Material Girls (12 page)

Vivienne looked over my head and cleared her throat meaningfully. I glanced behind her and noticed Winnie walking along the rows of tables, peering over the shoulders of the drafters. Vivienne hastily drew a model in a strapless sundress on the blank side of her paper. Once again, I was stunned at Vivienne's ability to throw together a breathtaking sketch. In just a few strokes, her figure looked ready to board the world's most exclusive yacht. This from someone who favored dress codes.

“Now, you can't forget that no matter what the season, people
will
want resortwear,” she said loudly. “We haven't seen the sweetheart neckline in a little while, have we? That could work.” She gave Winnie a close-mouthed smile as she passed. Winnie nodded approvingly, her cheeks radiating the same youthful, golden glow they always did.

Vivienne waited until Winnie had progressed far enough down the row to speak again. “Think, Marla,” she said softly. “Who on the Superior Court might we be able to turn? Who on the court has the most influence right now?”

Turn the judges. So she
was
crazy. “I'm pretty sure that's impossible,” I said. I thought of Sabrina. “I just ran into one the other day. She used to be my best friend on the court, and she would barely talk to me. She sent me passes to the Torro runway show out of pity.”

“How generous,” said Kevin.

“You have runway-show passes?” said Dido.

“Just give me a name or two,” said Vivienne. “The judges who, you know, everyone tends to go along with.”

I thought of Henry immediately. He had been there the longest and definitely had the loudest mouth. And . . . I knew the name of the other judge who had the most influence, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. I wanted nothing more to do with that little viper. Olivia did have power, though. She was young and decisive, convinced that anything she liked would become popular. I remembered thinking like that. It felt like a long time ago.

“Henry Sachs,” I said at last. “He's been there the longest. The other judges follow his lead.”

“Okay. Talk to Henry. He might be anticipating that it's not long before he's down here with us. You'll have to try to get into his head.”

“Me?”

“Just approach him at first. Talk about your life now. Your garment rejection from the Junior Court. Tell him about the frustration you feel.”

“Ask him if he's thought about what's next for him at Torro-LeBlanc,” said Felix.

“Give him a cup of the lousy coffee,” said Kevin.

“No, don't overdo it in the first conversation,” said Vivienne firmly. “Just say hi, plant the seed, and we can work on building our case in stages.”

I shook my head. “I don't think you understand. I'm like dirt under his fingernails now. He won't even talk to me.”

“You've got to try,” said Vivienne. “How about this. Put on a big act of needing his divine inspiration to guide your sketches. Appeal to his ego.”

“It's not going to do any good.”

“Please, Marla,” said Felix. I realized it was the first time he'd called me by name. “You're it. You're our chance.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but I could feel the weight of everyone's expectations. Even Felix looked sincere. He was pinning his hopes on me. They all were.

I shrugged hopelessly. “I'll give it a shot.”

On the train ride home, I hid a few seats behind Henry like some pathetic spy, waiting for a chance to speak to him. He was sitting with Carmen Michelle and a couple of other runway models. How was I supposed to interrupt them without making an idiot of myself?

Finally, miraculously, the models got off together and Henry was left alone. I had my sketches half out of my briefcase when I saw him raise his Unum toward a girl in a Torro fringe dress standing by the train door. He then began tapping the screen with a little smirk on his face.

Of course. Why hadn't I thought of Henry's little side project before?

Quickly and quietly, I slid my papers back into the briefcase and pulled out my Unum. I snapped a picture of the girl in the dress. Then, I angled the camera to get both Henry and the girl in the shot. Feeling more like a spy but less pathetic, I zoomed in on Henry and his Unum and tapped photo after photo.

When I had some good ones
,
I called up the Maven Girl site. Sure enough, the girl's photo was there, cropped at the neck.
flapperfection
the caption heading read.

I let my hair fall across my face so Henry wouldn't see me for the rest of the train ride. I had to think.

The next morning, Vivienne confronted me as soon as I settled onto my stool in the basement.

