Catwalk. Part 8

As we're getting ready to leave, Paige picks up a piece of pastry from the room service tray. She begins munching on it and is totally oblivious to the fact that it's crumbling down the front of her black-and-white Michael Kors dress. But I figure this is something we can straighten up later-when we're straightening up everything else (like her hair and makeup, which even I can see look pretty bad). As Fran gathers her bag and things, Paige leans against the doorway with drooping eyelids and I'm tempted to grab another cup of coffee, thinking she can drink as we ride, but images of Paige wearing coffee stains on top of her Danish crumbs stops me.

"I'm going to meet Diane Sawyer Diane Sawyer," Paige says in a dreamy voice as she crosses her legs and leans back in the town car.

"Well, I'm not sure who'll be interviewing," Fran admits as she checks her BlackBerry.

As our car slowly inches down the jammed avenue, Paige closes her eyes and I suspect she's actually sleeping. Honestly, I think we could probably walk faster. But about twenty minutes later than planned, we are finally at the studio.

After waiting several more minutes, we're met by a girl named Cleo. She has us sign some release forms, gives us a short tour, and finally takes us to the greenroom.

"But what about makeup and hair?" I quietly ask Cleo as Paige sits down in what looks like a far-too-comfortable overstuffed chair.

"Oh, there's no time for that," she informs me, glancing at her clipboard. "You girls are going on in exactly nineteen minutes."

Fortunately, Paige now seems oblivious (thanks to her sleepiness) about her appearance. And equally fortunately, there isn't a mirror in this room. So I'm hoping maybe we can get through this without too much ado. Besides, I tell myself, the interview will probably take all of three minutes, five minutes tops. TV always changes the way you look anyway. And Paige is a very photogenic girl. Usually, anyway. I glance uncomfortably at Fran now. She's frowning at Paige, who has her head leaning back and looks as if she's about to start snoring again.

"What exactly were in those pills anyway?" I hiss at Fran.

"Never mind that," she hisses back. "We need to fix her up more."

So Fran and I use what little we can find in Fran's bag, doing our best to make Paige look like Paige. But it seems a losing battle. Sure, we fix her smudged mascara and sloppy lip lines, but she just doesn't look like herself. Perhaps more worrisome is that she's not acting like herself. Even as the sound guy is helping us to get wired, I feel like I need to explain to him that, really, Paige has not been drinking.

"Time to head out," Cleo comes in to tell us. She peers curiously at Paige, who still looks barely awake. "Is she okay?"

"Yesterday was pretty stressful for her," I tell Cleo as we head down the hallway.

"That's right." Paige nods sleepily. "I'm not over it."

"Robin Roberts will be doing your interview," Cleo says as she reaches for the door. "Time to be quiet now."

Paige frowns. "Not Diane?"

"I really like Robin Roberts," I whisper quickly. "She's cool."

With her hand still on the door, Cleo looks questionably at Paige. "Now they're getting ready to break. You girls know how to do this, right?"

"Absolutely," I a.s.sure her.

"Three, two, one," she whispers as she opens the door.

And suddenly we're being escorted out to the chairs where Robin is standing off to one side talking to a producer and going over her notes. Paige is set up in the chair which I a.s.sume will be opposite Robin's and I sit next to Paige. As the break continues, I silently pray. It seems like an unusually long break-or else it's just nerves-but suddenly they're doing a countdown and just like that, Robin slips into her chair with a bright smile directed at the camera. She focuses on the teleprompter and launches into a monologue about airport security and the need for it.

"But sometimes security goes too far. And when a young lady is knocked to the floor and arrested for carrying perfume, you have to ask yourself, how far is too far?" Robin turns to Paige now-and so do I...and my sister is fast asleep.

Robin laughs. "Paige? Paige Forrester?"

I elbow Paige and her head snaps to attention. "Wh-what?"

"I must say this is a first." Robin chuckles. "I don't think I ever had a guest fall asleep on me before. I guess I need to watch out for that boredom factor."

Paige literally looks like a deer in the headlights now. And I know I need to jump in. "My sister is still recovering from yesterday's incident," I say quickly. "It was very traumatic. Then, as a result of our interrogation, we missed our flight and our luggage was lost. And Paige was so stressed that she couldn't sleep well last night and-"

"And this is Erin Forrester," Robin says warmly, "Paige Forrester's sister and costar of their new reality show On the Runway. On the Runway. Erin, how about if you tell us what happened yesterday." Erin, how about if you tell us what happened yesterday."

So, thankful for Robin's diversion away from Sleeping Beauty, I go into a fairly detailed description of the airport security incident, about the less-than-three-ounce rule and how the Prada was barely over that. "And I couldn't believe how it went down," I continue. "Out of nowhere these two burly guys jumped Paige from behind. I mean, they actually tackled her and knocked her to the ground. See that bruise on her cheek-it's where her face hit the floor. They could've broken something. Even her neck. Or her back when this one guy pinned her down with his knee like she was going to hurt someone."

