Fashion Week Finale Read online

  Measure twice, cut once or you won't make the cut.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dear Diary

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  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Copyright

  Back Cover

  Dear Diary,

  Where has the time gone? I can’t believe I only have two weeks left in New York City. I’m really going to miss my dorm at FIT and my suitemates. Well… most of them. Bailey and Avery are terrific, but Madison still makes rude comments whenever she can. No matter what I do, she still acts like I don’t deserve to be here. Luckily, the head designers I’ve worked with at Stefan Meyers don’t feel the same way.

  Interning has been a balancing act for sure — especially working in different departments at the same time — but I’ve learned so much in the six weeks I’ve been at Stefan Meyers. This next week is all about getting everything ready for Fashion Week! I’m still in PR with Michael, plus I’ll be helping Laura, Taylor, and the sound engineer. Stefan also mentioned the chance to work with models, but he hasn’t figured out the day yet.

  Juggling everything has been a lot harder than I thought it would be. Especially when it comes to my social life. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t think I’d spend my internship just hanging out, but I thought I’d have more time to

  sketch and see Jake, especially since he’s in school here. Instead, I’ve spent my days running from one department to the next, working late, and falling into bed exhausted at night.

  As for Jake? I’m just hoping we’re still friends. I still haven’t talked to him since I stood him up a few days ago. It’s not like I wanted to blow him off — but I couldn’t exactly walk out on being a guest judge on Teen Design Diva. It just stinks. I know how lucky I am to have all these great opportunities, but I can’t help feeling bad for hurting Jake.

  On the bright side, my best friend Alex is coming to visit! She’s only staying for the weekend, but at least it’s something. I wish she could be here during Fashion Week too, but maybe it’s for the best. The balancing act I was talking about before is sure to get a lot harder in the next two weeks, and if Alex were here during Stefan’s show, I’d feel bad about not spending time with her.

  I can’t believe I get to be a part of Fashion Week! It’s literally a dream come true. Stefan says these next two weeks “are the ones that really matter.” I’m sure it will be stressful but exciting too. And to think, I’ve been there from start to finish.

  Xoxo — Chloe

  As I get dressed for work Monday morning, I try to focus on the positive. I feel ridiculous focusing on the fact that Jake and I still haven’t spoken after I accidentally blew him off.

  As if he read my mind, my phone buzzes with a text from Jake. “Meet for lunch to talk?”

  “Definitely!” I write back. Hopefully that means he’s not too mad at me.

  Now that I know I have lunch plans, I go to my closet to find the perfect outfit. Today’s answer comes in a graphic midi skirt in black and white, a short-sleeved black blouse, and black, multi-strap, chunky-heeled sandals. I put on my makeup, do a final once-over in front of the mirror, and am ready to take on whatever the day brings.

  When I arrive at the office, Michael is waiting for me. “How goes the celebrity life?” he asks.

  “Please,” I say with a laugh. “It’s hardly that.”

  “The Design Diva website begs to differ,” he says, showing me the site on his laptop.

  I glance at it and see a photo of me with a caption that says, “Meet the Surprise Teen Design Diva Judge.” I stifle a groan. Great. That’s all I need. When I first started here, Madison and some of her friends called me Diva Girl, like I was some TV star with no talent. Now it’s sure to start up again. I don’t want anyone thinking fame is all I want.

  “Don’t look so glum,” says Michael. “This news puts Stefan in the spotlight even more. He was right about you judging the show. It was great publicity for the label.”

  “It was a great experience,” I agree. “But I’m not running to Hollywood just yet. I’m here to serve.” I perform a mock bow.

  “Good to hear, because we have a lot to do,” says Michael.

  Just then, my phone buzzes, and I do my best to keep my focus on my boss.

  “We need to get gift bags ready for Fashion Week,” Michael continues. “I have the items in bins here —”

  My phone buzzes again, and this time I sneak a peek. It’s Jake with a meeting place for lunch.

  “Chloe?” says Michael, an edge to his voice.

  I snap back to attention. “Sorry,” I say sheepishly.

  Michael sighs. “As I was saying, the items are in the bins, and the bags are here. Everyone will receive an iPhone cover, but the women’s bags will also contain this perfume and the men’s will get this cologne.”

  My phone buzzes again, and I can’t help but look.

  “Is that your paparazzi calling?” Michael asks. He’s smiling but clearly annoyed. “Do you want me to leave you alone so you can talk?”

  I turn off my phone. “No, sorry.”

  “Do you have any questions?” Michael asks.

  “I got it,” I say, repeating all his instructions to show that I was listening.

  “Very well. I’ll check in after lunch.” With that, he turns and walks back to his office.

  For the first time, I really take in the bins before me. There’s a lot of stuff. Forcing myself to stay on task, I crouch down on the floor and start putting the bags together. I inspect the perfumes, wondering if the fragrances would work well on me. After about fifty bags, though, my mind starts to wander, and I don’t care about the colors or perfume smells. I just go through the motions.

