pink pants, the other trailing behind him, trying to calm Tap who was cowering at the back of the room.
“Here’s Mummy Gracie,” he said with relief to the quaking dog, and bless her if she didn’t give a tiny wag of her tail even though her eyes were large and fearful.
“Give me your pet sling,” I ordered, trying not to notice how ripped he was or the way the V-for-vegan tattoo on his thigh flexed as he moved. “If she can’t see and can’t hear so much, it might calm her down.”
Sweating through my blouse, I stuffed poor little Tap inside the sling, relieved to see her relax slightly.
Two of the other dogs were growling at Elias and Rafe, the models they were supposed to be walking with, and Elias looked terrified then blamed Rafe for the animosity, which turned into a shouting match.
Before I could intervene, a high-pitched screech made me jump and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
Cady was standing with her hands clenched into fists, glaring at her arch nemesis, the totally ghastly reality ‘star’ Molly McKinney.
The horror. The horror.
“Where’s my dressing room?” she yelled. “Where’s my hair and makeup? This place is shit!”
“What are you doing here, Mol?” Vince asked, pushing his other leg in the pink pants and zipping up his fly.
“You invited me, you fucking arsehole,” she bellowed in a sweet, understated way.
“And then I uninvited you, you rampant bitch,” he shouted back.
“If I don’t get an outfit and a dog, I will fucking crucify you!” she shrieked. “I have five million followers. I’ll bury you!”
“Just give her a damn dress, someone,” said Cady, her lips white with anger. “We don’t have time for deviant divas.”
Vince nodded, his handsome face pulled into a sneer. “Get her on and off the fookin’ catwalk as fast as possible.”
“And I don’t want an ugly dog like that mutt,” Molly yelled, glancing at Cady then pointing at Tap who was trying to hide her head under my arm. “I’ll have that one!” and she pointed to the Malamute who sat serenely watching the chaos.
“Uh, that’s not a good idea,” the owner said nervously. “Nanuk is better with men.”
Molly barely glanced at him as she snarled out a response. “No one asked you, you duh-brain ameba.”
The owner’s mouth fell open in shock.
“Everyone shut up,” yelled Vince. “You’re upsetting the dogs!”
Immediately, the volume dropped and even the dogs stopped barking.
Vince grinned happily. “I am the Canine Crusader, dog whisper extraordinaire.”
“Admire yourself later,” I growled, still annoyed that the vile Molly McKinney had gotten her own way again.
I’d have been very happy to kick her heinous butt all the way back to Britain. But this was Vince’s show, and he said she could walk the runway.
The sisters Bella and Gigi Hadid exchanged glances but sat quietly having their makeup applied, and I said a short prayer of thanks because they’d been so amazing: they’d arrived early and prepared, hadn’t made a fuss about the outfits and had taken time to greet all the dogs and volunteers.
Vince’s plumber was clearly in love with both of them but happily admired from afar in his Armani suit and Paul Smith leather-free shoes which altogether made him look pretty good, bless him.
He’d been another one who was a godsend, helping everywhere, sweet to everyone, great with the dogs, stepped in between Elias and Rafe’s bickering, even though he was a foot shorter than both of them. He even fixed a leak in the women’s bathroom.
I gave a nervous giggle when I saw Wolfie relieve himself on Molly’s enormous coach purse. Still, what the mind doesn’t know, the heart won’t grieve over, and by the time she found out … who cares? I wondered if Wolfie could be persuaded to do it again.
“We’re live in five, people!” I bellowed above the hubbub, looking at my watch.
I was sweating freely now, especially with Tap’s little body pressed against me. Only half the models were ready, the dogs were getting angsty, Vince had disappeared somewhere and Cady was wedged half in, half out of her dress. Rick was getting it in the neck because the zipper was stuck and he was desperately trying to pull it up to cover Cady’s boobs.
Fascinating factoid: the average breast size in the US is 34DD (not me, of course), but the most popular bra size is 34B, which either means women are stuffing their boobs into bras that are too small, or bra sizes are B.S.
Suddenly, the music