry you quit Channel Five?” I ask.
She laughs. “Not even a little. I didn’t realize until my last day how much stress was tied up in that job.”
“This one’s not exactly stress-free,” I remind her. “Yes, but it’s a different kind of stress. It’s stress with benefits.”
“Right …” I look out to where the traffic has come to a complete standstill. “So, what do you think about Paige and Dylan?”
She shrugs. “I have no idea what to think. I just hope Paige gets to the bottom of this. If Dylan is truly innocent, it seems cruel to make him suffer.”
“Do you think he’s innocent?”
Mom frowns. “I’m not sure. At first I thought he wasn’t. But he’s made such an effort to win Paige back. I honestly don’t know.”
We eventually make it to our hotel. I had expected New York to be less busy since it’s not Fashion Week, but the city is a beehive of activity. After we’re checked in and somewhat unpacked, Mom and I decide to see if we can find a restaurant within walking distance. The concierge makes a couple of calls and it’s a little before nine when we’re seated in a French bistro only a block away. The food is excellent and Mom even orders a glass of wine.
As we eat, we compare notes on Paris. All in all it’s a fun evening, and although Mom feels a bit sad that Paige isn’t here, I enjoy having my mom to myself for a change.
Afterward, as we’re going into the hotel lobby, we spy Dylan and Paige sitting with their heads bent together in the hotel lounge.
“She’d better not be drinking,” Mom says sharply.
I peer closely and see that Paige has a cup and saucer in front of her. “I think it’s just coffee,” I assure Mom.
“Good.”
When we get to our rooms—Paige and I are sharing a suite that’s adjoined to Mom’s room — I promise to keep tabs on Paige and make sure she gets to bed on time. I also think this is a way to make sure Dylan doesn’t spend the night. Not that I think that’s likely, considering the past few weeks … but with my sister, you never know.
“I’ll check in with the crew,” Mom says as she unlocks her door, “and I’ll make sure they’re all set to meet us at the design studio tomorrow.” We’re operating with a small crew for this trip. Luis is here to do hair, but Paige will be in charge of our makeup. And we only have two camera guys, JJ and Alistair. I think, for Mom’s sake, this is probably fortunate. There’s less to manage.
It’s just a bit past eleven when Paige makes her appearance. “We’re bunking together?” she asks as she tosses her bag onto a chair by the door.
“Yeah, it was Mom or me,” I tell her. “I’m willing to use the sleeper sofa if you want the bed to yourself.”
She peeks into the bedroom. “No, that’s okay. It’s a king and you don’t usually snore … too loudly.”
“Very funny.”
She kicks off her shoes and zips open a garment bag, humming as if she’s perfectly content and the world is once again her oyster.
“So, how did it go with Dylan?”
“Okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Well, we talked a lot, and I guess I’m starting to believe him about Eliza.”
“Meaning that she really is making the whole thing up?”
Paige nods as she pulls out a linen suit and gives it a shake. “Guess this is going to need to be pressed before morning.” She frowns at the clock. “Probably too late to have it done.”
“Probably.” I go to the closet and pull out the ironing board and get it set up. I’m fully aware that my sister can iron her own clothes, but I’m also aware that it’ll be easier in the long run if I do it.
“It’ll need steam,” she says as I’m about to plug in the iron.
I take the iron to the kitchenette, fill it with water (hoping she doesn’t complain that it’s from the tap), then return and plug it in. “So what does Dylan say about Eliza making those statements to the press about him?”
“He thinks she’s been misquoted.” She hangs up some other clothing, artfully arranging them in order of garment and color, about an inch apart on the closet rod—like she thinks someone is going to photograph it.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, do you believe Dylan? I mean that he didn’t cheat on you?”
She turns to me with her lips pressed together and brow creased. “I think I believe him.”
“But you’re not one hundred percent positive?” “Maybe eighty percent.”
I get the linen suit, taking it off the hanger, and begin to steam it.
It’s Michael Kors and a very nice cut. I know Paige will look classy in it. Totally Grace Kelly.
“What am I wearing tomorrow?” I ask as she starts unpacking another bag. Although Leah helped pack things, Paige is entirely in charge of wardrobe for this trip.
“How about this?” She holds up a pale blue suit, also in linen. “It’s Ralph Lauren. It looks light and summery and I think it’ll go well with my suit.”
