Catwalk (4 page)

“So how was the big fashion event?” Mom
asks as soon as she’s in the door Sunday evening. Paige and I are in the middle of watching some of the film that I shot today.

“See for yourself,” I tell Mom.

“Unedited, uncut, and uncensored,” Paige quips.

“Does it need censoring?” Mom puts her purse down and comes over.

“Well, maybe some of the behind the scenes stuff,” I admit. “I mean, girls were getting dressed, and they might not enjoy being seen in their underwear.”

“Some of them would,” Paige teases.

“Anyway, you can get a better idea of how it was when you see Friday’s show,” I tell her.

“Oh, Paige.” Mom points to the TV where Paige is striding down on the catwalk. “You look like such a natural on that runway. I’m surprised that other designers didn’t ask you to model for them as well.”

“Erin did great too,” Paige tells her.

“Aw thanks,” I say. “But sorry, Mom—you can’t see me here, because
I’m
behind the camera.”

“You’ll see her in the real show.” Paige says. “She was fabulous.”

I roll my eyes and turn off the TV after the footage comes to an end. “So how was
Mamma Mia
?” I ask Mom.

“Fantastic.” Mom is heading to the kitchen. “I think I’ll start some dinner. Anyone want to help?”

“And how is Jon?” Paige asks as we join Mom in the kitchen.

“Jon is fantastic too.” Mom almost seems starry eyed as she sets a head of lettuce on the counter.

“Are you in love?” Paige pauses from reaching into the fridge to study Mom and I’m wishing she hadn’t asked that. I’m not even sure I want to know the answer.

“Oh…I don’t know.” Mom smiles mysteriously. “It’s a little early for that.”

“But you
do
like him, don’t you?” Paige persists. “A lot, right?”

Mom looks embarrassed now. “He’s a very nice man.”

“I’ll make the salad,” I offer, taking the lettuce from Mom, trying to divert attention away from my blushing mother. I start jabbering on about how we went with Benjamin and Blake to this new restaurant and how the paparazzi snagged some photos and how Paige just waved and smiled.

“It’s probably more fun for them when they have to chase you down to get a shot,” Mom says as she pours rice into the boiling water. “So you’ve been out with Benjamin a couple of times now, Paige. How’s that going?”

“It’s okay,” Paige tells her. “But I’m taking it nice and slow.”

“And you and Blake?” Mom asks me. “Are you two a couple again?”

“I’m taking it even slower than Paige,” I say with a chuckle. “Blake, for now, is my good friend. I told him that he’s getting closer to boyfriend status all the time.”

Mom laughs. “Good for you. Make him prove himself. Make them both prove themselves.”

“I remember how Dad always told us not to settle for less than the best for guys as well as in life.” I pause from slicing a tomato. “And I seriously want to stick to that.”

“Me too!” Paige agrees.

“So do I,” Mom says.

Later, as we sit down to eat, Mom asks about our plans for our New York trip. “Is everything falling into place?”

“Seems to be,” Paige tells her. “We fly out Thursday—”

“This Thursday?” Mom looks surprised.

“Yep. Remember Fran wanted us out there a week early to interview designers and put together footage that will play before our Fashion Week show?”

“Yes I remember. But Thursday just seems so soon.” Mom sighs. “I wish I could go with you girls.”

“Why don’t you?” Paige suggests.

“Oh, you know I can’t get off work. Besides, you girls need to do this on your own. It’s your show. You don’t need your old mom meddling with it.” But even as she says this, I sense that she regrets not being involved. I remember when Helen Hudson offered Mom a chance to help produce our show.

“You’re not our
old
mom.” I take her hand.

“And we would love it if you came along,” Paige adds.
“Well, as long as you didn’t try to direct the show or anything. Fran might not like that too much.”

Mom laughs. “Thanks, honey. But you’ll be fine without me tagging along. Just make sure I get a full itinerary before you take off.”

“I’ll remind Leah to copy you on all that,” Paige promises.

