Bead-Dazzled Read online

  “Inseam?” Charlie asked.

  “The length of the inside of her leg. If I sew a pair of pants and the inseam number is off, the crotch will sag or be too high. Both disasters.”

  “Too much info.” Charlie said, shirking back. “I’m dealing with the big picture here.”

  “Details count,” Emma said. Crawling in front of each girl, she wrapped the tape measure around their bodies and called out the numbers to Charlie.

  While every girl was tall—and European, thanks to Francesca—their measurements were all over the place. Micheline had a long torso and short legs. Sylvia had narrow hips and a thick waist, while Carmen had a tiny waist and large hips. Emilia was lanky with knobby knees and elbows and huge breasts that overwhelmed her thin frame.

  “Their numbers are all wrong,” Emma whispered to Francesca and Charlie as they huddled away from the would-be models.

  “Wrong how? Charlie demanded. “What can be wrong? They all look awesome to me. I’m especially loving that fierce, choppy hair on Micheline.”

  “They are awesome,” Emma agreed, noting Emilia’s high cheekbones and Sylvia’s waist-length dark hair. “But none of them have the same measurements as The Girls.”

  “You have other girls?” Francesca asked.

  “No, I have dress forms. Three of them. I call them The Girls,” Emma explained. “I found them orphaned on the street. Clothing companies and designers use dress forms that are made to the exact measurements of their fit models. My Girls each have certain measurements that I’ve always worked off of to pattern my clothes.”

  “So switch it up. Improvise with other measurements,” Charlie said as if it were as simple as substituting honey for sugar in a recipe.

  “It’s not so easy,” Emma said. She could alter the garment after it had been fitted to one of The Girls. She’d done that several times for Holly, who was close to Girl B’s measurements. But sewing and fitting without one of The Girls waiting there to try on the outfit at every stage was a big challenge. A risky challenge.

  “Francesca, darling!” called Sylvie. “Where is this designer? Why must we wait with children? My boss at the foundation, she thinks I’m at a late lunch.”

  “Children,” Charlie muttered, crossing his arms.

  “Si.” Carmen checked her phone. “I have an art history class uptown in twenty minutes.”

  “Mi dio. Ms. Biscotti is trapped at a meeting with a very important buyer. You understand, no? She is busy. Terribly so. She sent interns to record information and now…” Francesca hesitated.

  “We need to film them walking,” Emma filled in.

  “Walking?” Francesca knitted her thick brows then raised them in recognition. “Si, si. Model walk. All line up.” She gestured toward the empty sliver of stage in front of the curtain. “Walk one way and then back.”

  “Heels,” Emma whispered to Francesca. She wished these women didn’t intimidate her so much. She could never imagine herself looking so sophisticated and cool.

  “Everyone, she has heels, si?” Francesca asked. “Walk in heels, please?”

  The six girls climbed onto the stage and changed into heels. Purple python pumps. Strappy silver stilettos. Open-toe suede stacked heels. Pointy satin sling-backs. Each pair of shoes was as different as the girl wearing them.

  Emma and Charlie settled in the front row, as Francesca lined up the wanna-be models. Charlie readied his phone to video. Each girl strutted across the stage. Some eyed the camera, others stared into the distance. Some smiled, some pouted. Some posed before pivoting, some never stopped moving. Some walked fast. Some walked slowly.

  Emma chewed on her bottom lip as she watched. She had no idea how to tell who was walking or pivoting better. There had to be some secret formula, but everything she knew about modeling she’d learned from Tyra Banks on America’s Next Top Model.

  She tried to imagine each girl in one of the many designs in her sketchbook. But nothing came to mind. Total blankness.

  Francesca thanked her friends for coming and promised that Allegra’s office would get back soon with a decision. Emma watched them file out of theater, off to art galleries, jobs in sleek offices, or classes in sophisticated subjects. She was going home to draw polygons for Geometry and eat lasagna with her mom and little brother. Around them, she felt young and silly. They’d been perfectly nice to her, but that didn’t erase her uneasiness.

  “Which girls you will choose?” Francesca asked.

  “I did a chart”—Charlie pointed to his screen—“and I assigned points for different things and then I averaged their scores.”

