Emma would have known the woman was Rylan’s mother anywhere. She had the same air of authority, along with the same long nose and close-together eyes, though her hair was dyed ash blond and swept into a chic loose bun, and her fitted, black bouclé skirt and dove-gray jacket were much stuffier, Upper East Side old-money than Rylan’s younger, hipper downtown style.
“Of course,” Paige said smoothly. “We’ll get started as soon as Ms. Biscotti arrives. We’re expecting her at any moment. In the meantime, let me introduce Francesca. She’s Allegra’s assistant, fashion muse, and second-in-command. Allegra always says she couldn’t survive without her.” Suddenly noticing Rylan staring at Charlie as if trying to figure out who he was and what he was doing there, Paige added, “And that’s Charlie. Intern.”
Charlie nodded, while Francesca responded to her introduction with a lilting “Piacere.”
“You’re Italian?” Mrs. Sinclare asked, obviously intrigued. “Such a lovely country. I’ve vacationed there many times.”
“Fantastico!” Francesca exclaimed. “I hope you have managed to fit in my own lovely town of Napoli?”
“Of course! We loved it.”
“Why don’t we have Francesca take your measurements while we wait for Ms. Biscotti,” Paige suggested. Rylan stood, and Emma carefully watched Francesca measure Rylan: waist, hips, bust, neck, hip-to-knee, arms.
As Francesca measured, she chatted easily with the Sinclares about the sights of Italy, but Emma didn’t pay much attention. Her anxiety was spiking again. She shot a look at Paige, who appeared as cool as a linen sundress on a hot day.
As if on cue, Paige’s phone rang. “Please pardon me,” she said to the Sinclares. “I’d better take that. It could be Ms. Biscotti calling from downstairs.” She picked up the phone. “Paige Young,” she said into it. “Oh, hello! I see... mm-hmm...Well, it can’t be helped, I’m sure they’ll understand...”
Emma held her breath. Mrs. Sinclare was still chatting with Francesca about Italy, disregarding Paige’s conversation. Rylan was looking around the office curiously. Would this ruse work?
After a moment Paige hung up. “I’m afraid I have some regrettable news,” she announced. “Ms. Biscotti was suddenly called away on important business to Paris. It’s her upcoming collection. A problem with the manufacturing, I think. She was calling from the airport. She hopes you’ll understand and accept her apologies for not being able to make it today.”
Mrs. Sinclare frowned. “Well, this is certainly unfortunate. I suppose we’ll have to reschedule. When will she be back in the country?”
“She wasn’t sure,” Paige said. “It all depends on how long it takes her to straighten out the problem.”
“I see. Then I suppose this isn’t going to work out after all.” Mrs. Sinclare picked up her handbag, which she’d plopped in the middle of Paige’s desk. “Our party is only a few weeks away. We’ll have to find another designer.”
Rylan shook her head “No way! I want this designer to make my Sweet Sixteen dress.”
“No need to give up yet, Mrs. Sinclare,” Paige put in with an ingratiating smile. “Francesca brought along Ms. Biscotti’s sketches. In fact, Ms. Biscotti just suggested that we talk over initial ideas today and take measurements, if that’s all right with you. She said Francesca is wonderful and will take good care of you, and of course I said I’d be happy to help as well. Then Francesca will email all the information to Ms. Biscotti in Europe, and she can take it from there and create your daughter a one-of-a-kind signature dress.”
Mrs. Sinclare looked unconvinced. Emma held her breath, afraid that this meeting—and the money she was already counting on to buy materials for the pop-up collection—would be over before it began.
“Mother,” Rylan said through gritted teeth. “Please.”
Mrs. Sinclare glanced at her daughter. “Fine,” she said. “I suppose we can give it a try.”
“Wonderful.” Paige smiled, then turned and snapped her fingers. “Emma. Pass me Allegra’s sketchbook, please.”
Francesca was closer to the sketchbook, which was sitting on a small end table, but Emma leaped over and grabbed it before Francesca could reach for it. The last thing they needed right now was to have the contents explode all over the place again.
Paige laid the sketchbook on her desk and opened it. “As you can see, Ms. Biscotti has made some preliminary sketches,” she told the Sinclares as they gathered around. “I think you’ll love the direction she’s thinking, Rylan.”
