“I’m actually not that new,” Carly said. “If you have a chance to look at my résumé, you’ll see that I have a lot of experience.”
“Are you talking while I’m talking?”
Carly pressed her lips together.
“Maybe you don’t know, but we have lead times for a reason, and I pushed those lead times all the way to the crash point because you would not leave me alone. You begged and cajoled and promised me something pretty fucking amazing, and now you’re pulling him?”
This was possibly the worst moment of Carly’s life. Ramona McNeil was dressing her down and was clearly never going to look at her résumé. Megan would say to pull on her big girl panties and seize the moment. Naomi would say to go for it. Carly didn’t know how to do any of that. “I’m very sorry, Ms. McNeil. I would sew those pieces myself if I could. But he’s an artist and he’s made it plain that he doesn’t want to show the red pieces.”
“Don’t give me that sensitive artist crap,” Ramona shot back.
“What if we photograph the finished white pieces?” Carly suggested. She tried not to sound desperate. She tried to sound like a problem solver.
“The white is not editorial. We emailed about this. We need a very editorial look and the red is where it’s at.” There was silence on the line, and for a moment, Carly thought she’d hung up. “What else has he got?” Ramona asked curtly.
Carly perked up. The door had not been completely slammed in her face. “He is in the process of creating a new look,” she said quickly. If he wasn’t, he damn sure better be by the end of the day. “I can let you know when he’s going to have something to show. I know it will be quick, and I know it will be amazing.”
“Lord,” Ramona muttered. “Okay, listen up. You’ve got me in a real bind here. You have two weeks to come up with something new. And you can tell your client that the likelihood of him getting another shot like this is nil, and the next time he books this kind of exposure, he better be ready to roll. You better be ready to roll. Have a good day.” She clicked off the phone.
Only then did Carly realize she wasn’t breathing and took a dramatic breath, like she’d just burst through the surface of the ocean.
She couldn’t disagree with Ramona—Victor was a fool. Even worse, he was making her look bad after working so hard for him.
Carly was so mad about it that she did not dress in a Victor Allen design that day. She dressed in regular clothes that she’d bought right off the rack and that happened to look pretty damn good on her, thank you very much, and went in search of Victor.
She found him at his studio. But he wasn’t working. He was on his skateboard, slowly circling around the tables and dress forms. He looked weirdly despondent. “Is everything okay?” Carly asked.
“Yeah. Why?” Victor asked. He allowed his skateboard to do a slow crash into the couch and collapsed onto it.
“I have some great news, Victor! I’ve been on the phone with Ramona McNeil herself. They get that you don’t want to showcase the red pieces but are happy to look at something else.”
Victor shrugged and rolled onto his side, facing the back of the couch. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’m not feeling the whole Couture vibe. It feels too fancy.”
Too fancy? “It’s the best fashion magazine there is,” Carly said. “And you’re a fashion designer. Every fashion designer wants their designs in that magazine.”
“Am I a fashion designer? Or am I just someone who sews? I don’t know anymore.”
Well, this was new from a kid who was overconfident on his worst day. Carly exchanged a look with his mother. She did not like the look of worry on June’s face. “This is Couture, Victor,” Carly said.
He slowly sat up. He looked Carly directly in the eye. “I don’t mean this to come off as rude, but I’m not feeling it.”
“Okay,” Carly said, nodding. “Okay, then. No Couture.” For now. She had to think of a way to finesse this. If she didn’t call Ramona back in the next two weeks, that magazine would never book her clients again. Assuming there were any more clients after Victor. And she definitely wouldn’t be getting a job there.