Speaking of my assistant.
Park rushed over to me. “Okay. We’re ready.”
I stopped one model, checked the gown’s hem, and nodded. “You’re ready, Star.”
The model smiled and hurried to get in place.
I turned to Park. Before coming to New York, she was a contestant on South Korea's Next Top Model show. She ended up taking third place.
But that wasn’t the most intriguing part of her background. Park had been born a boy. With the support of understanding parents, Park underwent male-to-female gender reassignment surgery as a teenager. Then, she changed her given name from Hyun-woo to Hyori and decided she wanted to be a model. Unfortunately, she struggled with discrimination in South Korea and was barely booked. She moved to New York for a new start in the fashion world. Here, she realized that modeling wasn’t her thing. The clothes proved to be her true love. I hired her as my assistant a year later.
I turned to Park. “Is everything else ready?”
She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. “As ready as it’s going to be.”
“Park, that’s not a comforting answer.”
“Sorry, Ivy. This has just been nerve-wracking.”
“Welcome to New York Fashion.” I walked off. “Any problems?”
“Lots of front row drama.” She kept my pace. “Eleanor Windsor arrived. She demanded champagne and a closer seat.”
I rolled my eyes. “Eleanor is at the first seat next to the stage. She can’t get any closer besides sitting her ass right in the middle of the runway. I told you she was a diva.”
“And you were correct.”
“We have to get her wasted or she is going to be dramatic all damn night.”
“Yeah. I remember your advice. I had a waiter give her some champagne and. . .”
I continued walking around the area, making sure the models were getting into place. “And?”
“We put a few drops of rum in it like you told me.”
“And?”
“She’s been rocking and jamming in the seat the whole time. Completely off beat.”
“We do what we must for our VIPS.”
“She keeps calling me Parky Baby.”
I laughed. “I told you to put your foot down on your name.”
Everyone thought her name was Park because in the Korean writing system the family name comes first. Therefore, when she came to New York, she would always write her name as Park Hyori. Instead of changing how she wrote it or explaining it to everyone over and over, she just went with it.
“I like Park.” She frowned. “But I don’t like Parky Baby.”
I grinned.
Rushing past, my show director Wanda yelled, “First outfits! Get in line!”
I scanned the space. Each model had a dresser which was a person making sure they had the correct accessories on and that their makeup didn’t smudge. The dressers looked pleased as they assessed the models. A few hairstylists and makeup artists touched up the models’ faces and stuck extra pins in a few models’ hair.
I raised my finger to my mouth and bit at one nail, completely destroying the recent manicure. “Do you think I should change the handbags?”
Park shook her head. “They’re perfect.”
I moved my finger away and walked over to the front of the monitor. The director stood, waiting for the first model to go down the runway. She gave a thumbs up to me and then whispered into her headphone speaker. “Cue the music.”
The song shifted to a slow jazz production of Have Yourself A Merry Christmas.
I watched the screen. The space where the audience stood went dark for a few seconds. All chatter ceased. Then the runaway glowed bright silver. The projector came back on, covering the area in snowflake lights.
I exhaled, knowing that there was no turning back.
The director whispered back into the headphone. “Get the first model ready.”
Park stepped next to me. “I feel like I’m going to piss myself.”
“Don’t.”
“How can you stand there so calm?”
“This isn’t my first rodeo. Besides, I’m nervous. I just don’t let it show.”
“Still, this was madness for months putting it all together and now. . .it all comes down to twenty minutes.”
“And everything better go perfectly.”
Possibly hearing me, the director stirred as she spoke into his mic, “And begin.”
The first model strolled out onto the runway, wearing a strapless red gown that was embellished with crystals. A few gasps came from the front row. I tried to see who made the sound, but the audience represented a blur of onlooking faces. The model continued down the runaway. Photographers snapped. Cameras flashed.
My stomach twisted.
After the fashion show, more would come this evening. The whole gala included a dinner attended by 300 A-list guests and an auction for these designer pieces.
They’ll love it and spend tons of money.
My fingers shook.
The fashion show continued. All the models went out with no mishaps. Second outfits came next. I exhaled and Park stopped fidgeting next to me. By the third outfits, I bit my nails and forced myself to stop.