"Bliss? Schuyler?" she called.
"Chantal?" Schuyler asked.
"No, I'm Keaton, Chantal's assistant."
"As in Diane or Buster?" Schuyler joked.
Keaton ignored her. "Chantal's late at an accessories meeting, but she told me to bring you in," she said conde- scendingly.
Keaton led them through the white carpeted hallway, where girls dressed in similar fashionable eccentricity glided through the maze of cubicles in four-inch heels. Rolling racks of clothing were parked against the wall, with cards and notations on hangers that read "JAN FRONT OF BOOK," "REJECTS," "GO," "BRANNON MTG," "RETURNS," and "INDEX."
Chantal's office was a mess of modeling portfolios, and one solid wall was filled with hundreds of models' glossy eight-by- tens and Polaroid pictures. There were blue pages of next month's cover, mock-ups of the February issue, and a little teacup-size terrier yapping in the corner.
"Wait here," Keaton ordered. "Don't move."
Schuyler and Bliss did as told, even though Bliss really wanted a glass of water and Schuyler was dying to use the bathroom. But the atmosphere at Chic was so intimidating, and Keaton so humorless, neither of them wanted to risk it. An hour later, Chantal finally arrived. Bliss expected another tall glamazon, but Chantal was a small, short, pinched-looking woman with a pixie haircut and cat's- eye glasses. She wore a loose APC sweatshirt and baggy trousers, as well as comfortable (but limited edition and therefore, punishingly expensive) Japanese sneakers.
"Hi girls," she said briskly, then immediately called out, "Keaton! My Polaroid! Didn't I tell you to bring it?"
She sat at her desk and flipped through each of their portfolios quickly. "Yes, saw that. Nice. Ooh. Not bad. Like that one, not so much that," she muttered. She slammed both books closed and instructed them to pose against the one blank wall in her office as she took several shots of each girl with her camera. Bliss went first.
It was all business as usual until Bliss suddenly fainted as the flashbulb exploded in her face.
"Oh my God. She's not anorexic, is she? I mean, it's fine if she is, God knows all the girls are. But I can't have her doing that on the shoot," Chantal said, more annoyed than concerned, as Bliss crumpled to the floor.
"No, that's not it," Schuyler said, worried. She knelt down and put a hand on Bliss's forehead. "It's a little hot in here."
Bliss was making odd groaning sounds and dry-heaving. "No...Go away...No..."
"It'll be hotter on location," Chantal said darkly. "God help me if she vomits on my carpet."
Schuyler glared at her, annoyed that the booking editor seemed to care more about her office than Bliss's health.
"Bliss? Bliss? Are you okay?" she asked, helping her friend to her feet. Bliss blinked her eyes open. "Schuyler?" she said throatily.
"Yeah."
"I need to get out of here," Bliss implored. "Keaton will walk you out. I'll let Linda know," Chantal said as she picked up the ringing telephone. It was obvious the booking editor had moved on to other concerns once the threat of projectile regurgitation had subsided.
Schuyler helped Bliss out of the office. "Steady. Easy." She pressed the down elevator button and glared at a Christie-Best girl, who gave them a curious look.
"I blacked out," Bliss said. "Again."
"Again?"
"It happens all the time now," Bliss told Schuyler about the nightmares she was having and the dizzying experiences of waking up and finding herself in places where she had no memory of going. "I'll just wake up and I'll be somewhere else, with no idea where I am. I guess it's all part of the transformation," Bliss said.
"Yeah, it's happened to me too. Not as dramatic as what you've described, but a couple of weeks ago I blacked out. More like a hibernation, Dr. Pat said." Schuyler explained her condition as she led Bliss inside the elevator.
"Mine are pretty short, and it's part of the memory flash- backs, except I don't seem to remember anything," Bliss explained, looking relieved that she wasn't the only one who suffered from the episodes.
"I guess we just need to deal with it."
"Kingsley said there are tricks to coping with it. He's going to show me how."
The elevator arrived in the lobby, and as the doors opened, Jack Force entered. He was wearing a black Christie-Best "guest" sticker on his lapel with 10TH FLOOR written on it.
"Oh, hey," he said, looking somewhat embarrassed.