Ciao (7 page)

On Thursday morning a town car, arranged
by Leah, picks us up to go to the airport. Mom’s already in the back with her laptop open, going over some of the details as we ride to LAX.
So far, so good,
I’m thinking as we get out, gather up our bags, and head inside. Paige is wearing oversized sunglasses with her hair tucked into a hat. I’m not sure about her attempt to go incognito, since I know from experience that this getup attracts nearly as much attention as her usual look. However, it’s either a slow day at LAX or the paparazzi have already found someone else to chase, because our entrance into the terminal is uneventful.

“Remember when Paige got tackled by security?” I say quietly to Mom as we’re checking our bags.

Mom chuckles. “Don’t remind me.”

“Well, she’s been very careful ever since.” I smile at my sister as she hands her luggage over. She gave up her Pepto-Bismol pink bags months ago, but her Louis Vuitton is fairly easy to spot —and if you ask me, more tempting to steal. Paige no longer seems too worried about that, however.

After we’re settled at our gate, Paige and I get some magazines and things. As I’m browsing a photography magazine, I hear my sister make a little yelp. She’s standing by the gossip rags, and I figure she’s seen another tidbit about herself and Ben, but she holds up a tabloid with a photo of Eliza and Dylan. The headline says “Heiress Steals Paige Forrester’s Man.” And this time there is no question mark.

I go over and examine the picture. “That looks like an old photo,” I tell Paige. “And it looks like it’s been tampered with.” I shrug. “No surprises there.”

“But listen to this,” Paige says angrily. “’Eliza Wilton confesses to a secret tryst with designer Dylan Marceau during Bahamas Fashion Week. Marceau is engaged to fashionista Paige Forrester, star of the popular TV series
On the Runway,
but their relationship is reported to be on the rocks.’ “ She reads a little more then throws the paper down. “Disgusting!”

Several girls cluster nearby, whispering. It’s obvious they recognize us.

“Come on,” I urge Paige. “They’re probably pre-boarding our flight by now.” We make our purchases and, realizing that I’m as uninterested in publicity as Paige is, I follow her lead and don shades before we rejoin Mom. Meanwhile Paige stands by a post with her head down, focused on her iPhone, probably checking out the rumor mills to see who is saying what about her and Dylan and Eliza.

I tell Mom about the tabloid and she just shakes her head. “There ought to be a law.” Then she laughs. “Oh, yeah, there is. But it’s pretty hard to prove slander in a court of law. Especially for celebrities.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” I say. “Paige being a celebrity. It’s like I sometimes forget—you know, when we’re just hanging out at
home, doing normal stuff. And then we’re out in public and something happens and it’s like — wow, she really is famous.” “So are you,” Mom tells me.

I laugh and adjust my sunglasses. “Yeah, right. The only reason I put these on was to disguise the fact that I’m Paige’s sister.”

“So do you think this is going to ratchet up her little revenge plan?” Mom glances nervously at Paige. “I know I promised to hold back, but I can’t let her do anything too irresponsible, can I?”

“No, of course not. It’s not like we want her to end up in jail or court.” I hold up my phone. “And that reminds me. I asked Fran about being our phone-a-friend.”

“Phone-a-friend?”

“Yeah, kind of an absentee consultant. She said it’s okay for you to call or email her with questions. And if she’s up to it, she’ll advise you.”

“That’s sweet. How’s she doing, anyway?”

“She says she feels stronger every day. I think part of it is just the relief of having the transplant behind her now, because it’s probably too early for real results.” I email my mom Fran’s phone number and email address. “There, you can reach her whenever you want to now.”

“I don’t want to disturb her.”

“Then just email or text her. She can decide whether or not to respond.” I pause to hear the PA announcement. “Looks like we can load now.”

“That was for first class.”

I grin at her. “I know.”

She laughs then reaches for her carry-on. “Oh, I forgot.” Soon we’re seated, but Paige is still glued to her iPhone.
I can tell by her expression the news is not good. “How’s it going?” I ask.

“I want to kill her.”

“When did she say all this anyway?”

“In an interview with
Couture
magazine. At least that’s what they seem to be quoting from. But the magazine hasn’t even hit the newsstands yet, so apparently there’s a mole somewhere.”

“Why would
Couture
even want to interview Eliza in the first place?”

“Because of her partnership with Rhiannon. And don’t forget that Katherine Carter mentored both of those girls, and she still has deep connections with that magazine.”

“That’s true.”

“There can only be one reason Eliza is saying this stuff.”

“What?”

“She’s trying to get Dylan.”

“Seems to me it’d be hard to get anyone who didn’t want to be gotten.”

Paige frowns and actually looks close to tears.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that Eliza can do all kinds of crazy stuff, but if Dylan isn’t into her, what’s the worry?”

Paige just shrugs, tossing her phone into her bag.

“Is it possible they got the Eliza quotes wrong?” I ask. “I mean, consider the source. How often do they get this stuff right?”

“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.