After dinner, I head to my room to unwind. Eventually I decide to give Mollie a call. I have no idea if she’ll even speak to me, but I really want to be mature about this and at least attempt to make things right. But, once again, I am sent directly to voicemail, and this time I don’t bother to leave a message. For one thing, I’m getting aggravated that she seems to be ignoring my calls, but the other reason is that I’m worried I’ll say something dumb and make things worse. Sometimes it’s just better to keep your mouth shut.

Paige and I end up spending the next three days at the studio with Fran and the crew. Fran spends this time mapping out our time in New York as well as briefing us and planning our wardrobe.

“Hopefully we’ll pick up more pieces once we get there,” she informs us as the wardrobe workers pack the boxes to be sent on ahead to our hotel. “Leah let the designers know your sizes as well as sent DVDs of your show. But a lot of this we’ll simply have to play by ear.” She chuckles as she hands us a hard copy of our schedules. “And, after all, isn’t that the beauty of reality TV?”

“Have you figured out how many of our crew will be coming yet?” Paige asks as she looks at the schedule.

“Thanks to a serious lack of available hotel rooms next week, that’s a tough one—but Leah’s on it. She might even stick the crew in New Jersey during Fashion Week proper.
And if we have to go bare-boned for a few days, in regard to our regular hair and makeup artists, I’ll be counting on you, Paige. You seem to be a natural anyway.”

“You mean I’ll be doing my own hair and makeup?” Paige looks shocked and slightly diva-like as she says this.

“I hope that won’t happen, but in a worst-case scenario, we need to be prepared. Keep in mind, it is Fashion Week, and besides the challenge of accommodations, every decent hair and makeup person is already booked. It’s not like we had a year in advance to set this thing up.”

Paige looks concerned.

“You’ll be fine,” I try to assure her.

“Does that mean I’ll be doing Erin’s hair and makeup too?” Paige is still acting a bit too much like a prima donna for me. I sure hope this isn’t some kind of foreshadowing of what I can look forward to in the Big Apple.

“Good grief,” I tell her. “It’s not like I need to look
that
great. I’m only the camera girl and I go for a pretty natural look anyway. Relax, okay?”

“That’s easy for you to say,
Camera Girl
, but I’m supposed to be the star and I need to look good. I can’t show up at Fashion Week looking like something the cat dragged in.”

Fran laughs. “Fine, I’ll make a special note asking Leah to pay close attention to this one. Somehow we’ll handle it, okay?”

“I hope so.”

“And I get your point, Paige. If you don’t look good we don’t look good.” Fran writes something down. “I’ll be flying out with you and the three of us will share a suite that Leah managed to snag. As you can see on the schedule, Friday will be our day to acclimate ourselves to the city as well as do more strategizing. Then, first thing Saturday morning, the crew will
be ready to hit the ground running. Or so we hope. Because, as you can see, that day is jammed—with less than a week before Fashion Week begins, design studios are hopping.”

“I also see that we’re scheduled to stay with Taylor Mitchell the following week. You’re sure she’s okay with that, right?” Paige asks.

“According to Leah, yes. It sounds like Taylor actually caught your last show and thinks highly of you, Paige.”

Paige holds her head higher. “Hopefully she’ll still feel that way when I meet her—I mean, if I have to do my own hair and makeup.”

I try not to roll my eyes…or yawn. Paige is so uptight. But I’ll just chalk it up to nerves. A lot is riding on her during the next couple of weeks.

“I’ve got Helen Hudson on the line,” Leah calls from her desk. “Want me to put her on speaker so she can talk to all of you?”

Fran turns on her speaker phone and we all listen as Helen wishes us a safe trip and success. “I’ll fly in next Tuesday and attend the Perry Ellis show on Wednesday and then the Valentino on Friday,” she says finally. “Now you girls be good and make me proud, you hear?”

We tell her we’ll do our best and thank her before Fran hangs up. “So there you have it.” She holds up her hands. “Since it’s after six, I suggest you girls get home, finish packing, and get your beauty rest so that Paige doesn’t end up looking like something the cat dragged in.” She gives Paige a sly smile.