"They actually pinned her to the ground?"

"Yes. I'm sure it's all on their surveillance cams. And she was screaming in pain and they wouldn't even stop holding her down." Then I hold up my wrists, which still have the red marks from the handcuffs, and explain about that.

"All this for spritzing perfume?" Robin looks stunned.

"Unbelievably, yes. And Paige even admitted that she shouldn't have sprayed it. But for them to a.s.sume it was something toxic seemed ridiculous, considering she'd sprayed it on herself. Who would spray themselves with hazardous materials?"

"It was just Prada," Paige says in a slightly hopeless way. "Prada Infusion d'Iris..."

"So, Paige?" Robin's eyes twinkle. "You awake now?"

"Yes. Sorry about that. But it really was a horrible experience." And then Paige goes on to tell-in even more detail this time-about the strip search and how humiliating and frightening it was. "I asked them several times why I couldn't have my attorney present, but they wouldn't even listen."

"It sounds as if your civil rights went straight out the window once you were taken into custody."

"Exactly." Paige nods eagerly. "I actually felt like I was a criminal in some hostile country. At one point, I almost expected them to lock me up in a dark, damp dungeon with only bread and water."

"And no Prada," Robin teases.

Paige laughs. "No...definitely, no Prada. In fact, they confiscated my perfume."

Robin goes on to tell that their producer tried to get some comments from the security guards on their responsibility for the incident, but they were unwilling to be interviewed.

"I'm not surprised." Paige nods.

And then Robin reads a quote from TSA that basically says what I was told about how airport security is to keep everyone safe...yada-yada. "However," Robin continues, "we did discover several cases which are pending in court. How about you, Paige. Will your case wind up in court?"

Paige pauses to consider this. "I'm not sure. I think I would accept a sincere apology from the female security guard who overreacted, along with the news that the thugs who tackled me have been placed on probation. I just don't like to think that other young women-or anyone-would suffer like I did. It was inhumane."

Robin winds down our interview, takes the cue that it's time for Sam to go to weather, then thanks us and shakes our hands. "I didn't realize it was so traumatic," she tells us as the sound guy removes our mics. "You girls probably need to go back to your hotel and get some rest."

I nod. "I didn't sleep at all last night."

And just like that, we're done. Fran meets up with us outside of the greenroom and then we quietly ride the town car back to our hotel. Thankfully the traffic has let up, and this trip only takes ten minutes. We go directly back to our room, where I'm determined to go straight to bed and only bed. And I'm halfway there when I hear a blood-curdling scream coming from the bathroom. My heart pounds like a sledge hammer as I rush to our bathroom expecting to see my sister being held by a crazed a.s.sa.s.sin with a knife to her throat, but instead she is simply looking at the mirror.

"What is it?" I demand, clutching my chest and wondering if I might be experiencing cardiac arrest. Maybe that's what sleep deprivation does to a person.

"Look at me!" she shrieks.

"What?"

"You let me go on national TV looking like this this?"

Fran has joined us, and she is standing behind me and giggling.

"We tried to help you," I attempt.

"You tried?" She turns and stares at us. "What-were you blindfolded or something?"

"Hey, you looked even worse before we cleaned you up," Fran tells her.

"You're my sister, Erin, you're supposed to help me." She narrows her eyes at me. "Why did you let me out of the hotel room like this?"

Now I'm upset. I mean, I did everything everything I could to help her and this is the thanks I get. "Yeah, maybe we should've just locked you up," I say. "And thrown away the key." I could to help her and this is the thanks I get. "Yeah, maybe we should've just locked you up," I say. "And thrown away the key."

Paige turns and looks at herself again. "This is truly frightening."

"It just proves that no one, not even Paige Forrester, should attempt to apply cosmetics while under the influence," Fran teases.

"I cannot believe the whole world saw me like this." Now she sounds like she's about to cry again and, seriously, I don't think I can take it. I don't even care.

"You did great on the interview," Fran a.s.sures her.

"Yeah, once you woke up," I add. Okay, unnecessary, but so was her screaming and accusations.

"And I'm sure anyone watching felt sorry for you. The sympathy factor was running high."

"Right-they are sorry for my hair and my makeup." Paige is holding out her stringy-looking hair. "I want to go somewhere to die!"

"Go to bed," Fran says firmly. "We all just need to chill for a few hours. Then we'll regroup and figure this thing out."

"I'm ruined," Paige moans.

"I'm exhausted," I say as I head back to my bed. I'm irked at my sister's prima donna att.i.tude. And I can't believe I have thirteen more days to put up with her in New York. For this I should get battle pay!

Chapter 10.

