Fashion Faux Paw (23 page)

Gofers and assistants raced past, dodging each other as if they were equipped with built-in sonar. People pushing or carrying piles of shoe boxes, racks of clothes, armfuls of fabric, hats, wigs, just about everything a body could wear, flew by at warp speed.

A tall, skeletal assistant with a cigarette hanging from her puffy pink lips slowed the parade when she spotted Rudy, who was sitting out of the line of traffic. “Is this dog yours?” she asked, blowing smoke from the side of her mouth.

“I’m my own man,”
Rudy snarled.

“Yes, he’s mine,” said Ellie, a sinking feeling in her heart. What had her boy done now? “Why?”

The woman shifted the garments she was carrying to one arm, removed the cigarette, and tossed it on the floor. “He was over at Elie Saab’s station yesterday and he got underfoot. I tried to catch him but he darted through the crowd and tripped two models.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“He almost ruined the Givenchy show, too, and Riccardo Tisci was furious. Told me if I found the owner I should—”

“No, he should take a hike. His so-called designs are yesterday’s news.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Ellie, ignoring her boy’s commentary. Just as in all city establishments, smoking was banned in the Fashion Center because of the damage a match or dropped cigarette could do to the designer creations. Thanks to the woman’s careless attitude, she decided there was no reason to listen to her rant about Rudy. “I try to keep him here with me, but he’s like Houdini. He manages to escape no matter how I pen him in.”

“You’re a terrible liar,
Triple E. And she’s stinkin’ up the place with those minitorches. I say we report her.”

“I’m just warning you to be more careful with him, that’s all. Next time, security will toss him out.” Leaving the butt on the floor, the girl stalked away, her thick black hair bobbing from the untidy bun on top of her head.

“They’d have to catch me first, and I move like a snake. I’d be gone before they saw me leave.”

Oblivious of Rudy’s snarky remarks, Viv turned up her nose. “And the ex-terminator was worried about what
she
planned to wear? Did you see what that woman had on? Ratty jeans, a striped tunic that looked about ten years old, and bald sneakers—no laces. And she’s a smoker. Someone should tell her she’s going to get wrinkles.”

“She’s not a model or a designer. Assistants aren’t in the spotlight, so they can wear whatever they want. And I say let her wrinkle. It’s what she deserves for being such a slob. But I do hope someone reads her the riot act for smoking on the premises.”

Ellie walked to the still-glowing cigarette, stepped on it, and carried the crushed butt to the trash bin. “I expect the models any minute now. You can sit here and watch, or you can take off on your own and find a designer ready to show. The choice is yours.”

Viv threaded her long fingers through her mink-brown, shoulder-length hair. “Maybe I’ll find that guy named Eduardo, the one who takes care of the cover models, and see if he’ll give me a couple of makeup tips.”

Ellie raised a brow, taking in her friend’s flawless complexion, perfectly outlined green eyes, and lightly stained lips. “You don’t need makeup tips. You look like you’re ready to walk the runway.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather hear it from a professional.” She took Ellie in from head to toe. “I must admit, you look good today. Not designer A, but a solid B in regular wear. You’re even sporting a full complement of war paint.” She gave a sly grin. “I can’t wait to meet Marcus David in person.”

“Hang on a second.” Ellie raised a hand. She was used to Viv critiquing her choice of clothes, but accusing her of dressing or wearing cosmetics for a man was an insult. “Do you think I did this to impress a guy?”

Viv’s expression segued to one of innocence. “Who, me? Nuh-uh. I know you’d never let a man influence what you wear or how you do your face. Still . . .”

“Still what?” Ellie asked in a loud whisper.

“You’ve talked about him quite a bit lately. That’s all.”

“Well, I didn’t dress like this for Marcus David. I did it for the big shindig they’re holding after the NMD winner is announced. Since I agreed to help Jeffery King get the charges dropped, I have more work to do than take care of the canines.”

Viv’s eyes opened wide. “You didn’t tell me. When did you make the final decision to help him? And does Sam know?”

“Sam and I have had different schedules for the past few days, so he isn’t aware of what I’m doing. And I plan to keep it that way.”

“The big dick wouldn’t understand.”

After straightening the dog pen, she pulled Rudy’s travel bed from her tote, placed him in the pen, and pointed a finger. “You are to stay here today. No visiting other shows or sticking your fuzzy snout where it doesn’t belong.”

