by Dara Girard
“Why does Okolo Samit keep sending these cows to me? Have you looked at yourself? You have fat hanging all around your middle. Honey, get out of modeling and become an actor. They have things called ‘cattle calls’ and you’ll fit right in.”
The reed-thin girl raced past Mariella in tears.
“Do you have to be so harsh?” Gen asked.
Donna turned to her ready to give her a harsh reply then censored her words in case they were possible business contacts. “It’s better to be harsh now than having her sit at home waiting for a photo shoot that will never happen. What do you want?”
“We’re here about the Flash photo shoot,” Gen said.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve got a few girls in mind.”
“But we’d agreed to hold an open call,” Mariella said.
“We’ll do that too, maybe. Give me a few minutes then we’ll get to business.” She turned to her assistant. “Call in the next one.”
Another girl entered with more confidence than the last.
Donna looked her over. “Her breasts are uneven. Get me someone symmetrical. I’m not trying to sell a Picasso painting.” She pointed at the girl. “Get those fixed and I’ll be able to use you. Next!”
Watching Donna brought back the harshness of the business for both Gen and Mariella. Being attractive wasn’t enough. You had to be photogenic and have perfect bone structure. A job could fall through for no reason. You could be hot one moment and not the next. A world that showed such glamour had an underbelly of drug use, eating disorders, cold agents, money problems and fierce competition.
At last Donna had completed her strange weeding out process and sat down with Mariella and Gen at a small round table set off to the side.
“Heard you were dropped from Desire,” she said to Mariella. “Anti-aging is still big. We could have you sell facial creams.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Probably best. Blacks don’t sell anti-aging creams well.” She turned to Gen. “It’s like having you sell eye shadow,” she said referring to Gen’s nonexistent upper lid.
When Mariella opened her mouth to reply, Gen quickly rested her hand on her arm to stop her.
Donna continued talking. “You know if you considered surgery you might get your career back on track. Get those eyes widened and you could pass for say Native American or Latina. With your skin tone you could pass for a lot of things and that will work in your favor. I’m not making any promises, but you can think about it.”
“Right,” Gen said.
“We didn’t come here as models,” Mariella said, trying desperately to hold back what she really wanted to say.
Donna shrugged. “Hey, just in case the photography thing doesn’t go as you plan, I’m just laying out some options.”
“Well, I think your options—”
“Are something we’ll think over,” Gen finished, sending Mariella a pleading look.
“You do that,” Donna said. “Now I’ll take care of the hiring and paperwork. You can leave everything to me. You’re just the photographer. I was hired to get the models for you.” She smiled without warmth or sincerity. “Think of yourself as the technicians.”
“Fire her,” Mariella said to Josh as he finished his lunch.
Josh stared at her with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“You heard me. She has to go.”
“Who?”
“Donna Anderson. I will not work with her. Is that clear?”
“But Ian said—”
“Then he’ll have to work with her because I will not.” She stormed away.
Josh lowered his sandwich, his appetite gone, then picked up the phone. He dialed Ian’s number and when he picked up said, “You’d better get down here fast.”
Chapter 9
The next day the puma struck at noon. He stalked his prey in the Magnolia Midlands in southeastern Georgia among the scent of honeysuckle and the sound of cranes landing on the lake’s calm waters. His prey was unaware of his presence; the chaos of the shoot preoccupied her thoughts.
Mariella remembered her modeling days—scurrying here and there, impossible quick-outfit changes, endless arrays of hairstyles and makeup artists. But she wasn’t the one on show this time. She was the photographer; the conductor of this orchestra. This was her time to shine and she did. The shoot went well.
After her final shot, she called it a day and then saw Ian in the distance. The shades were back, but she could feel the power of his gaze. Her heart foolishly started to beat faster. They’d been civil to each other since their last meeting in her condo. She’d been accommodating because she preferred to be out of his presence. Being near him did strange things to her and put unsettling thoughts in her mind. Those thoughts returned as he approached her. Briefly she imagined him grabbing her and placing his lips on hers. She knew what his lips tasted like and didn’t mind another sample.
No, that wasn’t true. She wanted more than a sample. She wanted a full out feast. She wanted to rip off his sunglasses and see his eyes darken with desire. She wanted to feel his touch and touch him in return. To know—not just imagine—the sculpted muscles under his clothes from his broad chest to his sturdy thighs. She cursed her wandering thoughts and steeled herself for his approach.
He stopped in front of her. “Glad that’s over.”
She glanced down and kicked the grass, wishing his nearness didn’t affect her so acutely. “I wish it were over,” she grumbled.
“What?”
She gathered her courage and looked at him.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, staring at the twin mirror images of herself in his lenses.
“Supervising.”
“Don’t you have other projects to supervise?”
“I consider this my pet project.”
“I thought you didn’t like this project.”
