Who What Wear Page 5

  Safely tucked away in the far stall in the girls’ bathroom, Emma pulled out the Allegra phone. A text from Paige reminded her about the meeting that afternoon and ordered her to arrive a little early, so they could get their stories straight. The text ended with a cryptic message:

  My plan will kill 3 huge birds w 1 glam stone!

  Emma had no idea what that meant.

  “Chill out, would you?” Charlie complained. “I’m getting seasick.” He clamped a hand on Emma’s knee, which was bouncing around as she tapped her foot anxiously.

  “I can’t help it. I’m crazy nervous.” Emma pushed away his hand and kept tapping. “I still don’t see how Paige thinks we’re going to pull this off.”

  Charlie lounged back in the hard, plastic subway seat, his long legs stretching out almost to the black platform boots of the girl dressed all in black sitting across from them reading People magazine. “Maybe she’s going to hypnotize Rylan and her mom,” he joked. “You’ll be standing there in front of them, but they’ll see some glamorous Italian fashionista.”

  “Yeah, that could work.” Emma rolled her eyes.

  The subway screeched to a halt at Times Square. Emma gave Charlie a sharp poke in the shoulder. “We’re here.”

  Soon they were climbing the steps, leaving the dankness of the subway station for the crisp winter air of the mid-Manhattan streets. Emma always found it fascinating how different the crowds could be in different parts of the city. Back in SoHo, where they’d started, the pedestrians varied from local artists dressed in funky individual styles to tourists window-shopping at the galleries and boutiques.

  Now, as she and Charlie emerged from the subway, they were surrounded by tourists, office workers, theater types, and panhandlers. Once they headed east into the heart of Midtown’s business district, they found themselves swimming through a sea of suits, from serious banker-wear to the more fashionable cuts and fabrics favored by those in publishing and entertainment.

  But today she could hardly focus on any of that. “I can’t believe we’re actually going to Madison’s offices,” she said, peering up at the sleek, black-glass high-rise building they were approaching.

  Charlie shrugged. “What’s the big? We’ve been here before.”

  “Yeah, but we never got past the lobby.” The two of them had dropped off a dress for Paige in the days before the editor knew Allegra Biscotti’s true identity. “This time we’re going upstairs—to the actual offices where they create the bible of the fashion universe!”

  “Dramatic much?” Charlie grinned. “I’m sure it’s just some rooms full of Xerox machines and stale coffee, like every other office in the world.”

  But Emma wasn’t convinced. She held her breath for most of the way up to the seventeenth floor. Luckily the elevator was fast, and moments later they were stepping off the elevator.

  Emma sucked in her breath again as she looked around the airy, gardenia-scented lobby. She was glad to have Charlie there to lead the way over to the reception desk because she wasn’t sure she’d ever have found the nerve to approach the stunningly gorgeous young woman sitting there. The receptionist wore a simple cocoa shift dress, and the colorful silk scarf knotted at her neck was the perfect finishing touch.

  But Charlie was intimidated by no one. He marched right over, announcing that they were there to see Paige and leaving Emma free to look around, not even wanting to waste time blinking. The reception area was as sleek and stylish as the magazine itself, with framed magazine covers and low-slung modern furniture. Even the all-white flower arrangement on the polished glass-topped table was impossibly elegant.

  Then a young woman in her twenties with a high, sleek ponytail appeared. Emma wondered how she could walk, much less walk quickly in her four-inch-high ankle boots.

  “Oh, hi,” she said, making a beeline for Emma and Charlie. “I’ve seen you before. Allegra Biscotti’s interns, right?”

  “That’s us,” Charlie said.

  Emma just nodded. She’d seen Ponytail Girl before, too. She was Paige’s assistant. Emma knew she should say hi. But she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even believe she was really here. Even after all the crazy, amazing stuff that had happened lately—meeting Paige at Laceland and having Allegra’s designs featured on the magazine’s website—this was the gold button on the Chanel suit. She was walking into Madison’s offices for a meeting with the senior fashion editor and her first client! Unreal.

