The world works in odd ways. Things are in one day, out the next. There are trends, there are cliques. There are people who are noticed, and the rest of them. There are names you have to know. There are people you want to be in with. There are things you're going to want to do to be noticed.
"Lovino Vargas. Remember that name, one day, no one will be able to forget it."
He was confident.
"Really? Taupe? Dear, even the puke of your grandmother's cat would look better on you than that color."
He knew what he was talking about.
"Don't mind me, I'm just over here working towards some achievable goals, but please go on about how I should memorize facts about ancient losers long dead."
He had an attitude that would make a grown man cower in fear.
And no one remembered him.
For years, Lovino Vargas was nothing but another student, blending into the walls of a high school.
And then fading into the wallpaper at a coffee shop.
He was nobody.
He was nothing.
But if there was one thing about him that stood out from the rest, it was his determination. If there was something Lovino Vargas wanted, he'd stomp all over your little hopes and dreams to get it.
Arrivederci, bitches.
It started with a single question
"Peter Kirkland sir! From Dual Entertainment? I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions!" The short, excitable blond trailed after the man, the one he had recognized instantly. Of course with his trained eye for star spotting, it was hard to miss him.
The man's name was Vargas, and I you didn't recognize it, you had to have lived under a rock. Unlike how most notable names popped up, Vargas' started as a whisper. A quiet, quiet whisper that appeared on the red carpet. There was the question.
"Tell me, who made that dress?"
And the response?
"Lovino Vargas."
The name trended on Google within an hour. Vargas' Twitter account? Gained more followers than he could have counted, in the mere time of a commercial break. And this unexpected development all came from a slinky red cocktail dress.
Very simplistic, that was Vargas' style. It attracted attention in a different way. There weren't sparkles, there weren't dresses dripping in beads.
No. There was fabric. There were patterns, and cuts, and styles, and labors of love.
His designs, a masterpiece. But Vargas himself? The complete opposite, that was the first thing Peter Kirkland noticed, seeing the designer for the first time.
He was smaller than he came off as. In the magazine interviews, the camera wizards must have done something. Even on the television, he looked like he towered over six foot. But no. If he was even six foot, Peter would be surprised. He had a sharp face, the scowl not helping to make him look any more approachable. But Peter imagined that if he were to smile (which even in a photograph, he had never once seen this man smile), he would be much more attractive. Vargas was dressed to the nines, something Peter wasn't surprised about. He knew that even regularly, anyone worthy to write about in the magazine had at least one designer label on their body at once. And this, probably was one of Vargas' designs. Casual, but classy. What Vargas was famed for. The coffee brown sweater accented the man's skin tone, the slacks making it a outfit suitable for business wear. Peter had to wonder how the Italian man dressed on just a casual day at home.
Trying not to look like he was staring, the young reporter smiled weakly, and looked up to Vargas' eyes, as the other looked down at him, through the designer sunglasses with a logo that made Peter cringe. He couldn't afford a pair of those if he saved up all of his paychecks for two years! The man was intimidating, but Peter could do it! He could prove that he could get an interview from one of the most notable figures in the fashion world.
"It'll take me five minutes to get to where I'm going. Shoot." The Italian replied, looking to the front again as he took a sip of the coffee in his hands, and slowing down just his pace. Peter took that as a compliment. Anyone who would actually give Peter the time of day was good in his book!
In turn, Peter grinned, and opened his mouth to speak. This was his chance! He could write the best article he ever had, get a spot on the cover... perhaps even get a feature article! His editor had been dying for an interview with Vargas. He could even get a promotion! But then Vargas held a single, tanned finger up, and Peter gave a heavy, despondent sigh as the sound of quick, ascending notes played out of Vargas' back pocket. A phone call. Peter's heart sank. This was not going to be good.
Vargas didn't give Peter a second glance as he held the phone up to his ear, looking a bit surprised, and then flustered, and then, plain out mad. He began to talk quickly. the words in a foreign language flowing off his tongue beautifully, even if the tone of the words was harsh. He kept walking, and didn't motion for Peter to stop. So he kept walking, looking away, towards his feet, and trying not to listen. Even if he could understand what was being said, it was obviously personal, and the topic was something Vargas wasn't happy about. His face turned an ugly shade of red, and he hissed the words, as if he wanted to poison the other with what he said.
And that phone call, dragged on, and on, and on. They walked for blocks, Vargas chattering away in that foreign tongue, and Peter staying quiet, never daring to look up at the celebrity. The young Englishman's hope was restored when Vargas stopped in front of a particularly tall building, holding out a hand to make him stop as well. A small smile growing on his lips, the blond pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders, and kicked the ground aimlessly with his foot, waiting. He would wait all day if he had to. If it meant an interview, he would do anything. He only looked up when suddenly, Vargas switched to a finely accented English.
"Yeah, yeah, fuck off, will ya? I'm busy. I'll call you back later." There was a slight pause, and Vargas purposely avoided Peter's eyes. "Yes. I love you too. Now go." And with that, the phone call was over, the phone back in Vargas' back pocket, and that steely glare back on Peter.
