I Can’t With Desi
Desi shows up at the agency this afternoon just as the staff, Curtiss, Terri, Marc and I, are signing Nova. She’s Indonesian. A striking beauty. Almost six feet tall and as lean as a racehorse. Have I got plans for her! We pop the cork on a magnum of La Grande Dame 2006 and between the six of us, we kill it fast. But just look at Desi. He can’t tear his eyes away from her. I know how he gets about the exotic ones. But I’m floored when he invites her out for coffee. Just what in the fuck does he think he’s doing? Protecting my investment, I insist on joining them. I invite Marc, my office manager, to come along, too.
On the walk to La Colombe Coffee, Desi takes center stage, wooing her. And Nova is digging it. Why wouldn’t she? He’s handsome, worldly, and attended his quarterly Guggenheim board meeting today rocking an exquisite Tom Ford suit. But this? Between them? It’s not gonna happen. Desi does his thing, hopping back and forth between men and women, and that’s strictly between him and Truman. But Nova is twenty, fresh off the boat, she’s in my charge and right now I need her fully focused. Not flipped inside out by some middle-aged, switch-hitting cockhound who’s just flexing and killing time. Desi should know better. Why is he diddling around in my business?
There’s no time to dwell on Desi, though. Fashion Week is just around the corner and I’ve decided to flex my own muscle and make Nova the HOT NEW FACE on the runway this season. My team—photographer, hair, makeup and wardrobe stylist— is totally kick-ass and we carve out a full day in our schedules to shoot her. It’s Nova-day and OMG! You should see her. She photographs like a dream. But there’s something else. It’s in her eyes. Her smile. I can’t name it but it’s on full blast and it’s working! I’m giddy as a groupie skipping towards the dressing area to show her some of the gorgeous shots we’ve taken. But when I step around the corner? My eyes almost blow right out of my head. Nova is standing there. She’s naked. And guess what? Nova is a boy.
Winona dress inspired by Adriana Iglesias
Nova’s big reveal sends us all into a tailspin! I can’t believe her agency back home didn’t know. But the images we’ve taken are stunning and, the fever that comes over me when I know I’ve got a hit on my hands just takes over. I post her shots online. And right out the gate she blows up! The WINONA, INC. Instagram site, our Facebook page, Twitter feed—everything’s lit up! The phones haven’t stopped ringing with go-sees! Nova is making LOTS of noise. In the meantime, Desi and I are playing phone tag. I wonder if he’s discovered her little secret yet? Well. It wasn’t so little, from what I got a peek at the other day. Nova is packin’. Hee-hee.
It’s New York Fashion Week-eve. The night before. From the backseat of the town car, I gaze out of the window as we inchity-inch up Sixth Avenue. And look. There’s Desi. He’s at Monte’s restaurant. With Nova. I look at my watch. It’s almost 10pm. I hop out and tell my driver to keep moving, I’ll catch up. Desi sees me and he freezes but my focus is on Nova as I make way to their table. “What are you doing?” I ask her. “Why aren’t you at home getting yourself together for tomorrow?” Desi glares at me. “What’s your problem? She’ll be as gorgeous tomorrow as she is tonight. That’s how it works when you’re twenty.” Then his smile grows wicked. “You remember, don’t you?”
Winona is wearing Michael Kors
Thursday morning. 7am. It’s Day One of Fashion Week and I’m in the towncar waiting on Nova outside the hotel when Desi’s red Ferrari roars up and blocks a lane of traffic. He leaps out from the driver’s seat. I lower my window. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he shouts. “Why didn’t you tell me that Nova is a man!” I never look up from scrolling through the messages on my phone. “What difference does it make to you,” I ask him. With an angry swoop, he reaches inside the car and slaps my phone away. “I don’t like getting a handful of cock when I reach between a woman’s legs! Okay??” I smile and raise my window on him in triumph. He smacks the glass hard before jumping back into his ride and pealing out.
It’s not the first time this crazy Spaniard has snapped on me about some shit that he created. And of course he’ll apologize when he realizes that none of this is my fault. But the son-of-a-bitch really hurt my feelings this time. And only a trip to Greenwich St. Jewelers will make it better. Okay? SMOOCHES!
Winona is wearing Carolina Herrera