He lowered his tone. “Let’s just say that there are certain parts of it that I find very attractive.”
His voice brought a tingle of awareness to her skin. “I see.” She lifted up her camera ready to take his picture. “Speaking of attractive…”
He put his hand over the lens. “No one takes a picture of me without my permission.”
“But it’s so tempting,” she said, lowering the camera. “You’d make an excellent study. Except for your clothes.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“Are you aware that there are other colors besides black?”
He looked stunned. “When did that happen?”
She shook her head, but couldn’t help a smile. “You only wear black although you’d look good in any color and you don’t like your photo taken although you’re very photogenic. Why do you only like to be behind the camera?”
“I’m shy.” Before she could argue he said, “Josh tells me that we have a little problem.”
She cleaned the lens of her camera. “We won’t once you replace that woman.”
“Donna?”
“Yes.”
“And if I don’t?”
She looked at him as though he’d just asked her to walk in front of a train. “But you will.”
“Why should she be replaced?”
“Because she’s unsuitable and she puts the girls down. I want her off the project.” She lifted the camera and aimed it at something in the distance. “Either she goes or I do.”
“You know I don’t like threats.”
“It’s not a threat.” She snapped the picture then lowered the camera and looked at him. “It’s a statement of fact.”
He bent his head and studied his hand. “Have you ever been sued?” he said quietly.
“What?”
He didn’t raise his head or his voice. “You signed a contract. It would be a shame to break it.”
“You wouldn’t sue me.”
“Would you like to find out?” He looked at her. “It will be an expensive mistake. I assure you.”
“You don’t even car
e about this project. Who cares if I stay on it or not?”
“I told you, if you don’t do this project it doesn’t get done. I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”
“You’re being irrational. I can’t work with her. She’s arrogant and vicious.”
“More vicious than you?” Ian suddenly smiled with interest. “Then I have to meet her.”
Donna was everything that Mariella said and worse, but Ian kept his thoughts to himself, determined to stay with her. Donna was good at what she did and he wanted the best.
“Well?” Mariella demanded when she saw Ian in the hotel corridor as she exited her room.
“She stays.”
“I see.” Mariella turned.
“Going to your room to pack?”
She opened the door.
Ian followed her. “I wasn’t bluffing about a lawsuit.”
“And I wasn’t bluffing about leaving.” She stepped inside her room.
He held the door before she could close it. “I could destroy you.”
She looked at him in challenge. “Really? People have tried and failed before. Do you think you’re different?”
His eyes narrowed in warning. “Mariella.”
“I will not work with her. And I certainly will not work with someone who approves of her.” Mariella released her hold on the door.
Ian shut it behind him. “This is business. My personal feelings about her are immaterial.”
Mariella walked over and sat on her sofa. “There are different ways to do business. This industry is hard enough without people putting you down. You don’t know what it’s like to be under a microscope. To constantly be judged. To have your worth based on five extra pounds or another candle on your birthday cake.”
“Well, that’s what this business is about and those that can’t take it need to get out because it’s not going to change because your feelings might get hurt.”
“You don’t care—”
“No, I don’t,” he cruelly interrupted. “I don’t care because if the value of yourself is so tied up with how you look then you’re already lost and there’s nothing anyone can say to make that all right. You know how I feel about this industry. There are girls working in Burger King and Motel 6 who would love to get the chance to be models.
“But there are also people who are actually using their brains to develop and create things that will benefit humanity in some way.” He threw up his hands. “So what if you don’t get a chance to sell a piece of clothing? It’s not the end of the world.”
Tears of rage gathered behind her eyes, his words cutting deep. She leaped off the sofa. “I know that you think that we’re useless sculptures that have no function. But let me tell you something. This face is my gift to the world. I still get letters from young girls who ask for my advice about beauty, yes, but also about life and I feel that in a small way I help them. Just as Jeremiah didn’t ask for the gift of photography or Edison didn’t ask for the gift of invention, we all use what gifts we can to make life better for others and I do that and so do others like me.”
“You can snub your nose, but we humans live for beauty. We enjoy seeing beautiful things. This project is about the beauty of the seasons and beautiful women from different states. And it will sell. And it will make money for the ordinary person in the factory who would not have a job if this magazine didn’t exist so that you can hire people to clean your house and keep your lawn pristine.”
Ian blinked, unmoved. “So models actually help make the world go round?” he said blandly. “I never thought of it that way.”
Mariella shook her head, frustrated. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you actually felt guilty that you were attractive.” She saw his face change and knew she was right. “That’s it. You feel that you need to compensate by being foul.” She walked into the kitchen. “I would ask why, but I really don’t care.”
Ian pounded on the counter. “But I want you to care!”
Mariella stared at him stunned. “What?”
He shook his head in regret and ran a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
“But you did say it,” she said, not ready to let the subject drop.
