Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (11 page)

“
I’m going to do some work on it tonight,” I assure her.

Yes, lift
your game, Jess. Seriously.

“
How about you bring your laptop tomorrow and we’ll meet up before our shopping session with Stephanie? Say nine o’clock? That way I can see what you’ve done on the website? Guess it’ll have to be Doreen’s since that’s where you arranged to meet her,” she moans.

“
Absolutely. No problem,” I reply, smiling brightly at her.

Shit!!
I’ve really only pulled an outline together and haven’t given it a second’s thought since I’ve been back. I have a
lot
of work to do tonight.

I say goodbye to Morgan,
get into Mum’s car and text Scott back.

Me 2. 2morrow nite?

I get a text back from him almost immediately.

2morrow no
gd 2nite?

Oh, I’m sorely tempted to meet him
, the memory of our amazing sports closet kiss still fresh on my lips. But no, I
have
to work on the Estil website. I’ve only just promised Morgan and I can’t let her down.

Sorry
. Saturday?

ok
roundabout bar in tawa @ 8

It’s a date. C u then

Hmm, he must live in sensible, suburban Tawa. Not what I expected. I’d kind of imagined him in some cool inner-city bachelor’s pad, with a view over the city, slick furnishings, perhaps with a bar in the corner of the living room and a really, really big bed.

But maybe they have those in
suburban Wellington these days?

I really have to
push thoughts of him out of my head. I’ve got to get home and get working on this website.  Priorities, Jessica. Morgan really seemed to be annoyed with me, and rightly so. I’d made a commitment to her I would have the website up and running this week and I’m in fear of letting her down. It’s all very well swanning around playing tennis and kissing god-like men in closets, but now I have to get on with working hard to make a success of Estil.

After
all, up until a few days ago when I met Scott, Estil felt like the only positive thing about being back in Wellywood.

Time to give it my full attention.

The following morning I wake at seven feeling fresh and ready to face the day for the first time since I got back home. I stayed up until almost midnight last night, working on the website, and by the time I crashed I was seeing colour rainbows and body shape types, dancing in front of my eyes, vaguely reminiscent of electro-pop music videos from the Eighties.

But not only have I allayed my guilt in not having put the time into it, I think I’ve done a pretty darn amazing
job and can’t wait until nine o’clock to show it to Morgan. I’m feeling fairly sure she’s going to love it and at last I can feel as though I’m bringing some skills to the partnership, not just bouncing along happily on her coat tails.

I
arrive at Doreen’s Bakery bang on time. There’s no sign of Morgs so I grab a coffee and a muffin and find myself a seat.

I pull my laptop out and power it up so I can
proudly dazzle Morgan with my work when she arrives. While I wait I decide to go through my emails and spot the one she sent me with the details of the designers I need to contact in order to get Lex’s dresses.

I call each
one and arrange for the styles Morgan suggested to be delivered to my home address. Everyone is really helpful and I start to feel more and more confident about my job. NGWL back on track.

By nine-thirty
Morgan still hasn’t shown up so I decide to text her to see what’s up. She’s probably trying to find a park or arranging another client visit.

But there’s no sign of
her and not even a text by nine-forty-five when I spot Stephanie walk into the café, wearing the floaty floral shirt and trousers combination I’d helped her put together a few days ago. She’s added a different chunky necklace and bracelet to the ensemble and looks one hundred times better than she did in the neon red Maggie Thatcher power suit she was wearing when I met her.

“
Hi Stephanie. You’re nice and early.” I greet her with a warm smile and a handshake. “I love your outfit.”

“
Oh, thanks Jessica. I wanted to get here with plenty of time. Just between you and me I’m feeling a little nervous about shopping today.”

She smiles at me
in an obvious attempt to mask her anxiety.

“
There’s nothing to be nervous about, Stephanie. As Morgan said, we know what styles and colours suit you, so all we have to do is find them in the shops. And don’t worry, you’re in excellent hands. Morgan’s very good at what she does.”

That is if she turns up.

I glance around the café but there’s still no sign of her. I buy Stephanie a coffee and we walk back to the table.

“
Is this your website?” she asks, looking at my computer screen as she sits down.

“
Yes it is.”

