Glitter Bomb by Laura Childs & Terrie Farley Moran

Author:Laura Childs & Terrie Farley Moran
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-10-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

“THANK goodness you’re here! All the other models arrived ages ago,” Lisette Galvan cried out.

Carmela and Ava had just gotten off the elevator to find Lisette, the manager of The Latest Wrinkle resale clothing store, rushing toward them. Her mouth was pulled into a worried pucker, she was taking rapid baby steps, and she looked like she was about to lose her marbles.

“We already did our makeup,” Ava said, by way of apology. “Does that help?”

“Somewhat,” Lisette said. She was a dumpling of a woman. She wore yellow silk crop pants and a navy blazer, and was balancing on too-high platform sandals.

“Sorry we’re late,” Carmela said. Maybe they’d gotten too relaxed drinking Ava’s tea-tini concoction.

“We’ll just have to make it work,” Lisette said. “The important thing is that you’re here now.” Lisette grabbed Ava by the elbow and reached back for Carmela’s hand, then pulled them through a doorway and into the fashion show staging area.

“Holy bat guano,” Ava said. They had all stopped dead in their tracks to stare.

The staging area was a blur of activity. Racks of clothes clattered past, hair stylists were frantically clipping in extra pieces of hair, dozens of models were in various stages of undress, and rock music blared. Underneath all that heady excitement was a steady backbeat—the click, click, click of models practicing their heel-toe, heel-toe walk.

Carmela put her hands over her ears. “What a racket. How can you get anything organized in this chaos?”

Her answer came in the form of a tall, thin woman clad in a tight black leather suit. Her hair was scraped back from her forehead, the frames of her glasses were trendy brown herringbone, and she wielded a clipboard like she was an accountant with the KGB.

“It’s about time,” the woman snapped. “I’d almost given up.” She peered at Ava. “And you are . . . ?”

“This is Ava Gruiex and Carmela Bertrand,” Lisette said, stepping in to assist. To Carmela and Ava she said, “Ladies, I’d like you to meet Elsinore Fry, our show producer extraordinaire.”

“Fry with a y not an i-e,” Elsinore hissed at them. With her heavily penciled eyes and bright red lips, she looked (and acted) like Cruella de Vil’s younger sister.

“Got it,” Carmela said. “Where do you want us? What exactly do you want us to do?”

Elsinore rapidly clicked her pen under Carmela’s nose. “I want you ladies to listen to me carefully. You’ve already missed my orientation speech, so I’ll run through the critical parts quickly. You’ll each have three outfits to model.” She held up three fingers. “Comprende?”

“Three,” Ava said. “Comes after two, right before four.”

“I’m going to forget you said that,” Elsinore said. “Chalk it up to preshow jitters.”

“Go on,” Carmela said. “We’re listening.” But we’re definitely not taking you seriously.

“Three looks,” Elsinore said. “Sporty, daywear chic, and evening. I must warn you, the show will be fast-paced, so you’re not going to have a lot of time to dawdle in between changes.” She peered over her glasses at them.

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