“By the way,” Paige asks as we’re leaving, “I assume we’re flying first class, right?”

Fran just laughs. “Wrong. The best Leah could do was business class. Sorry about that.”

Paige makes a pouty face. “How is it going to look if I get spotted flying business class?”

“Maybe you can disguise yourself,” Fran teases. “Dark glasses, a scarf—go like an old-time Hollywood starlet.”

Paige nods. “I just might do that.”

Maybe I’m losing it, but the image of Paige playing a fifties movie starlet makes me laugh so hard that I actually snort.

“Attractive,” Paige tells me as we’re leaving.

“See you in the morning, girls,” Fran calls out.

“Feeling nervous about the trip?” I ask Paige once we’re in my Jeep. “You seemed a little edgy in there.”

“Edgy?” She glances at me as I start the engine. “Why? What did I do?”

“Oh, you know, all that business about hair and makeup. Is it really that big of a deal?”

“It is to me. Seriously, Erin, our show is about looking good. How can I afford to go on the air without looking perfect?”

“Isn’t that kind of hard to keep up all the time?”

Paige laughs. “Well, it does help that I’m fairly fabulous already.”

“Not that you obsess over your looks or anything.”

“My looks are what got us this job, Erin. I need to obsess a little.”

I send up a quick prayer and tread carefully here. “But do you ever worry that you’re just focusing on the outside, that you’re maybe bordering on being…superficial…by worrying so much about appearances? I mean, what about what’s underneath it all? What’s left if you peel away the layers of fashion, makeup, even your natural good looks?”

Paige doesn’t answer.

“What about your mind? Or even your heart?”

“What about them?” She holds up her hands in a helpless gesture. “They’re there, aren’t they? You’re not suggesting I’m lacking those things, are you? I mean, it takes some brains and wit to do the interviews I do. And I have a heart, Erin.
Don’t I
?” Her voice quivers ever so slightly and I wonder if I’ve hit a sore spot. I hope I haven’t hurt her.

“Of course you do,” I say quickly.

“I’m not you, I know,” she says. “You seem to think it’s enough to rely on your brains and…well, maybe your faith. I’m not sure. But we’re different, Erin. I can’t be you. And you can’t be me.”

I laugh as I enter the freeway. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it.”

She offers a small smile. “So maybe we should agree to disagree. You might think I’m all shallow and superficial and that I obsess over things like hair and makeup and fashion, but you don’t have to pick on me for it, okay?”

“Okay.” I nod vigorously. She’s right. “I won’t. And by the same token, maybe you should lay off picking on me for being unfashionable. Deal?”

“Well, I can pick on you a little,” she says quickly. “You
are
on a TV show that’s all about fashion. I can’t just pretend you look great if you don’t.”

“Uh huh.” I just shake my head. “Whatever.”

“So how about this…” She turns to look at me. “You are allowed to send me some kind of secret signal, okay?”

“Huh?”

“You know, like if you think I’ve stepped over the line…or even if I’m about to step over some line.”

“What kind of line?”

“You know, like I’m about to blast someone in the name
of honesty and fashion. I give you permission to tip me off if it looks like I’m going to seriously hurt someone, okay?”

“Okay.” I feel myself brighten now. “What kind of secret signal will it be?”

“Good question.”

We both sit there trying to come up with something, and after trying several we finally agree on the old throat-slash signal for
cut.

“Since I’m not the one who ever tells you to cut, it should get your attention,” I point out. “Plus the person you’re interviewing will probably assume I’m just doing my job as camera girl.” Hopefully it’s not a signal I’ll need to use much.

“You girls have fun,” Mom tells us as we’re
rushing to head out the door. It’s not even six in the morning, and Mom’s still in her bathrobe. But Fran just called saying that the limo is waiting, and we’re scrambling to gather our stuff.

“I didn’t know she was coming this early,” I confess as I pull on my Ugg boots. “Our flight’s not until nine-something.”

“It was on the schedule,” Paige yells as she comes rushing out of her room towing a very large pink suitcase behind her.

