The Luckiest Girls Read online

“When did you guys even come up with this idea?”

  “After school today. What do you think?”

  “Hmm. Maybe.” I’m still a little pissed about their rudeness to me in class.

  “And maybe you could actually get Gigi to give us an interview? I mean she’s your grandmother, right? She’d do it for you.”

  I’m not at all sure that Gigi would do it. Gigi has given tons of interviews over the years, but she’s famously protective of her privacy. I also don’t know if any of the models would deign to help me with a school project, but the more I think about it the more I realize it’s not a bad idea.

  “Let me talk to Gigi about it,” I say. “No promises, though. See you tomorrow.”

  The next day I find Niko sitting alone on a bench in the courtyard with his laptop sipping a coffee, and I plonk myself beside him, startling him so much he spills his coffee on his shirt.

  “Well, it’s cool with Gigi if we want to do a film about the models, as long as the girls don’t mind,” I announce. “She even said she’d give us a quick interview.”

  “Really? That’s great! Hey, will you let me do the interview with Gigi? Please? I’m dying to meet her.”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  Jazz approaches us across the courtyard, and she sits next to Niko without a word to me.

  “Jazz, we’re good to go. Jane is getting us interviews with the models and Gigi,” Niko says.

  “Joy,” answers Jazz.

  “Jazz is really good with video editing,” Niko says to me. “She knows all about doing the sound track and credits.”

  “Maybe we can get some footage during the fashion week shows,” I say. “I wasn’t planning on going because it sounds like my idea of hell but…”

  At this Niko almost falls off the bench. “You have tickets to Fashion Week?”

  “Well, yeah. Gigi gets tickets to all the shows but she can only go to some of them. She wants me to go to…let’s see, Miu Miu, Stella McCartney and Nicole Miller, because she thinks it’ll shape my own nonexistent fashion sense.”

  Jazz makes a snort of disgust and looks away. Even Niko looks at me skeptically.

  “No, seriously,” I say. “I usually dress like a total slob. These aren’t even mine.” I tug at my jacket and sweater. “Well, they are now, but only because Gigi got them for me. She makes me wear this stuff.”

  “You poor thing,” Jazz sneers. “Forced to wear those rags.” She stands up. “See you in class,” she says to Niko, and leaves us.

  “Jesus, what is that girl’s problem? She really hates me,” I say.

  “No she doesn’t,” Niko replies, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “She’s actually very nice. She’s just a little defensive around girls like you.”

  “Girls like me? What do you mean, girls like me?”

  “You know. Rich, privileged, designer clothes…”

  Is he kidding? Dad and I lived on rice and beans for a while because his paintings weren’t selling enough, and I bought my clothes at Goodwill. But that was then. Now I go to school in a $600 sweater and a $2,000 leather jacket.

  “She’s wrong about me, you know. I’m not one of those snotty trust-fund kids.”

  “Okay, but you’re the one who’s going to Fashion Week. I’m just saying.”

  “Well, I can’t help it that I live in the middle of that world.”

  “Whatever. It’s cool.”

  “I mean, she’s the one being a snob. She doesn’t even know me.”

  “Just give her some time, okay? You don’t have to be friends. You just have to work together.”

  I’m fuming with anger, but Niko gives me a friendly nudge.

  “Don’t tell anyone, but my parents pick out my clothes too,” he says sheepishly.

  Later, just before lunch, Ashley and her friends Brooke and Philippa, all of whom are in my English class, approach me in the hall.

  “You seem really nice,” Ashley says, linking her arm through mine. “You know Philippa and Brooke, don’t you?”

  “You have such a great sense of style,” Philippa says. “I LOVE your jacket.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “You should totally hang out with us,” says Brooke. “I knew the moment I saw you that you were our type. We totally have the same fashion sense.”

  “You know, it’s really not fair that, as a new student, you have no way of knowing who’s who around here before you start making friends,” adds Philippa. “But you’re lucky, because we’re going to help you with that.”

