Chapter Eight: By Invitation Only

Off the Record: Secrets of a 90s Fashion Insider in New York — a Live Manuscript by Aliza Licht, every Wednesday on Substack. You're not waiting for the book, you're in the room as it's written.

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House of Harlan PR Office: Wednesday, August 17, 2011

The moment I step off the elevator, I’m already scrolling. Another blog reply thread is blowing up. One tweet catches my eye.

There’s a new account: Team Sam @ notafanofali.

Aww.

Without thinking, I tap the heart.

Shit. I’m logged into my personal Twitter account.

I unlike it just as fast, my pulse spiking like I just triggered an alarm.

Focus. No one saw. No one knows.

I slip my phone into my bag and open the office door, pretending I didn’t almost out myself with one thumb.

Deep breath.

Walking into my office, the phone is ringing. I dive across my desk and grab it just before it hits voicemail.

“House of Harlan PR,” I say, crisp and matter-of-fact.

“Daaaaarling girl!” a woman’s voice purrs, dripping with drama and perfume I can practically smell through the phone.

I recognize the voice immediately. It’s Ava Mayer. And here’s where I need to confess: Ava Mayer is my boss from my La Mode days, aka Avery Miller in the blog. You didn’t think I was going to drop her real name in Off the Record, did you? Please. I’m not stupid.

“Ava! I’ve missed you!”

Ava is now the head of events at Chanel, a role she was literally made for. Jumping ship from magazines to the brand side was a blessing for both of us, although we did it at very different times.

“You can’t tell anyone, but I got you on the list for the sample sale,” she says. “It’s going to be one of the last ones we ever hold. It’s at the Park Lane Hotel and starts Tuesday at 11 a.m., but if I were you, I would get there by 9 a.m. at the latest. Don’t tell anyone you’re going! This is top secret,” she warns.

I am jumping for joy. The Chanel sample sale has always been one of the most exclusive, epic sample sales of all time. For Ava to invite me, a non-editor, is a huge gift. This is not the type of event you just glide into, though. The list is strict and, of course, invites are non-transferable. Business cards must be presented upon arrival, proving you’re a member of the press. The fact that I am no longer of that status gives me pause.

“Umm... what exactly am I supposed to do when they ask for my press credentials, Ava? I can’t fake that,” I say, absentmindedly doodling on the corner of my notebook.

“Your name will be on the list. Just pretend you’re an editor and that you forgot your business card. If you have any issues, call me and I’ll come get you.”

“You’re the best, Ava. I can’t wait. Love you,” I say.

She reciprocates, and I hang up the phone.

After all these years, I love how Ava and I are now peers, even though we are ten years apart. The days of me having to bend down and tie her shoes almost feel like a fever dream. We’re equals now, but more than equals, we’re friends. Going through the fashion trenches together creates a bond that can never be broken. If she knew that I was the one behind Off the Record, she would be shocked. Hmmm. I’m glad I’m thinking about this now...

Ava, thank goodness, is not on social media. She’s too old school for that. Regardless, I have to be careful with what I write. Even though I changed the name of the magazine and everyone I write about, if she pays too close attention, she might figure out who I’m talking about, and it’s way too soon for that.

I refresh my inbox to go through the slew of emails that have come in. As I’m skimming, I hear Lorenzo in the hallway outside our office.

“I’m going to pull some looks for you, Alexandra. Don’t worry, bella,” Lorenzo coos on the phone.

UGH.

I will never understand why he kisses her ass. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he does it just to piss me off, but that would be impossible.

He has no idea how I feel about Alexandra. No one at House of Harlan does, and that’s a good thing.

I don’t plan on ever coming out from the shadows. The only person who would truly know it’s me is her, and she’s not about to dump the skeletons out of her closet voluntarily.

She thinks the past is buried.

I just bought a shovel.