Fatshionista (5 page)

So, C. Marshall’s
daughter had wormed her way into our staff meeting, but to what end? We already
had all positions filled, and every position had one intern behind it. What
possible reason could Marta have found to add this charming socialite to our
weekly staff meeting? As Marta swept into the room (always, always the last to
make an appearance, even at her own meeting), I was anxious to hear the reason.

“Everyone, settle
please. We have successfully completed all shows for the fall/winter
ready-to-wear season. I am sure Millicent will slap your hands and pat your
heads, and I hope you all listen and make note of your failures. As for your
triumphs, I saw very few. Everything went well, but nothing was truly achieved.
I have yet to understand how we can continue to offer a mediocre level of
service and remain in business. My only guess is that every other production
company out there is worse, but really, ladies and gentlemen, we need to raise
the bar higher. We need to make ourselves the production company of choice in
New York. Millicent has let you all skate by with an appalling lack of
professionalism, and I take full responsibility for letting it happen.”

As Marta paused
to look around the room, trying to catch the eye of any team member who was not
resolutely staring at their notepad, their iPad, or the table, I was fuming. I
could not believe after all these years she was laying every failure of
her
company at my feet. Normally her post-fashion week speeches were along these
lines, but she had never come out and blatantly accused me and my lack of
standards for being the reason she thought we are never up to par.

How many more
years was I going to put up with this? Could I afford to go out on my own or
find another company? Other production companies had often courted me, but I
stayed here not because of Marta, but because of the caliber of designers with
which she worked. All of them found working with a former model to be oh-so-chic.
Her mystique and aged fame was what got them in the door. It was my ideas and execution
that kept them coming back. Damn her for trying to imply that all this was my
fault.

“Which leads me
to the introduction I wish to make, although I fear it is quite unnecessary
since she is so well known in her own right. Nevertheless, I would like to
introduce you all to Scarlett Marshall. She will be joining our team in a new
position I have created. She will be the new head of client retention and
social media. She will oversee all aspects of our publicity and marketing and
will act as my eyes and ears in my absence. I expect you all to give her the
same respect and authority you offer me.

“Millicent, you
will work with Scarlett to keep her informed of the day-to-day details that you
oversee, and you will include her in all client meetings. Think of her as my
right-hand man, if you will.”

Right-hand man?
Right-hand man? What the hell did that make me? I had been the right hand, left
hand, eyes, ears, and brains of this company ever since my first day five years
ago. Granted I wasn’t some rich daddy’s girl and didn’t have a socially elite
contact list to draw upon, but I damn well knew this company, I knew our
clients, and I knew how to work with and around Marta when necessary. And now I
had a mini-Marta? A socialite mini-Marta? And I kept falling lower and lower
down the totem poll. Maybe Marta’s next step would be bringing in Paris Hilton
and making her head of video production. Excellent idea!

“Scarlett, why
don’t you say a few words to your new team?” Marta said over her shoulder as
she exited the conference room. I guessed she was good to go now that she had
launched her protégé. Dear God, how could this get any worse?

“Well, hello
everyone,” Scarlett said while rising. Apparently she felt the need to stand to
address…her team.

“I am happy to be
a part of your team. As Marta said, she has brought me in to try and increase
the level of exposure the company has and to use the knowledge I possess to
take this company to the next level. I look forward to meeting with each of you
to hear your ideas and to see how we can all work together to create the best
production company in New York.” The only thing missing from her speech was a
set of pom-poms. Seriously, how old was this girl? Twenty? Twenty-one? Was she
even out of college?

“I will also be
creating an M. Spencer Productions blog. As most of you are aware, social media
is the advertising of the future. While we do have an outstanding website, we
do not have any presence on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, or any number of other
social media outlets. This is where my technological and social expertise will
come together to help create an overall brand for the company, using those
tools and my contacts to increase exposure of our company.”

I sincerely hoped
there was something to back up the insanely high level of confidence this
cheerleader sported. Maybe I had become jaded and cynical at the ripe old age
of twenty-eight. I knew about Facebook, I tweeted. But who wanted to follow
tweets about lighting shipments and drapery colors? What was there to tweet
about here? This was a business, not the Kappa Psi house.

“I don’t know how
many of you are familiar with blogging or how it can be used to increase social
awareness of a company, but I feel if we can get some momentum behind this new
blog I am creating, it will expand the branding of this company to a more,
shall we say,
younger
clientele. Now obviously Marta is the driving
force behind her company, but most people under the age of thirty have no idea
who Marta is. They don’t even know she used to be a model. Time marches on and
this company needs to get in step.

“If any one of
you says any of that to Marta, I will deny it and throw you under the bus the
first chance I get. I may look young and naïve, but my father taught me at an
early age that it’s about giving people what they want, and people in fashion
do not want an old woman telling them what is fresh, what is new, what is
fashion.”

And with that,
Scarlett returned to her seat.

No one said a
word. They all looked around the room at one another, looked at the tabletops,
anywhere but at the cheerleader. I felt as the former second in command I
should say something. It wasn’t like Scarlett didn’t have some good ideas, but
I needed to see if she could back any of it up. I, better than most, knew the
power of a great blog. One thing I learned early in this industry was that talk
was cheap; it all came down to the walk. Could she walk the walk? As over-the-top
and artsy and flamboyant as this business could be, it was still a business.
The companies that owned these design houses owned them to make a profit.
Scarlett might be on to something; I would just have to wait and see.