“Any luck?” she whispered.

“Sort of. I remembered something yesterday,” I said, checking to make sure the drafters at the other tables weren't listening. “Henry is Maven Girl.”

I looked around at their reactions and wasn't disappointed. “But—no way,” said Dido, frowning.

“He can't be,” said Randall. “That's in violation of his contract, isn't it?”

I grinned. “Big time.”

“Wait—then who's the girl?” Dido asked.

“There's no girl. He's the girl. I know it's hard to believe. A couple of people on the court know. I caught him posting a photo one time . . . and he admitted it.”

I didn't tell them the whole story. When I first joined the court, I saw Henry updating the Maven Girl site and confronted him. I didn't think what he was doing was fair. The Big Five sanctioned the major online and print fashion magazines, but everyone checked out independent hotspots like Maven Girl anyway. Henry even critiqued celebrity style—he sold ads to pay for paparazzi photos. It would be a problem for Henry if Torro found out he was operating a rogue site as popular as Maven Girl and promoting trends from all the Big Five houses.

“You won't mind so much when your garments show up on the site,” Henry had said with an acidic smile. “Trust me.”

“But it's against the rules,” I'd said. “What if Julia found out?”

“Marla.” Henry had put his arm around me. “The nine members of the court—we're a team now. You understand? Torro hasn't been number one in the Big Five for a few years. Don't you want to see us at the top?”

“Of course.”

“Good. You do your part, and I'll do mine.”

So I'd told Sabrina instead of Julia. And Henry was right. Once I saw a few of my personal picks from the court pop up on Maven Girl and get a giant sales bump—well, it didn't exactly hurt Julia's opinion of me. Not surprisingly, Henry's own picks from the Superior Court made it on more often than anything else.

It was a point of pride for me that my longest-selling item, the knit shawl, had caught on
without
Maven Girl's endorsement.

“Yesterday I took some photos of him updating the site on the train,” I said. “I don't think he'd want them printed.”

“Stealthy,” said Felix.

Vivienne's fingers tapped the handle of her coffee mug. “Maven Girl. Its readership is
huge.
We can use that. If he posts in support of drafters' rights, people will listen.”

“Mm-hmm. So, I had another idea.”

The night before,
while my runway-show passes from Sabrina were downloading, I read a story online about Lyric Mirth. Apparently, Ivy Wilde had fallen onto Lyric's table at a club and spilled drinks everywhere. The headline read
rising star left mirthless
and featured a close-up of the drenched performer, her mouth open in shock.

The incident had inspired me. We could ambush Henry anywhere . . . or go for a little drama. The nice girl in me usually steered clear of drama. But this time, if we could pull it off, the drama would be mighty entertaining. I just had to convince the others.

At the table, I reached into my pocket, removed my Unum, and called up the ticket image. I spun the device around and put it in the center of the table so that everyone could see the show information printed on top of a light gray T-L logo. “I have four tickets to the runway show. We go. The judges will be wearing samples from the sample room, and I thought we could”—I inhaled—“leave a bunch of exploding-ink security tags near their chairs. The show is so packed, with everyone milling around beforehand, that I think we could get away with it.” I paused, imagining Olivia, Sabrina, and Henry steaming with embarrassment as green liquid spattered their faces and clothes in the front row. What a beautiful sight.

“Tags?” Randall asked. The other drafters were all listening intently.

“You know, the tags that keep people from shoplifting. When I was a sifter, we used to steal buckets of them from the warehouse and explode them in the tunnels beneath the train station,” I went on. “We tinkered with them until they'd blow with the slightest vibration, like when the train went by overhead. I
think,
if we get them really pressure sensitive, the music will make them explode once the show starts. Karizma's playing live. The amplified bass and drums should do it. And if that doesn't work, the applause at the end of the show on top of the music will.”

“And then?” asked Vivienne.