  After a while I get up to stretch and check the clock. Only an hour to go until I’m supposed to meet Jake. I hear Michael’s door opening and glance at the bags before me. I feel proud of how many I’ve assembled until I see the bins with cologne — they’re still completely full.

  I panic and check the gift bags. No! I put the same things in all of them. This is what happens when you don’t pay attention, Chloe, I chide myself. I quickly empty out the bags and start fixing my mistake. Thankfully, Michael’s door is closed again. For the next hour, I keep my head in the game, feeling lucky I caught my mistake in time.

  * * *

  When I get to the café Jake suggested, I shield my eyes and scan the crowd for his face.

  “Table for one?” asks a waitress.

  “Um, no, I’m waiting —” I begin. Suddenly, I hear my name.

  “Over here, Chloe!” Jake calls, waving his arm in the air. He’s already seated at a small table, and I walk over to join him, smoothing my skirt as I take a seat.

  “You look nice,” he says.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking a nervous sip of water. “So, um, about last week…”

  Jake takes my hand, and butterflies immediately appear in my stomach. “I was annoyed because I wanted to see you, but I know it wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was,” I say. “I should have texted you sooner — as soon as the judging thing came up. I’m really sorry. Everything has just been nuts. And with Fashion Week around the corner it’s only going to get crazier.”

  “You’re right about that,” Jake agrees. “You’ll have to be on hand whenever they need you.”

  I th
ink about this as the waitress takes our orders. I order a muffin and tea — I don’t think I can eat much more. What Jake said is true. If we had little time to see each other before, there will be even less time now. I can’t spend the next two weeks being tied to my texts.

  “The timing hasn’t been great for us, has it?” Jake says.

  I smile sadly. I know he’s thinking the same thing I am. “At least we’ll always have California, right?”

  Jake grins. “Definitely. I’ll be on the lookout for your Fashion Week designs. And I visit my dad in California a lot. We can always hang then.”

  Maybe romance isn’t in the cards now, but I realize I’ve made a good friend. When you’re following your dreams, that’s a must.

  When I get back to the office, I see several neatly stacked piles of papers waiting for me on my desk.

  “I’ve looked through the gift bags, and they’re a go. Nice job,” Michael says, walking over. “The next task requires more brain power.”

  “Sign me up,” I say.

  “It’s crucial we get information about Stefan’s designs out to the public,” Michael explains. “I need you to call the newspapers and television networks that have agreed to interview Stefan to confirm time, place, etcetera. You’d be surprised how often the details get mixed up. We can’t afford for that to happen.”

  Michael grabs a paper from the top of the stack and hands it to me — a list of contacts. I glance at the names and recognize some of them from television and red carpet shows. My mouth goes dry just thinking about calling them.

  “What will I say?” I ask.

  “I have that ready for you. Just follow this script,” Michael says, handing me another piece of paper. “The schedule of events is here as well.”

  I relax a little. What could be easier than reading off a paper?

  “Lastly,” Michael continues, “I’ve compiled a list of fashion bloggers and journalists for you to touch base with. We want to make sure they’re at the show, viewing Stefan’s designs. Again, everything has been arranged, but confirmation is key. We don’t want to miss these opportunities.”

  Michael hands me another template to follow with all the information explained. “You can do these confirmations via email. Just copy and paste the contents of this paper, changing the names as necessary. I’ve emailed it to you as well.”

  “No problem,” I say, trying to sound confident.

  Once Michael leaves, I try to get down to business, but my insecurities take over. During this internship, I’ve proven time and time again that I can tackle new challenges. But apparently worrying each time a new one surfaces never ends.

  I give myself five minutes of freak-out time, letting all the worst-case scenarios run through my head. I could flub the script and say the wrong day. I could read the wrong template. I could totally forget to call someone on the list. Someone could be rude and hang up on me.

  But the more I think about the worst possibilities, the more ridiculous they seem. I mean, why would someone hang up on me? Focus, Chloe, I think, pushing all the craziness out of my mind.

  Taking a deep breath, I make my way down the list of contacts I need to call. For each one, I follow Michael’s script and consult the schedule, making sure to get all the details right. With each call, my voice is more assertive.

  The only downside, which is probably something I should have figured out earlier, is that I don’t actually get to talk to any of the famous people on the list. An assistant — or maybe even an intern just like me — answers every call. Which, duh, makes total sense. Glamorous people are probably busy doing glamorous things.

  Once I’ve confirmed all Stefan’s interview dates and times, I move on to the next project. Writing emails to the bloggers and journalists is far less nerve-racking, because I don’t have to worry about what to say.

  I work the entire afternoon but manage to finish all confirmations. For both the calls and e-mails, I make sure to keep careful records of everyone I contacted and everyone who’s replied. I roll my neck from side to side and double-check my lists to make sure I left nothing out.

  “Well done,” says Michael when I show him my completed work. “I know Stefan promised you PR would be all about glitz and glamour, but what you’ve been doing is so important for the show’s success. I really appreciate it.”

