Page 3 of Polo Fever
Leaning back against the wall, I smile into the phone. Sam is wandering into the middle of the room now, dodging out the way of everyone and craning her neck to look for me. Her eyes finally land on me and she brightens. I wave her over.
‘Uh, Chris, I have to go,’ I say a little reluctantly.
‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he says.
‘See you tonight. Can’t wait.’
As Sam reaches me, I hang up and pull her in for a hug.
‘Gosh, it’s all going on in here,’ she observes, pulling back from me with a wide grin. ‘Sorry to disturb your call. Anyone important?’
‘Chris Courtney,’ I admit, sliding my phone back into my pocket.
She gawps at me. ‘Not himpersonally. Oh my God, you talk to the manhimself?’
‘It’s been necessary during this campaign,’ I reason, a little flustered. ‘Much easier to talk direct than keep passing messages through someone.’
‘Jesus, no wonder you were smiling so big then. He might just be the sexiest man on the planet. Such a shame he’s married.’ She hesitates. ‘By the way, was that a sculpture of his body I saw out there?’
‘One of two sculptures, yes.’
‘Why is it being taken away?’ she whines, appalled.
‘Ren’s decided he doesn’t want opulence, he wants minimalism. No flowers, no performers, no sculptures.’ I gesture at all the staff running around us like sweaty, frenzied ants. ‘Tonight is going to look a little different than we’ve been planning.’
‘Shit.’ She exhales the air from her cheeks. ‘You got this handled?’
‘Of course.’
‘One day, you’ll look back and laugh. When you feel like you want to run away and hide, just remember that. One day, you’ll laugh about it all,’ she advises.
Sam is no stranger to demanding bosses and intense fashion-industry dramas. The editorial assistant for glossymagazine,Studio, she has had her fair share of smoothing dilemmas and soothing divas. We met a while ago when she called in a last-minute favour for a shoot. Ren was so excited to feature inStudiothat he sent me across London in a heatwave to the warehouse hosting the photoshoot carrying a huge selection of clothes only for the editor to decide on one tie and that was it. Sam brought me a bottle of water while I sat to one side, gearing up to get on the sweaty Tube again, and made me feel better by telling me about the time she was asked by a celebrity they were working with to get a specific salad from a specific shop in North London. She went all the way there to find they were closed on Mondays. When she got back with a different salad, the celebrity in question looked at it and said, ‘Where the fuck is the couscous?’
It was the kind of silly story that connects you for life. Bonding over the shitty aspects of our jobs, Sam and I have been best friends ever since and whenever we order food together, we’ll look at each other’s plates and say in unison, ‘Where thefuckis the couscous?!’
It’s a weird in-joke that is somehow hilarious every time.
‘Here,’ she says, handing over the clothes bag she’s carrying. ‘For tonight.’
‘Thank you,’ I gush, clutching it to my chest. ‘You’re a lifesaver.’
‘Hey, it’s no problem. Whenever you need something from the fashion closet, don’t hesitate to ask,’ she says, putting her hands on her hips. ‘I’ve put a couple of options in there. Both black as you requested but both gorgeous. You’re going to look hot.’
‘Thank you, thank you. I did have something planned but when Ren changed the vibe to chic and minimalist, I realised that green might not fit so well.’
‘Green does look amazing with your red hair,’ she says enviously.
Sam has nothing to be envious about, though. She is drop-dead gorgeous with long, blonde hair, tall, slender frame, flawless make-up and an immaculate sense of style which matches with her job description. You can tell Sam works in fashion. I’m constantly having to call in favours with her to dress me fromStudio’s fashion cupboard for these events. I don’t know how much time I’ll have to get ready for tonight and whether I’ll even be able to get home beforehand. I may have to change in a cubicle here and it’s unlikely I’ll be able to do much more than attempt to tame my wavy, auburn hair into some kind of loose updo, top up the foundation over my freckles and smudge some eyeliner round my light-brown eyes, disguising tiredness with a smoky effect.
‘How are you feeling about tonight?’ Sam asks.
‘Nervous,’ I admit. ‘Nothing can go wrong.’
‘Nothing will go wrong. And if it does, you’ll work out a way to style it out.’
‘There will be lots of paparazzi here so styling it out may not be an option.’
‘Chris Courtney does attract a crowd,’ she muses, before gesturing at the action going on around us. ‘But look at all this.You’vedone this, Ash. All that hard work is going to pay off and when tonight goes off without a hitch, you can proudly say it was all because of you.’