“It’s pretty,” I admit. “Sure you don’t want to wear it? That blue would look great with your eyes.”
“It’s your size, Erin.”
“Oh.” I nod. “I’ll press it too.”
She’s going through shoes now, choosing what we’ll wear with the suits and setting them out, along with accessories, so that our outfits are all ready to go in the morning. I’m always amazed at how easily she does this. She’s like a style magician. She does it so effortlessly, almost as if she’s playing Barbies. She tries this and that and then quickly decides—but once it’s all in place, it’s perfect. I’ll admit it’s taken me awhile, but I’ve learned not to question her fashion sense.
“So … if we see Eliza tomorrow,” I begin cautiously, “how are you going to act?”
She makes that mischievous little smile. “I’m not sure.”
“I thought you had some kind of plan.”
She shrugs. “Maybe … maybe not. I think I’ll just see how it plays out.”
“And maybe she won’t even be there,” I say hopefully. “Maybe not.”
Before long, the suits are steamed, and while I’m taking a shower Paige goes to bed. I set the alarm for eight, which is about when Luis is supposed to get here, and go to bed too. I feel slightly apprehensive about tomorrow’s interview with Rhiannon. I’m hoping perhaps Eliza will make herself scarce. It would seem the wise route to take, considering.
But, just in case she doesn’t, I decide to pray specifically. I ask God to help Paige not to do anything regrettable. I ask God to help my mom do her job to the best of her ability. And then I ask God to use me as a buffer if needed. I hope I’m dead wrong, but I believe that tomorrow has the potential to go totally sideways on all of us.
Chapter
9
Despite the heat radiating from the pavement of the city, which never cooled off last night, Paige seems cool and calm as we get into the town car. She seems not to have a care in the world as we ride to Rhiannon’s design studio.
“You girls both look lovely,” Mom tells us as we get out of the car. Paige smoothes the front of her skirt, which didn’t even wrinkle, unlike mine. How does she do that?
“Looks like it’s showtime,” I say as I spot Alistair waiting by the door with a ready camera.
“Then JJ should be inside,” Mom informs us. “Take it away.”
“Here we are at Rhiannon Farley’s new design studio,” Paige says into the hand mic she’s using. “Very uptown and chic.” She glances up at the sleek building. “And no doubt expensive.”
We go inside and, instead of being greeted by an assistant like we usually are when it’s a big-name designer, we are met by Rhiannon herself. “Welcome,” she says happily. “Thank you so much for coming.”
JJ’s camera is running too as we exchange greetings and Rhiannon shows us around the spacious showroom, holding up some of her recent designs.
“These are for my spring line,” she says as she waves to a rack. “I’m calling it Linen and Lace.” She smiles at our linen suits. “Kind of like what you’re wearing, only a bit more feminine and Old World. The lace is all recycled and the linen is organic.” She continues, showing us pieces and explaining some of the thought behind her designs.
“And I hear you just landed a new account,” Paige says cheerfully.
“Yes!” Rhiannon claps her hands. “One of my very favorite stores too. Anthropologie is trying out some of my garments. I’m so excited.”
“Congratulations,” I tell her. “I love Anthropologie as well.”
“They’ll be in the winter catalog.” “I’ll be watching,” I say.
“So come on into the design room,” she says as she leads us down a hallway. “This is where it all happens.” As she shows us a room that’s filled with everything from burlap sacks to beaded bags to old buttons, it’s obvious that this is not the typical designer’s workspace.
“So let’s pretend you’re starting a new design,” Paige says to her. “Where would you begin?”
Rhiannon starts looking around, gathering up some pieces that I can’t really imagine working together. She picks up a drawing pad and starts to sketch. Then she’s laying things out. And then she explains the garment she’s creating, showing us her drawing and which materials go where —and it’s like a light goes on. I get it.
“Wow,” I say. “You could take those items and turn them into that?”
She laughs. “Hopefully. It takes help from my crew. I can’t believe how cool it is to have real seamstresses working under me. I was so used to doing everything myself. To be honest, it was a little hard to let go at first. But now that I’m used to it, all I want to do is design and design.”
“You’re very young to be a designer on her own,” Paige points out.
