Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
He’s wearing a T-shirt, proudly showing off his hickey like a weirdo. Meanwhile, I’ve got an assortment of hickeys on my inner thighs covered with a skirt like a normal person. Of course, the handprints on my ass also mean I’m not doing much sitting today, either. Thankfully, I’m too busy to have a chance.
From backstage, I watch the monitor as the models walk for the Summer of Love collections from each designer. As one group finishes, they scurry off to change into the Seduction outfits.
I chose to go last, and as my fifth Summer of Love outfit walks, I can’t help but tear up. Jeanette looks amazing in it. I curl into Simon’s side and tell him, “Thank you for bringing her here. I can’t imagine doing this show without her.”
Most of the models are local to NYC, but I’d lamented that my Amour mourning dress was meant for Jeanette and that I was sad she would never get the chance to walk it. So Simon secretly surprised me by flying Jeanette in to do it. I’m not wishing the show away, but I truly can’t wait to see Jeanette strut in that gown. No one can do it justice the way she can.
I swear, I blink and the time flies past until I’m standing backstage with Jeanette in the voluminous black gown. “Remember, slow. Eyes forward.” I demonstrate the defiant gaze I want Jeanette to have, tackling the future with strength after the loss of love. “Pose, small smile of hope. Then back like a queen.”
“Slow. Strong. Hope. Queen,” she repeats clearly. Her English has gotten much better. My French is improving daily, too, from listening to Simon.
“Tue cette piste, fille,” I tell her, snapping my fingers.
Jeanette looks at me in surprise. “Oui, I will kill the runway for you.”
She does. It’s exactly what I’d hoped it would be—the dress in perfect condition, Jeanette dramatically making her way down the runway so slowly that I don’t breathe, the audience’s gasp of delight at the little quirk of her lips, and then her return, equally slow but steady.
“Wow,” I breathe finally.
“Gorgeous,” Beatrice says from beside me. I don’t know when she got there, too caught up in Jeanette and my gown. But she’s watching the monitor closely too. “It nearly killed me to damage your other pieces. That one, though? I couldn’t bring myself to do anything to that gown other than unlock the zipper. It’s too beautiful.”
It’s an odd, twisted compliment, but I can appreciate what she means.
After the show, we go out to the floor where everyone is mingling and discussing the collections. Of course, with it being Fashion Week, some people have to leave immediately, jetting from runway to runway, but I’m pleased with how many people stick around.
“It was amazing,” Jacqueline tells all five of us proudly.
I can’t help but be pleased at the feedback. She might’ve sabotaged me, but she is a fashion icon with decades of experience. And she does not give compliments lightly or untruthfully.
We all say some version of ‘thank you’, and then the other designers wander off to meet people, hoping to meet buyers, magazine editors, and other industry insiders who can help them grow.
Simon comes up behind me, his voice low as he says, “Absolutely stunning.” I turn to face him, a smile already plastered to my face. “And I’m not talking about the fashion. I’m talking about the designer.”
He winks playfully, and I laugh. “You’re the worst. But keep going.”
“Shall we?” Simon offers me his elbow, which I take, and together with Jacqueline, we work the room.
Before I know it, we’re standing with Nora and . . . my mom.
“That was . . . I didn’t expect . . . I just . . .” Mom stutters, sounding a lot like me when I’m overwhelmed. Finally, she just lets out a big breath. “Wow.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I reply, giving her a quick hug. “I appreciate your coming all the way to New York for this.” When Simon suggested I invite her, I hadn’t been sure. In fact, I’m pretty sure I laughed and said she’d never come. To my surprise, she’d been ecstatic at the invitation and drove down this morning. She’s going to stay a few days too, in a hotel since the studio is still a partial construction zone.
“Your first show? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world! I’m so proud of you, honey.” She tears up, and Nora puts her arm around my mom’s shoulders, patting her affectionately.
“Don’t cry. I’m hormonal as hell, and if you cry, I’ll cry. We’ll both be a runny panda-eyed mess and things will go downhill from there. I’ll probably eat a whole tub of ice cream to console myself over losing my best assistant ever, and I’ve figured out that Baby doesn’t want me to have lactose. It’s ugly and gassy, so don’t cry.”