  “The winners?” Francesca leaned in for a better look. “Who wins?”

  The word “winner” sent a strange jolt up Emma’s spine, and she turned on Charlie. “Who are you to judge them?”

  “What do you mean? What’s wrong with my system?”

  “Until last week, you never saw a fashion show. In fact, you’ve never seen a live one, only a bunch on video,” Emma reminded him. “What gives you the ability to judge those women?”

  “Calm down. You want to be the one to choose?”

  “No, I don’t want to choose. I know nothing about choosing models. None of us do.” She was going the opposite route from calm. Her heart quickened as she spoke.

  “So what’s your big plan? We pick names out of some fancy hat you design?”

  “No.” Emma tried to control her rising emotions. She turned to Francesca. “You have beautiful friends. Any one of them would be a fabulous model. But I don’t want any of them.”

  “Nessuno? Nobody?” Francesca asked, unsure.

  “Are you crazy?” Charlie stood and closed his laptop. “I just put together this go-see in a theater I got for free, so you could have models for free and you don’t want any of them?”

  “What is wrong? They have problems?” Francesca asked.

  “Nothing is wrong with them,” Emma tried to explain. “It’s me. I don’t have enough time to experiment with their measurements. As it is, I haven’t started sewing.”

  “Excuses,” Charlie accused. He set off up the aisle. “If you haven’t made anything, then now is the perfect time to pick models.”

  “Wait!” Emma raced after him and Francesca followed. “It’s not just that.”

  “Admit it. You’re running scared on me.” He raised his arm to hail a taxi.

  “I’m not doing anything to you,” Emma said, as a yellow cab pulled to the curb and three of them slid onto the stiff leather back seat. She seethed. Charlie had a way of making every situation about him.

  Charlie gave the address of Laceland to the driver then turned to Emma. “Okay. I’m listening. Explain why none of those tall, thin, beautiful girls work.”

  Emma fiddled with the fringes of the aqua-and-jade plaid scarf knotted about her neck. “I’m not comfortable.”

  “Comfortable?” Charlie snorted. “It’s not one of your and Holly’s sleepover parties. A model go-see is not about finding a friend. It’s a real, live fashion show.”

  “Like I don’t know that?” Emma hated when Charlie acted all superior.

  “This is the big leagues, Em. Super Bowl. Academy Awards. The White House.” Charlie said. “You need to step up.”

  “Please, please, no fighting,” Francesca said. She placed a gloved hand on both of their knees, as if the soft, Italian leather could calm them.

  Emma inhaled deeply. She did owe Charlie an explanation. “Around them, I can’t see the fashion. Around them, I feel like Emma Rose when I need to be Allegra Biscotti.”

  “Seriously? Maybe you should—” Charlie’s advice was cut off by the opening notes of David Bowie’s Fashion, the song Charlie had programmed on the red Allegra phone. It played when an E-mail came in.

  Emma fished out the phone from the side pocket of her bag and scrolled to the newest message.

  “It is Mr. Billy Perez,” Francesca said, peering over her shoulder.

  “I knew he’d be back,” Charlie said
. “What does he want?”

  “‘Ciao, Ms. Biscotti,’” Emma read aloud. “‘I am following up on my earlier request for a photograph of you for our program. My deadline is fast approaching. I very much need a head shot to include. If you don’t have a head shot, a full body shot is fine, too.

  I am also writing with good news. I was quite disappointed to learn you were abroad and unavailable for an interview for a write-up in our program (our guests crave details about our newest designers!). Yesterday, a friend of mine, Gerard Mueller, called. It turns out Gerard is working in Milan! He is a reporter for Libertà and lives in Brera near Il Duomo. He is friendly with both Giovanna Battaglia of Vogue L’uomo and Margherita Missoni and was quite surprised not to have run into you yet. Do you go Friday nights to Maison Moschino? Gerard sees all the fashion industry people there. Gerard has offered to help me by sitting down with you for the interview in Milan. Would you be available to meet at the seventh-floor café at La Rinascente one afternoon this week? Or he can come to your offices. He promises to make it brief.

  Grazie for your help!