“I totally do!” Rylan exclaimed as she leaned forward for a better look. “It’s awesome. Exactly the kind of thing I was imagining after I saw her stuff on the site.” Rylan lingered over each page.
Emma dared a tiny glance at Charlie. He grinned at her.
“Yes, Allegra is so talented, is she not?” Francesca cooed, peering at the sketches over their shoulders. “And this dress, it will be so flattering to you, Signorina Rylan!” Francesca was pointing at the simple, sashed party dress.
“Yes! That’s my favorite.” Rylan beamed. “This dress is perfect!”
“Really, Rylan? That’s what you want to wear? I don’t know,” interrupted Mrs. Sinclare.
“There are several options for customizing the look.” Paige stepped in and took control. Emma could have hugged her. She carefully laid out the fabric samples from the sketchbook. “Allegra wants to do a sash that contrasts, in terms of color and texture, with the dress fabric. The sash will be a stretchy satin, and the dress itself a soft and drapey jersey. Shall we talk color?”
Paige is a genius, Emma thought. I never could have pulled this off.
“With your blue eyes, Rylan,” Paige continued. “I think this bold sapphire-blue sash would be stunning. And really striking against a black jersey dress.” Paige held up the cobalt blue and black swatches. They were totally fabulous—made to go together. Rylan loved Paige’s suggestion. Why shouldn’t she? Paige was, after all, about as big a fashion expert as there was. Everything was going so well. Emma couldn’t believe her luck.
And then Mrs. Sinclare cleared her throat.
“I don’t like it,” she pronounced.
“Take a look at some of these other choices,” Paige urged, not even a little bit flustered. She spread out the samples Emma had lovingly chosen—satins in emerald green, electric fuchsia, syrupy gold.
Mrs. Sinclare barely glanced at them, immediately dismissing them with a wave of her hand. “No, no. These are garish,” she insisted. She stood, as if to remind everyone who was the most important person in the room.
“I know!” Mrs. Sinclare smiled, finally seeming pleased about something. She opened up her bazillion-dollar Bottega purse and whipped out a napkin. A napkin the color of hospital walls. Pale green with more than a tinge of gray. Rylan watched silently, still clutching the black and cobalt samples.
She’s got to be kidding, Emma thought. She waited for someone to laugh or make a joke. No one did.
Even Paige looked taken aback. “Er, you mean you want the dress to be the color of that napkin?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Sinclare waved the napkin in the air like a flag. “I can see it now. The dress shall coordinate perfectly with the table linens my party planner is using.”
“That’s the color of the napkins for my party?” Rylan shrieked. “Mom! I said I wanted green.”
“This is green.”
“No, it’s not. That’s hideous. Sort of like puke, only more boring. Besides, it’ll totally wash me out.” Rylan looked truly horrified.
“Rylan.” Mrs. Sinclare stared icily at her daughter.
“Colette Hervé is the most sought-after party planner in the city, and she has created an absolute vision for your party in seafoam and oyster tones. I, myself, shall be wearing oyster.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Mrs. Sinclare held the napkin up to the weak winter sunlight trickling in through the window. “Seafoam. That’s what Colette says Martha Stewart calls this color. Very tastefu
l, very sophisticated, very soft. Don’t you all agree?”
“Of course, of course,” Francesca cooed. “Pastels are very classic, si, signora?”
Mrs. Sinclare smiled approvingly at her. “I can see why you’re Allegra’s trusted assistant, my dear,” she said. “You have excellent taste.”
Emma felt frozen in horror. This couldn’t be happening. This woman couldn’t actually be suggesting she make Rylan’s dress that totally cringe-worthy shade of the mold that grew on the bagels her mom kept on the counter too long. For one thing, it didn’t work with the design. At all. Besides that, Rylan was right. With her hair and fair skin, a color like that would make her look washed out and horrible, no matter what the dress itself looked like. In fact, that grayish-green would make an international supermodel look like death.
She was sure Paige had to be thinking the same thing. But when she looked over, the editor’s face was blank except for a polite smile.
“We’ll let Ms. Biscotti know,” she said. “I’m sure she can find a wonderful fabric in that color.”