  By now we’re in the cafeteria. Ashley discretely nods in the direction of Niko and Jazz, who sit at a small table, hunched over their food.

  “Someone like you really doesn’t need to be hanging out with the weirdos,” she says. “Those are not the group you want to be identified with.”

  “I mean, Niko, he’s a huge dork,” says Brooke. “And Jazz, she’s just scary. I heard she got expelled from her old school when she punched a boy in the face because he snapped her bra strap in P.E.”

  “No, it was a teacher,” interjects Philippa. “She punched a P. E. teacher.”

  “A P. E. teacher snapped her bra strap?” I ask.

  “I don’t know the details,” Philippa answers, “but she’s bad news. Nobody likes her.”

  “Do you want to sit with us?” Ashley asks. “We always sit at that table by the window, with Connor and Jeremy and Portia and those people. I think you'll fit in right in.”

  I know who “those people” are, because we had the exact same table in my old school. They’re the quintessential cool kids, and they never paid me a scrap of attention, nor I them. I bet they exist in every cafeteria, in every high school in the world. I look at Niko, in his coffee-stained shirt that his parents picked out for him and his glasses that he keeps pushing back up on his sweaty nose, and at Jazz, almost completely hidden under her hoodie. I have no doubt which group I’ll fit in with better.

  “Thanks,” I say to Ashley, “but I’ve already got lunch plans with my weirdo friends.”

  Gigi agrees to give us fifteen minutes for an interview the next evening. Niko arrives with his camera bag hanging from his shoulder and I introduce him to Gigi.

  “So. You’re my granddaughter’s friend,” Gigi says.

  “Yes ma’am, and I just want to say that I am so honored to meet you. I’ve read all about your influence in the fashion and beauty industry. I’m a real fan.”

  “That’s nice to hear. I’m surprised you’ve connected with my granddaughter. I don’t think she has any interest at all in the fashion and beauty industry.”

  Nice, Gigi. Between Niko’s sucking up and Gigi’s underhanded jab I’m ready to get this interview behind me.

  “Maybe we should get on with it,” I say, leading the way into the living room. “Gigi’s in a bit of a hurry.”

  “How about over here?” Niko says, pointing to the chair by the window. It’s the exact same spot where Gigi was interviewed for Sixty Minutes a few years ago and I bet Niko has seen the interview and knows that. Gigi sits down and I set up the tripod and camera on a table facing her chair.

  “All right then,” says Gigi, shaping her hair with her hands. “Shall we start?” she says in that clipped voice of hers suggesting she has about a hundred more important things to do.

  “Um, okay, let’s see…” Niko fumbles with his notecards. “First of all, thank you, Mrs. Towers, for granting us this interview. Oh, are you rolling, Jane?”

  “I am now,” I say, pressing the record button.

  “And thank you for letting us shoot in your beautiful house. I know how valuable your time is and it’s a real privilege to be invited into the privacy of your home and…”

  “You’re welcome. Now let’s get on with the questions,” Gigi says.

  “Right. Of course.” Niko wipes his forehead, which is beaded with tiny drops of sweat. I think he’s taking all of this a little too seriously, I mean it’s not like Gigi is the leader of the free world, but then
Niko takes everything so damn seriously he is probably going to give himself ulcers before he graduates from high school. “Let’s see…okay, here’s the first one: Mrs. Towers, you have a reputation for being the best agent in the business. What about your role as an agent sets you apart from other agencies?”

  “I’m very protective of my girls, and as you know, I take many of the younger girls into my own house. When they live with me I essentially raise them as my own daughters. They must abide by a curfew, use respectful language, eat a responsible diet, and dress appropriately. I allow no boyfriends upstairs and absolutely no drugs, smoking or alcohol. When they live with me I am their mother, their teacher, their mentor and their boss. In addition to lessons in runway walking and makeup application, I require my girls to take lessons in social media, branding and personal finance. The modeling business is a tough one, and part of my job is to protect my girls by strengthening their characters and judgement.”

