Chapter 1 #2
‘Ren’s decided he doesn’t want opulence, he wants minimalism. No flowers, no performers, no sculptures.’ I gesture at all the staff running around us like sweaty, frenzied ants. ‘Tonight is going to look a little different than we’ve been planning.’
‘Shit.’ She exhales the air from her cheeks. ‘You got this handled?’
‘Of course.’
‘One day, you’ll look back and laugh. When you feel like you want to run away and hide, just remember that. One day, you’ll laugh about it all,’ she advises.
Sam is no stranger to demanding bosses and intense fashion-industry dramas.
The editorial assistant for glossy magazine, Studio, she has had her fair share of smoothing dilemmas and soothing divas.
We met a while ago when she called in a last-minute favour for a shoot.
Ren was so excited to feature in Studio that he sent me across London in a heatwave to the warehouse hosting the photoshoot carrying a huge selection of clothes only for the editor to decide on one tie and that was it.
Sam brought me a bottle of water while I sat to one side, gearing up to get on the sweaty Tube again, and made me feel better by telling me about the time she was asked by a celebrity they were working with to get a specific salad from a specific shop in North London.
She went all the way there to find they were closed on Mondays.
When she got back with a different salad, the celebrity in question looked at it and said, ‘Where the fuck is the couscous?’
It was the kind of silly story that connects you for life. Bonding over the shitty aspects of our jobs, Sam and I have been best friends ever since and whenever we order food together, we’ll look at each other’s plates and say in unison, ‘Where the fuck is the couscous?!’
It’s a weird in-joke that is somehow hilarious every time.
‘Here,’ she says, handing over the clothes bag she’s carrying. ‘For tonight.’
‘Thank you,’ I gush, clutching it to my chest. ‘You’re a lifesaver.’
‘Hey, it’s no problem. Whenever you need something from the fashion closet, don’t hesitate to ask,’ she says, putting her hands on her hips. ‘I’ve put a couple of options in there. Both black as you requested but both gorgeous. You’re going to look hot.’
‘Thank you, thank you. I did have something planned but when Ren changed the vibe to chic and minimalist, I realised that green might not fit so well.’
‘Green does look amazing with your red hair,’ she says enviously.
Sam has nothing to be envious about, though.
She is drop-dead gorgeous with long, blonde hair, tall, slender frame, flawless make-up and an immaculate sense of style which matches with her job description.
You can tell Sam works in fashion. I’m constantly having to call in favours with her to dress me from Studio’s fashion cupboard for these events.
I don’t know how much time I’ll have to get ready for tonight and whether I’ll even be able to get home beforehand.
I may have to change in a cubicle here and it’s unlikely I’ll be able to do much more than attempt to tame my wavy, auburn hair into some kind of loose updo, top up the foundation over my freckles and smudge some eyeliner round my light-brown eyes, disguising tiredness with a smoky effect.
‘How are you feeling about tonight?’ Sam asks.
‘Nervous,’ I admit. ‘Nothing can go wrong.’
‘Nothing will go wrong. And if it does, you’ll work out a way to style it out.’
‘There will be lots of paparazzi here so styling it out may not be an option.’
‘Chris Courtney does attract a crowd,’ she muses, before gesturing at the action going on around us. ‘But look at all this. You’ve done this, Ash. All that hard work is going to pay off and when tonight goes off without a hitch, you can proudly say it was all because of you.’
‘I hope so,’ I say on an exhale.
She pulls me into another hug, keeping hold of my shoulders as she pulls away. ‘You’ve got this. I have to go back to work but I’ll see you later.’
‘Don’t be late.’
‘Please! The Studio crowd are likely to be the first to arrive, we’re so excited,’ she assures me. ‘Oh, quick question, no biggie: are those sculptures I saw for sale?’
I can’t stop a smile. ‘They will be.’
‘Uh-huh. And they’re an exact replica of Chris Courtney’s body?’
‘An enlarged likeness of his bare torso, yes.’
‘Uh-huh. And, out of interest, how can one purchase said feats of creation?’
‘The artist was planning on auctioning them off from tomorrow. I have to call her to let her know that they’ll no longer be on display for the event tonight, though, so I’m not sure how well that’s going to go down.’
‘Oh, I think she’ll have no problem finding them a good home even so.’
I grin at her. ‘See you tonight, Sam.’
‘Remember,’ she says, backing away from me and almost walking straight into someone carrying several LED glitter balloon lamps they’ve had to remove from the ceiling, ‘whatever the stress of today, you’ll laugh about it later.’
‘That a promise?’ I call out after her.
‘It’s a promise,’ she cries back, waving before disappearing through the door.
The moment she’s gone, I’m pounced on by someone needing my opinion on whether we still need the menus or if they should be scrapped altogether, whilst someone else asks what I want them to do with the artificial cherry-blossom decor and the gold palm trees.
By the time the event starts, I’m drained, exhausted, and terrified that we won’t pull this off.
Sam was right: tonight is down to my hard work the past few weeks and if it goes well, everyone will know that I was behind it.
They’ll also know that if everything goes wrong, too.
But I do my best to mask my nerves with a warm smile, on hand to welcome the crowds of VIP guests filtering into his exclusive party.
Everyone knows the moment Chris arrives because there’s an eruption of noise from the swarm of paparazzi gathered outside, the frenzy of flashing bulbs from their cameras lighting up the windows.
I straighten, my mouth dry, heart racing. Here we go.
As he breezes through the door, a cheer goes up and Ren glides over to greet him accompanied by a round of applause. The two of them shake hands, smiling at the room, posing for photos and soaking up the attention of their adoring fans.
Chris catches my eye and breaks into a wide, disarming smile.
And just like that, everything feels okay.