“I hope so.” Mrs. Sinclare looked pleased with herself. “I totally trust Colette. You know of her, don’t you?”
Paige shook her head ever so slightly.
“Oh, well, she’s really quite amazing. Great with color. She says this pale shade of green will be the new neutral. Don’t you think?”
“Mmm.” Paige was still smiling.
“Now, let’s talk about that sash,” continued Mrs. Sinclare. Paige met Emma’s eye for a second and gave her the smallest of shrugs.
“I hate it.” And just like that, Mrs. Sinclare ruined Emma’s perfect party dress.
Emma felt like someone—Mrs. Sinclare, actually—had punched her in the stomach. She had no choice but to watch in silent, helpless horror. Mrs. Sinclare wanted a scoop neck and three-quarter-length sleeves. She wanted a dress that was unlike anything Emma had sketched, unlike anything she had any interest in designing. And mostly, a dress that was not at all Allegra Biscotti.
Emma kept expecting Rylan to speak up, and at first she did. Sort of. She tried to veto her mother’s idea and kept directing her mother back to the original sketch. She totally got what Emma was trying to do. Rylan understood that the dress was all about the sash.
“Mom, it’s cool because it almost looks like a kid’s party dress, but it’s so sophisticated!”
Emma was thrilled—for a split second.
Then Mrs. Sinclare shot her daughter down. “What do you know about sophisticated? You’re not even sixteen yet.” After that, Rylan’s protests grew progressively weaker and whinier until, by the end, she just sullenly slumped in her chair.
Emma was surprised. Was this really Rylan Sinclare, the girl who ruled the high school like a queen? The one who’d reduced her to a quivering mass of insecurity with one cutting remark at Holly’s apartment?
“There,” Mrs. Sinclare said at last, pushing the sketchbook back toward Paige. “Now I think we have something to work with. You’ll be sure that Allegra gets all my notes, right? And I’ll leave the napkin with you, as well.”
“Wait, Mom,” Rylan spoke up at last. “Shouldn’t I get to decide whether I like your changes or not? I mean, I’m the one who’s going to be—”
“Oh my, look at the time!” her mother exclaimed, never acknowledging Rylan. “I’ve got another appointment with Colette. I must go.”
“I understand,” Paige said. “I think this has been a very productive start. And, yes, Francesca will send Allegra your suggestions straight off. Francesca will be in touch soon to set up the first fitting.”
“Fitting?” Rylan put in. “Hold on. I think we might need another design meeting. You know, meet Allegra? She might want to talk about my mother’s, um, adjustments.”
“Enough, Rylan,” Mrs. Sinclare barked so sharply that Emma jumped. “Would you stop acting like a whiny child? We’re already behind schedule thanks to that idiot maid’s carelessness with your first dress. I don’t need a teenage temper tantrum causing more delays.”
She spun on her heel, grabbed her handbag off the desk, and swept out of the room. Everyone sat in stunned silence for a moment. Wow. That had been harsh. Emma chanced a quick look over at Charlie. He met her eye, raised an eyebrow, and smirked slightly.
“What’s your problem?” Rylan demanded, catching the knowing glance between them.
“Um...” Emma began. She had no idea how to answer.
“Shut it, okay?” Rylan snapped. “I don’t need to be judged by the nerd gallery.”
“Bontá mia!” Francesca exclaimed sorrowfully. “Signorina, you mustn’t say such things to our Emmita. After all, she is really—”
“It’s quite all right,” Paige interrupted loudly. “It’s been a stressful meeting, and I’m sure Miss Sinclare just wants to be sure her Allegra Biscotti original is perfect.”
Francesca’s eyes widened. Emma bit her lip. So much for being discreet.
Luckily Rylan didn’t seem to notice anything strange. She was staring at the floor. Had Francesca’s comment actually made her think about being nicer? Emma doubted it. Still, there was an odd expression on Rylan’s face that Emma couldn’t quite read.
“Whatever,” Rylan muttered. “I just hope Allegra can make something out of the mess my mother just created.” Without another word, she turned and hurried out of the office.
Emma silently hoped that Allegra could, too.