  “Okay, good…Mrs. Towers, how did you become a modeling agent?”

  “I was a model myself in the 1970’s and 80’s, so I knew the industry well, but I always felt that I was better suited for the management side of the business. I lost my husband to cancer when our daughter was still a baby, and I needed to provide for us, so I started managing a handful of models from a tiny office in my apartment, charging less commission and offering more personal attention than the larger agencies, until I built up my own agency.”

  “What was your childhood like, Mrs. Towers?”

  “My childhood, which you will know if you have done any research on your subject, was one of upper-middle-class privilege in suburban Connecticut, after which I attended Vassar College. If you are interested in the factual details of my life, you can find them on Wikipedia. Young man,” Gigi says firmly, “when you conduct an interview, do not waste your subject’s time by asking questions to which the answers are already public knowledge.”

  I keep the camera rolling. This is getting good.

  “S…sorry,” stammers Niko.

  “I have been giving interviews for forty years, and the answers to all these questions have been documented by countless interviewers before you. If you’re going to take up my time and your own, then ask me questions that go beyond the obvious.”

  “Okay…I mean, yes ma’am.” Niko drops his notecards, and picks them up with shaking hands. He clears his throat and presses on.

  “Mrs. Towers, is there any truth to the stereotype that the modeling industry is rampant with drug abuse?”

  “That’s what I mean,” Gigi says, nodding with approval. “That’s a provocative question. I’ll answer with a question of my own. How many teenagers do you think die every year of drug overdoses in America?” Gigi asks.

  “I…don’t know. Lots.”

  “And how many of those teenagers happen to be models?”

  “Not many, I guess.”

  “But yet you claim it’s the fashion industry where drugs are rampant. Do you think drugs are not rampant in high schools and colleges all over America?’

  “No, I just meant…”

  “There are a great many places where drug use is a problem, young man. The fashion industry isn’t any different. But I know where drug use is not rampant, and that is in my agency, because I don’t tolerate it.”

  ‘Right. Of course,” Niko mumbles.

  “I have made it my personal mission to fight drugs. I am on the board of the Coalition for Drug-Free Youth and am a generous donor to various anti-drug organizations. I have been in this business for many years and I have seen the damage drugs can do. I know that these things happen, but they happen all over the world — on the street, in schools, and in workplaces. But not among anyone represented by me, and not among anyone I work with.”

  Gigi uncrosses her legs. She is ready to wrap things up. “So. Any further questions? Very well then.” She stands up, and Niko gets to his feet as well. “Good luck with your project, both of you.” Gigi sweeps out of the room as Niko stammers his thanks for the interview.

  “Whew,” he says, after she’s gone.

  “I told you she was tough. Sorry about that.”

  “Why sorry?” Niko asks as we clean up our equipment.

  “Well, she didn’t have to be so mean to you.”

  “Are you kidding? She was awesome.”

  “She was rude as hell.”

  “But she was right. They were stupid questions. She gave us good advice.”

  As I let him out, he pauses in the doorway.

  “Thanks for putting this together,” he says. “Wow. What an experience! You’re so lucky to have her for a grandmother.”

  “Trust me, Niko. You don’t know anything about what it’s like to have her for a grandmother.”

  “You know, Jane, maybe she was pushing us to do our best because she wants this project to be good. Maybe that’s just her personality.”

  “Nice personality. I’m the one who has to live with her.”

  “All I’m saying is, there are worse families that you could belong to,” Niko says, and he turns and walks down the front steps.

  I thought it would be difficult getting interviews with the girls for my film project, but I underestimated how much these girls love being on camera. Each of them is dying to talk about herself.

  “Yay, my first interview,” squeals Campbell. “What should I wear?”

  “Whatever you want,” I answer, sitting cross-legged on her bed, adjusting the lens on the camera.

  “I’ll just brush my hair,” she says.

  “Okay.”

  “And put on a little lip gloss.”

  “Okay.”

  “Maybe I should change my sweater.”