  Billy’”

  For a moment, the only sound came from the weather reporter’s nasal voice on the taxi-TV attached to the seat in front of them. She spoke of a cold front coming down from Canada.

  “How will Allegra meet this Gerard in Milan?” Francesca asked. “This is problema.”

  “You think?” Charlie asked.

  “Si, I do.” Francesca nodded.

  Emma sighed. Charlie’s sarcasm never registered with Francesca. “She can’t meet him. Obviously.”

  “We could send a photo of Allegra to get him off our backs for a while,” Charlie suggested. “I’ve been thinking about this. I’ll take a photo of Emma and age it. Like they do in the movies.”

  “Age it how?” Emma asked.

  “Well, um…hollow your cheeks a bit.” Charlie fumbled. It was clear he was first figuring this out now. “Do something with your hair, so it doesn’t hang down your back. Add some lines by your eyes.”

  “Lines?” Francesca ran her gloved fingers over the smooth, moisturized skin by her own eyes. “Do you mean give Emma wrinkles?”

  “No way!” Emma cried. “You’re not doing that.”

  “Okay, no wrinkles,” Charlie agreed.

  “And no morphing photos of me or anyone. I mean it,” Emma warned. “I told you that before.”

  “Then what, Emma? I’m solving problems. I’m finding models. But you don’t like any of it. What’s your great idea?” Charlie challenged. “I want to hear your great idea.”

  Emma stared at the shiny red phone. Paige had given her this phone to divide her life. So she could be Allegra when she needed to be. But it wasn’t as easy as that. There was no magic switch to flip to leave Emma behind and channel Allegra.

  Or was there?

  Straining against the seat belt, she knocked on the clear plastic divider for the driver’s attention. They were only two short blocks away from Laceland.

  “Change of plans,” she said, giving him a new address.

  “Paige?” Francesca asked, recognizing the address of Madison’s offices.

  “Yes,” Emma said. “Paige Young is my great idea. Paige will know what to do.”

  CHAPTER 10

  MAKE IT A WOW

  Paige Young hadn’t looked up at her the whole time.

  Emma tried to explain her designs, the models, and Billy. With a waxy red pencil, Paige aggressively circled sections of an upcoming fashion spread laid out across the vast expanse of her desk. Each mark ended with a satisfied flourish, and then Paige peered closer at the page and marked again, not saying anything. Chipping nervously at the sapphire-blue polish on her nails, Emma wondered if Paige was listening.

  “Let me get this straight.” Paige continued to scrutinize the magazine proofs for flaws. “You got Allegra into the Goin’ Green benefit yourselves? And then you put together this model go-see yourselves?”

  Emma glanced quickly at Charlie who, for once, showed no interest in taking credit for these feats. He inspected the rims of his mirrored aviator sunglasses that he balanced on his fingertips, as if he had nothing to do with any of it.

  Way to step up, Emma thought.

  “Yes,” Emma admitted to Paige. “You said you wanted us to run with Allegra. I e-mailed you, but I got a message that you were out of the office. I probably should have called back or something, but I know you don’t like to be bothered when you’re busy at work.” Paige raised her red pencil, and one eyebrow. Busted. She’d just barged in while Paige was busy at work. “And then I thought…well, maybe you were away with your, um, fiancé….”

  This wasn’t true at all. She hadn’t thought that until now, when she noticed the slight bronze glow to Paige’s porcelain skin. When they’d first met, Paige had an appointment at Laceland to choose lace for her wedding dress. Paige had never talked to Emma about her upcoming wedding or the guy she was marrying. Emma suddenly realized she knew nothing about either.

  Not that she and Paige were close in that way.

  Or any way.

  “You sent an e-mail?” Paige slammed down the pencil. “Caroline? Caroline?”

  Her voice didn’t seem loud enough to attract anyone’s attention, but in seconds, her perky assistant appeared in the doorway. Caroline wore a flared pale pink dress, black tights and impossibly tall, pointy boots. Her auburn hair was pulled up in a super-high, sleek ponytail. “Yes, Paige?”

  “Did I get an e-mail from Allegra Biscotti while I was out?”

