Cobra Starship story, FOB will appear later on. Old friends, new friends, and everything between.
A large, wooden door swung open and a tall blonde girl strode purposefully into the office, a snobby expression on her face. She was 23, about 5’8, thin and had bright green eyes and golden blonde hair, expertly highlighted. “Miss Hawk, if you could just wait out here, he’s running late.” The assistant called out, waving at the couch against the wall.
“I don’t DO lobbies.” She scoffed, letting herself into a plush executive office decorated in dark wood and blue velvet. She instantly put on her most charming smile. “Good morning, Daddy.” She said in a little girl voice, as she tiptoed up to the desk where that morning’s newspaper was propped up in front of the chair’s occupant.
“Good morning, Dee.” The newspaper dropped down to reveal a face just like hers.
“Eew, Katie. What are you doing here?” They were twins, identical, but only in looks.
“My, you’re looking especially bitchy today. Have you gained weight?” Katie said politely, kneeling up on the chair and reaching into the hand carved cigar box on the desk. It was a gift from the president of Panama when their father had opened a luxury resort and spa, his 14th worldwide, and boosted tourism to the country. She pulled out a red Twizzler and flipped the box shut.
“You dress like you’re poor.” The other girl sneered. Katie looked down at her outfit, purple skinny jeans, a black tee shirt with a panda on the front and a white hoodie.
“I’ll have you know John picked this outfit out when I was interning. You know, John Galiano, the head of Dior, when I was his personal and creative assistant. I designed that dress you’re wearing.”
“I have an appointment, you’re not supposed to be here.” Dee crossed her arms over her chest.
“Well, I have an appointment too.”
“Mine’s at 9:15.” She looked at the clock, it was exactly 9:14.
“Mine’s at 9.” Katie shrugged.
“You know Dad wanted you to be a boy.” She sneered at her younger, by 3 minutes, sister. Katie smiled and laughed sarcastically.
“Oh, Dylan. We both know that’s not true. You’re the one with a boy’s name.” Katie chuckled. Dee opened her mouth to shoot her a comeback when the door swung open.
“There are my two favorite girls.” Their father strode across the room, giving them each a kiss on the top of their heads. “I’m sorry, my breakfast meeting ran late. Who would like to talk to me first?” He sat down in the small chair in front of the desk as Katie spun around in his plush desk chair. The only time they ever came to him was when they needed money.
“She can go.” Katie pointed at Dylan as she swung past.
“Well, Daddy. I need some money.” Dee batted her eyelashes.
“How much do you need?”
“These really cute Dolce & Gabbana boots.”
“What happened to your allowance? That’s supposed to last you all month.” He sighed.
“There was a sale at Chanel. They’re one of a kind. It’s the softest leather, they go over the knee and have buckles. You really have to see them, Daddy!”
“And they cost $12,000?”
“They only cost $9,000.”
“Then what’s the other 3?”
“They’re at the store in Prague. Courtney sent me a picture. They’re from the runway show.”
“No. Save up your money and buy them next month.” He shook his head.
“But Daddy!” She whined. “They’re one of a kind, they’ll be gone by then.”
“You should have thought about that before the Chanel sale. Now Katie, how much did you need?”
“$15,000.” She nodded.
“Plaid skirts.” She grinned as her father stared blankly at her. “Did you know that there are children in Africa that aren’t allowed to go to school because they can’t afford the uniforms?” She pulled a folder out of her bag. “I met someone from this charity. I can give uniforms to the kids in all three of these villages, AND buy their school new books.”
“I like it.” He nodded, flipping through the pamphlets and letters in the folder. “Ok. And I’ll give an equal amount in my name.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” She jumped out of the chair, hugging her father.
“This is SO not fair.” Dee stormed off.
“You’re welcome. How have you been? We hardly see you anymore, are you sure you don’t want to move back? You can share Dylan’s floor. It’s too quiet without you.”
“I have a job, I need to be in the city.”
“I don’t know how I feel about that boyfriend of yours.” He shook his head.
“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my roommate. I’ve got to run, I have plans for this afternoon.”
“I still don’t like him. Say hello to your mother before you leave.” Katie swung open the door behind the desk, it blended so perfectly into the wall, that if it weren’t for the small doorknob it would be invisible.
Katie stepped into the living room and made her way upstairs to her parents’ bedroom. Her father’s office was connected to their sprawling suburban mansion. The ‘country house’, as he called it, not to be confused with the ‘Hawaiian bungalow’, ‘English manor’, ‘Paris villa’ or ‘L.A. loft’, which was actually an entire floor in one of his hotels overlooking Hollywood. Frank Hawk grew up in Brooklyn, his parents owned a laundromat, he started working at age 10 as a bellboy in a hotel. As he told every reporter that wrote a story about him, he worked his way up until he owned one of the largest chains of hotels, casinos and luxury spas in the world. His wife had been a Playboy model in the 1970’s, most people said he married her for her looks and then couldn’t get rid of her. Together they had twin daughters, Katie who took after him, and Dylan who was definitely her mother’s daughter. When the girls were 14, their parents sent them off to an exclusive boarding school in New Jersey. While they were there, Dylan learned that the local college had parties with free beer, and people liked her better when she got drunk. Katie learned that bands put on punk shows in their basements, and people liked her better when she acted normal. When they graduated, Dylan moved into the penthouse her parents bought her and went to celebrity parties. Katie went to fashion school and moved to Europe where she interned at Dior. She started using her parent’s allowance to do charity and activist work and used her own money from her own career to pay for her own apartment. Dylan was usually referred to in the press as the next Paris Hilton, but not as smart. Katie was usually referred to as the next Angelina Jolie, but not as crazy.