"Listen, sorry 'bout that kid. People are idiots who don't know how to shut the hell up." He gave a small smirk. "I'll give you the interview. You better be right where I'm standing at one thirty, or it's all off." And without giving Peter a chance to respond, the Italian disappeared into the building, like he was never there at all.
And that's when a huge smile filled Peter's face, and what could be classified as an excited squeal left his mouth. He was going to get it. He was getting that career making interview. Beaming, he rushed down the street, back towards his apartment. This was something to tell people about.
Peter pulled out his phone, glancing at the time, once again. 1:59 the lit up screen displayed, and Peter gave a little huff. He'd been standing outside the building for forty five minutes now, getting suspicious looks from the doorman. Worries filled the young man's mind, and he crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. Was he being stood up by Vargas? Or had he said to meet him here at twelve thirty, and Peter had heard the wrong time? Either way, his whole career would be down the toilet. He'd sent an excited text to his editor, who promptly called him, her loud voice sounding more excited than it was when Antonio Fernandez Carriedo agreed to model for the front cover.
"Get this interview Peter!" She demanded, and he could practically hear the smile in her voice. "I'll give you a bonus, I don't care. Give me that interview."
He'd signed off with a happy, prompt, 'yes ma'am!' and hung up, going over what he would ask the Italian in his head. He would try to get the deepest information he could, while making it sound like he was asking general questions. Luckily, the Englishman was great at getting the dirt, on anyone he could.
Pulled away from his thoughts, Peter glanced up as an even more flustered looking Vargas exited the building, glancing around for Peter, giving him a cordial nod once he locked eyes with him.
"I'm already running late and I've got a sizing in two hours, you better make this quick." He stated bluntly, quickly covering his eyes from the bright sun with the same pair of dark designer glasses he'd had on earlier. "What do you want? Life story? People's already got that. Clients I've had? Entertainment Tonight. I don't know what else I can give to you people."
Peter was quiet for a moment, receiving a suspicious looking glance from Lovino. He was trying to recall what his editor, Elizaveta had told him to get the scoop on.
"Oh, oh!" Peter grinned. "I want to know the real Lovino Vargas." That was freeformed, and damn was he proud of it. "You always tell whomever is interviewing you that you're different at your work than you are at home. That your work gets a different mindset than how you'd normally act around your family and friends. Of course, that holds true to every person, I would suppose, but what's that real Lovino Vargas like?"
"Restate that, it sounds like you're saying I'm not the real Lovino Vargas." Vargas stated bluntly, and Peter was a bit taken aback.
"I.. don't understand what you're trying to say."
That got a smirk from Vargas, and he started o walk down the street, motioning for Peter to follow.
"You said 'I want to know the real Lovino Vargas'. Sure I'm a bit more focused at my work, and of course I'm not going to treat you exact strangers like I would my own family, but you're speaking like I'm not actually Lovino Vargas, and that I'm some imposter." He scoffed. "You're going to want to think before you speak like that, you could get a good punch to the face."
That was something Peter hadn't heard before, and he supposed his face showed it. "Sorry?" He gave a weak smile.
"Don't apologize to me." Vargas gave a small shrug. "Are you just following me, or do you have a set place for this interview to happen?" The Italian gave a soft chuckle, glancing back at Peter.
Peter could feel his face heat up, and he assumed that it was turning a strawberry like red. Something so important.. of course there were always rooms in the offices, where they always showed the interviews on television, and occasionally would be used for simple interviews with a few people. Or sometimes he went to the home. "I.. I guess it's up to you!"
He was going to get fired, this was so unprofessional.
"There's a little coffee shop right," Lovino paused, taking a sharp turn around the corner. "Here. I'm starving, if you don't mind of course.'
"No, no!" Peter shook his head quickly, thankful that he was actually suggesting a place they could go. That a least saved his little blunder. But then again, when he thought about it, this had been a spur of the moment thing. No agent had contacted him. He hadn't called an agent, or even Vargas himself. So, this was a surprising development, and a welcome one.
"Good." The man gave a small smile, slipping into the back of the shop, and taking a seat, as Peter followed. "Come on, do this quickly, I'm hungry."
"Yes sir!" Peter replied as he pulled out a notebook from his satchel, and sat down, giving the Italian a happy smile, and rattled off questions, such as "Tell me about your family, Lovino." Which got a particularly vague answer, or "When did you realize that this was what you wanted to do?" or "Did you think that your designs would come this far?"
All of Vargas' answers were short, a few words here, giving a fierce shake of the head for others. Peter began to suspect that the Italian had something to hide, though he'd save that for another time.
"Thank you for your time Mr. Vargas!" Peter announced, standing up, after he noticed that Lovino's answers had slowly reduced to one, or two word answers.
The other simply nodded, and Peter gave him a small wave, and exited the shop, noticing that Lovino stood up almost as soon as he left. The Italian may have been blunt, a bit rude, but he at least had a bit of class.
Surprisingly enough, Peter walked away thinking only good things about Lovino Vargas. He was someone who didn't want his personal life invaded. And that was respectable. Of course, it didn't help the tabloid business, or his job, but he at least respected Vargas' opinion.
And the questions that Peter asked, weren't the ones that lead to Vargas' downfall.
If possible, the downfall of Lovino Vargas happened an even worse time