“Thanks to security right now, you’re supposed to get to the airport two hours before your flight,” Mom informs us. “And with morning commuter traffic, Fran’s got it planned just about right.”

“I’m going to have to make two trips,” Paige complains, “just to get all this stuff downstairs.” She groans as she heads out the door with her jumbo suitcase and matching carry-on bag.

“You’d think that the show hadn’t already sent out boxes of clothes for us to wear,” I say to Mom as I hug her. “Paige will have enough clothes to stay there permanently.”

Mom laughs. “Just help keep an eye on her, okay? You know Paige doesn’t always look before she leaps.”

“I know. I’ll do my best.” I put the strap of my carry-on bag over my shoulder and pick up my roller bag. “Guess I’m ready to go now.”

“Be careful, honey. And be sure to call me if you need anything,” Mom says. “Or if you just need to talk.”

“Thanks.”

Mom looks a little forlorn as she waves.

“Enjoy the peace and quiet while we’re gone,” I tell her. “And make sure you call some friends and do something fun once in a while, okay?”

She nods, but her expression is still sad.

I meet Paige going up as I’m going down. “That’s all you’re taking?” she questions me.

I shrug. “I’m sure it’s more than enough.”

“Maybe for you.” She rolls her eyes. “Some of us care about how we look.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I call as I go down. “I’ll tell Fran you’re coming…and that you have like twelve more bags.”

“Is that all you have?” Fran echos Paige after the driver takes my two bags and I hop into the back of the limo.

“I travel light.”

“And you brought your camera too?”

“Of course.”

“Wow, you do travel light.”

“Well, the studio sent out clothes, right?” Suddenly I wonder if I dreamed that whole thing.

“Yes, of course.”

“So I only need to bring clothes to wear when we’re
not
doing the show, right?”

“Right.”

“And according to that packed schedule, that’s not a whole lot of time.”

“Point taken.”

Now Paige is clattering down the stairs with two more pink bags. “Besides,” I tell Fran, “Paige will be using most of the plane’s cargo space anyway.”

Fran frowns. “I hope she knows that checked bags aren’t free anymore.”

“Do you think she’d even care?”

Paige surrenders the rest of her pink luggage to the driver, but when he can’t fit the last bag into the trunk, he slides it into the back with us. “Looks like someone’s moving away from home,” he says to Paige with a twinkle in his eye.

“I just like having what I need with me,” she says back.

“But do you really
need
all that?” Fran asks as he closes the door.

“You’re the one who said I should be prepared to do hair and makeup. That alone took practically one whole bag.”

“Oh, right.” Fran nods. “Now you want to tell me what’s up with all that pink?”

“Surely you know,” I tease, “that all princesses travel with pink luggage. It’s their trademark. In fact, I’m surprised that no rhinestones were harmed in the making of that luggage.”

“Very funny.” Paige scowls.

“She begged for that set of luggage for her fifteenth birthday.” I try not to giggle. “Now she’s stuck with it.”

“I’m only stuck with it until I replace it with something more elegant,” Paige confesses. “I’ve got my eye on a Burberry Brit set.”

“In the meantime, you’re the Pink Princess.” I pretend to bow.

“You can mock me if you want, but there’s actually a very sensible side to my pink luggage.”

“Really?” Fran nods. “I’d like to hear this.”

“Well, first of all, pink is easy to spot in baggage claim.”

“Yes.” Fran nods again. “That does make sense.”

“But besides that, it’s a security measure.”

“Security?” Fran looks puzzled.

“I have a suspicion that most thieves would not want to be seen making off with my girlie pink luggage. Plus, if they try anything, it’d be very easy to pick them out of a crowd.”

Fran chuckles. “Well, aren’t you the sensible girl.”

Paige smiles smugly. “Whereas your brown luggage and Erin’s black luggage…well, don’t come crying to me if something goes missing.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not sure I’d want to look like a pink princess just to make sure my clothes didn’t get stolen.”

