Consider Lily

The Spotlights swirl and then land on the back of the catwalk in one solid beam. I hold my breath. This is it. The first model stands at the end of the runway. She's wearing a Diesel swimsuit and strappy high heels. She gives me a big smile and begins to strut down the catwalk, just like we practiced. Someone asks me a question through my headset, and I answer quietly. I look around at the seated crowd of glittering A-listers. They're nodding their heads in approval, and the fashion journalists are taking frantic notes. Flashes are popping. I glance at my mother at the back of the crowd. She looks like she's watching Schindler's List. I take a deep breath. It's going just fine. It's going to be the best fashion show San Francisco has ever seen. And it will all be because of me and my hard work. I try to read the crowd's reaction to the first model. I begged and pleaded with Mom to let me use the fashion show as a benefit for the San Francisco YWCA. She agreed, reluctantly, saying she hoped that this would help us get extra press. All of the clothes worn today by the models will be auctioned off to benefit the girls club. I'm going to give something back to the city and prove myself to my parents. I am the only child of Roland and Joan Traywickthe uberfashion couple who made Prada a household name in the Bay Area. They are the clothiers behind the most high-end department store in the city. Traywick's of San Francisco. The haute couture temple of my mockery. Tomboy. Awkward. Wallflower. Late bloomer. Ugly duckling. Old maid. That's me. Lily Opal Frances Traywick. Hear me roar! (Actually hear my grandmothers roar, since each insisted I be named after her, hence my crazy middle names.) I still can't believe my parents trusted me with organizing the annual Traywick's spring fashion show. If all goes well, this could be my chance out of my pastel prison, the Silver Spoon, the Traywick's children's wear department. Management position here I come. I didn't always want to work in the children's department. In fact, the plan was to avoid fashion at all costs. Having grown up at my parent's store, I was desperate to strike out on my own. However, I was forced to abandon my immediate postcollege plan, which was writing a bestselling novel, when I realized that the only plots I could think of were old episodes of Saved by the Bell. Next I applied at the Family Crisis Intervention Center so I could make my mark in this world, help my fellow man, ask not what this country can do for me but . . . is that my salary?! Sadly, things didn't work out at the Intervention Center. That's when my parents offered me a job at the store. At first I scoffed at their generosity, but as my bills started to pile up, I came around to the idea. It was no secret I was expected to take over the store someday. I guess that's why they felt justified in inflicting on me their ridiculous philosophy, "hard work is good for you," which directly translated means, no handouts, not even for their only child. Plus, Traywick's was home, in a sense. I grew up hiding in the coatracks and wreaking havoc on the gracefully ascending escalators. It felt safe, and I knew I'd get something else soon enough. Now it just feels like my tombstone will read It was supposed to be temporary. I guess the road to hell, or Traywick's, is paved with good intentions. In the four years I've been rotting in kiddieland I've been brainstorming ways to get out. So when Dad asked if I would like to have a go at organizing Traywick's annual publicity stunt, I mean fashion show, I jumped at the chance. He hinted that if it went well I could leDayton, Anne is the author of 'Consider Lily', published 2006 under ISBN 9781400072569 and ISBN 1400072565.