“I have you booked for the next four weeks,” Roxanne told her. “Everybody loves you.”
“Roxanne…”
“Yes, Kendall?”
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Roxanne stared at her, disbelievingly. “What?”
“I want to do runway modeling.”
Runway modeling was what most models aspired to. It was the most exciting and the most lucrative form of modeling.
Roxanne was dubious. “That’s almost impossible to break into and—”
“I’m going to.”
Roxanne studied her. “You really mean it, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Roxanne nodded. “All right. If you’re serious about this, the first thing you have to do is learn to walk the beam.”
“What?”
Roxanne explained.
That afternoon, Kendall bought a six-foot narrow wooden beam, sandpapered it to avoid splinters, and placed it on her floor. The first few times she tried to walk on it, she fell off. This is not going to be easy, Kendall decided. But I’m going to do it.
Each morning she got up early and practiced walking the beam on the balls of her feet. Lead with the pelvis. Feel with the toes. Lower the heel. Day by day her balance improved.
She strode up and back in front of a full-length mirror, with music playing. She learned to walk with a book on her head. She practiced changing rapidly from sneakers and shorts to high heels and an evening gown.
When Kendall felt that she was ready, she went back to Roxanne.
“I’m sticking my neck out for you,” Roxanne told her. “Ungaro is looking for a runway model. I recommended you. He’s going to give you a chance.”
Kendall was thrilled. Ungaro was one of the most brilliant designers in the business.
The following week, Kendall arrived at the show. She tried to seem as casual as the other models.
Ungaro handed Kendall the first outfit she was to wear and smiled. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
When Kendall went out on the runway, it was as though she had been doing it all her life. Even the other models were impressed. The show was a big success, and from that time on Kendall was a member of the elite. She started working with the giants of the fashion industry—Yves Saint Laurent, Halston, Christian Dior, Donna Karan, Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, St. John. Kendall was in constant demand, traveling to shows all over the world. In Paris, the haute couture shows took place in January and July. In Milan, the peak months were March, April, May, and June, while in Tokyo, shows peaked in April and October. It was a hectic, busy life, and she loved every minute of it.
Kendall kept working and she kept learning. She modeled the clothes of famous designers and thought about the changes she would make if she were the designer. She learned how clothes were supposed to fit, and how fabric was supposed to move and swing around the body. She learned about cuts and drapes and tailoring, and what body parts women wanted to hide, and what parts they wanted to show. She made sketches at home, and the ideas seemed to flow. One day, she took a portfolio of her sketches to the head buyer at I. Magnin’s. The buyer was impressed. “Who designed these?” she asked.
“I did.”
“They’re good. They’re very good.”
Two weeks later, Kendall went to work for Donna Karan as an assistant and began to learn the business side of the garment trade. At home, she kept designing clothes. One year later, she had her first fashion show. It was a disaster.
The designs were ordinary and nobody cared. She gave a second show, and no one came.
I’m in the wrong profession, Kendall thought.
“Someday you’re going to be a very important designer.”
What am I doing wrong? Kendall wondered.
The epiphany came in the middle of the night. Kendall awakened and lay in bed, thinking, I’m designing dresses for models to wear. I should be designing for real women with real jobs and real families. Smart, but comfortable. Chic, but practical.
It took Kendall about a year to get her next show on, but it was an instant success.
Kendall rarely returned to Rose Hill, and when she did, the visits were dreadful. Her father had not changed. If anything, he had gotten worse.