Bead-Dazzled Page 13

  His emails kept coming and coming.

  Plus Charlie had given the two bands and the solo singer Emma’s contact info and told them she was in charge now. They each wanted to know if they got the gig and when the filming would take place. Emma had listened to their demos last night and, honestly, couldn’t make a choice. She kind of liked Oregon Trail, but debated if the Mango Meltdown had a better beat for runway strutting. She needed a second opinion.

  She closed her eyes and rested her head against her locker. It was all too much.

  “You okay?” a familiar voice asked quietly.

  Emma blinked rapidly and scanned the hall. No Lexie. No Ivana. Just Jackson. Here, alone with her. “Yeah, sure.”

  “You look kind of bummed.”

  “Do you know anything about alternative music?” Emma asked suddenly.

  Jackson shook his head. “Not really. I’m more into classic rock. Why?”

  “I need to pick a song for a…a project,” Emma explained.

  “Isn’t your friend Charlie into that?”

  “Yeah.” Emma sighed. “We got into a huge fight.”

  “Really?” Jackson considered her for a moment. “Is that why you look so sad?”

  “I guess. I’m kind of used to having him around,”—her phone buzzed with another request from Sven—“doing stuff with me.”

  “So you lost your Boy Wonder?”

  “Boy Wonder?” Emma asked.

  “Sidekick. Every super hero has a sidekick.”

  “I’m a super hero?” She grinned.

  “Super Emma, remember?”

  Of course, she remembered!

  “Yeah, I do. We never finished that.” She spotted the Ivana-Bees moving in her direction. They’d ruin her time with Jackson. Ivana for the sport of it. Lexie because maybe she and Jackson were a thing. She only had a minute left. “We should figure out what adventures she has now.”

  “You mean, now that you’re flying solo?” He leaned close.

  So close.

  “Definitely.” She held his gaze. Her chest tightened.

  “I have practice after school. How about after that?”

  She had clothes to make. She had beads to find. She had bands to book, and videographers to coordinate. Charlie would tell her to keep her focus on Allegra.

  Charlie wasn’t here.

  Charlie had quit, and Lexie was only steps away.

  “Yes. Let’s meet outside my dad’s office. There’s a coffee place nearby. I’ll text you the address.”

  “For sure.” He stepped away, as the bell rang.

  Emma quickly turned down the hall, willing herself not to look back. Not to see how Lexie greeted Jackson. Or how Jackson greeted Lexie.

  That afternoon, as soon as she entered Laceland, Marjorie prodded her to talk with her friend Inez, who worked at a company called MB Trimmings in the building, but Emma got pulled away by Francesca and never found out why. Francesca needed help with the e-mail interview with Billy Perez. Emma was the only choice now that Charlie wouldn’t answer her texts. Emma cut-and-paste information from the website and blog Charlie had created for Allegra. It was the best she could do in the short time she had.

  Her mind drifted to her plans later with Jackson. She decided that she didn’t care if he was going out with Lexie. She wanted to spend time with him. She wanted to draw comic books with him. Talk to him. Sit next to him.

  She needed a friend these days. Holly was off at volleyball. And Charlie had left her.

  She missed Charlie.

  A lot.

  Emma perched on the narrow windowsill in Laceland’s hallway to answer her Allegra phone as it rang. Paige’s hurried voice greeted her. “Checking in. You didn’t text back yesterday.”

  “A lot’s happened since then,” Emma admitted.

  “What’s wrong?” Paige’s tone was clipped and, by the click of her heels against the floor and the echo of “Ms. Young, over here,” Emma knew that she was juggling many things at once and hadn’t planned on an earful of Emma’s problems.

  Emma spilled the story, or at least part of it, until Paige cut her off. “Enough! Benny will be at the curb outside Laceland in twenty minutes in a black Town Car. Get in.”

  “Get in some strange guy’s car?” Emma asked.

  “Benny’s the driver for Madison. You can trust him. I’ll call your dad and clear it. Go with Benny.”

  “Go with Benny where? Why? Paige?” The line went dead. Paige was onto the next thing.

  Her dad gave the okay, and Emma slipped into the black car with the tinted windows. Benny held the back door open for her. She was a little disappointed. She’d expected the Madison driver to be a cute Calvin Klein model in a narrow black suit and a black chauffeur’s cap. Instead, Benny had thinning salt-and-pepper hair and wore a red sweater that stretched tightly over his belly paunch. But he was a nice guy, switching the radio from the jazz station to her favorite Top 40, as he wove expertly through the late afternoon traffic down Eleventh Avenue.

  Emma pulled out her phone and texted Jackson to cancel on him. Again. And she truthfully couldn’t tell him why. Would he believe her if she told him a fashion editor kidnapped her?

  Doubtful.

  Benny pulled up to a warehouse building that backed onto the Hudson River. The street was deserted, and there were no signs on the building. Emma had no idea what kind of place this was.

  “Are you sure?” she asked Benny. Had he gotten the address wrong? Was Paige playing a cruel joke?

  “She’s in there.” He pointed to a single metal door. “Hit the buzzer on the side. I’ll wait and drive you home after.”

  Emma stepped out of the car, pulling the navy pea coat that she’d rescued from the Columbus Avenue street fair and dressed up with big rhinestone buttons against the sharp wind coming off the river. Nervously, she approached the door and rang the buzzer.

  Where had Paige sent her?

  CHAPTER 13

  GOTTA LOOK OR YOU CAN’T SEE

  The door swung open immediately to reveal Caroline, Paige’s assistant.

  “I’ve been waiting.” Caroline shot her an impatient look. She wore a stretchy midnight blue dress that clung to her tiny frame and kitten-heeled slides in the same shade of blue/black. Caroline’s ponytail swung from side to side, as she led Emma through the dimly lit cavernous building.

  “What is this place?” Emma asked, hurrying behind.

  “Monk Studios.” They rounded a corner and the pulsing beat of a Jay-Z rap echoed off the industrial ceiling. Bright high-hat photography lights illuminated a section of the raw space. A platform had been constructed in front of an azure-blue silk curtain. More than twenty people bustled about, oblivious to Emma’s entrance.

  “I’m not sure why you’re here.” Caroline gazed at her with curiosity, taking in her bulging school bag and purple skinny cords, her beat up lug-soled leather boots. Paige had kept her in the dark about Emma’s secret identity, and Caroline probably assumed she was Paige’s mentoring project or today was a take-a-teen-to-work kind of thing.

  “I’m not sure either,” Emma admitted.

  “Sit.” Caroline gestured to a row of plastic folding chairs off to one side.

  Emma sat. “Where’s Paige?”

  “Reviewing wardrobe choices. There’s an issue with belts. Thick is needed with the dress, but too thick will mess with the color block effect.” Caroline was pretty, Emma noticed, with extraordinarily large green eyes flecked with gold.

  “What’s this all for?” Emma asked. “What happening here?”

  “A photo shoot.” Caroline gave her a look of pity, as if she’d just come to the big city from a remote ranch. “You know, for Madison.” She glanced over at a long table by the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I’ve got to move Diana along. The woman is killer with the smoky eyes but slow like you can’t believe.”

  Emma watched Caroline hurry toward a make-up artist with a long, messy braid, who applied charcoal eyeliner to an angular model in a b
lack cotton robe. Two assistants hovered nearby with mirrors and spritz bottles. At the same time, a man in a body-hugging white T-shirt released oversized curlers from the model’s platinum hair.

  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 bla
me 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.