  It would have been cool to talk with someone famous, but being so involved in the process was rewarding on its own as well. And knowing that I played even a small part in a glossy print ad or Entertainment Tonight interview is still pretty amazing.

  “Today was great. I’m just glad to be involved!” I say.

  Michael’s eyes twinkle. “Fabulous! Tomorrow, though, be prepared for a little glam.”

  Tuesday morning, I’m up extra early. Michael didn’t want to reveal what was on the agenda for today in case there was a last-minute change, so I’m not sure what to dress for. After several closet scans, I leave the dorm in a pair of coated brown jeans, a white blouse, gold cuff bracelet, and metallic sandals. I’m too excited to sit still on the subway, so I walk to the office, doing my best not to run.

  When I get to Michael’s office, he’s not alone — Laura and Taylor, the head designers I’ve worked with, and Liesel McKay are there too. Liesel is an amazing designer in her own right, but she’s also Jake’s mom and my mentor from my Teen Design Diva days.

  What are they doing here? I wonder. I’m not supposed to see them until Thursday. Did I do something wrong? And if so, what does Liesel have to do with that? Is she here to soften the blow?

  Thankfully, Michael immediately puts me at ease. “Chloe, I’m glad you’re here. We’re doing a dry run of next week’s runway show. We’ll be working with the models and doing any last-minute alterations. We also need to finalize the order in which the pieces will appear. The photographers will take pictures so we can have a visual to use the day of. I need you to help with whatever they need.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Why do I always jump to the worst conclusions? Having Laura and Taylor here makes total sense. Laura’s knits and the art deco designs she did with Taylor will be showcased during Fashion Week. And Liesel and Taylor were working on a project for Fashion Week too.

  “When do we start?” I ask.

  “About twenty minutes,” says Michael. “We have a studio on the eleventh floor, and they’re still setting it up. Get yourself some coffee — relax if you can.”

  Coffee will energize me more, but it will give me something to do. Besides, I can’t risk not being fully awake!

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, fully caffeinated, I follow Michael, Laura, Taylor, and Liesel upstairs to the studio. There are white sheets covering the floor and lights set up all around the room. A group of photographers is standing off to one side. As soon as we walk in, one of them walks over and extends his hand. “Jordan LeMure,” he introduces himself.

  I know that name! He’s been interviewed on a bunch of fashion shows. “Chloe Montgomery,” I say.

  He smiles. “I’ve seen your work. That was some good television!”

  I blush. “Thanks.”

  Just then, Laura calls out, “The models are here! Chloe, can you help get them lined up in the hall?”

  “Watch for my cues to bring the models in,” Jordan says before I leave. “Laura, Taylor, and Liesel will tell you which pieces each girl should be wearing.”

  “Got it,” I say, rushing into the hallway to meet the models.

  Laura hands me a list with the outfits the models will be trying on. “They will be modeling the clothes in this order,” she says. “You can find all the needed items on this rack.” She motions to a stand a few feet away.

  The models slip into sky-high heels and line up, knowing the drill better than I do. I scan the checklist Laura gave me and pull down a short-sleeved, gray wool dress with an
art deco-inspired skirt. I like the way the black and white pleating spices up the gray.

  While that model is dressing, I pull down more clothes so there is minimal lag between shoots. I expect the models to give me attitude since I’m younger than them and clearly new to this, but they just smile, take the clothes, and say thank you.

  As beautiful as the clothing is, it’s amazing how the models make the clothing come alive. The gray wool dress, for example, is stylish on its own. However, the model’s long torso draws my attention to the stretch of the fabric. When she walks, my eyes are pulled to the belt at the waist and the geometric pattern of the skirt. She stops in the center of the floor, allowing the photographers to take photos.

  The next dress on my list is one I remember discussing with Laura. It’s a white sleeveless tank dress with blue accents and a pleated white-and-blue skirt. A model tries it on and walks toward the photographers. Her walk has a bounce to it, showing she gets the fun, flirty intent of the piece.

  “One minute,” I hear Jordan saying as the model finishes her shoot. “Chloe, come here, please.”

  I look at him like he’s made a mistake, but he motions me over. “I need you to stand in for the model while we fix the lighting. Can you do that?”

  “Just stand?” I ask.

  “Move around a little too,” Jordan says. He has me walk a few paces while the other photographers play with the lighting and check their lenses. Seeing what I have of the models, I know I’m nowhere near their level, but for these few minutes, I feel glamorous anyway.

  When I’m done, I rush back to the racks and continue passing out clothes. There are two dresses left in Laura’s collection before we break for lunch. I pull a short-sleeved V-neck sweater dress off the rack. The cream-colored pleated skirt pairs well with the top, which is an array of converging black, white, and gold lines.

  The last piece is the lavender dress with black trim Laura designed. I’m filled with happiness as I remember her telling me that my pocket design was her inspiration for this piece. The model slips it on, and I grin as I watch the garment come to life.