Bead-Dazzled (21 page)

Near the make-up table, five rolling racks of clothes in violets, eggplants, amethysts, and plums were lined up. Two stylists worked their magic with hand-held steamers, erasing the smallest wrinkles from each garment, talking as they worked. Another assistant checked the items on the rack against a list on the clipboard she held. Paige stood to the side, looking calm yet intense in her charcoal pinstripe suit. She consulted with two frazzled junior fashion editors. The taller woman had a dozen belts draped over her outstretch arm. The shorter woman held up a two-tone aubergine jersey dress on a padded hanger. Paige scrutinized belt after belt against the dress.

In a far corner, a skinny guy with a goatee worked an elaborate sound system, trading in Jay-Z for Taylor Swift. Near him, a young woman fluffed several similar bouquets of lavender, which Emma guessed would soon be held by the model. The photographer, a woman with cropped hair, in a gauzy shirt and leggings, peered through a camera with a super-long lens at the empty platform. The bright lights on the set flashed on and off several times, as two photography assistants checked the brightness with a light meter.

Emma watched in awe as the hairstylist sprayed the model’s loose waves with a purple hairspray. Then the fashion stylists pulled her behind a curtain and dressed her in the aubergine dress with the perfect mauve suede belt. The model slipped into several shoes, before Paige nodded her approval at a pair of strappy plum heels. A guy ran over from another long table piled with platters of fruit, bagels, and sushi, holding out a bottle of bubbly water to the model. She took a long sip from a straw and then the makeup artist, who hovered alongside, touched up her plum lipstick.

The model climbed onto the high platform with help from two assistants and reached for the flowers. Then the photographer started shooting. She called out poses, moving the model toward her and then away, all the time snapping shots. She had the model crush the flowers under the toe of her shoe and, when that didn’t work, the flower girl appeared with a fresh bouquet, and the model tried shots tossing the blooms. The photography assistants wheeled out a wind machine, adjusting the breeze so the model’s purple hair flew away from her face as flower petals swirled around her.

Emma leaned forward, mesmerized by the high-fashion shoot. She’d never seen anything quite like it. Five different outfits were photographed. Hair and makeup were touched up, redone, and fixed. Shoes were swapped out and accessories added—a chunky ring, then huge hoop earrings, then a clutch covered in peacock feathers. The music changed with the fashion. The lights brightened then dimmed. No one stopped moving. Twenty people all working furiously to make one print-worthy photo.

When the photographer finally put down her camera, the stylists hurried to release the model from the clothing that had been borrowed from designers and needed to be returned in perfect condition. Paige headed toward the catering table and waved Emma over.

“That was so cool,” Emma gasped, out of breath from the excitement even though she’d done nothing but watch. “All those purples are going to look fierce on the magazine’s front cover.”

“Not the front cover.” Paige picked up a strawberry, inspected it for bruises then returned it to the half-eaten platter.

“Really? What was the photo shoot for? It looked pretty important.”

Paige pushed aside a wilted romaine lettuce leaf used for garnish on a platter of cut vegetables. “So unappetizing, no? A crisp red cabbage leaf would be so much more visually appealing. Caroline? Caroline!”

Her pony-tailed assistant dashed over. “Yes?”

“Tell the caterer I don’t want edible garnish ever again, unless it’s a pretty vegetable.”

“Pretty vegetable?” Caroline repeated. The skin on her face was pulled tight. Emma wasn’t sure if it was stress or the too-high ponytail.

“Something pleasing to the eye and the senses. This limp lettuce offends me and then I can’t eat.” Paige stepped away from the table.

Caroline’s eyes darted from platter to platter, taking in all the limp lettuce. “Sure. Pretty vegetables. On it.” She walked with purpose to a woman at the far end of the room to discuss the issue.

Emma was glad she wasn’t Paige’s assistant.

“This shoot was for one fashion page toward the back of the magazine,” Paige explained.

“One page?” Emma said. “I can’t believe all these people worked this hard for one shot on a back page.”

“We do this every week. All these people, each doing a different job, and in the end, hopefully we get one great photograph. A cover shoot is much more intense,” Paige explained, “but that doesn’t mean the shots in the back of the magazine are less work.”

Emma nodded, impressed.

“Think about launching a fashion line. Think about staging a fashion show. Think about filming a fashion show.” Paige ticked off each one her fingers and waited for her meaning to sink in. “Think about what’s involved.”

“A lot,” Emma said.

“Open your eyes, Emma. See the big picture. It’s not just four or five outfits in a benefit. It’s boutiques in the department stores. It’s Fashion Week at Lincoln Center, Paris, and Milan. You have the vision, but if you get buried in all the other stuff, your creativity will get buried, too. Don’t push away the help that you need.”

“So you’re saying I need Charlie?” Emma was surprised. She never thought Paige liked Charlie much.

“Yes. Charlie is important to Allegra Biscotti. So are your parents, Francesca, and even your pretty friend, whatshername. You can’t do this solo and do it well.” Paige headed toward the photographer, who was packing away her supplies. “You need to make it right.”

