“I rushed right over from the manicurist, and my nails aren’t quite dry yet. Would you mind filling it out for me?” she asked sweetly.
“Sure,” the receptionist said with just the slightest bit of aggravation in her voice. She was used to this kind of behavior. Wet nails, runs in their pantyhose, with beauty queens it was always something. “What was your name again?”
“Gabrielle Donovan.”
“Agency?”
“First Face,” Gabrielle answered proudly.
Miguel had advised Gabrielle to start with a small agency, one that would have the time and incentive to finesse her budding career. His suggestion was First Face, the newest and hottest agency going at the moment. It was small, Eva G. and Veronica Gillian being its only stars. But with two supermodels on its roster, along with an up-and-comer like Gabrielle, First Face was hot on the heels of the bigger and more established agencies like Ford, Elite, and Click.
Thanks to an enthusiastic recommendation by Miguel, Gabrielle was able to bypass the open-interview process and meet personally with the agency’s president, Gregory von Ulrich. He took one look at her test shots and signed her on the spot. Recognizing talent and potential income when he saw it, Gregory assigned her to the agency’s best booker, Jaci Francis.
“Do you think your nails are dry enough to leave me a composite?” the woman asked with a dry twinge of sarcasm. Gabrielle handed her card to the receptionist, taking great care not to smudge the polish on her nails that had been dry now for at least thirty-six hours.
“Thank you. Have a seat. Ruthanna will call you when she’s ready.”
Gabrielle found a seat by the door. Despite the crowd, the room was quiet enough to hear the hum of the water cooler. This was a big job, and every model in the room wanted to be the cover face chosen to launch this new magazine. Except for two women conversing in the corner, the models sat nervously leafing through magazines and sizing up their competition.
“Gabrielle Donovan,” a voice called out before its owner appeared in the doorway. Gabrielle stood up, aware of the forty or so eyes picking her apart. She walked across the floor and into the office with an enthusiastic stride. Smiling brightly, she shifted her black leather portfolio from her right to left hand and extended her arm. “Hi, you must be Ruthanna Beverly. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Please sit down,” Ruthanna said, shaking Gabrielle’s hand politely. The editor, a former model herself, sat down and got right down to business. “You brought your book?”
“Yes, of course,” Gabrielle answered, handing the casting director her thin but impressive portfolio, containing Miguel’s pictures and tear sheets of her first modeling assignment.
Within just two weeks of making the rounds to meet the magazine crowd, Jaci was able to secure Gabrielle’s initial booking with Elle magazine—a fashion spread that began to get her noticed by the casting directors from various magazines, catalogues, and advertising agencies.
Because Gabrielle had refused to move to Europe to get experience, Jaci and Greg mapped out an alternative strategy for managing Gabrielle’s career. They’d decided to ignore all but the most prestigious catalogue and editorial assignments. With great care, Jaci and Gregory selected every appearance, making sure the job supported the image they wanted to portray—that of an innocent yet sensual young woman.
“You have a huge fan in Mig Reid,” Ruthanna commented as she studied Gabrielle’s tear sheets.
“He’s the best,” Gabrielle answered sincerely.
Seeing her test shots had been quite a revelation for Gabrielle. She was especially pleased with the topless photo, particularly given her reluctance to participate. Miguel still held the negatives and prints at his studio. He was planning to use that photo and others from an upcoming session in a brochure promoting his photography. It was the least Gabrielle could do, considering all the work and expense he’d gone through on her behalf. And, as Jaci had adroitly pointed out, it couldn’t hurt that this brochure would find its way to the desks of the most influential editors, designers, and art directors in the business.
Ruthanna’s only comment before closing Gabrielle’s model book was a polite but noncommittal “Very nice.”
“Thank you,” she replied, not quite sure if the interview was over.
“I’d like to take a Polaroid.”
“Of course.” Gabrielle knew that taking instant photos was standard practice. They were clipped to her casting sheet and used later in the final selection process.