He sighed, resigned. “I know.”
“Why did you say that? What does it mean?”
“You know,” he said softly.
“You want me to care about you?”
He smiled. “You can’t imagine that, can you?” His smile grew at the astonished look on her face. “No, I can see you don’t.” He suddenly laughed. “You know we’re going to find this really funny after we’re married.”
She took a hasty step back. “After we’re what?”
“Married.” He dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand. “But that’s not the issue right now. Are you leaving?”
She raced into her bedroom. “I certainly am now.” She grabbed her suitcase from the closet and placed it on her bed. “You must be insane. Married to you? Never.”
Ian leaned in the doorway. “I really hate to see you leave. I was scheduled to have dinner tonight with Yolanda Stanton and her husband and had hoped to take you, but since you won’t be here…”
Mariella froze. “You don’t mean the owner of IMPULSE, the top end fashion magazine?”
He nodded. “Yes. They have a formal event coming up and are looking for a photographer. I told them about you and they would like to work with you once this project is over.”
She sent him a suspicious look. “This is a bribe.”
He grinned.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long.” He winked. “I’m picking you up at eight.” He bowed then left.
Mariella sank into her bed. He was impossible. What did he mean after they were married? He wanted to marry her? It had to be a ploy to put her off balance. And his strategy worked. She actually thought about it. It wouldn’t be a bad match. He was rich, handsome and powerful. The problem was she wouldn’t be able to control him—that would take cunning. But with practice she could get used to his ways….
Mariella jumped to her feet. What was she thinking? She could never marry him. Ever. They’d argue all the time. It was out of the question. She pushed the thought from her mind and stared at her opened suitcase. It was cowardly to run away, however. Just because she hadn’t gotten her way didn’t mean she should walk away from a great opportunity. She could handle Donna. She would counter her cruel remarks with kinder ones. And she could handle Ian, too—with velvet gloves.
Ian arrived on time as expected. He frowned when he found Mariella still in her robe. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”
“You should be ready now.”
She disappeared into her bedroom.
He sat down on the couch and stared out the window then picked up an old magazine and flipped through it. Then he saw Mariella’s Desire ad. It was an old ad but the woman hadn’t changed. Millions had wanted Desire, millions had wanted her. Some still did. Jealousy gripped him at the thought of all the men who had come before him, but he was secure in the fact that he would be the last. He called out to her, “If you’re not ready in two minutes, I’m taking you as you are.”
“I’m ready.”
He glanced up and the magazine fell unnoticed from his fingers. It was as though the woman from the Desire ad had suddenly materialized in front of him. She wasn’t a real woman, she was a dream—a fantasy. And this almost unearthly vision emerged from her room in an off-white, bare-back halter dress, with her hair smoothly pulled back and adorned with a mother-of-pearl hair comb. A hunger—dark, potent and fierce gripped him with a ferocity he couldn’t control. He jumped to his feet aware of only one thing: he wanted her. Now. He glanced briefly at his watch before he walked toward her. He didn’t have much time.
Mariella put on her shawl. “Okay, let’s go.”
Ian removed it with slow deliberation, the material whispering against her skin as it slid away. “There’s no need to rush
.”
She reached for the shawl. “But we don’t want to be late.”
He tossed the shawl on the coffee table. “We won’t be late.”
She folded her arms, unsure of his strange mood. “You sound very certain of that.”
He unfolded them. “I am.”
Her mouth widened into a smile. “Do you want to kiss me?”
He returned her smile. “No,” he said, his large, warm hand skimming the length of her bare back until it reached her zipper. “A kiss won’t do.” He brought the zipper down with agonizing ease. Although his touch was light there was something fiercely possessive about the way he looked at her that called out to every feminine instinct in her. Mariella bit her lip; she had wanted to tempt him. She’d chosen the dress specifically, but she hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected his look or reaction to it.
“We don’t have time,” she said quickly.
His low voice was barely a whisper. “This won’t take long.”
She blinked. “Is that supposed to be romantic?”
He unhooked the latch around her neck. “If I had more time I’d be the most romantic man you’d ever met.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You’re right, I’m lying.” He pushed her dress from her shoulders and it fell to her feet. His hungry gaze exploring every curve of her body.
Mariella felt pleased by the survey as his gaze dropped to her black lace panties. But soon her pleasure turned to unease as the silence between them grew and Ian didn’t make a move toward her. She opened her mouth, desperate to say something, but he pressed a finger to her lips and shook his head. “You don’t need to say anything.” He halted any attempt at protest and she didn’t care. Her fingers unbuttoned his shirt and he took it off and tossed it aside. Her imagination hadn’t done him justice. His sleek, hard body made her fingers ache for contact and when they did it wasn’t enough. Soon she was in his arms, her skin prickled as his flesh met hers.
