Breaking the Rules. Barbara Taylor Bradford
Читать онлайн книгу.
good at this, honey.’
‘And thank you, Frankie. Actually, I’ve enjoyed it,’ she told him. Walking across to him, she now asked, ‘Did you mean it when you told Luke you were going to launch my modelling career?’
He was taking the film out of his camera and he glanced up, nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘I’m so pleased about that! So, where do we go from here? What happens next?’ she asked, her excitement reflected on her face.
‘I have to start using you in some of my fashion shoots for the magazines. That’s how we’ll begin.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘Not for a few weeks,’ Frankie murmured, putting the camera down on a table. ‘I have to go to Morocco on Monday, to do a fashion spread for Harper’s Bazaar.’
M nodded, gave him a quizzical look. ‘So when should I plan on being here, Frankie? When will you need me?’
‘I’ll have to let you know. You see I’ll be in Morocco for a while, honey – it’s a big spread, time consuming.’
‘And there’s no way you could include me in that?’ she asked, her eyes riveted on him.
He shook his head. ‘No, the models have all been selected. In fact, some are already on their way over there.’
‘I understand.’ She gave him a bright smile, although she was disappointed, and went on, ‘I’d better let the Blane Agency know about our session today, and your intentions, don’t you think?’
Startled by her sudden and unexpected businesslike manner, he stared at her, his eyes narrowing, then said, ‘But Geo told me you were registered with a number of modelling agencies. Why are you mentioning Blane in particular?’
‘Because I signed with them when I first came to New York, and I like the women working there. They seem sincere to me, and they’ve tried to be helpful. I should have proper representation anyway, shouldn’t I?’
‘Okay, you’re right and I understand. So yes, you can go ahead and tell them.’
‘And what about the photographs you’ve taken today? When can I see them? I’d love to know how I look in them.’
He grinned at her. ‘Of course you would. So drop over next week and Caresse will have a set for you.’
‘Thank you.’ She moved away, went back to the small table near the stool, retrieved Luke’s business card, then, swinging around, she asked, ‘What do you plan to do with the pictures you took today?’
‘What do you mean, M? I’m not following you.’ He sounded puzzled.
‘Are you going to place them with a magazine? Or use them in some way? Or was this a … a dry run, I suppose I would call it.’
‘That’s right, it was exactly that. I usually do a session with a new girl, if I think she has potential. And you know already I feel that about you. Some of them are duds, you know, but certainly not you. I foresee a great future for you as a model, M, and I do plan to help you get to the top. When I come back from Morocco.’
Frankie walked across the floor and put his arms around her, gave her a big hug. ‘Thanks again, honey, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.’
It seemed to M that the next few weeks passed extremely quickly. Always well organized, even when she was a child, she made herself a schedule and kept to it.
Every other morning she went to the Blane Model Agency to check in with Leni, the receptionist, and afterwards visited another two agencies, International and Famous, where she was also registered. Three afternoons a week she worked as a waitress at the All-American Cheese Cake Café, and on Thursday she helped out as a sales assistant at Jennifer Allen’s chic boutique situated in the Meatpacking District.
She enjoyed being busy, and working helped to deflect some of the worry she felt about Frankie Farantino. She hoped he would keep his word to her.
According to Caresse, whom she called several times a week, he was still in Morocco, and would now be going on to the south of France to finish the shoot. A new development. Only after that would he be back in New York. But Caresse reassured her that Frankie would keep his word, as did the women she knew at Blane’s. Leni, and Marla Golding, who handled bookings, had been pleased when she had conveyed Frankie’s interest in her. Apparently he enjoyed a good reputation and was well liked by them; they told her they deemed him trustworthy. Also, the two of them had been impressed by the photographs Frankie had taken of her, as she had herself.
Only Geo seemed hesitant about the ‘make-over’, as she called it, pointing out to M that she was beautiful in her own right, and did not need to become the replica of a dead movie star.
‘If you don’t know how gorgeous you are, go and look in the mirror,’ Geo had said that Thursday afternoon when she had returned from the shoot at Frankie’s studio. ‘I love your hairstyle, though, and you should definitely keep the bangs because they really suit you. They’d work with a ponytail too, you know, as well as the twist.’ Then, quite suddenly, Geo had frowned and peered at her rather intently, shaking her head, and had added in a gentle tone, obviously not wanting to give offence, ‘I think your eye makeup is a bit too heavy, and your eyebrows far too thick, M, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
M had listened attentively to Geo, and everyone else, and had weighed their comments. She tended to agree with Geo about the eye makeup, and later decided not to bother with it, especially when she was working at the café and the boutique. She would just look ridiculous in those venues if she did an over-the-top theatrical eye job on herself.
M kept herself busy when she wasn’t working. She went shopping for groceries, her everyday needs, and kept her room clean, and scrupulously neat, looked after her clothes and shoes. On a regular basis she emailed her parents in Australia and called her sister in London, either on Friday or Sunday, depending on her new work schedule.
And of course she waited impatiently and with great anticipation for Frankie’s return to New York. She had cancelled the interview with Hank George, on Geo’s advice, who pointed out that Frankie would probably be annoyed if she went to see another photographer at this stage. After all, he had made it crystal clear that he wanted to launch her modelling career; he had even agreed that she could inform Blane’s of his serious intentions, since she had signed with them when she had first arrived. In fact, he had behaved impeccably.
‘You’ll just have to be patient for a few more weeks until he gets back,’ Geo had murmured recently. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, I just know it is. And when he does return, Blane’s will get you a worthwhile contract with him.’
M thought of Geo now as she wandered around one of the many art galleries in West Chelsea. She often did this at weekends, looking at paintings by people she had never heard of, always deciding that Geo was a much better artist. In fact, she was enormously talented, in M’s opinion, and working extremely hard at the moment, attempting to finish a series of paintings of scenes in Connecticut. They were intended for an upcoming exhibition of her work planned for December and M was encouraging her to stick at it, cheering her on every day.
After meandering around the gallery for a short while longer, M finally left, somewhat unimpressed, and walked in the direction of West Twenty-Second Street having decided it was time to go home.
She was enjoying the late September weather, and it suddenly struck her that today was one of those gorgeous Indian summer days that she and her mother so loved … sunny and warm with a light breeze, a great arc of impeccably clear blue sky above her.
‘A day to be outside in the garden,’ her mother would say on days like this, and she would head outside, beckoning her children to follow.
M experienced an