  Her eyes darted around, still trying to take in as much as possible as Ponytail Girl led them down a plush-carpeted hallway lined with more framed Madison covers. Fabulously fashionable people looking busy and important glided in and out of offices that were like little jewel boxes. Emma was so distracted by super-high heels covered in hot pink snakeskin and deep purple suede that she almost lost Paige’s assistant in a row of cubicles.

  Emma peered into one doorway and knew instantly what was inside: the infamous fashion closet. She was pretty sure there had to be an accessories closet somewhere nearby, but she didn’t have time to look for it. They’d reached Paige’s office.

  “There you are!” Paige glanced up as they entered and then pushed aside the papers she’d been looking at so abruptly that she almost knocked over the paper cup of takeout coffee on the glass-topped mahogany desk. “Get in here. We need to talk.” Noticing Ponytail Girl still hovering eagerly in the doorway, Paige frowned. “Did you suddenly forget how to walk, Caroline?” she snapped. “Out!”

  Caroline scurried away, pulling the door shut behind her. Emma glanced around at Paige’s office. It was as tastefully appointed as Paige herself. Tone-on-tone taupe upholstery on the guest chairs, fresh flowers in muted pinks and whites arranged in cut-crystal vases on the small end tables, framed black-and-white photos on the walls.

  But she barely had time to take it all in—Paige was already talking.

  “This is the plan, okay?” she was saying briskly. “You two are the interns. Just the interns. When the Sinclares get here, we pretend we’re waiting for Allegra. She’s due to arrive any second from, I don’t know, a photo shoot out in Brooklyn Heights or something. We make small talk, whatever. After a minute or two, my phone rings—it’s Allegra. She’s calling from the airport to apologize. She just found out she has to jet off to Europe on some fashion emergency.”

  “Fashion emergency?” Charlie put in. “Like what? Someone wore white after Labor Day?”

  “White works year round,” Paige told him. “Anyway, I don’t know. Problems with a supplier or maybe some kind of fashion-show thing...” She gave him a slightly irritated look. “I’ll come up with something. Anyway, she’ll authorize her talented staff to stand in for her at this meeting, take notes and get the girl’s measurements and email it all to her over in Europe—”

  “Wait.” Emma had been with her up until now. In fact, she was impressed. Paige’s plan was so simple it seemed obvious now. But it seemed even the best plans had a fatal wrinkle. “Measurements?” she said, shaking her head. “Sorry, but I really can’t see myself taking Rylan’s measurements. I doubt she’s going to go for me touching her either.”

  “I’ll do it,” Charlie volunteered.

  Paige rolled her eyes. “Yeah, not,” she told him. Then she glanced at Emma. “Don’t freak out. I have a plan for that part, too.” Striding over to her desk, she leaned over and punched a button on the phone. “Caroline!” she called into the intercom. “Send Francesca in.”

  There was hardly time to wonder who Francesca was when the door opened, admitting the tallest, most exotically gorgeous young woman Emma had ever seen outside the pages of Madison itself. She was in her early twenties, with long, gloriously wavy chestnut-colored hair that tumbled over slim shoulders encased in a luscious, caramel-colored, merino-wool ribbed turtleneck.

  “Ciao!” the young woman said, flashing a huge, brilliant smile.

  “Come on in, Francesca.” Paige hurried over and closed the door. “Meet Emma and Charlie.”

  “Oh
, Emma!” Francesca exclaimed in a thick Italian accent. She rushed over and clasped Emma’s hands tightly in her own. Close up, she smelled like Mediterranean sunshine and olive groves. Or at least what Emma imagined Mediterranean sunshine and olive groves must smell like. “I have been hearing so much about you, cara mia!”

  “Francesca’s from Italy,” Paige said.

  “You don’t say?” Charlie smirked.

  Paige ignored him, speaking to Emma. “Her father is an important advertising client. Cars or something.”

  “Timepieces, actually,” Francesca put in with a giggle. She sank down onto one of the guest chairs and crossed her long legs, giving Emma a better view of her walnut-brown suede stilettos. “Papa, he is the watch king of Europe.”

  “Whatever.” Paige waved her hand, her cushion-cut engagement ring glinting. “Anyway, Francesca’s been interning at the magazine, trying to break into the fashion biz. But she screwed up one too many times, and the editorin-chief wants her out of her coiffure.”