“Oh. My. God.” Paige blew out a loud breath and then rounded on Francesca. “I cannot, repeat, not, believe you almost just blew Allegra’s secret!”
Emma shot a nervous look at the door. It had closed behind Rylan fewer than thirty seconds earlier. She hoped it was soundproof, or at least close to it.
“Mi dispiace, signorina!” Francesca exclaimed, looking crestfallen. “I cannot believe it either! When I heard that girl saying such things...But I swear to you, I shall do better from now on.”
Emma tentatively reached for her sketchbook, afraid to see what Mrs. Sinclare had done to her dress. Charlie stood behind her.
“It’s a Mama Sinclare original,” he joked weakly. “As seen on discount racks everywhere. Available in disaster-at-sea green.”
“How am I supposed to work with this?” Emma mumbled. “This isn’t a dress. It’s a nightmare.”
Paige heard her and turned away from scolding Francesca. “You’re going to have to turn it into a dream come true, Emma,” she said, her tone softening.
Emma sucked in her breath. If Paige has sympathy for me, it must be really bad, she thought.
“How am I supposed to do that?” Emma asked. “She turned this into a nondescript seafoam sack. It’s going to make Rylan look like she’s got mono or something—”
“Yeah. It’s not like Rylan even likes the new design,” Charlie put in.
“Look, I know the changes stink,” Paige said. “But Mrs. Sinclare is paying the bills, which makes her the client—not Rylan.”
“But Rylan is the one who’s going to look horrible if I actually make what her mother wants,” Emma protested.
“Read my lips. Rylan is not your client.” Paige tapped the sketchbook with one fingernail. “You’ve just got to make this work, Emma. There’s no room for prima donnas in this business. At least not until you’re a big name, which Allegra is not. Yet.”
“But she will be soon!” Francesca chirped. Her bright smile had returned. She’d obviously moved on from her near-gaffe.
Judging by the look on Paige’s face, she hadn’t yet. “Yes,” she said icily. “Now if you two will excuse me, I think Francesca and I need to have a talk.”
Emma and Charlie walked down the hallway toward the elevators. Emma was so distracted by what had just happened in Paige’s office that this time she hardly registered the fact that she was walking through Madison’s halls.
“I can’t believe this,” she moaned. “How am I supposed to make the design work with those crazy changes? It’s impossible.”
&nbs
p; Charlie shoved his hands in his jeans’ pockets as he strode along beside her. “What’s the big deal? Just make the ugly dress, rake in the cash, and move on with your life. It’s not like anyone will remember that one hideous dress once they get a load of your fab new pop-up collection, right?”
“That’s not the point.” Emma paused and frowned. Actually, it sort of was the point. But only one of them. “This dress is supposed to be for Rylan’s big day. How can I put her in something I know is going to make her look bad?”
As they passed the reception desk and turned into the elevator lobby, Charlie shot her a look of disbelief. “You’re actually worried about Rylan? Seriously?” he said. “It’s not like she’d think twice about humiliating you if it came to that. Or anyone else either. I heard that she once snapped a picture of a so-called friend after she’d been crying her eyes out over some guy. The girl looked all puffy and gross, and of course, Rylan mass emailed it with a snarky comment.”
He punched the button on the elevator and then turned to face her. “Speaking of big mouths, how about that Francesca? She definitely looks and sounds the part, but she got totally scary-close to spewing the truth back there.”
“Don’t worry. Paige is the most uptight of anybody about keeping Allegra’s secrets. She’ll watch Francesca. Besides, it’s not like she’ll have that many more chances to mess up. Like Paige said, all she has to do is record that voice-mail message, maybe make a phone call or two, and come to a couple of fittings with Rylan.” Emma grimaced. “If I don’t give up on this whole thing and run away from home before the first fitting.”
Charlie grinned at her as the elevator doors slid open. “We’re running away? Awesome. Can we go someplace warm?”
SEAMLESS
StylePaige
Weekend Update: Sweet Holiday Treats
Dear Style Gazers,
Oh yes, it’s that time of year: Decorated store windows, bustling boutiques, and shop, shop, shopping! Too bad I’ve spent all my money on my honey. (It’s something scrumptious, but he’s a faithful reader so I can’t spoil the surprise!)
Who What Wear Page 6
