BACKSTAGE, THE DESIGNER'S ASSISTANT, WHOSE REAL
name was Octavian, but who preferred to be addressed as "Miss O," gathered the models around. "Listen, people!" he yelled. "Boys! Wear your willies down! Girls, you are ski bunnies on vacation! Hot, hot, hot! Got it? Okay? Okay!"
Jacqui stood in her first outfit, a skimpy thong-tank top combination and a pair of very low-cut bootleg jeans. The tank top stopped about halfway down the midriff, so that in the back was merely a thin line of fabric that tucked into the jeans' waistband.
She nearly hadn't made it to the show, and now she wasn't all that pleased that she had. When she and Philippe had agreed to model, they had completely overlooked the fact that they would need to be there the whole day. The only thing that had saved them was an overnight retreat for the kabala camp that Anna had insisted the kids attend. She was determined to have the kids befriend Lourdes and Rocco, who were rumored to be in attendance as well.
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At the show, Jacqui couldn't believe how stupidly they were being treated. All the production assistants and wardrobe dressers talked to them very slowly, as if they were children, or mentally challenged, or mentally challenged children. Each model had a team of no fewer than three people to herd him or her from makeup to hair to dressing station.
Octavian ran over. "Jacqui! I've been looking for you. Reinaldo has a new vision for the finale." He herded her over to the hair dock, where intrepid stylists were turning the girls' manes into gravity-defying rats' nests, and the lead designer, Reinaldo, was approving each model's up do.
"So, I was thinking," Reinaldo said, touching Jacqui's silky black hair, "what about Sinead, with a little Good Charlotte thrown in?"
"Divine!" Miss O agreed.
Jacqui sat on the chair, looking quizzically at the two of them.
The hair stylist held a razor in his hand. "Darling, how do you feel about a Mohawk?" he asked.
"You can't be serious!" Jacqui said, reaching up protectively to cover her head. Her long, lustrous black hair!
"It is imperative!" Reinaldo declared, suddenly positive. "Punk-rock wedding, retro meets old-school. Have you seen the movie ..." he said, frowning and snapping his fingers. "Star Wars: Attack of the Clones?'
"More like a fauxhawk, you know, spiky but messy," Octavian nodded. "Richard Avedon meets Helmut Newton in a Baz Luhrmann fantasy!"
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"Genius!" the hairstylist pronounced.
Before Jacqui could reply, he was shaving into the side of her scalp. It hurt, and a few minutes later, a broom was sweeping up Jacqui's hair, and she was stricken, looking at herself in the mirror.
She'd always taken her looks for granted--but this? She reached up, feeling the downy duck's back that her scalp had become.
"Perfecto! Beautiful!" Octavian gushed.
Jacqui had never felt uglier in her entire life.
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that's why they
call it b-list, baby
THE BRIDGEHAMPTON POLO CLUB HAD SET UP A HUGE
white tent for the fashion show in the middle of the polo field. A line of white tables greeted Mara and Megan at the entrance, and several guests were walking around drinking cocktails, their heels sinking into the grass. Mara spotted Eliza manning the first table and pulled Megan with her to the very front, pushing and murmuring "Excuse mes" while Megan apologized to everyone they jumped in front of. Alan and Kartik had "loaned" Eliza to Mitzi to help run the show, since half of Mitzi's office had had an allergic reaction to a client's new face cream. Apparently, unprocessed seaweed extracts were not for everybody.
"Are you sure this is okay?" Megan asked.
"Excuse me--sorry--excuse us. Sorry, could you move?" Mara asked, stepping forward without waiting for an answer.
Several Waspish socialites cast annoyed glances in their direction, which Mara ignored.
'"Liza!" Mara called.
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