How?
Emma wondered. Leaning against the catering table, she watched the model and one of the stylists eat mini-cupcakes with lavender icing. She pulled out her phone and found a quiet corner. She had an idea.

She had to talk to her mom.

After hanging up, Emma found Paige sitting on her plastic chair. Emma’s notebooks had spilled out of her book bag and onto the neighboring chair. Paige kicked off her pumps and, now leaning back, flipped through one.

“What’s this?” Paige held up the spiral notebook with the red cover.

“My notes for my Western Civilization class. We’re doing a project on ancient Egypt,” Emma explained. “It has to do with the Sphinx—”

“I’m not interested in your school project. I’m interested in these.” She pointed to Emma’s Cleopatra-inspired sketches in the margins.

“They’re just doodles.”

“I like them.” Paige flipped the pages. “Are there more?”

Emma reached into her bag and pulled out the sketchbook with the turquoise brocade cover. She opened to the sketches she’d done in the Media Center. “I tried a series based on Egyptian fashion. They’re really rough.”

Paige flipped the pages. “They’re really brilliant!”

“Brilliant?” Emma was confused. These were just sketches to avoid working with Lexie. Fun stuff.

“The combination of the ancient design influence with the modern shapes is refreshing. You should think about mixing this in with your collection.”

“That would mean making a lot of changes,” Emma said. “I don’t even know if it would work.”

“Great designers take risks. This could be your ‘
wow
.’” Paige closed the sketchbook with the confidence of an internationally respected
Madison
fashion editor.

“But it wasn’t what I had planned,” Emma protested.

“So change your plan.”

* * *

Emma paced nervously around her small studio the next afternoon. She’d stayed up late into the night making and changing plans. Not one plan but two. She practically sleepwalked through school. She tried to catch Jackson’s eye, but he was always with Clayton or the Ivana-Bees. She didn’t blame him. Plus, she had no idea what to say to him. Her excuses sounded lame, and that only left the truth, which she couldn’t do.

She gazed at the clock on the wall near her inspiration board. Years ago, she’d hot-glued colorful, large buttons in place of each number. Five minutes until show time.

She crossed her fingers that her new plans worked. It was hard to start again.

When the long hand finally stopped at the scarlet button at the very top of the clock, Emma made her way to a small room near her father’s office. The room was used for client meetings and held a glass table and six chairs, all with lace slipcovers.

Marjorie hovered by the doorway, keeping her eye on the front desk. “Everyone’s here,” she reported. Her mom, dad, and William sat at the table, along with Francesca and Charlie.

Emma couldn’t hold back her smile. Charlie had showed! She hadn’t been sure he would. Holly was missing because she had a volleyball game, but she’d promised Emma she’d try to convince Charlie, who had managed to avoid her for yet another day at school.

“I see you all got my invitation.” Emma entered the room. Suddenly she felt nervous, even though these were her family and closest friends. She wasn’t good at speaking in front of a crowd. She liked fashion, because her designs could talk for her.

“Invitation?” Charlie sneered. “More like a command.” He read from his phone. “
Emergency top-secret meeting! I need you! Be at Laceland at 3 to hear the future of AB. PLEASE!
”

“Sounds more like a cry for help,” William quipped.

“It is,” Emma admitted.

“Sorry, I’m late!” Paige Young swooped in, her chocolate cape-like coat billowing around her. “That elevator is so slow. It’s like it was made in another century.”

“It was,” Joan Rose replied quietly.

Paige and her mom were woven from different fabrics, Emma knew. If Paige were a fine silk, her mom would be sturdy cotton. It was only because of Emma that her practical, down-to-earth, English teacher mom was hanging out with the high-energy, all-about-luxury fashion editor.

“You came!” Emma cried, surprised. Emma had seen Paige more this week than ever before.

“You got me curious, and I’m rarely curious.” Paige kept her coat on, ready to fly off to her next appointment. “I have ten minutes. Benny’s outside.”

“
Si,
” Francesca piped up. “What is this meeting?”

“It’s not really a meeting,” Emma began. “It’s a celebration.”

“What are we celebrating?” Noah Rose pushed up his shirtsleeves and rested his elbows on the table.

“I’m celebrating all of you.” With a flourish, Emma peeled back the foil on a large platter in the center of the table and revealed a sheet cake covered with thick, pink frosting. A new logo in black, red, and white icing, proclaiming
The Allegra Biscotti Collection
, decorated the center of the cake.

“Cut me a slice!” William reached out a finger to swipe the icing, but Mom’s lightening reflexes swatted his hand away.

“Beautiful!” Francesca exclaimed.

“
You
made a cake?” Charlie sounded dubious.

“Don’t worry. Everyone’s safe. Mom baked it.”

“So your Mom baked a cake with your logo on it, and you dragged us all here to eat your cake?” Charlie stood to leave. “Really, Em. Do I care?”

“That’s just it. It’s not my logo.”

“So whose is it?”