“But stickin’ our fuzzy snouts into things is the reason we’re here!”

“I don’t want anyone to toss you out. No more messing around.”

He circled his bed and dropped to a sit.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I live to obey.
”

“I still can’t get over the way he pays attention when you talk to him,” said Viv, studying Rudy through narrowed eyes. “It makes me believe what you told me at my sister’s house. You and Rudy really do communicate and understand exactly what the other is saying.”

Inside, Ellie cringed. She’d almost blown her big secret this past summer when she, Vivian, and their dogs had gone to the Hamptons. “You read Twink, don’t you? It’s the same with Rudy and me. We’re just a little more . . . emotional.”

She closed the dangerous conversation by scouting out the area, hoping to find Julie. A moment later, her new assistant, bright orange hair piled high on her head, trotted over leading Baby and Kiki.

“Look who I picked up. And while I was on rounds I ran into Marcus. He’s a little panicked because Claire is out and he has a new model, Beatriz Alfonso.”

“What happened to Claire?”

“He says she’s sick, and NMD was told by the CFDA to use this Beatriz person to replace her.”

“CFDA?” asked Ellie. She’d heard the initials, but couldn’t remember what they stood for.

“The Council of Fashion Design of America,” said Julie. “I talked to a few of the big names, and they said they’d never heard of her, but the council rules. And she looks good, fits a twelve, and owns a mini Schnauzer. Anyway, Marcus told me to ask you if you’d made up your mind.”

“About what?” Ellie and Viv asked at the same time.

Shrugging, Julie hustled the dogs into the pen. “Beats me. He acted like you’d know.”

Ellie raised a shoulder in Viv’s direction. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“I bet it’s tomorrow night’s big to-do at the NMD penthouse,”
her boy reminded her.

She shook her head, giving Rudy a silent signal to keep quiet. “Really, I don’t. He did invite me to a party Saturday night, but since I’m invited, too, it wouldn’t be a date-date. He said we could go as friends but—”

“You’re not going?” Viv frowned. “Don’t be a dope. It can’t hurt to rub noses with this crowd. Imagine walking Calvin Klein’s dog, or Donna Karan’s. You could become a dog walker to the stars.”

Ellie jutted her chin toward Baby, a Yorkie with attitude, wearing a big yellow bow in her hair and a sable-colored fur pull-on coat. “No thanks. That little girl’s jacket probably cost six hundred dollars. I’d be the first to damage it.” She waved her hand to encompass all the dogs, including two who had just arrived with their models and were being passed over to Julie.

“My guess is those five canines are wearing duds from The Dog Store, Edward Alava’s luxury shop over on East Sixty-first, or maybe Lorilee Echternach’s fancy fashions. I’m such a klutz I’d ruin the clothes, and I can’t afford to replace them.”

“You don’t have to dress the dogs; you just have to walk them.” Viv sniffed. “And you’d make more money if you stuck to the going rate instead of giving your clients a break.”

Money might be Viv’s main line of business, but it was always a problem between Ellie and Sam. It irked him that she wouldn’t let him pay more than half the mortgage, but as far as she was concerned, the case was closed. Money just wasn’t that important to her.

Julie grabbed one of the models by the arm and pulled her over. “This is Beatriz, Ellie. Her dog is in the pen.”

Beatriz, a pretty woman who looked a bit older than the other models, smiled and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, and I know you’ll be fine with Lucy. My girl loves everyone.”

Ellie watched Beatriz walk away, noting her normal stride, which was very unmodel-like, and her larger-than-model-sized rear. “Interesting,” she muttered. “I just don’t see her as someone who fits in with such a big-scale event. They put such an emphasis on the perfect appearance around here.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” said Julie. “But you and I don’t do the choosing. Maybe she knows someone, who knows someone, and so on. Either way, I have an errand to run. I’ll be back soon.”

Yasmine tottered toward them in six-inch platform heels, Jojo and Klingon in tow. When Ellie saw that the model couldn’t handle getting them into the pen without throwing herself off balance, she ran to help.

“Here, let me do that.” She grabbed the leashes. “I’ve been meaning to ask, how is Klingon doing?”

The model shook her head and her coal black curls danced. “Not very well.”

“Is that the reason you missed the Mizrahi party?”

Her dark brown eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t let him go home without me. He’s not sleeping or eating, which tells me he misses Lilah. Since he’s probably the only one on the planet who does, I don’t know how to help him.”

