Chapter 15
It was the morning of Fordham Agency’s biggest day--the Centennial. You could think of the Centennial as the Super Bowl of the modeling industry. It was exclusive parties all day long, photo shoots at the hottest locations in the city, and in the evening, a runway show with all the top designers and top models, followed by a very exclusive after-party. Every inch of the agency had been glitzed and glitterized; constant rehearsals on runways had been perfected; designer clothing filled the racks. All the studio spaces had been staged for exclusive photo shoots, and everyone affiliated with the Fordham agency had been called to action.
It was 7:30 a.m., and I awoke in a panic. What happened to my alarm clock? Late! And I had been doing so much better with that. . .
I threw on my fishnets, black dress, fur coat, and Jeffrey Campbells, not bothering with my hair, which was tied up in the messy knot I’d slept in. It actually looked pretty chic. I ran out the door and down the street to the nearest coffee shop, iPad in one hand and purse in the other. Businessmen stood against the walls reading the Financial Times and Wall Street Journal, waiting for double foam, double shot skim lattes.
“Double espresso please,” I said, reaching into my purse to find my wallet and cell phone. I needed to arrange drivers for my foreign models who were currently staying at the Drake Hotel and the Hilton. After that I had to check all international flights coming into O’Hare. It was officially one of the biggest days of my career as an agent, and I felt numb, running on an hour of sleep. I look like a zombie, I thought, as I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass pastry case.
Wallet, check. Phone? I searched and searched, digging through my bag. Shit! It’s on the nightstand.
I downed the espresso on the sprint back home, and by the time got there, I was sweating in my fur, despite the fact that the weather was cold and stormy. I felt the caffeine kick in; my hands almost trembled as I opened the front door.
Ella was doing yoga on the living room floor; Ivy was on the couch eating Fruit Loops and watching the news.“Delayed flights: Delta, United, American Air, Lufthunsa, Air Italia...”
“Forgot my phone,” I breathlessly, as if they cared.
In my room, my phone was buzzing and lighting up: New Text Message from LILLY THE INTERN: Trouble in paradise. Get to the office ASAP.
This cheery communication was followed by six missed calls from Wolfe’s secretary and two each from three models. Was there a death? I wondered. Before calling Wolfe back, I tried to prepare myself for the urgency. I called Lilly. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“Do you not read the news? Hurricane Sandy?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“All flights at US airports are totally screwed up. Which means half our models won’t be here for the Centennial shoot.”
Half our models? Half our models?
“Shit! I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I hung up and sprinted out to the living room, heading for the door. I had my hand on the handle when I was struck with a bolt of lightning—a brilliant idea.Stopping mid-step, I pivoted. I looked at Ivy and then at Ella.
At the serious expression on my face, Ivy’s eyes grew round and huge, as she ate her Fruit Loops.
“What?” Ella cried.
“Girls,” I said. “How would you like to do me a huge favor?”
Ella shrugged. “Be glad to, if I can.”
Ivy swallowed her cereal. “What?” she asked.
“Have you ever fantasized about being a model?”
“Of course,” said Ella. “We’re girls, aren’t we? Once, with the Joffrey, we did this modern dance piece that was like a riff on the whole fashion industry—”
“Perfect,” I said. “You’re experienced. Ivy, you’re a natural. Half our models have been grounded by Hurricane Sandy, and if you can step in and help me out, you’d be lifesavers.”
Ivy opened her mouth full of rainbow Fruit Loops. “Oh my God! You’re serious.”
“Oh, no. . .” Ella shook her head. “No. I’m not. . . I’m not tall enough. Not nearly.”
Well, I may be shy, but when it came to recruiting talent, I was no pushover. I refused to take no for an answer. “Reschedule with work. Call in sick. Do whatever you have to do,” I commanded, taking charge of the situation. “Get yourselves ready on the double and be ready when I call you.”
I ran into the street to hail a cab, nearly getting hit by a biker, a car, and the yellow cab I finally hailed. “Fordham Agency,” I cried. “Go! Go! Go!”
On the street, leaves were swirling and huge raindrops spattered the windshield of the cab. Some of the leaves were beginning to stick to the ground, forming a slick rug. Clouds covered the sky as a peal of thunder ripped through the air. There was a lot of traffic, and we crawled slowly along as the rain got heavier. Cabs jammed the street in front of us, and umbrellas in every color of the rainbow made appearances up and down the sidewalk. I should have just walked, I thought.
When I arrived, I burst through the glass doors at the agency. It smelled like hairspray. I could already hear Wolfe yelling, as desperate secretaries scurried around. Phones were ringing, and someone was already crying. Jesus.
Lilly popped out of my office. “Oh thank God you’re here! Prepare yourself for this. . .” She grabbed my arm, dragging me to Wolfe’s office. As the door swung open, there he was, standing in the middle of the room, throwing a temper tantrum. His platinum-perfect hair was a mess. He was pacing back and forth, yelling into the phone. Looking up at me as I came through the door, Wolfe hung up the phone and threw it across the room. It reminded me of when I threw Charlie’s phone at his face. Not attractive.
“Bobbie, we’re short six of your international models,” he said.
“I know.”
“Not to mention we are missing a photographer, a videographer, and two makeup artists.”
“I was thinking I could—”
“Whatever it is, you have three hours to pull it off. In the meantime, I don’t want to see you. Go!” he said, flipping his hand, shooing me away like a fly.
“I’m on it,” I said.
“Then what are you still doing here?” he asked coldly, turning away.
Lilly was waiting for me outside. “Oh my God,” she said. “He’s terrifying!”
“Calm down and follow me. I need you,” I told her. Back in my office, I called Ivy and Ella, then I opened every file cabinet in the room and threw Lilly an iPad. “I need you to go through all of the models in documents A, B, and C. Call two models, one female and one male from each, tell them all to report here by 11:30 for hair and make-up. After that, call the designers Paul and Pierre.”
“Last names?”
“Paul and Pierre? Lilly, are you kidding me? It’s like—Prince, you know, there’s no last name, just call. Tell them it’s an emergency and you’re calling on behalf of Bobbie Bertucci.”
Lilly’s bug blue eyes stared at me, her face pale and drained.
“Did you get that, Lilly?”
She nodded.
“Okay, then hop to it!” I clapped my hands and she snapped out of her trance.
“Hey,” I called after her. “It’s all going to be okay!”
She nodded, color slowly returning to her face. I had her dial extra drivers to pick up the models, including Ella and Ivy, and I personally attempted to call Oliver six times. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t already part of Centennial. On second thought, yes—I could believe it. He had seemed so detached lately, so ready to move on. Well, maybe he’d be willing to come back for me.