  “Okay.”

  “What do you think…this one, or the blue one?”

  “Campbell, you know nobody’s going to see this except my classmates, right?”

  “I’m ready.” Campbell sit on the bed with her back to the headboard, and I start filming.

  “Tell me about how you got into modeling.”

  “It was my friend Maddie’s idea. She took a bunch of pictures of me for a school assignment, and then she talked me into letting her show them to an agent in Atlanta. That led to a couple of bookings in Atlanta for some local department stores. That’s how I met Sophia, by the way. She was with the same agency. And then, a few of months ago, an agent from Towers approached me through my Atlanta agent, and here I am.”

  “Tell me a little about your transition from Georgia to New York City. Has it been difficult?”

  “Not difficult, exactly, because I love it here. There’s so much energy, you know? But I’ve been trying to fit in and it’s not always easy. Gigi had me working with an elocution teacher to get rid of my Southern accent before I started going on commercial castings. I spent hours saying phrases like ‘I like white rice’ before it stopped sounding like ‘Aah lak waaht rass.’ It’s weird, nobody seems to mind Brigitte’s Swedish accent or Ling’s British accent, but people in New York really hate a Southern accent.”

  “Do you miss your family?”

  “Umm…sometimes.”

  “What about your friends? What does Maddie think of the fact that you’re a Towers girl now?”

  Absently Campbell traces the pattern of the bedspread with her finger. “Most of my friends…we weren’t very close by the time I left.”

  “Oh? How come?”

  Campbell shrugs. “I don’t know. People just acted different when I started modeling. Boys I never spoke to suddenly lied to everyone that we’d fooled around, and girls who were my friends suddenly wanted nothing to do with me.”

  I’m starting to think that I’m not the only person who is lonely in this house.

  “Well, some people are jerks,” I say.

  And right on cue, Brigitte walks by the room and pops her head in the doorway.

  “Oh, you’re here,” she says to Campbell. “I thought you were out shopping with Maya and Sophia.”

 
; “Sophia and Maya went shopping?” Campbell asks.

  “I wonder why they didn’t tell you. Aren’t you supposed to be Sophia’s best friend or something? Hey, what are you guys doing?”

  “I’m interviewing Campbell for my film project,” I answer.

  “Do you want to interview me afterwards?”

  “Maybe,” I say, and turn my back to her. I would love some crazy bitch footage of Brigitte, but right now I don’t want to give her the pleasure.

  Later that evening when I ask Maya for an interview she does me one better. She invites me to film her during her photo shoot for a catalog tomorrow.

  “Are you sure it’ll be ok if I come?”

  “You’re Gigi’s granddaughter, silly, you can do whatever you want.”

  I have a free study period after lunch, so I leave school right at eleven and arrive at the studio twenty minutes later. Maya is having her makeup touched up when I enter the dressing room.

  “I’ll introduce you to Marius,” she says. Marius, the photographer, looks up and gives me a brusque hello, and after that he ignores me.

  I film some scenes of the studio and of Maya being prepared for her shot. The stylist helps her into a yellow chiffon dress which looks luminescent against her dark skin. Maya takes her place on the set and I find a spot out of sight of Marius to set up my own camera.

  “Let’s see a twirl,” Marius says. “Can you do that? Beautiful!” Marius exclaims as Maya does a ballet twirl and then finishes it with a little jump. She looks radiant, and it’s not just the dress and the makeup. She really is good at this.

  When the shot is finished I accompany Maya back to the dressing room.

  “You looked gorgeous out there,” I say from behind my camera, still filming. “Did you study ballet?”

  “Nine years,” Maya answers. “I still go to dance workouts whenever I can.”

  “Did you ever want to dance professionally?”

  “I did want to, when I was younger, but I grew too tall. The maximum height for a professional ballet dancer is about five-eight. I was five-ten by the time I was fourteen.”

  She peels a clementine and opens a bag of almonds.

  “I’m famished,” she sighs. “I didn’t get to break for lunch yet.”