  Francesca giggled again. “I am afraid Signorina Paige is correct,” she told Emma and Charlie with a charming little shrug. “Signora has little patience. Without Paige, I would already be on an airplane back to Napoli, I fear.”

  “And don’t you forget it,” Paige warned Francesca. “Remember, this little job is top secret. I don’t know how to say that in Italian, but I’m really hoping we don’t need a translator here.”

  “Si, capisco,” Francesca said. “My lips, they are zipped!” She made a zipping gesture across her perfectly lined, cranberry-slicked lips.

  Emma felt a jolt as she caught on to what they were saying. “Wait,” she said carefully. “So Francesca knows...everything?”

  “Well, she doesn’t know much about typing. Or filing. Or anything like that.” Paige shrugged. “But Allegra Biscotti? Yeah, she knows the whole deal. But don’t worry. She’ll keep your secret. She owes me that much.”

  Francesca nodded enthusiastically. “Si, si!” she exclaimed.

  “It’s a brilliant plan, if I do say so myself,” Paige said. “We introduce Francesca today as Allegra’s personal assistant and fashion apprentice. She can take the girl’s measurements. You said you had some fashion-school training back in Italy, right?” she added, pointing a flawlessly French-manicured finger at Francesca.

  “Si, of course!” Francesca began. “I was—”

  “Never mind, we don’t need the details,” Paige interrupted. She turned her attention back to Emma. “Plus, she’ll be the perfect public face for Allegra Biscotti moving forward. We can use her for face-to-face stuff, like the opening-night press party for the pop-up shop. That accent will sound killer to your clients, too. We need to get her to record a new message for Allegra’s voice mail pronto.”

  “It’s good.” Emma had to admit that Francesca was going to look and sound a lot more impressive than a couple of middle-schoolers. Rylan and her mother probably wouldn’t even notice that she and Charlie were in the room once they got a load of her. Paige had come through for her yet again.

  “This will be so exciting!” Francesca uncrossed her legs and perched on the edge of the chair, her dark eyes flashing with excitement. “And it is such an honor to be working with such a talented new designer as you, Emmita. If it is possible, would you please show me your designs for this dress?”

  “Um, sure.” Emma was glad that Francesca seemed completely unfazed by her young age. She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out the teal brocade sketchbook where she’d made the sketches for this meeting. Emma opened up to the first page of dress sketches and began to explain to Francesca and Paige, “For the pop-up store, I’m doing a bunch of dresses that almost look like they could be little girls’ party dresses. But each one has a really sophisticated twist, so they’re both young and old at the same time.”

  “Love, love, love the idea,” interrupted Paige.

  Emma couldn’t believe that Paige was being supportive. She stood there speechless, grinning.

  “Enough about the pop-up store. Show me what you’ve got for this Rylan,” Paige ordered, immediately switching moods. “They’re going to be buzzing any second.”

  “I was hoping Rylan would like one of the dresses I’m designing for the pop-up shop,” Emma said, “because I don’t think I can design and make seven pieces in four weeks.” Paige looked at her with cold eyes. “I still have to go to school,” Emma explained shyly.

  This brought Paige back to earth. “Of course, you do. You’re a child! Okay. Show me,” she ordered.

  Emma dutifully walked Paige through the designs. She’d decided not to show Rylan the piece she’d designed from Holly’s smocked dress. First off, it was one of a kind, and second, it was more casual than Emma imagined Chateau would be. She showed Paige her other three dress ideas, any of which she could see on Rylan or any other chic young woman.

  “First, there’s the baby-doll minidress.” Emma told them she’d envisioned it in candy-colored silk—like a swirly lollipop. She had yet to look at fabrics at Allure, but she was sure she’d find something perfect.

  Paige’s eyebrows arched when Emma pulled out the next sketch she’d done for the leggings. “I want to try layering fishnet or lacy stocking over sheer tights. The dress is so short it needs something more than tights but not quite leggings.” Emma had loved the look when she spotted it on those hip European tourists and wanted to try her own version. She was going to ask her dad if he had any kind of stretchy, loose-weave lace. Otherwise she’d pick up some fishnets and go to town with her scissors.