I can’t help
but feel proud as I look at it. There are photos of the two of us, looking very glam in our glad rags - the way Morgs looks every day of her life, but I’d made a special effort with my photo and it turned out pretty well, if I don’t say so myself - sections on our services, a booking form, our contact details, and testimonials.

“
I’m doing some work on it. We plan on launching it early next week.”

“
I like the way you’ve got an area for client testimonials. I’ll write one for you, if you like,” she offers.

“
That’d be awesome, thanks!” I exclaim. I hope it’s a positive one.

“
And what’s that? A free bottle of Moët at Foxtail Champagne Bar for every referral you make? Yum, my absolute favourite. Great idea. I’ll call all my friends!”

I think it’s a
fabulous idea too, but I need to change it to just a
glass
of champagne, not the whole bottle! That’d cripple us before we’ve even begun, and I need to run it by Morgan today before I launch the site.

I look up to see several businessmen walk into the café
but still no sign of my increasingly elusive business partner. Where is she? I’m starting to feel nervous myself now. What if she’s bailed on me, like she did at Stephanie’s place? I’ve never taken a client shopping - I hardly know where to start.

“
I’ve been playing with some of my clothes,” Stephanie says, bringing me back to the present. “The way you and Morgan showed me. I think I’m getting the hang of it, but it’s one thing to do it in the sanctity of one’s bedroom and quite another to do it in a shop changing room.”

I hear what you’re saying, my friend.

I decide the best thing to do is bolster her confidence and silently pray Morgan sweeps in soon.

“
You know when I saw you walk in, Stephanie my first thought was how good you looked in the ensemble I’d put together for you, but then I realised you’d added your own touches and made it your own. You’re better at this than you realise.” 

She looks genuinely pleased at this, which makes me feel
fantastic. I push any worry I have about Morgan not turning up out of my head. I can do this, with or without her.

I check my phone but there’s still no text or missed ca
lls from her. Sounding significantly more confident than I feel I pretend to read a message and then say, “Morgan’s been held up, regrettably, so let’s go shopping together. Just the two of us.”

We head out of the café
and as I really have no idea where I’m going I turn to Stephanie and ask, “Where do you want to start?”

“
I’m entirely in your hands,” she replies with a confident smile.

Not
the answer I was looking for, Stephanie.

I really wish I’d done what
Morgs had suggested and got to know some of the New Zealand and local Wellywood designers’ collections. Somehow I suspect Stephanie’s not exactly a big bargain basement kind of shopper.

T
ime to look as though you’ve styled a million middle-aged women whose husbands have deserted them in the fashion wilderness for their young secretaries, Jess.

I think for a moment.
“Why don’t we do some general shopping for everyday clothes and if we see something we like the look of for the Wearable Arts dinner, we’ll try it on? That way we’re killing two birds with one stone, as it were.”

I hope she doesn’t realise I’m totally out of my depth here.
This NGWL of mine suddenly seems to have gone into overdrive with only me at the steering wheel, desperately trying to stay in control of the swiftly moving vehicle with Stephanie unbuckled in the back seat.

Morgan had better have a
really
good explanation for dropping me in it.

Again.

Pushing aside dark thoughts of Morgan I realise in order to show her how confident I am - well, pretending to be, anyway - it’s time I took some action. So I walk off with a purposeful stride towards the Old Bank Arcade and into the first women’s clothes shop I see.

Luc
kily it’s Andrea Moore, a well-known New Zealand designer, whose tailoring and prints completely suit Stephanie’s hourglass frame. Although I’m nervous I choose a number of items off the racks I hope to all things holy she likes, followed around by a simpering shop assistant who I swear can smell the money we’re about to spend. We end up with four items that can be mixed and matched.

I can al
most touch her excitement and feel a warm glow spreading throughout me, knowing how happy I’m making her feel. And how relieved I am I can actually do this.

It feels pretty damn good.

We then make our way through Willis Street, trying on a myriad of outfits at Kimberley’s, Robyn Mathieson, among others, finally reaching Sophie Voon, where we find the most beautiful silk three quarter length evening dress that cinches in Stephanie’s waist and tastefully emphasises her cleavage.