Ellie had yet to talk about the murdered designer with Yasmine, and she sensed this wasn’t the time. “Does he have any symptoms other than the eating and sleeping problems?”

Yasmine shrugged. “He just doesn’t warm up to me. Won’t let me cuddle him or give him an ear rub—you know, the things animal lovers do to make their pets feel secure.”

Her explanation brought tears to Ellie’s eyes. Rudy had told her the agony he’d gone through when he thought he would lose her. Klingon had to be miserable without his forever mom, even if she had been a not-so-likable designer. “Maybe I can help you come up with something.”

“That sounds great. I know you have a handle on what dogs are feeling, and I’d really like a read on the little guy.” She crossed her arms. “One more sad thing: I can’t keep him. My building allows just one animal per unit. I managed to convince the super he’d only be with me for couple of days, but when the show is over, he has to go.”

After that, Yasmine walked off, her dark orange suede skirt trailing, and Ellie glanced in the pen. Lucy, Jojo and Klingon were mini Schnauzers, identical salt-and-pepper dogs with big attitudes. It was probably time she asked Vaughn if Lilah had family, and if so, were they willing to take Klingon into their home.

Sighing, she turned to have another chat with Vivian, and someone called her name. The voice made her wish she could shrink to Lilliputian size, but it was too late. She was caught.

She put on her game face and smiled.

“Mother, what are you doing here?” Ellie asked, vowing to keep her cool. “I thought I told you the ticket-holders weren’t allowed backstage.”

“You did, but I met a very nice man who said it was fine after I told him we were related. He was such a tease. He thought I was your older sister.”

Ellie gave an internal eye roll. Thanks to chemical peels, Botox, Juvéderm, five-hundred-dollar cut and color hair appointments, and her diminutive size-four figure, Georgette Engleman blah-blah-blah-blah Frye could easily pass for forty, not the fifty-nine she would be tomorrow. How lucky for her.

“But where’s the judge? I can’t believe you left him alone in that crowd of fashion junkies.”

“Stanley and his electric scooter are fine. He’s checking out the shows we plan to see, finding each of their start times, that sort of thing.” Georgette clasped both hands to her heart. “I cannot thank you enough for those tickets.”

“Mom, it was no trouble, really.” Her mother smiled at someone standing behind her and Ellie felt a hand on her back.

“Why, Vivian, how nice to see you,” said Georgette, her tone sugary sweet.

“Mrs. Frye, it’s good to see you, too. I’m so happy you took my suggestion to heart. It’s wonderful to see you in Chanel, and I love the shoes.”

Ellie followed Vivian’s quick once-over and noted that her mother wore a light gray suit with a standup collar and pearl buttons, and a pencil skirt that ended at the top of her knees. Her shoes, matching suede pumps with pearl buttons across the top, were Louboutin.

Georgette preened under Viv’s first-rate observation. “Ellie is so lucky to have a friend like you. When do you think you can convince her to go shopping for a new winter wardrobe?”

Viv poked a finger in Ellie’s back, her way of saying “Go ahead and shoot her.” Instead, Ellie stepped back and did a three-sixty turn. “Come on, Mother. I did good for today. Wool, silk, cashmere, and the colors complement my hair and fair complexion. Viv said I look great.”

Viv continued before Georgette could comment. “I have an idea, Mrs. Frye. Why don’t you and I find the judge and see what he’s learned about today’s shows? I hear he’s giving you one original for your birthday, and I’d love to help you pick it out.” She gave Ellie a sidelong glance, as if to say you owe me big-time and steered Georgette away. “I can’t wait to see what’s on the schedule.”

Ellie had yet to catch her breath when Clark Fettel, parting a group of models, bustled over. The line of six women, each wrapped in a black plastic cloak, each crowned with huge pink rollers, marched behind a determined-looking woman with a short brown bob.

“Ms. Engleman, we need to talk,” he said, ignoring the women he’d passed so rudely.

Ellie watched the models file by. “Who’s that hairstylist leading the conga line?”

“That’s Karen Hood.” He raised an eyebrow when Ellie did a double take. “You mean you haven’t met her? She’s famous, does all the big heads, if you get my meaning. Between her and Eduardo, they probably take care of a dozen covers a month.” He narrowed his reptilian eyes. “You should make an appointment. Her precision cuts are worth every penny. I’m sure she could do something with that mop you call hair.”