“Could you stand over there in the corner?”
Gabrielle walked over to the designated area and turned to face Ruthanna. There was a baby spot light illuminating the area sufficiently to accommodate a quick photo.
“Right there is perfect,” Ruthanna instructed. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
While she waited, Gabrielle casually ran her fingers through her hair. Within seconds she heard the snap of the camera.
“That’s great. Thank you very much.”
“Thank you,” Gabrielle answered, disappointed she’d been caught off guard. She shook the editor’s hand good-bye and left the room not knowing if she was any closer to having the job than when she’d entered.
Ruthanna closed the door behind Gabrielle and returned to her seat to study the Polaroid. Gabrielle’s candid pose reeked of wholesome seductiveness and sensuality. Even for this quickie photo her eyes were alive and engaging. Ruthanna could definitely see this playful enchantress on the cover of the magazine, inviting readers to pick it up and share all the wonderful news inside. The editor’s original intent had been to use an established face—Bridget Hall, Niki Taylor, or Claudia Schiffer. But after careful discussion, the decision was made to find a fresh face—a new face that was beautiful but approachable. A face that defined the philosophy and intent of Appeal magazine.
The creators of Appeal wanted a different kind of fashion magazine, a publication that sorted through the barrage of fads and mini-trends and urged readers to revel in their own individuality. Models of all sizes would be featured, and each issue would be a reflection of the cover model’s actual personality. Each girl would act as her own fashion editor, choosing the designer clothes and accessories that enhanced her personal sense of chic beauty.
Ruthanna broke out into a huge smile. Her work was done for the day. She’d found the cover girl for this all-important premiere issue. Clutching the photo in her hand, she also knew that not only was she launching a new magazine, she was launching Gabrielle’s career and her own.
“You have a tentative with Glamour magazine for Friday at eleven-thirty,” Jaci informed Gabrielle. “As soon as they let me know, I’ll let you know.”
“Friday the twelfth at eleven-thirty—tentative Glamour,” Gabrielle recited into her microcassette recorder.
Jaci waited as Gabrielle recorded her appointments. She was accustomed to the model repeating her words, but never realized that instead of writing her schedule down in her leather Filofax, Gabrielle was recording an audio calendar.
The idea to use a microcassette to keep track of her bookings came to Gabrielle after seeing Stephanie use one to transcribe her boss’s notes. Her method was simple: Gabrielle recorded her schedule and any changes directly into the tape recorder while Beatrice jotted the information down later in both hers and Gabrielle’s Filofaxes. Gabrielle insisted on carrying and “using” her appointment book imprinted with the First Face logo. The book was more than just a prop. If something ever happened to her tape recorder, Gabrielle would simply invent an excuse and have someone read it to her.
“Anything else?”
“Monday you have the brochure shoot with Miguel, but you’ve also got a request from Self.”
“Book me out on Monday,” Gabrielle instructed Jaci. “I promised Miguel.”
“Okay. Monday belongs to Mig, but the rest of next week is going to be particularly hectic. I have you booked on two shoots—Tuesday in San Francisco for the North Beach Leather catalogu
e. Then on Thursday you’re in South Beach for the Allure spread. Congratulations. Your first two out-of-town jobs.”
“Are these bookings tentative or confirmed? If they’re tentative, maybe we should pass,” Gabrielle suggested.
Jaci stopped sorting vouchers and gave her full attention to Gabrielle. Since they’d begun working together, she’d never once heard Gabrielle complain about her growing workload.
“You okay?” she asked with genuine concern. It was easy for these young girls to burn out, and a girl with Gabrielle’s potential was only going to get busier. If she was having problems, it was best they come out in the open now rather than later.
“I’m embarrassed to tell you.”
“Don’t be. I’m here to help.”
“I’m afraid to fly,” Gabrielle revealed.
“You’re not serious, are you? A model lives half her life—hell, three quarters of her life—on an airplane.”