As we wander through these shops I realise
Morgan is absolutely right - Wellington
does
have some fantastic designers. They may not be Burberry, Armani or D&G, but they have some really beautiful designs - some quirky, some fun, and many very stylish.

We’re both heavily laden with colourful shopping bags
when Stephanie turns to me. “Although I’ve spent an absolute fortune today, Jessica, I’ve had a wonderful time.”

She puts her bags down and
then places her hands on my arms. “Thank you. Thank you,” she says.

She draws me in for a
long hug and when we pull apart she’s smiling, eyes glistening with tears.

I’m so touched by her gratitude and my
own relief I begin to well up myself. Pretty pathetic, I know.

“
Stephanie, you’re more than welcome. You look so amazing in your new clothes and you’re going to knock ‘em dead at the gala dinner,” I say with assurance. And then more guardedly, “I’m sorry Morgan couldn’t be here. Something urgent came up and I know she feels terrible she couldn’t make it.”

God
I hope I’m a convincing liar.

“
Can I be honest with you, Jessica?” she asks cautiously.

“
Of course!” I reply, possibly a tad more enthusiastically than the occasion requires.

My heart sinks.
Oh no, what’s she going to say?

“
I’m secretly happy Morgan couldn’t do this with us. I’ve had a really good time, just you and me.”

“
Thanks,” I beam at her.

It
had
gone really well, she was right. I’d had no idea I would feel this incredible helping others feel good about themselves. I’d just thought I could improve the way they looked, not the way they
felt
.

Not bad for a morning’s work,
Ms. Banks.

***

Where is Morgan and what the hell is she playing at?

T
he session with Stephanie went really well, despite the initial speed wobbles, but talk about throwing me in the proverbial deep end.

I’ve
sent Morgan somewhere in the ballpark of fifty texts, left her probably a gazillion voicemails ranging from a casual, “Where were you? Hope everything’s good” to a pleadingly desperate, “I can’t do this without you”, and finally a quite justifiably angry, “Enough is enough, Morgan Grace Barker. Call me back right now!”

But just as I’
m now considering turning up on her and Darling Dave’s Mt Vic doorstep with a megaphone, my email pings at me. Noticing it’s from Morgan I open it up immediately.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject:
Sorry

Sorry I didn’t make it today, Jess. Hope it went
well? Make sure you order the clothes for Lex.

Run things for a while.
Be back in touch soon.

Don’t worry about me, not doing a Lindsay.

M xx

Sent from my iPhone

The cheek of her! Hardly a heart-felt apology, no explanation for her absence offered, and even an instruction to do something I’ve already done! And “run things for a while”? What the hell does
that
mean?

A
nd while I’m in the mood for asking unanswerable questions, what exactly is “a while” anyway?

As if all of this isn’t enough,
to top it all off she said it all in an email!! An email!!! I admit, I know I’m abusing my exclamation mark quota here, but
come on
, this is exceptionally bad form for a friend. And, although I’ve only been in business for a very short amount of time, I’m pretty bloody sure it’s exceptionally bad form for a business partner too.

After my initial anger begins to abate I realise with a
growing sense of dread in the pit of my stomach with Morgan doing a disappearing act on me I’m currently the sole proprietor of Estil. The Stylist’s Assistant, the half of the duo who has been in personal styling for, oh I don’t know, about three minutes, the one who isn’t even allowed to order her own coffee let alone have the audacity to
talk
to the clients, is now running the show.

On her own.

Sure, Stephanie was more than happy and I have managed to order some pretty incredible looking dresses for
Lex, but that’s about the sum total of my achievements to date. Oh, and the website, which I’m pretty proud of, but which I’m now beginning to have major doubts about due to the current depths of my anxiety.

I’m sitting in my bedroom at home
, cycling through various nightmare scenarios about the demise of Estil, when Mum knocks quietly at the door.

“
I don’t want to disturb you, dear, not when you’re working, but some flowers just arrived for you.”

Flowers?
For me? Mum produces the most exquisite miniature bouquet of white orchids, ruby red roses and the most beautiful little crab apples, tied together with a single black ribbon in crisp, shiny white paper. From the dairy these flowers are most certainly not. They’re very classy indeed.