Katie ducked her head around the corner of her mother’s closet. It was bigger than Katie’s entire apartment. “Hey mom, I’ve got to run, but I just wanted to say hi.” Her mother waved her in without looking up from her magazine.
“Give me your opinion, should I go for more casually sophisticated or elegantly glamorous for the party?” She flipped through pages of Vogue, occasionally glancing up at her racks of clothes.
“I like something like that.” Katie looked over her shoulder, pointing at one of the pages.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I should get something new. But I can’t go out like this.” She gestured down at her legs that were stretched out on the old fashioned chaise and precisely covered with a throw blanket. They both knew that underneath were sterile white hospital bandages, but it was never discussed, even in private. It took Katie a long time to figure out why all the other moms in her elementary school got older, but hers never did.
“I could pick out some things and bring them by the day before.”
“Oh, would you do that? You’re such a sweetheart, I know you’re busy. And make sure you bring your friend, the more the merrier.” She gave kissed the air on either side of Katie’s head, the signal that her presence was no longer needed or desired.
“I’ll see you on Saturday.” Katie waved.
Gabe woke up to the smell of coffee and the distinct feeling that he was being watched. “What time is it?” He mumbled, rolling over in bed.
“10:30. It’s time to get up.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“You have to be at Fuse at 12. And I have a hair appointment…that I already missed. Oy vey.”
“You’re not Jewish.” He smirked into his pillow.
“that doesn’t stop you from getting me a Hanukkah present every year.” Gabe groaned in protest as the curtains were pulled open and the blankets were violently ripped off of him.
“Why are you even awake this early?” He blinked his eyes open.
“I’ve been up since 5, I had to go see my dad about Africa. I brought Starbucks, do you want hot or iced?” Katie pointed at two cups on the side table as she bustled around the room, picking up dirty clothes and abandoned CDs and sunglasses.
“Hot. You’ve already been to Connecticut and back? How many Red Bulls have you had?”
“4. My mom invited you to the big unveiling on Saturday. Which shirt do you want to wear?” She held up two tee shirts.
“What is it this time?” He pointed at one of the shirts, only to have it tossed at his head. “Face lift? Tummy tuck? Lipo?”
“Knee caps.” Katie nodded.
“What did she have done to her knee caps?” He asked with a horrified expression.
“I don’t want to know. You need new pants.” She called, digging through his closet. “Do you want to go today?”
“After Fuse.” He nodded. Gabe and Katie met at one of the basement shows they both frequented when he was in college and she was in boarding school. He was playing, she was watching. He got a little over zealous with his playing and wound up hitting her with his bass. He volunteered to drive her to the hospital, where she got seven stitches in her forehead, and they had been friends ever since. As the band got bigger, her position and influence in the scene got cemented. If she wore leggings, every kid in the crowd had leggings. When she cut her hair, every emo girl got the same style. Gabe was the only one who supported her when she wanted to drop out of fashion school to go to France and work for Dior. She supported him when Midtown broke up and he wanted to start an electro-pop band. When she came home from Europe and wanted to be independent, he let her stay with him for a few weeks until she could find a job and an apartment. Those few weeks turned into a few months, which turned into a job as the bands stylist, which turned into all of their friends’ stylist, until she created her own career. It had been over a year, and they had both been too lazy to move all of the broken guitars and boxes of band merch out of the spare bedroom, so she still lived on the couch.
“Do you want me to come with you or meet you at the store?” She shouted from the kitchen.
“You can come with us if you want.”
Gabe said, coming out of the bedroom in the outfit she had picked out.
“Ok, I don’t have anything else to do.” She shrugged, pulling a few sheets of paper out of her bag. “I need you to sign these.”
“What is it?” Gabe scratched his head, reading the legal documents.
“Galiano saw my Midtown shirt, and wants to use the graphic in his fall line.”
“Awesome.” He nodded, signing the paper.
“And on the same note, I need you to post a MySpace about this, or make a Buzznet video or something.” She handed him another paper.
“Katie Hawk did not ‘Yoko Ono’ Midtown?” He read aloud.
“There are some angry rumors on the message boards.”
“But what if you did?” He laughed.
“I hate you.” She glared as her cell phone rang.
“I’m kidding.” He put his hands up defensively. She read the call ID, and flipped open the phone.
“Hey Nate…the green hoodie you bought in Australia and the sneakers you wore yesterday…I put them out for you…do you even need a belt? ...No, whatever you do, don’t just wing it…I’ll bring you a belt…they’re too tight to fall down…I’ll see you in two hours.” She hung up, smiling. “Crisis averted. Do you have Nate’s belt? He can’t find it.” Gabe shook his head and reached up, fingering her necklace.
“You still wear this?”
“It’s the only thing you ever gave me.” She shrugged, looking down at the plastic gumball machine ring attached to a silver chain. About four or five years ago, Gabe’s grandmother got sick and was told she didn’t have much time left. She came from a visit from Uruguay and decided her dying wish was to see her favorite grandson get married. Gabe went out and bought a $.50 ring with a plastic diamond and told Katie to play along until she died or went home. Whichever came first.
“I give you a Hanukkah present every year!” He gasped.
“I’m not Jewish. It’s time to go.” She grabbed her bag and headed out the door.
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