“I can’t do it,” she said, unable to tell Jaci the truth. It wasn’t the actual flying she feared, it was the traveling through strange airports, checking in and out of hotels, reading itineraries—reading anything—that scared her.
“I’m going to have to noodle this one around.”
“Can’t I ask Beatrice? I’ll pay for her travel expenses myself.”
“I don’t see how anyone can argue with that. Wait. Hold on.”
In a few short seconds Jaci returned to the phone. “Good news, you got the Appeal cover! Congratulations!” The two women shrieked together on the phone.
“I can’t believe they picked me!”
“Believe it. And not only do they want you on the cover, there’s a guaranteed six-page fashion spread,” her booker revealed.
“I can’t wait to tell Mig. He’ll be so psyched that I’ve gotten this far.”
Jaci knew that this was only the beginning. The new magazine was all the buzz in both the publishing and fashion businesses. Bumor had it that the parent company, ABW Publishing, was sinking millions into the magazine to ensure its success. This meant that the exposure leading up to the magazine’s debut would be extensive. It also meant that Gabrielle’s career as a model was officially about to hit the big time.
15
Stephanie was livid when she saw the contents of the envelope. Inside was a check—her kill fee from Strive magazine. Now, if this didn’t add insult to injury. Not only had it taken her months to finally get her story on Lexis Richards accepted—and by a tiny, almost anonymous bimonthly at that—now the bastards were paying her not to publish the story.
“They could have saved the paper and paid me with a roll of quarters,” Stephanie said, crushing the check in her hand.
Not that others weren’t interested in the explosive young director’s story. It was simply that none were interested in her story. Thanks to the media blitz Felicia had managed to whip up, six weeks had passed before Stephanie was able to sit down with Lexis. By the time she’d gotten her promised interview, it was too late. Stories about the director had already run in the major daily papers around the country, and profiles were scheduled in Ebony, Esquire, Rolling Stone, and Playboy magazines. Still, an interview with a hot commodity like Lexis was too good for Stephanie to pass up.
At the top of their discussion, the director had been completely open and forthright, talking to her in depth about his business and his art. It wasn’t until he inadvertently mentioned that his first project had starred his twin brother, Lewis, that the interview took a quick slide downhill.
“That’s off the record. Nothing about my family goes in this story,” he said brusquely.
“Come on, Lexis. The public wants to know about your childhood.”
“I don’t give a damn what people want to know. This article is about me, not my family.”
Later, when Stephanie wrote her profile, she took great care to paint a positive picture of Lexis, dwelling on his childhood fascination with making movies. Other than a quick mention of the director’s twin brother, she honored his condition that the Richards family remain off limits. And what was the thanks she received? A story she couldn’t sell.
How selfish could Felicia and Lexis be? After all, if Stephanie hadn’t directed Lexis Richards to the Palio Restaurant, Felicia would have never signed him on as a client, thus leaving him and his movie to be swallowed up by a sea of bad publicity. In saving her client’s first shot at fame, Felicia had effectively killed Stephanie’s.
Why is life always kicking me in the ass? Stephanie asked herself bitterly. This article was to be her big launch into the world of magazine reporting. The story that put her in the Rolodexes of important editors around the city. But once again, instead of the glory she expected, she got zilch—nada. Nothing ever works out for me, Stephanie thought, full of self-pity. Not school, not writing, not Jack.
She missed Jack. Even though he had turned out to be just another dog who treated her like his personal fire hydrant, time and distance had not put an end to her obsession with him. When the pain of not having him with her became too much, Stephanie resorted to sophomoric tricks like calling his number late at night and hanging up after he said hello. Once, when a female voice answered, Stephanie claimed to be calling from the Gay Men’s Health Crisis with the results of Jack’s HIV test. She had no way of knowing if her insinuation had had any effect on the woman, but Stephanie took the chance that it would work on her just as it had apparently worked on Gabrielle.