Rhiannon nods. “And I’m not too proud to admit that has a lot to do with some excellent connections.” She talks about how Katherine Carter mentored her and how she introduced Rhiannon to some important people in the fashion world. “But I really owe this studio to my new partner, Eliza Wilton.” Now Rhiannon looks slightly uncomfortable, as if she is aware of the rumors swirling about her business associate.
“Yes, I know that Ms. Wilton used to do some professional modeling and has some fashion experience, but how involved is she in the actual design process?” Paige asks with surprising ease.
“Eliza primarily handles the business end of things.” Rhiannon pauses. “Although she sometimes gives me input.” She laughs nervously. “Not that I always take it. Our senses of style are quite different. In fact, some have questioned how we can actually work together as a team. But so far it seems to be going well, and I’m hugely appreciative of this partnership. I know I wouldn’t be where I am today without Eliza.”
I’m thinking she really means “without Eliza’s money,” but I would never say this.
“Is it possible to get a few words with Ms. Wilton?” Paige asks. “Some of our viewers might be interested to learn a bit about the business perspective of a design firm.”
“Sure.” Rhiannon moves toward the door, with cameras trailing. “Let’s go see if she’s in her office.”
As we go down the hall again, I feel certain that Eliza will not be in her office today. Really, why would she set herself up for this? But when Rhiannon knocks, Eliza answers. “Yes?”
“Surprise!” Paige sings out.
Eliza’s blue eyes grow wide and it’s obvious she’s been caught totally off guard. Suddenly I wonder if she even knew that our show was coming to New York to film. Is it possible she was kept in the dark? What if Rhiannon didn’t want Eliza to know—wanted to keep a lid on things? But then why would she have knocked on the door?
“Do you mind if we get some words from you for our TV show, On the Runway?” Paige asks pleasantly. “I know some of our viewers will find it fascinating to hear about your role in the fashion industry. Because we know it takes all kinds of talents to create a successful line.”
“I … uh …” Eliza glances from Paige to Rhiannon.
“Unless you’re too busy,” Paige says lightly.
“Oh, she’s not that busy.” Rhiannon enters the office. She goes to Eliza’s desk, picking up an opened magazine in a teasing way.
“Fantastic!” Paige gently pushes her way into the modern-yet-elegant office too. It’s obvious that a lot of money and probably an interior designer were involved in the setup of this sleek space. And I feel just slightly intrusive as we all string in after Paige, finding places among the contemporary pieces of furniture. Mom finds a corner as J
J mics Eliza, who sits at her desk, looking more and more uncomfortable. Rhiannon and I position ourselves in front of a cabinet near the desk.
After we’re all situated, Paige takes a chair opposite Eliza. “Now tell us about your regular workday, Eliza. How do you spend most of your time?”
“Well, I … I oversee the bookkeepers and I, uh, I do a little research …”
“Does your work keep you pretty busy?” Paige asks brightly.
Eliza looks truly uncomfortable now. I think I see beads of sweat on her forehead. “Busy enough.”
“Because you know what our grandmothers would say,” Paige continues in a perky tone.
“What’s that?”
“Oh, you know the old saying about how idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” Paige’s smile seems genuine, but her blue eyes are like steel. “In your regular workday, I assume you handle publicity releases for Rhiannon too? And you probably do interviews for magazines and newspapers and whatnot?”
Eliza shrugs. “Sometimes I do.”
“In fact, I think I recently saw something about you in the news …” Paige puts a finger alongside her chin like she’s thinking some diabolical thought. “Let’s see, the article had to do with another designer … I don’t recall the name.”
The office is silent.
“Perhaps you remember?” Paige leans toward Eliza.
Eliza’s features get a hardened look, and I imagine I can see the wheels spinning in her head, like she’s conjuring up some kind of escape route or defense plan.
“Oh,” Eliza says innocently. “You must mean that drivel they’re printing about Dylan and me.” She laughs. “That’s old news, Paige. The photo was probably from last year. Everyone knows Dylan and I have been good friends for ages.”
Paige swings her forefinger in the air dramatically. “No, no … that’s not quite what I read. The piece I read suggested that you and Dylan Marceau were much more than just good friends. I believe you were quoted as saying that—”
“Surely you know how unreliable tabloid quotes are,” Eliza interrupts. “Anyone who believes that nonsense deserves to be duped.”
Ciao Page 7