  Paige was strangely quiet, which made Emma even more nervous. Her only response was to flip to the next page, which showed about four different versions of Emma’s take on a lacy tiered princess dress—if the princess lived in Manhattan. It had a racy top, and Emma was playing with bold colors—each tier or layer in a different shade—turquoise and lime or burnt orange and deep magenta. Colors that were anything but prim, quiet, and childish.

  The last dress she showed them was the one she thought Rylan would like best. It was so simple, yet she had struggled to get it just right: a grown-up version of a little girl’s party dress. The basic dress was, well, basic. She was thinking that a stretchy satin or even some kind of weave would work. It was all about the enormous sash—in a contrasting color and fabric—that could be tied so many different ways.

  Emma had sketched a few different versions—with long sleeves or no sleeves, with a simple crew neck, or a wide boatneck, backless, or with a high back. And on the next few pages, she showed the many ideas she had for tying the oversized sash. Front and center in an elaborate bow. Crisscrossing in back, crisscrossing in front. Wrapping around the waist several times to make a wide sash with a tiny knot in the front or back, which was her favorite. Then she fanned out a bunch of fabric swatches she’d pulled from her big bin to show Rylan and her mom how she, well, Allegra, would contrast something stretchy and textured with something smooth and shiny.

  Paige slid back behind her desk, folding her hands in front of her. “You’re off to a good start, Emma. Let’s just hope the Sinclares think so. They are the clients.”

  Emma breathed, relieved, as Francesca reached for the sketchbook. “Be careful, there are some—”

  Francesca immediately fumbled and dropped the sketchbook, sending a shower of fabric swatches and a dozen or so buttons across Paige’s spotless office.

  Emma dropped to her knees, scrambling to grab whatever she could. Charlie did the same.

  “Oops!” Francesca giggled apologetically. “I am...how do you say it? A butterfingers? Such an odd word, but Signora Editor-in-Chief uses it often.”

  Paige swore softly under her breath. “Never mind,” she snapped, bending to grab a tiny beaded button just before it rolled under her desk. “Let’s just get this mess picked up before—”

  The buzz of the intercom interrupted. “Paige?” the pony-tailed assistant chirped. “The Sinclares are here.”

  CLIENT RELATION
S

  Emma wasn’t sure how they did it. But in the two or three minutes between the assistant’s call and the Sinclares’ arrival, she, Charlie, Francesca, and Paige managed to get everything picked up and tucked safely away in the sketchbook.

  Almost everything.

  As the door started to open, Emma spied one last button lying next to Paige’s desk. She dove to grab it but wasn’t quick enough to get back on her feet again before Rylan swept into the office, followed by her mother.

  Paige didn’t miss a beat. Ignoring the fact that Emma was on her hands and knees staring up at the new arrivals with her mouth hanging open, the fashion editor stepped forward with her hand extended.

  “Hello, Mrs. Sinclare. Rylan,” she said. “I’m Paige Young. So wonderful to finally meet you. Thank you for coming.”

  “Good afternoon,” Mrs. Sinclare said, shaking her hand. “Lovely to meet you as well.”

  Emma scrambled to her feet, her cheeks flaming. She forced a smile as Paige turned to nod toward her.

  “This is Emma Rose, one of Allegra Biscotti’s interns,” Paige said. “She was just picking up something she dropped.”

  Emma felt like a mustard stain on a couture outfit as both Rylan and her mother glanced her way. “Um, hi,” she mumbled.

  Rylan stared at her. “Rose? Hang on, I think I know you,” she said. “You’re my English teacher’s kid, right?”

  “Right.” Emma smiled weakly, not sure whether to be flattered or terrified that Rylan knew who she was.

  Rylan lifted one perfectly plucked eyebrow in surprise. “Aren’t you, like, in middle school? And you’re a fashion intern? How’d you land that gig?”

  Mrs. Sinclare shot a look at her diamond Chopard watch. “If you don’t mind, we need to get this show on the road,” she ~ said. “I have a lot to do today.”