She was sure that the story she’d concocted about Jack’s sexuality had everything to do with Gabrielle’s initial resistance to Jack’s advances. But even if it hadn’t done the job, Gabrielle’s burgeoning career left no time for Jack or any of the other men beating a path to her door.
Gabrielle Donovan. Now, that was one lucky bitch. Everything worked out for her. Everything. Not only was she beautiful, but she was well on her way to being rich and famous, the three things that Stephanie wanted most out of life. Sure, any one of the three was powerful enough to open doors, but in Stephanie’s mind it was the sacred trinity of beauty, wealth, and fame that all but guaranteed a fairy-tale life.
By now Stephanie had come to terms with the fact that great beauty was out of the question. It just wasn’t in the cards, let alone the gene pool. As for being rich and famous, Felicia had effectively shot Stephanie’s current opportunity to hell, and Stephanie had the minuscule paycheck to prove it.
Damn it. Felicia’s getting paid, Gabrielle’s getting paid, and here I sit with barely enough money to buy breakfast. It’s not fair!
“Life’s not fair, so why should I be?” Stephanie asked herself out loud as an idea fermented in her head. She rustled through the crumpled magazines and newspapers. Finding what she needed, Stephanie picked up the phone and dialed the number listed in the ad.
“ ‘Grain Harvest,’ ” proclaimed a smooth voice.
Stephanie immediately recognized Harry Grain’s voice from his public confrontation at the gallery. “My name is Stephanie Bancroft. I’m calling you about Lexis Richards, the director of Southeast.”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Hip-Hop, Does His Mouth Ever Stop,” Harry answered dryly, amused by his attempt at snide humor. “I doubt there is anything that you could say that could possibly be of any interest to me.
“I know one thing he likes to keep his mouth shut about.”
“And what would that be?” he asked, taking the bait.
“The ad says that I can supplement my income.”
“It also stipulates accurate and interesting celebrity gossip.”
“This information is both.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Lexis Richards has a brother.”
“Really? So do about a billion other people in this world.”
“But this is a twin brother that I get the distinct impression he’s trying to hide.”
“Go on,” Harry said with renewed interest.
“I interviewed Lexis recently, and he accidentally let it slip out that he has
a brother named Lewis. When I tried to get more details, he angrily cut the interview off, saying that his family was off limits.”
“It does sound rather mysterious, doesn’t it? I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you fifty dollars for this initial climb up Mr. Richards’s family tree. If you can find out anything more about his secret twin, I’ll give you another fifty.”
“Why don’t we say fifty dollars for this and we’ll leave the rest negotiable, depending on what I come up with,” Stephanie countered. She had a hunch that Lexis’s secret was big, and if she was right, she didn’t want to sell herself short. This time, come hell or high water, somebody was going to pay her for delivering Lexis Richards.
“No, ma’am, I’m looking for a Lewis Richards, not Lamar. Thank you anyway.” Stephanie hung up, crossed the name off the list, and began dialing the next number. This was her twenty-third phone call this morning and, while she was intent on calling every Richards listed in the Washington, D.C., phone book until she found Lexis’s brother, she sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Lewis Richards, please,” Stephanie requested after the third ring.
“He’s not here,” volunteered a female voice. “Who’s calling?”
Stephanie immediately put a cap on her growing excitement. “My name is Beatrice Braidburn and I’m calling from the Hecht Company department store,” she lied with great conviction. “Lewis was apparently in the store a few weeks ago and entered a drawing in our men’s department. He’s won a two-hundred-dollar gift certificate. When will he be back? I’d like to congratulate him personally.”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid you have the wrong person. Lewis could not have been in your store, and Lexis has been out of town for weeks,” the woman explained.
Lexis! Stephanie could feel the adrenaline start to pump through her body. She felt like Indiana Jones on the dig of a lifetime, just hitting pay dirt. “No, the card definitely says Lewis.”
“Miss, it is impossible that Lewis was in your store. He can’t even cross the street by himself, let alone shop. My son has been a quadriplegic for over twenty years.”
Read Between the Lies Page 11