  Caroline quickly scrolled through the small tablet she carried. “Yes. I filed it in your ‘To Do’ folder.”

  Paige ran her fingers through her ebony hair, gripping her head in exasperation. “Caroline, details. We’ve talked about this. You need to organize. Give Allegra a separate file. Can you do that for me? Can you give me a system that actually works?”

  “Of course.” Caroline tried to control the waver in her voice. “Right away.”

  Paige trained her grey-blue eyes on Emma, as Caroline scurried away down the plushly-carpeted halls of Madison. “Actually, I’m very impressed with all this. You have more fire than I imagined.”

  “Well, I—” Charlie started in.

  “But what do we do now? About Billy Perez? About the models? The benefit is in two and a half weeks.” Emma decided Charlie could have his glory later. Paige rarely kept her attention on one topic for more than a few minutes. Emma had to press on.

  “Personally, I find Billy Perez to be a whiner, but he is in charge of this benefit and can’t be pushed aside.” Paige was all business. “First off, no personal interviews with Allegra.”

  “Obviously,” Charlie muttered.

  Paige chose to ignore him. “Allegra will be leaving Milan tonight, so she will not have time to speak with Billy’s friend. Quite unfortunate.” Her lips turned up in a half-smile. “Allegra will agree to an e-mail interview. We will cloak her in mystery. Francesca, darling? Come closer and make yourself useful. Let’s respond to Mr. Perez. I need your intimate knowledge of Milan to spice this up.”

  Francesca stood alongside, supplying reference points in the Italian city, famous for its fashion, and throwing in some choice society names. Paige opened a link to Allegra’s personal e-mail and crafted a reply on her computer.

  Emma watched in awe. Both women were so effortlessly fashionable. Paige wore a winter white capped-sleeve dress with a keyhole neckline in a heavy crepe. Big hammered gold cuffs adorned each wrist. And Francesca had on a pearly gray trapeze dress with gray tights and chunky red suede pumps with a gray suede toe. Someday when she had somewhere to go other than middle school, Emma wanted to dress in outfits just like theirs. So chic they looked like they’d walked right off of the pages of Madison. She’d love to pop into the fashion closet at Madison—the place where all of the fabulous designer clothing went after the shoots.

  “That problem is solved for now.” Paige held her hand palm-up. “Where are the phot
os of your models?”

  “We don’t have actual printed photos,” Emma admitted.

  “What do you have?”

  “The photos are on Charlie’s phone.” Emma could tell Paige’s patience was running low. “Charlie, give her your phone.”

  “I did a chart, too. Measurements, likes, dislikes. I also have video of them walking.” Charlie sounded very professional.

  “All I need is the photos.” Paige scrolled quickly through the shots. “Not bad. I like this girl’s bone structure. The light will hit her right. But this one, good God! She’s so angular and gaunt.” She dragged Emilie’s photo to the trash.

  “What about Natalia?” Charlie reached over and scrolled to her photo.

  “Oh, yes!” Francesca clapped her hands together at the sight of her friend.

  “Do you not see this poor girl’s calves and ankles? The camera will only add pounds.” Paige added Carmen’s photo to the electronic trashcan.

  “That’s unfair.” Emma liked the way Carmen looked. “Anyway, why do we care how the models look in front of a camera? I don’t think many people will want to take pictures at Allegra’s show, will they?”

  “Pictures?” Paige tossed the phone across the desk towards Charlie and reached for a glass bottle of healthy green juice resting near her telephone. “Why would people take pictures of a video?”

  “Video?” Charlie and Emma repeated at the same time.

  “I’m feeling confusion here. I don’t like to feel confusion. Goin’ Green does not do live fashion shows. Do we not know this?”

  “We do not.” Emma shot Charlie a questioning look.

  Charlie shrugged.

  “All the fashion shows at the benefit are filmed beforehand by the designers. They all run at the same time on different screens around the large room,” Paige explained. “Do you really believe I’d be sitting here so calmly if I knew you’d agreed to a live fashion show? Do you think I’d ever allow you to do something so huge and potentially disastrous at this point? We are building Allegra Biscotti’s career, not taking it down with one bad turn on the catwalk.”