Page 2 of The Weekend Crashers
Early-morning clouds have rolled in by the time Maggie gets to her job at an Upper East Side clothing store called Denim. The boutique is on a quiet block just east of Lexington Avenue in the sixties. It used to only sell high-end denim (hence the name) but over the past thirty years has expanded its inventory to include expensive cashmere in muted colors, cult designer jewelry and the occasional handbag.
Since the neighborhood clientele have proven themselves skittish in the rain, Maggie unpacks some knitting from her bag to pass the time.
“Good morning, Maggie,” her boss says, breezing in fifteen minutes later. “I have some news!”
Elaine Berger is more like family than an employer. Maggie’sknown her for so many years, Piper calls her “Aunt Elaine.” She fills a void left by the absence of Maggie’s own mother.
Elaine pats down her damp hair, a silver bob never a centimeter longer than her jawline. Her dark, heavy-lidded eyes are always behind the thick wall of her glasses, of which she always keeps an extra pair on a chain around her neck. Her nose is prominent, balanced out by strong bone structure. The wordhandsomecomes to mind. Handsome, and chic: The only jewelry she wears is a Tiffany triplet ring and a Cartier watch on a leather band.
Maggie is forever grateful that she walked into that particular store on that particular day in the summer of 2000. Up to that point, not a single employer had been willing to overlook the fact that Maggie was seven months pregnant. Elaine offered minimum wage plus commission, and she’d jumped at the opportunity. It would be a temporary job until she figured out something permanent. Twenty-three years later, she’s still here.
“What’s the news?” Maggie asks, unable to imagine what it could be.
“I’ve gotten you a ticket to the Betsy Toledo show tomorrow night.”
Scoring a ticket to a New York City fashion show is a near impossible feat. In fact, Piper’s been modeling for two years now and it’s never happened. But Elaine, who made a fortune as a banker in the 1990s (the clothing shop is mostly a hobby) sits on a lot of prestigious boards throughout the city. One of them happens to be for the venue hosting tonight’s show. Elaine knows how much it would mean to Maggie to get to see her daughter walk.
“Elaine! I don’t know what to say... except I hope you’re coming with me.”
Elaine shakes her head no. “I could only get one ticket. But I’ll be waiting eagerly to hear all about it.”
Maggie gives her a hug, thanking her, telling her she can watch the show on a livestream.
“I’ll do that,” Elaine says. “It’s a big night for our girl.”
Maggie smiles. The biggest.
Chapter Two
Tuesday
Behind the scenes, a fashion show is barely controlled chaos. That’s the thing that had surprised Piper Hodges the most when she started working: If beauty is, as they say, suffering, then style is anarchy. Piper isn’t a huge fan of anarchy.
The thing is, she’d grown up watching runway shows online with her mother, and the models always seemed like they were walking in a flawless dream. Now she realizes it’s more like a rock concert sharing the stage with a ballet: wild creative energy funneled into torturous precision.
“Let me fix this, Piper H.” A stylist adjusts the silk-lined trench coat on her shoulders. The coat feels sumptuous, and at three grand it’s a privilege to wear it even for the minute it takes to walk the runway. But lately, her heart has been racing and she breaks out into a cold sweat moments before it’s her turn to walk. Tonight, a feeling of absolute dread washes over her. But she shakes it off, reminding herself that it’s the most important show of her career so far.
“Excuse me, people! Has anyone seen Piper’s other boot?” A member of the designer’s team waves a Polaroid of Piper’s footwear, a mid-calf boot with a six-inch heel and three-inch platform. Piper stands barefoot while one of the makeup artiststouches up her eyebrows. Her missing boot appears thanks to an assistant, and Piper quickly pulls it on.
She peeks out from behind a curtain to a dark room with only a single spotlight. It’s hard to believe that somewhere in that darkness, her mother is watching. And Piper knows exactly how much this means to her mother—not because of anything Maggie ever said to her, but because of a conversation with her grandmother, Birdie. Piper was in fifth grade when she mentioned, with that unbridled certainty of a ten-year-old, that she wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up. Her grandmother looked at her and said, “Well, then you’d better not get pregnant and drop out of college like your mother.”
Piper never mentioned the conversation to Maggie. But it forever changed Piper’s understanding of their life together. The sacrifice she’d made to have her. She was determined to make her mother proud.
The show choreographer appears by her side. She wears a headset and carries two iPhones at all times. “Piper, you’re up: Countdown to five, four, three, two...”
Piper advances from the shadows of the staging area toward the bright lights of the runway.
A strange sensation overcomes her, something like nausea but not quite. The light appears to blur and the music, so loud a second ago, sounds like its coming from underwater. She feels herself pitch forward, but rights herself.
Headset girl snaps her fingers at her.
“And Piper... now... go!”
She steps out onto the runway. And everything goes dark.
The Betsy Toledo show is held in a cavernous room that buzzes with the energy of a crowd that is certain they are, in that verymoment, the center of the universe. Maggie can hardly believe she is one of them.
The space holds the chill of the autumn evening, but she’s happy for the excuse to keep her coat on. It’s wool, chocolate brown with oversized lapels and a belt that cinches at the waist. She’d found the treasure at a resale shop in the village years ago, never imagining one day her own daughter would be walking on the designer’s runway.
