Spectrum #2

“Patricia! Patricia, where’s that damn stand?!”

            With probably no less than ten things of all shapes and sizes in both hands, I struggled to make my way past the crowd of designers, stylists, models, bloggers, reporters and who knew who else had managed to wheedle their way in backstage. Absolute bedlam reigned. If I were in charge, half these people would have been stopped before they even caught the first glimpse of the fluorescent light behind the massive crimson curtains, beckoning them, seducing them with delusions of glamour and ephemeral attention.

            Faye was yelling at anyone and anything her voice could possibly reach, sending people scuttling here and there. This breakdown wasn’t happening because we were inept. It was happening because we outdid ourselves.

            As the inaugural edition of an event that was being planned as a mainstay of the city’s social calendar, we pulled out all the stops to ensure that word got out to everyone. If anything, it should register as more than just a blip, even if catering to a niche. The plan we all agreed on was to work harder on it, year by year, and eventually build it up into something huge, something that people would one day mark down on their calendars as the event to watch out for.

            The press work we did turned out to be a smashing success. Never did any one of us envision such a massive turnout. For most of us, fresh out of college, it was our first job at a company barely on its feet. The downside to the response was that our preparations reflected our expectations. By then, a few days before launch, it was too late. We were severely understaffed. And so it came to be that a PR executive ended up hauling banners, roll-ups, calming irate designers and models, guiding photographers and doing a whole host of other things that she wasn’t even supposed to be doing, and didn’t really want to get into.

            I watched as Jane went scampering after one of the models, no doubt fresh from a barking as well. Poor girl. Hardworking and obeisant to the point of insanity, but timorous and easily cowed. Unfortunate that this was her debut event, but in a way it was for her own good - we all need our baptism of fire at some point, and better to have it done with sooner than later.

            Another thing: this was Faye’s debut with her new startup. One of the most respected names in the business, she decided to branch out on her own – new blood, new thinking, new way of getting things done without all the fumbling that plagued all the previous gigs she kept telling us about. This would be her success or failure as much as ours. And we were all thinking about this. Running in between people, coordinating press and hospitality personnel who had no idea what was going on, making sure the models kept to their schedule, and also making sure the designers didn’t blow up if they didn’t, this was the one thought racing through our heads. Knowing Faye, the latter outcome was not an option.

            Truth be told, I did admire her in a way. Fastidious to the core, she did have her good moments on occasion. Being with her at the office, I could easily see how she managed to reach the top in such a short amount of time. There was a reason she did what she did and I could appreciate it – you didn’t succeed by being soft. Of course, you didn’t have to reduce people like Jane to tears either, but that’s probably one thing that would never change about Faye. After decades in the industry, was it really all that easy to change, to see the world from a different lens, to act as people desired?

            I struggled to manoeuvre through the crowd. The banner was too big to push through the throng of people, so it had to be done by gently turning it in little increments, timed with the movement of people. Agonizingly slow.

            Despite the great commotion, Faye still managed to draw attention and make herself heard. Even after hours of this, she was indefatigable. From where she was standing, she was strategically placed to give out orders and to see whether they were being carried through to completion. If not, a litany of verbal barbs was surely promised.

            “Patricia! What…what are you doing?!” came her booming voice. “I asked you to move that ages ago. The hell are you waiting for?! MOVE!”

            I hated her then. As much as I looked up to her, I also reviled her. I could somewhat understand the stress she was going through. If I were in her position, who’s to say whether I would act any different? But this was not the first time this had happened. Enlightened theories and any proclivity I may have had for empathy became buried under passionate impulses, as they usually do. Behavior like this was second nature to Faye. Episodes like these occurred almost on a daily basis and brought up nothing but revulsion. I felt beaten down, depressed, defeated.

            But I still carried the load that was currently weighing down both of my arms. The good thing about all this was simply this: It was great. I felt truly blessed. All the glitz, the glamour, the sheer life of it all was something almost out of this world and something most people probably never experience. I loved it and wouldn’t have it any other way. Somewhere in the thick of it all, I could lose myself and do things because they had to be done. Because people were counting on me, on us. Because if we didn’t, no one else would. Because we wanted everyone, including ourselves, to have a good time.

            One of the girls at the far end of the aisle, whose eyes had quickly moved from Faye to me, flashed me a wink and gave an encouraging wave. This quickly turned into a dirty look, aimed at my boss, even though Faye wasn’t remotely aware of it. I loved Diane. She was a breath of fresh air. At times – when I had time to think that is – I wondered why she had pursued her specific line of work. She was one of the few – come to think it, probably the only one – who was not fussy about the brand of champagne, the blaring music or the outfit she was forced to sport in front of dozens of flashing cameras.

            So if not for Faye, I would do this for myself, and for everyone involved who had invested themselves so deeply. I would do whatever was required of me, even it meant occasionally suffering the indignity of being shouted in the face. I mean, all this eventually pays off someday, right?

            It does…doesn’t it?