‘There’re lots of things we need to talk about. Management. I’m thinking about putting a band around you too, like Springsteen and the E Street Band. I know you’re talking to other labels so I want to move quickly to get you in our studio. We have a movie coming out next summer. It’s going to be hot with the sixteen to twenty-four crowd. We’ve been looking for a title track and that song on your tape, “Angel Falls”? It’s good, really good. It’s about a woman, right?’
‘Actually, a place,’ said Alex more quietly.
‘Place, woman, we can fix that,’ said Falk. ‘I’ll see you in my office, three this afternoon.’ And he clicked off.
Alex stared at the receiver in disbelief. Then he let out a whoop of delight and ran around the room doing a victory dance, finishing with a screaming dive back on to the bed. He stared at the ceiling, a big grin on his face. This afternoon he was supposed to be in Santa Barbara playing to students; instead he was going to sign a record deal with the biggest star-maker in the business. He thought of Miles. He thought of Angel Cay. And then he thought of nothing, as he got up, had a shower and prepared himself for the first day of his new life.
39
March 1997
Philip paced up and down the deep-pile carpet checking his watch. The suite at the Peninsula was costing the Rivera company three thousand dollars a night and that was before Sasha had transformed it into her romantic vision of a Parisian fitting room. A dozen vases of ivory lilies gave the whole room an exotic perfume, while light refreshments came in the form of iced Cristal and chocolate-dipped strawberries. In the bedroom of the suite were rails of Ben’s most exquisite gowns in a rainbow of colours together with neatly paired heels and Judith Leiber handbags to complete the look.
‘Are you sure anyone is going to come?’ he said.
‘Relax,’ said Sasha as she made last-minute adjustments to the room. ‘It’s going to be fine.’
Philip was such a worrier, thought Sasha irritably; always focusing on their cashflow, he never took the time to see the big picture. The fact was that the Beverly Hills store was due to open in April and without this afternoon of dressing-up and canapés there was a very real chance the whole company could collapse. In two days’ time, LA would be locked down for the biggest event in the city’s year, the Oscars ceremony, and they desperately needed to get the actresses and wives walking along that red carpet in Rivera gowns. They had launched the company on the red carpet three years ago with Giselle’s daring, dazzling dress and it had been a massive success, making Rivera a household name and ensuring the London store had to employ a queuing system in order to deal with the demand. But getting a dress into the Oscars would mean global exposure; the coverage was watched by thirty million people in the US alone. With the cost of hotels, flights, catering, not to mention the gowns, this afternoon was a huge risk for them, but Sasha firmly believed it was worth it.
‘This afternoon is going to put us on the map, sweetie,’ she said, allowing herself the tiniest sip of champagne. ‘Two years ago everyone thought Prada was just a handbag line. They get Uma Thurman in that lilac dress at the Oscars and bam, they’re the hottest fashion label in Milan. This isn’t Giselle Makin making waves in London. This is the big time, Philip.’
Philip didn’t look convinced. ‘What time is the first appointment? ’
‘One thirty. Why?’
‘First of all, I’m worried we’re going to have a bottleneck of starlets arguing over the same bloody dress. And two, where is our bloody publicist?’
Marina Schwartz had been the biggest expense of this afternoon’s showcase, but she was essential to the operation. One of LA’s top celebrity publicists, she had – for a very large fee – agreed to spend the day bringing her roster of clients over to the suite to try on the gowns one by one. She had also got Sasha on the guest lists for the most important Oscar-night parties.
‘She’ll be here,’ said Sasha. ‘You look very handsome today, you know,’ she said, adjusting his collar. He was being a pain in the backside, but Sasha needed him to stay on side. If he had wanted to, he could easily have derailed the whole scheme. ‘I hope you’re not going to distract these greedy little starlets too much from the dresses,’ she purred.
Finally he smiled and pulled her towards him. God, men were so easy to manipulate.
‘When we’ve got rid of them all, why don’t we make the most of the suite?’ she whispered.
Philip pulled a face. ‘Remember we’ve got dinner with Doug Petersen tonight. I’ve got us reservations at Spago.’
Sasha shook her head. ‘Not tonight. Marina is taking me to some pre-Oscars party in the Hills. I need to be out there being seen to be glamorous, especially just before the Rodeo Drive opening; we need the face of the company in all the pap shots.’
He clicked his tongue in annoyance. ‘But this is Doug Petersen, Sash,’ he said. ‘You know he’s Robert Ashford’s top guy in America. We’ve got to keep Ash Corp. sweet.’
He was right, of course. Expansion on to America’s West Coast had only been made possible with strategic investment from Robert Ashford, who had rented the label one of the units Ash Corp. owned on Rodeo Drive in return for a small stake in the US arm of the business. Impressed by their business plan, Robert had also been swayed by his wife’s enthusiasm for Ben Rivera’s designs – ‘as good as Lagerfeld’ she had remarked after a visit to their Ebury Street store. Sasha also suspected that part of Robert’s interest in Rivera was due to the fact that Miles was also a shareholder. He might no longer hold financial sway over his son, but at least with access to the books, he could legitimately keep tabs on him.
‘Don’t worry about Ash Corp.,’ smiled Sasha. ‘You know I go a long way back with the family.’
Philip picked up a strawberry and bit into it. ‘Aren’t these starlets going to want to meet the great designer himself?’
‘I am the face of the label, Philip,’ said Sasha with irritation. ‘Anyway, Ben didn’t come for a reason. He’s been getting bloody snarky lately, always wanting to know why he isn’t doing any interviews in Vogue or the fashion pages of The Times. I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve had to stop myself from reminding him that no one wants to see a camp little midget as the frontman of the company.’
Philip winced. ‘Oof, more than a little harsh there, baby. He’s just finding it hard to let go.’
‘No, he’s clinging on for dear life,’ said Sasha. ‘He knows we don’t need him any more. I swear it’s like pulling teeth these days; when I mentioned a diffusion collection, he threw another hissy fit.’
‘But we do need him, Sash,’ said Philip gently.
‘No, Phil, we don’t,’ she said angrily. It was the one thing that drove her mad about the business. Sasha Sinclair was seen as a well-dressed arse-kicking businesswoman, while Ben took all the credit for the designs. But the collections were all her vision, her look. With each season, she had more input in the design process, adapting the label’s classic shapes and seasonal staples with inspired changes, or choosing a template of colours that would flatter any woman. And now that the clothes were being made in ready-to-wear factories in Italy, Ben’s skills as a tailor and couturier had become superfluous. They were not just selling dresses, they were selling a lifestyle. Sasha’s lifestyle. She was about to say more when the door of the suite buzzed. In swept Marina Schwartz in a cloud of expensive scent.
‘Showtime, darlings!’ she purred, air-kissing them both. ‘You know Nicole, of course?’