Lily Pad: February 23, 2006 The People's Republic of Underwear

"Ms. Lily, there's someone here to see you." The voice of my servant, Ito, cuts through the serene darkness of my inner lair, namely my bedroom. I glance at the clock and notice it's already 10am and the vague notion of a missed meeting enters my groggy head.

"Who is it Ito? I'm hardly decent." Indeed, I was wearing nothing more than my Puma Naughty Mesh Cami and a pair of boylegs.

"It's Ms. Lulu and she said you were supposed to meet her an hour ago." The moment Ito finishes making this grave announcement, Lulu comes bounding into the room, plops down angrily on my bed and hurls an unidentifiable furry mass into my face. "Lily, are you on a bender again? You were supposed to meet me at Bette at 9am!"

"Cut me some slack Lulu, I was at my office till 4am talking to the head of the Chinese Ministry of Fashion -- they're 12 hours ahead in China -- and filling out custom forms. The last thing I need right now is you throwing--" I inspect the furry object she's launched in my direction, "--fashion roadkill in my face at this early hour! What is this sorry excuse for an accessory?"

"It's my damn prototype for my woolly mammoth handbag! You weren't the only one up all night working! I just can't seem to get this thing right!" At that moment, Ito re-enters the room with a bucket of ice, a stand and a bottle of Champagne. "Oh Ito, just in time. You're a doll," Lulu gushes.

"You have my servant bringing you Champagne in my bedroom at 10 in the morning!?" I shriek. "I'm billing you for this Lulu!"

"Oh, pipe down Lil," Lulu admonishes me as she pours a glass and passes it in my direction. "So, what's all this about China? Are we finally going to open my boutique on Nanjing Lu? I want to cash in on the new red-hot Chinese economy."

"You'll have to wait your turn on that, dear," I tell her after taking a long gulp of Champagne. "I'm organizing an underwear event for another client."

"Oh, Lily don't tell me you're staging a National Underwear Day in the People's Republic of China! They may be ready for my handbags but if you send models out into the streets of Beijing in their underwear, you will have another Tiananmen Square massacre on your hands!"

"Oh Lu, stop being such an alarmist," I say attempting to get out of bed before changing my mind and flopping back against the mound of feather down pillows. "This isn't 1989 --although from the looks of your outfit I'm starting to wonder -- and anyway, the event is in Shanghai, not Beijing. Don't you read fashion magazines? Shanghai is like the new Paris!"

"You say that now, but you'll change your tune when you're cooling your Jimmy Choo heels in a Maoist gulag with a dozen underwear models."

"Newsflash Lulu: Mao died in 1976 along with your hairdo. Now, enough of your neo-con blather. I need your help with this event. Your hairy elephant bags can wait. My assistants are all out in Las Vegas with several of our clients for MAGIC and I'm going to need an extra pair of hands."

"Good grief, I'm Lulu Guinness, not some green kid fresh of FIT!" Before Lulu can say another word, I scribble down some notes on the back of a cocktail napkin from Swifty's and thrust it in her direction. "I need you to go over to the Donna Karan Intimates showroom and pick out three dozen bras and panties so I can have them sent to Jack's hotel room in Shanghai."

"If it's anything like that 'hotel' he stayed at in the Tenderloin in San Francisco last year, I suspect the package will never make it up to his room," Lulu snorts. "I'm picturing a lot happy Chinese prostitutes staging their own 'underwear event' somewhere in the red-light district."

"Oh Lu, Jack doesn't work for Albanian Marie Claire anymore, he works for a magazine with a bigger travel budget," I correct her. "He's staying at the Grand Hyatt on top of the fabulous Jinmao Tower."

"Which is where I should be right now, lounging in their spa getting a pedicure, instead of this bedroom," Lulu wrinkles her nose. "It smells like pickled eggs and Knob Creek bourbon in here."

"Off you go, Handbag Enchantress of Manhattan Isle," I say rising from my bed, removing the Champagne glass from her hand and shoving her through the door. I reach for her pitiful prototype and toss it at her as an afterthought. "And don't forget your pet!"