Boston's Man-Eater

VI

I was not mentally, or physically prepared for the New York Fashion Week.

So, God help me.

Feeling ran high throughout the colorful progress, and day after day, I had to relive the embarrassment of having a dysfunctional (according to the looks on their faces) wardrobe and ignorance towards the hundreds of fashion lines and their respective designers.

So, in overall, I'd say that this was the exact department I'd have handed over to Naomi, especially if she hated every second of it like I did—unfortunately, she didn't.

She turned out to be very upset when she found out that I was going to be granted the "privilege" of writing about such a "prestigious" event—lucky me!

Fashion is a total horror...but I do admit that there were times I was genuinely amazed by the interesting collection of clothes (if that's what you'd call it) assembled by a few designers.

For instance, I found out that if I whip up a tire from my car and tear it up at the edges a little—voila! You've just managed to rip off a $9 000 dress.

Incredibly intriguing assessment.

I also learnt that people actually love and adore Tess.

I was astonished by her sudden glow of radiance, an accessory I had never seen her put on.

How beautiful, how serene and captivating she looked.

She truly was built for designing.

Her lingerie line, "Private Affair"— interesting pick—was a critics favorite.

The way she smiled with her dazzling smile as she absorbed the thunderous applause sent peculiar tremors through me. I found myself lacking the customary disdain towards everything.

This is what she loved. Her purpose. Her calling.

So, after fruitlessly attempting to get an interview for the previous days, she finally granted me 10 minutes to question her about the inspirations behind her new collection on the final day.

Which was this day.

As I sat beside the picture-crazed Tony who savored every moment with his camera, I took the time to attentively watch the Versace models sashaying down the black runway.

The vast collection and tastes assembled into one giant collaboration was flawless, and the looks on the faces of different celebrities, critics, magazine editors and journalists proved to think likewise.

It was time to look for Tess.

I glanced around the neat rows of people, hoping I'd see Zoe spectating somewhere like she had been doing for the past few days.

But I guessed that since it was the biggest day, she'd be backstage working alongside the frantic, or unnaturally calm Tess who always had a bottle of wine nearby.

So that, "Lay low on the wine, Tessa," really meant nothing. —good for her.

When it was time for designers to pose for a couple of photographs by the step and repeat banner, I seized the moment to head over and remind her as Tony trailed behind me.

What a moment it was...

Who'd have thought that I'd live to see Tom Ford smile a few feet away from reach? And Manolo Blahnik too!

Hm...Manolo Blahnik.

What if I ask him about the Lady in Red?

"Excuse me, Mr. Blahnik—there's a pair of custom-made stilettos that you designed that are going incredibly viral in Boston because a serial killer wears them as her signatory style. Do you happen to know who that is?"