“Scarlett, on
behalf of our team, I would like to welcome you. We’re a tight-knit bunch, we
work hard, we get on one another’s last nerves, but we do good work. And we
enjoy doing it with each other. I’m sure that you will be a great addition to
our team. And please let me know if there is anything you need from us as you’re
settling in.” There, I played nice. We would see if this ended up working in my
favor or blowing up in my face. Sometimes there was a thin line between the
two.

The team took
their cue from me and started nodding and making eye contact with Scarlett.
Almost as if the teacher had just announced that the new kid was here and she
also had candy for everyone. If Scarlett could do what she said she could, we
would all benefit. It was just a matter of seeing if she could put up—and
if she could or would ever shut up.

With the
announcement of Scarlett’s new role, I decided we could scrap the rest of the
staff meeting. Everyone was anxious to break up into their little groups and
discuss this amongst themselves anyway; keeping them here longer would only delay
the meeting after the meeting. They had checked out from the moment Marta
announced who Scarlett was and what she would be doing.

“Let’s go ahead
and wrap it up for today. It’s been a long, grueling week for all of us. Since
it’s Friday, I’ll just move the rest of the agenda items to Monday.” Everyone
started gathering their things and the side bar conversations had already
begun.

“Just a second,
everyone. I did have a quick announcement I needed to make, if you all could
kindly take your seats.” Scarlett, like a queen, stayed seated while making her
announcement.

I had already
turned toward the door to head back to my hole of an office. I turned and saw
all eyes on me. Apparently the rest of the team was waiting to see what I would
do before they did anything. I buried my sigh deep inside me and returned to my
seat.

“I have brought
on a new client. He will be coming in this afternoon to meet with Millicent to
discuss his upcoming resort wear presentation. He is brand new to the American
fashion scene. He’s a designer from India and has recently shown there at Lakme
Fashion Week and Delhi Bridal Week.”

Her voice drifted
off as I listened with one ear. If her big announcement was another client, a
resort wear one at that, I had nothing to say. I hadn’t missed her comment
about him meeting with me today, although I knew for a fact my calendar was
packed. But I knew I could handle one more client in the relatively quiet
season of resort wear.

“I know that he’ll
have plenty of ideas about how he wants his clothing portrayed. As always, we
will listen to those ideas and incorporate them into the overall presentation.”

As always? 
Sounded like she had been here for years instead of merely minutes.

“Millicent, I
know you will give him the full breadth and width of your knowledge and
experience.”

Width? Was that a
dig at my size? Could this tiny little socialite already be making veiled
insults right to my face?

“Millicent is one
of our greatest assets here at M. Spencer. Her wide range of experience and her
ability to absorb all types of ideas and bring them into one true, focused
presentation will serve our new client well.”

It was like that
Gas-X commercial. I knew there were other words she said, but the only ones I
heard were “wide,” “absorb,” and “ass-sets.” Maybe I was losing my mind.

“Millicent, I
look forward to hearing how your meeting goes with Daniel. Thank you, everyone;
that will be all.” And with that, Scarlett turned on her five-inch platform
heel and left out the same door as Marta. Everyone paused a beat to make sure
the meeting was really over this time. I nodded to them and gathered my own
things again. Now I just had to figure out how to work this new client into the
already packed day I had lined up.

****

I wedged my way
into my cubbyhole of an office, barely missing the Jenga towerish pile of
magazines that perpetually sat on the edge of my desk. In a perfect world, my
office would be something out of a Kelly Wearstler show house, all gilded and
shiny, a true example of Hollywood Regency meets mid-century modern.

But alas, my
office was more
Sanford and Son
meets
Barney Miller
. But I felt
right at home in my cubbyhole full of battered metal file cabinets and pleather
furniture. The wood veneer desk was peeling at the edges, and I had to be
careful to not brush by it while navigating the tiny space. Many a shirt and
sweater had fought this desk and lost.

I propped my iPad
up on the latest stack of
Harper’s Bazaar
and immediately began Googling
Daniel…who? I called Lizzie to see if she had heard out in cubeworld the full
name of our mystery designer.

“Lizzie, any idea
who this guy is that Scarlett was talking about? I got the first name but no
last. I wanted to see what he’s done before I have to meet with him this
afternoon.” Meanwhile I was Googling Lakme Fashion Week to see if I happened to
see his name in the list of designers.

“She didn’t say.
Want me to ask? It’ll give me a chance to check out her office.”

Office? She had
an office? “What office?” It took me two years to earn this cubbyhole. She got
an office on day one?

“You didn’t hear?
Boss lady set her up right outside her office. You know back when Marta had the
two assistants but they could never coordinate what they were doing and she
fired the blonde one? Her old office, she gave that to Scarlett.”

“Well shit.”
Maybe this was a sign. Like in the horror movies when you heard the voices yell
“Get out!” Marta was a pain in my ass; I was underpaid, overworked, had no
social life…but the job did have a few perks. Maybe instead of running to the
door I should wait around until Marta showed me the door—more paychecks,
more connections, more time to update my portfolio and my résumé.

“Get your little
tail out there and start digging up information. I hate going into a meeting
blind.”

“We can’t all be
blessed with curves like you, Millie. Once I realized I would never have boobs,
I decided everything else better look pretty damn good. Especially when I realized
that the only people I wanted looking at them were other women; you know how
critical we can be.”

“Agreed, I can’t
stand my own female inner monologue sometimes; I don’t see how you could want
to add one more female voice into your head, but then again, I don’t understand
your fascination with dressing like a farmer either.”