27 #2
Ellen wants us to open the wedding to the fashion press and allow photographers other than the ones we are providing.
Of course, we are using the staff from the Mercer Studios.
They owe us, and we trust them. Technically, they all work for me, I suppose.
Not that I would know what to do with them.
They work for Cleo, as she is the site manager, or whatever she wants to call herself today.
Cleo likes mixing things up, which frustrates a few folks, but hell, we are already making a heavy profit, so I don’t care.
If she pisses Dad, myself, Angel, or Lowri off, then I will step in.
Otherwise, just do your job, folks. We pay really well, and you have a third of the cost of living here. And your kids are not in New York.
But Ellen wants to go big, as in the fashion wedding of the year big, for the Farm wedding. She has been to the farm and knows the site, and if the weather is good, we will have a tent with fully deployable sides. For the record, the photographs will be beyond classic.
And we would bring in something like five million dollars for the wedding. It builds brand for all three of us, especially for Carmine, who is not cover material, but would undoubtedly get more than one secondary cover and definitely a number of interior full-page spreads.
Dad says, “Yes, it is money.” Mom says, “No. It is my baby.”
Carmine says, “If we did this, would we split the financials fifty-fifty, and if we did, can I use mine to pay for my mother’s long-term care?”
And I am thinking, “Well, that would pay for a substantial down payment on a private plane that I think we really need for safety for all of us who are now public figures.”
And I asked Claire and Angel. Angel was, “Would that mean that Shanna and I get to fly private?”
And Claire is like, “And think, everyone will know I was the wedding crafter person who put this together. I bet I get offers.”
And dear old Mom then said, “I wonder what my redneck family will think. Hmmm. That will shut them the fuck up finally.”
So we agreed.
One more thing about the wedding. Since we are limited to about one hundred fifty to two hundred guests by the size of the site we are using, and this is all site-dependent, as if the weather is perfect, you will see behind us, to the Slippery Rock Creek in the background.
The photographers are salivating over that detail.
And we have Mom’s work from the University, Dad’s work from Pittsburgh, and the law firm.
Family on Dad’s side. Neighbors, a lot of them are close to the family.
My modeling world, Carmine’s modeling world.
The crew from Mercer Studios who are not working the function.
Ellen’s folks are from New York, the entire gang from London, including Lowri’s family, who insist on coming to the wedding.
And we have the gay bar from Pittsburgh, and finally, the Sorority and the friends from school who chose to protect me.
And that is well over two hundred, with no children.
So Mom and Dad decided that, due to the closeness of the Creek and limited space with all of the press and fashion industry, there would be no children.
Cleo’s daughters accepted because they basically live at the Farm and have taken really well to mucking horses for the right to ride horses that need to be ridden anyway.
And that rule puts negative pressure on Mom’s family, especially her sister, who was basically thrown out over Christmas. But Mom still feels that she has to invite them.
And this is a bit of contention. Especially with the decision to turn this wedding into a fashion event, and economically, we would be fools not to.
Hell, we are getting over one million dollars for just wearing the gowns and tuxes we are getting for free, and yes, my gown has been life-flighted back to New York for designer surgery.
Meaning the designer wants some subtle changes to what he gave to me last fall.
Why? Well, what he gave to me was not designed to be worn in a wedding like mine.
That sounds stupid, but the gown he gave me was designed to be worn for five to ten minutes and never sat in.
OK? It was basically designed to be walked down a runway and hopefully stood in at some after-runway gala, and I was sewn in.
Sewn, like needle and thread, and I was cut out. That does not work for a real wedding when I will be in the gown for at least eight hours, walking, dancing, sitting, and even, ready for this huge game changer, going to the bathroom. That gown, as designed, would have to be removed for me to pee.
So it needs to be taken apart and redesigned as a wearable gown that will be photographed in very close proximity many, many times. And that means every tiny flaw is magnified. And the designer wants it to be flawless.
The gown had a runway value of about sixty-five thousand dollars when it was given to me.
That is what the designer would have insured the gown for, as that was his cost in making it suitable for the runway.
As a wearable wedding gown designed and sold for a real-life wedding, the price is somewhere north of two hundred fifty thousand dollars plus.
I don’t know what the profit margin would be retail, but the wholesale on the dress will be a quarter of a million.
And the designer is doing all of the clothes, including my parents’, for the wedding party free.
Free, but he gets to use the images in his campaigns for a year.
And yes, I get paid for showing up at my wedding, and I get paid for residuals.
As do Evonne, Angel, and Carmine, as we are all professional models under contract.
The rest just get to keep the clothes and know that they are in Cosmo, Bride, Vogue, and I don’t know what other mags will run them here.
But I know those three mags are sending full editorial teams.
And Vogue, they will use the American material many times, knowing what they like.
Couple these images with the shots of me Barrel racing, and you have a sweet summer financially.