I shifted on my stool and lowered my voice. “I know the code to the runway sample room. That is, if they haven't changed it. But it was the same the whole time I was on the court. Anyway, with their clothes wrecked, the judges will have to go back there to change. We could be waiting. We corner Henry and maybe some of the other judges. We let Henry know we're ready to tell everyone he's Maven Girl and refuse to let him go unless he cooperates with your strike—or whatever you want.”

Deep down, I seriously wondered whether Henry would go along with Vivienne's strange ideas, even when facing blackmail. He might say what we wanted to hear in the moment, but I couldn't see him joining a revolt against Torro-LeBlanc. To see Maven Girl suddenly start writing about drafters' rights was even less likely.

I didn't really care. The urge to see him and the others publicly embarrassed overpowered the voices of reason in my head. “Security will be everywhere,” I said, “so we'll have to be quick.”

I looked around. Dido's eyes were wide.

“You would do this, Marla?” said Vivienne. “You'd give your passes to us and take this risk—instead of going with your friends?”

I blinked. “I have no one else to go with.” It was the truth. I looked across the table at Kevin defensively, but he didn't laugh. I avoided Felix's eyes.

“So, who's going?” asked Dido. I looked at Vivienne for help.

“It's your decision,” Vivienne said.

I sighed. “Well, you, obviously.” I looked around at the others. “Who else wants to come?”

“I pass,” said Randall. “I'll leave the covert ops to the rest of you.”

“Your skills could be useful, Randall,” said Vivienne.
Skills?
What skills did he have?

“You'll be fine without me. Jeri needs help on the weekends with the kids.”

“Um,” Dido began, “I don't want to take someone else's place, but I've never actually been—”

“Oh, for God's sake, Dido, just go already,” said Kevin. He looked at Felix. “You too. I can tell you want to be there. Just don't screw it up,” he added.

Felix nodded solemnly. “I won't.”

Dido picked up my Unum and stared at the ticket on its screen giddily. I noticed the giant rings she was wearing today, remnants from the urban-gypsy trend that had expired in late fall.

“Only . . . one thing,” I said. “We've got to fit in. Can everyone—uh—try to wear trends? Please?”

“Maybe I wear an expired piece now and again.” Felix perked up his shirt collars and grinned around at the circle. “But tell me I don't look fine every damn day.”

The other drafters laughed and rolled their eyes. “You do okay for a straight guy,” said Kevin.

“Okay? I'm well groomed and working in an industry full of prime women, my friend. I'm living the dream.”

I felt my face reddening and turned to Vivienne. “Anyway, maybe black isn't the best—”

“I've got some savings.” She cut me off. “I'll buy something suitable. Don't worry.” I wondered what Vivienne's definition of
suitable
was.

“Marla,” Dido said. “Not to be, um . . . well, your clothes are so great, and we're sort of the same size, and I haven't had anything approved in a month so it's a little tough right now for my family—”

“You can borrow my clothes,” I interrupted eagerly. The thought of having a friend over, trying on outfits together, was incredibly cheering. It had been a while. I looked down at my own outfit. It was current—though my trendchecker had revealed some expired garments just a few days earlier. Garments that I wasn't sure I'd be replacing. Still, I'd tossed them in the donation box immediately. Things weren't dire yet. I had more than enough to dress both Dido and myself decently for the show.

“You surprise me,” said Felix. “I'll say that much.”

I held his gaze. “You shouldn't underestimate princesses.”

“Snap,” said Kevin.

Felix's mouth twisted into a little smile. Randall gave me a wink, and we went back to work.

As usual, just after eleven a.m., Winnie made the rounds in the basement with her handful of sketches from the selector. I wasn't really paying attention. I hadn't submitted anything the day before, as my rocker jeans were still not quite right. So I was surprised to find Winnie standing behind me. I turned—but it wasn't my shoulder Winnie tapped.

“I knew you were just in a dry spell, Vivienne,” she chirruped. “
Three
sketches approved today.” She waved them under Vivienne's nose. “Gotta love those odds! Good luck.” And with a wink, she was gone.

As if they were giant playing cards, Vivienne dealt the three sketches face up in front of her on the table.