We all sleep for a couple of hours until we wake to the sound of someone at the door. It seems our lost luggage has finally found its way to our hotel. The bellboy rolls in a bra.s.s cart loaded with a small mountain of pink luggage, as well as a few other bags, and Paige breaks into her happy dance. I can't help but smile as I see my sister's eyes light up like Christmas as she embraces her cosmetic bag. But at least she's in a better mood. In fact we all are, and it doesn't hurt that she's getting tweets and texts and emails and all kinds of encouragement from sympathetic fans. to the sound of someone at the door. It seems our lost luggage has finally found its way to our hotel. The bellboy rolls in a bra.s.s cart loaded with a small mountain of pink luggage, as well as a few other bags, and Paige breaks into her happy dance. I can't help but smile as I see my sister's eyes light up like Christmas as she embraces her cosmetic bag. But at least she's in a better mood. In fact we all are, and it doesn't hurt that she's getting tweets and texts and emails and all kinds of encouragement from sympathetic fans.

"How about we clean up and go out for a late lunch," Fran suggests. "And maybe do some shopping or see some sights."

"Yes!" exclaims Paige. "I want to see Saks Fifth Avenue, Lord and Taylor, Bergdorf Goodman, Tiffany's-"

"And I'd like to see the Museum of Modern Art," I add.

"All very doable," Fran a.s.sures us. "And tonight I have a surprise for you."

"What kind of a surprise?" I ask.

"A surprise-surprise." Fran has a mischievous grin.

Now this has me worried. What if she or Helen have arranged for us to do something with publicity? What if we'll be on camera again? I feel like I need some s.p.a.ce from the limelight, if only for a day.

"Don't frown like that, Erin. It'll be fun," she a.s.sures me.

"Yeah," calls Paige as she totes her bags off to the bathroom where I'm guessing she'll spend at least an hour repairing her face and hair. "This is New York City-we're supposed to have some fun."

"Hey, I'm totally down with fun," I tell them. "I just want to make sure it's not work-related fun, you know?"

Fran laughs then lowers her voice. "Okay, I get you. Don't tell Paige, but I happen to have three really good tickets to Wicked. Wicked."

"You're kidding!" I nod eagerly. "That sounds like fun." sounds like fun."

Not surprisingly I'm dressed and ready to roll, but Paige is just emerging from the shower. And while I understand her need for a second shower with the right shampoos and things, I'm antsy to get out there and see some of the city.

"Why don't you grab a taxi and head on over to MoMA," Fran tells me when she finds me pacing in the living room.

"Momma?"

"M-o-M-A-Museum of Modern Art."

"Oh, right."

"It's not too far from the shopping district, and we can meet up for lunch."

"You don't mind?"

"No. I'll give you a call when I figure out where and when we can meet. You might want to grab a quick street snack in the meantime though."

So just like that I am free. free. With my digital camera in my backpack, I head down the elevator and the next thing I know I'm cruising through midtown Manhattan in the back of a yellow cab. And soon I'm looking up at the Museum of Modern Art and munching on a giant pretzel. Life is good. I start off with the photography section, trying to take it all in and feeling slightly overwhelmed...and inspired. Then I go up to look at paintings and sculptures. I'm amazed and impressed with the selection of artists-there's Cezanne and Gauguin and Pica.s.so and so many more that it too is almost overwhelming. But it's Van Gogh's With my digital camera in my backpack, I head down the elevator and the next thing I know I'm cruising through midtown Manhattan in the back of a yellow cab. And soon I'm looking up at the Museum of Modern Art and munching on a giant pretzel. Life is good. I start off with the photography section, trying to take it all in and feeling slightly overwhelmed...and inspired. Then I go up to look at paintings and sculptures. I'm amazed and impressed with the selection of artists-there's Cezanne and Gauguin and Pica.s.so and so many more that it too is almost overwhelming. But it's Van Gogh's Starry Night Starry Night painting that captivates me and I stare at it for quite some time. painting that captivates me and I stare at it for quite some time.

I'm just checking out the lineup of films and trailers offered at the museum when my phone rings and it's time to meet Fran and Paige for a very late lunch. Fran tells me the name of the restaurant and I reluctantly leave MoMA with a promise to myself to come back here during my next "day off." I really want to see the Mike Nichols exhibition if I get the chance.

"So what do you think of New York so far?" Fran asks after I join them in a small Italian restaurant near the shopping district.

"Very cool," I tell her as I look over the menu. "I think I could spend several days at MoMA alone without getting even slightly bored."

Paige holds up a Bergdorf Goodman bag and smirks. "And Fran practically dragged me away from the Bergdorf Goodman cosmetics counter."

"Yes, after being without her makeup for twenty-four hours, you'd think the girl had died and gone to heaven."

"Hey." Paige shakes a finger at Fran. "Ask anyone in fas.h.i.+on about how they'd feel being forced onto national TV without their own personal makeup and I'm sure they'd feel the same."

"Not to mention that you were drugged up," I add.

"And recovering from a security mugging." Fran nods. "Okay, we'll cut you some slack this time, Paige."