Page 2 of Polo Fever
When I spotted him pacing around his glass-walled office earlier in a flap, I knew instantly something was wrong and I was the only person who could help. I gathered myself. Ren’s tantrums can be difficult to manage and no one else who works for him is brave enough to face them. I could see that the office floor had coincidentally emptied and the few left were keeping their heads low and their eyes averted. I marched over to knock on his door.
‘Everything all right, Ren?’ I asked, peering round it.
‘It’s no use, Ashley!’ he cried, throwing his hands up in the air. ‘It’s no bloody use! I can’t do it. I haven’t been true to myself!’
I stepped in and shut the door behind me. ‘It’s natural to feel nervous in the run-up to the launch of a new collection. Remember what happened last time? And that one ended up being a huge hit.’
I was referring to last season’s launch date when Ren didn’t show up to work and, after calls and messages went unanswered all morning, I had to use my key to get into his apartment. I discovered him curled up in his wardrobe wearing nothing but a silk dressing robe and sunglasses. He was vaping and eating a bag of peanuts, questioning every step he’d made in his career that had led him to this ‘meaningless existence’. After applying some tried and tested persuasion techniques that mostly involved flattery, I managed to get him out of his wardrobe and encourage himto shower and dress while I waited with a car downstairs. He eventually floated down and accepted the flat white I handed him before he reluctantly accompanied me to the office, only to get there and realise his collection was being received well. Then he demanded to know why I’d taken so long to get him.
‘This time is different,’ he hissed impatiently at me today. ‘This is not just any collection. This is… this is—’ He stopped pacing, his eyes widening in wonder. ‘This is acultural moment.’
While I wasn’t sure his menswear had quite the impact on the world he was envisioning, I couldn’t deny that this was a big moment in Ren’s career. We have secured Australian tennis pro Chris Courtney as the face of this collection, which is a huge deal. He’s so famous that the moment we announced the news on social media, we had more engagement than ever before. He’s the perfect face for this collection: suave, sophisticated and hot as hell. And when we released a sneak-peek selection of provocative photos from the shoot, there was an online meltdown over his smouldering gaze, carved abs, chiselled jaw andraw masculine energy, as one journalist put it.Real Men Are Back on Top, the headline of the article claimed, as she went on to applaud Ren’s decision to choose someone she described as an ‘older’ athlete, even though Chris is only in his thirties and reached the Wimbledon final two years ago.
‘You’re right, this is a big moment and we’re prepared for it,’ I reminded Ren coolly. ‘Chris has already confirmed his timings with me and how excited he is for the launch tonight. It’s going to be great.’
But Ren shook his head. ‘Nope. No, it won’t. I’ve made a mistake.’
‘Ren—’
‘I can’t do it, Ash, I can’t stick with this theme. Every bone in my body is screaming at me to stop it before it’s too late,’ he declared.
‘Stop what? Explain to me what you want to change.’
‘Theparty,’ he said, bewildered, as though that was obvious. ‘I thought I wanted opulence and aspirational luxury. But that clashes with the very heart of the collection!’
Suddenly, I realised where this was going.
‘You want to change the theme of the party?’ I checked, my voice croaking as panic began to rise in my throat. ‘The party that’s taking place… tonight?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. Destroy the excess. I wantminimalism.’
I was able to swiftly decipher whether this was a temporary whim I could talk him round from or a serious change of heart. Unfortunately, it was the latter. When he threatened that it would have to all change or he couldn’t possibly show his face tonight, I told him I would sort it. Now here I am, hours away from guests arriving, trying my best to persuade everyone else that this is manageable when I’m not entirely convinced of that myself.
I’m talking through Ren’s new concept with the lighting designer when my phone rings. I see Chris Courtney’s name flashing up on the screen. My heart lurches.
‘I have to take this,’ I say, excusing myself and going to find a quiet corner where I won’t be disturbed before I pick up. ‘Hi, Chris.’
‘Ash, hey,’ he says, his smooth Australian accent making my stomach flutter. ‘How are you?’
‘Great. You?’ I ask brightly.
‘I heard there’s been a change of plan about tonight?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about. A simple switch up, that’s all,’ I say, jumping as the men carrying the giant gold-painted sculpture of Chris’s bare torso clip it on the door frame on their way out. ‘Everything is going perfectly to plan and we are on schedule.’
‘Are you sure? I heard something about Ren having a meltdown…’
I scan the room of staff scurrying around, wondering who blabbed to Chris’s people. If any of this leaks to the press, it wouldn’t be a good look for us.
‘A major exaggeration,’ I assure him. ‘He’s currently at the spa enjoying a massage, so whoever your source is, they’re mistaken.’
Through the window, I spot Sam crossing the road towards the venue carrying a clothes bag and closely dodging the elbow of one of the men lifting the torso sculpture into the back of a van. She stops to ogle it before continuing on her way.
‘Okay, I’ll choose to believe you,’ Chris says, his voice more relaxed now.
‘Wise decision. Tonight is going to be perfect, I promise.’
‘With you in charge, I have no doubt about that.’
