21: Ursula

"Your clothes made the show."

"Pffft. It's all just product."

"Ursula, I'm shocked!"

"Oh, you rumbled me. You know how I love to shock. Of course it's all about the clothes."

"They're gorgeous. I would do anything for one of those jackets."

"Anything? Dangerous words, my pet. Perhaps I'll think of something."

"Within reason."

"Of course. Anyway, much as I obviously love my outfits, some of those boys Lucy booked, Jesus. Made everything look like shapeless rags. I might as well send donkeys down the catwalk. Perhaps I will next time. Thank God for you, at least."

"I thought they all looked perfect."

"You say the sweetest things. Anyway, why I called. Are you busy next Tuesday? I know I should go through Merrick, but who can deal with that hassle?"

"I'll have to check. There's some Jasper Conran thing, but it might be Wednesday."

"Jasper? Are you serious? Please, he isn't even on the same planet as you."

"It pays the rent."

"Babe! When did you ever pay rent? Anyway, he doesn't need you like I do. Donkeys, I tell you. Donkeys. And you did say you'd do anything..."

"What's the occasion?"

"Photo shoot for Details. I'm going to be the new black, apparently."

"You're already that."

"Cute. But back in the real world, the stylist's a complete muppet. I swear he's off his tits on crystal every time we speak. They're shooting in a burnt out factory near Heathrow and it's going to be a complete fiasco. Everything doom-laden and out of focus, spooky photography and screw the clothes. So fucking 90s."

"It's retro."

"Whatever. This could be a big US break for me, and they're going to piss it away. I need somebody to anchor it. I need you."

"What difference can I make?"

"Bless."

"If the pics are going to be crap, they're going to be crap. What difference does it make who's modelling?"

"Baby. My dear, sweet, low-watt baby. It makes all the difference. Even out of focus you make my clothes look beautiful. Even in a goddamn arson site in Heathrow."

"Your clothes are beautiful."

"Thank you so much, Xander. I like to think they have a certain something. But the awful truth is, clothes don't maketh the man, it's the other way around. And I need you to do that. I need you to maketh the fucking clothes. I need you to sell them right through every wackily-cropped fuzzy monochrome artwank snapshot."

"Well, if you put it that way, I guess I'll do my best."

"Thank fuck for that. And thank you. I knew I could rely on you."

"It'll cost you."

"Darling, I will hand tailor your jacket myself. I'm fetching my thimble right now. Really, it means a lot."

"How could I say no to such a genius?"

"You couldn't, of course. I'll get Lucy to email you all the details. Thanks again, darling."

"You're welcome."
Posted by matt at November 24, 2004 11:23 PM