Insanity. Utter insanity. That was the only way to describe the electrifying pre-show atmosphere at the Lexington Avenue Armory. Production personnel were running around like banshees getting it together. They were talking into headsets and cell phones and frantically jotting down notes on clipboards and in notebooks. The look of stress and panic was etched on everyone’s faces. The adrenaline was flying. The much-anticipated Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show was scheduled to start in an hour, but it seemed like we’d never get there.
It was always like this even though this was our tenth show. This one, however, was more ambitious because it was celebrating our first decade of putting them on. For the first time, the show was being broadcast on a major television network in addition to being shown live on our website. Every fashion journalist and blogger in the world was going to be here including reporters from Entertainment Tonight…Vogue…Joan and Melissa Rivers… even that teenage wunderkind blogger, Tavi Gevinson…just to name a few. And the celebrity list was endless.
“Glorious! Thank God, you’re here!” a familiar breathless voice called out. It was my trusted head of PR and Special Events, Kevin Riley. Kevin and I had been best friends forever. Since childhood. We knew everything about each other and shared a dark secret that bonded us eternally. We had been through a lot, and never for a minute did I forget that I owed so much of my success to him. In fact, my life. I loved him like a brother. We even had nicknames for one and other. I called him Kev, and he called me Glorious. We’d built Gloria’s Secret from the ground up together.
“What’s going on?” I asked as he jogged up to me. While Kev could be an outrageous dresser (I’m talking kilts and jumpsuits), today he was dressed for functionality in perfectly shredded black jeans, a tight V-neck tee, and high-top Keds. With his spiky, dark-haired good looks, svelte toned body, and charismatic smile, he could easily make women melt, but that was not his preference. The diamond ear stud that he proudly wore said it all. It had been a birthday gift from me.
With a flutter of his deep-set hazel eyes, he sighed, “The usual. The models are having meltdowns over who’s wearing what…Kim Kardashian’s people just called saying she’s miffed that she’s not in the front row…and Rihanna’s limo is stuck in traffic.”
I rolled my eyes. There was no need to freak. All these hiccups were routine for this show. Business as usual. I trusted Kevin implicitly with my heart and soul. He’d make sure things worked out. They always did.
His cell phone rang. He put to his ear and said, “Great.” Smiling, he ended the call. “Rihanna’s here! Gotta go.” He gave me a peck on my cheek. “Glorious, this show is going to rock!”
God, I loved Kev! He brought good luck and sunshine even in the darkest times. As he scurried off, my eyes drank in everything. This show was going to rock! The set designer that Kevin had hired had created an outrageous fantasy of a sexed up heaven. Dry smoke emanated from the stage floor and rose up to the high ceiling where virtual clouds were projected. The plan was for dozens of gorgeous Gloria’s Secret models, clad in outrageous angel wings and the barest of bare undergarments, to float down from the ceiling via invisible ropes onto the runway. Some would even be entwined with sexy male angels in hot embraces. We were selling sex—fantasies and wet dreams. I so loved it! If the televised show went off without a hitch and got high ratings, tomorrow—Valentine’s Day—would be our stores’ busiest day of the year and lead to record first quarter earnings.
While I took in everything and contemplated my mandatory end-walk down the runway, another familiar, this time shrill feminine voice, sounded in my ear.