“In your case, stolen clothes could be considered a good thing.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Fran is laughing. “You girls. Maybe we should try having a special sister spot on one of your shows, arguing like that. It could be highly entertaining.”

“We could call it the sister spat spot,” I offer.

But there’s no time for spatting once we finally make it to the airport. Thanks to a wreck that shut the freeway down for more than an hour, we’re already running late by the time we get to LAX. Fran has already called Leah to do what she can to get our flight changed, but just as we’re being dropped off, Leah calls Fran to say she still hasn’t found anything.

“We’re going to have to run for it,” Fran tells us as she dashes to snag a luggage cart for Paige to heap all her bags onto. “At least I thought to get our boarding passes online last night.” She frowns at Paige, who’s wheeling a small mountain of pink. “But it might take awhile to check those.”

Somehow we get our bags checked and it actually looks like we might make it through security, but then Paige gets stopped because she stupidly packed a bottle of perfume in her carry-on.

And to make matters worse, she’s about to throw a hissy fit when she’s told it’ll have to be disposed of. Fran is long gone now, already on her way to our gate, where she plans to beg the flight crew to wait. And I was ready to make a run for it too, but I can’t just abandon my sister here. So I wait…and watch…and it’s like I’m about to witness a train wreck.

“But it’s Prada Infusion d’Iris,” Paige protests. “It’s brand new and it cost more than one hundred dollars.”

“Too bad.” The no-nonsense security guard sets the expensive Prada beside what appears to be a trash container.

“Wait! I can fit it into my Ziplock!” Paige is scrambling to open her already full Ziplock bag.

“Even if you
could
fit it into your Ziplock, it’s more than three ounces,” the woman tells her. “It has to go.”

“But what if I empty some of the perfume out?” Paige smiles hopefully. “Or I could use some. Look, it’s only three point four ounces. I could use up point four ounces.”

I look at my watch and know we don’t have time for this. “Just let it go,” I yell at her. “And come on!”

Just then, Paige reaches over and takes the perfume bottle, and I’m thinking
bad move
,
Paige.
Really, really bad move. I give my sister the slash-throat
cut
sign, thinking maybe she’ll
get a clue and stop this craziness. But she’s not looking my way. So I just stare helplessly as the scene unfolds—it seems almost like it’s in slow motion. Paige has her precious perfume in one hand, Ziplock in the other. She’s trying to open the perfume. And the middle-aged, overweight female security guard is glaring at her as she says something into the Bluetooth wired to her head. Most likely calling for backup.

Paige is totally oblivious to the guard as she liberally squirts perfume on herself like she thinks she’s really going to use up nearly half an ounce. And then with a playful expression—maybe she imagines she’s a department store fragrance salesgirl—she looks like she’s actually planning to spray perfume on the security guard as well. Before Paige gets the chance, two uniformed guys swoop out of nowhere and my sister is literally tackled and, just like that, they pin her flat on the filthy airport floor. One guy, with his knee in the center of her back, cuffs her hands behind her as if she’s a dangerous criminal.

Paige is screaming at them to stop, but it’s like they can’t even hear her or maybe they just don’t care. And, although I’m stunned at how dumb she was—not to mention an out-of-contral diva—I can’t help but feel this is a bit much.

“Stop it!
” I yell at them, finally finding my voice, as I fumble for my phone. “Leave her alone!” With shaking fingers I hit Fran’s number, watching as my sister remains pinned to the dirty floor. “Fran!” I cry when she finally answers. “Paige is being mugged!”

“Mugged?” Fran shoots back.

“By security!” Then I describe the scene and Fran lets loose with some colorful language.

“I’m on my way,” she tells me. “Stay with Paige!”

“And call my mom,” I yell back at her.

“Just stay calm,” she warns me. “Whatever you do,
stay calm.
”

I keep this in mind as I approach the female security guard.
Stay calm.
“That’s my sister there on the floor,” I tell her. “Why are they—”

“Code four,” the woman says into her Bluetooth while looking warily at me. “APT at SG twenty-one.”

“But I’m not doing any—”

The next thing I know, I too am grabbed from behind, but thankfully I’m not thrown to the ground. Even so their treatment of me is unnecessarily rough, especially considering I’ve done nothing wrong, and I’ll bet I’m going to have bruises to show for this little skirmish. Then, like Paige, I’m handcuffed. The nylon bands are so tight that my fingers start to feel numb.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell Paige. “I called Fran and she’s going to call Mom.” I glance at the security guard woman and try another tactic. “My mom is a producer at Channel Five News and, trust me, this mistreatment will make tonight’s edition if you don’t put a stop to it.”

She says something else in code into her Bluetooth and I decide to continue trying to talk sense into this woman. “I know my sister didn’t handle this right. But I also saw how she was assaulted and knocked down,” I say calmly. “And you may not care that she’s a celebrity with her own TV show, but I know her fans will also be interested to hear about this kind of treatment.”

The woman looks a tiny bit worried and I’m feeling hopeful. “I know it was wrong of her to act like that about her perfume, but—”

“Be quiet
,” the woman hisses at me.

“Get these girls out of here,” one of the other guards commands.

And suddenly two guys are flanking me and I’m being firmly escorted away. I glance over my shoulder to see that Paige is on her feet now and she too is being escorted away—but in a different direction. Her face is so pale it doesn’t even look like her, and I wonder
how is this possible
? All this nonsense over a silly bottle of perfume.

Even though I know Paige was really dumb to do what she did, these security guards are acting more like out-of-control thugs. And that’s exactly what I tell the other security people when I’m brought to their office for what feels like an interrogation. After my shakedown, I also tell them about my mom being a news producer and that she’s probably bringing our lawyer as well as Channel Five cameras. Not that anyone seems to listen or care. Maybe they think I’m making this stuff up. Finally, I just shut my mouth and silently pray for help.

Finally, a woman who introduces herself as Donna comes in. “We’re sorry for your inconvenience, Miss Forrester,” she says after my handcuffs have been removed and I’m attempting to rub the feeling and the blood back into my fingers. “Obviously, you are not a threat to security. But we do need to be careful.”

“Your guards
should
be more careful.” I hold up my hands to show Donna the red welts those horrid handcuffs cut into my wrists. “They could seriously injure someone.”

“Our guards are trained to deal with criminals and terrorists,” she says as she sets aside my ticket and boarding pass, and returns the contents of my wallet back to me. Meanwhile another guard has finished ransacking my carry-on bag. He opened everything and took it all apart and even examined
my camera like he thought I was trying to smuggle state secrets in it. Perhaps he thought that is was really a homemade bomb. I wonder if Paige is going through the same kind of interrogation…and how she’s holding up.

“But I’m not a criminal or a terrorist,” I say for the umpteenth time. “And neither is my sister.”

“I think we have almost established that, Miss Forrester, but we take all security risks equally seriously. It’s for your safety as much as for anyone else’s. And when your sister threatened the guard—”

“Threatened the guard?” I question. “With
perfume
?”

“The guard had no way of knowing what was in that bottle. And when a passenger acts questionably like that, our guards are trained to think fast and act swiftly. For all our guard knew there could’ve been something toxic or explosive in that bottle.”

“But there wasn’t. And my sister squirted herself with it first. That should’ve proved it wasn’t dangerous. And I could smell it clear over to where I was standing. It was obviously perfume!”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Donna assures me. She’s now checking my phone, writing down the numbers stored there like maybe my friends and family are cohorts in crime, or fellow spies, or crazed terrorists. And even when my phone rings, she doesn’t let me answer it.

“We’re going to miss our flight,” I say hopelessly. Like I even care at the moment. Right now, I’m mostly just worried about Paige.

“There are other flights to New York,” she says calmly.

But as I sit there, replaying this whole weird incident through my head, I’m thinking this is seriously twisted. I
mean, I care as much as anyone about safety and preventing terrorist attacks, but to tackle a young woman for squirting perfume, then to hold us long enough to miss our plane, to be treated like criminals…And I wonder if what they’ve done is even legal.