Nikki gave the little girl a quick hug then brushed the curls back from her forehead. “She's so cuddly. I've never been ‘round kids much. Never had a little sister or brother."
“Well, she's certainly seems comfortable with you.” Renée sat down, studying the cup of coffee in front of her. “Now we have a great deal to accomplish today."
“Yes, ma'am."
The runaway nodded and shoved half a croissant into her mouth. Renée watched while Nikki chewed and smiled at the same time with apparent pleasure. What were they going to do with this young woman? Besides assisting her in her early career, what else did her son have in mind? For once, she wished she could foretell the future. Nikki was no ordinary girl—no indeed. She was a runaway with a mother who must be consulted, no matter what the girl wanted.
~ * ~
By the time Nikki and Renée reached Michel's salon, Nikki had degenerated into a bundle of nerves. She balked at the front door, shaking in her borrowed shoes. She just knew the world-famous hair stylist would throw up his hands and declare nothing could be done with her. He might even throw her out of his shop. Oh, God, she'd never get to be a model if he did.
“Don't worry. Michel is an old friend of mine from Paris."
“Uh, didn't know you read minds."
Renée laughed—a merry, tinkling sound. “You are not the first young woman I have taken for her first styling. Most girls are a little nervous."
“Wh-what if he..."
“Never fear, he will be enchanted by your youth and unspoiled beauty."
Nikki felt a gentle nudge in the middle of her back. “Let us go, Chèrie. The one thing we must not do is keep Michel waiting."
“Right."
~ * ~
Out of breath, the hairdresser Michel rushed into Nikki's private cubicle where she'd been waiting for what seemed like hours. The dapper little man ran his fingers through her hair, testing the weight of it and announced, “Virgin!"
“Wh-what?” she asked, looking for somewhere to hide. How did he know?
“Virgin hair, ma chère. Never colored, never permed either, n'est-ce pas?"
“Uh, no. My mama always said it was a waste of time.” Nes pah? she wondered, what the heck does that mean? Guess I'm gonna have to bone up on my French.
In no time at all, she and Michel were joined by a shampoo girl and a colorist.
“First, the shampoo, then the cut—which I will do myself as a favor to Mme. Devereaux,” Michel said, smiling and bowing in Renée's direction. “But no color,” he declared, waving the colorist away. “Her hair is still quite fair. We won't change it—at least not today."
~ * ~
Hours later, Nikki walked along the busy city streets with Renée. She couldn't believe the difference in the way she looked ... or felt. She stopped to gaze at her reflection in the window of an antique store and wished her mother could see her now. But her reflection didn't hold her interest, not when there were so many lovely things inside the shop. “Can we?” she asked. “I've never been in an antique store before.” Shifting her bundles from one hand to the other, she hoped Renée would agree.
“Of course, but for a few minutes only. I think we have shopped until I am ready to do the drop."
Nikki grinned at Renée's mangled slang. “We have, haven't we?"
She grasped the shiny, brass door knob, opened the door and bounded into the antique store. She inhaled the musty smell of old things, but she didn't care if they were old. In awe, she wandered through room after room. Everything caught her eye—from furniture to antique post cards. She ran her hand across the satiny surface of an ornately carved table, the oak so aged, it appeared black. The table legs had fat, bulbous protrusions covered in carvings of leaves. “I've never seen anything like it. So much stuff."
“You don't have to see everything today. You may come back as often as you wish."
“I guess that's a hint."
“Well, it is late. We have had a very long day."
“All right. Just let me see what's in this box.” Nikki handled the objects carefully; some seemed quite fragile. “Look. It's a mask. You know like one of those theater masks, the sad and happy faces. Y'know what I mean?” Nikki pulled out a smiling mask.
“Yes, the masks of comedy and tragedy."
She continued her rummaging. “Wait, I want to see if the other one is here too.” Nikki held up the tragic partner to the first mask. “I found it.” Nikki abruptly set the mask down, realizing she didn't have a penny to her name.
“Do you not wish to purchase them?” Renée asked.
She shrugged. “Sure. Like when I get my first paycheck—if I ever get one, that is."
“They are not very expensive. We shall bargain with the dealer for them."
“Oh, no. You've done so much already. I don't want to take advantage."
“It will be my gift to you."
Hesitating, Nikki chewed her bottom lip. She wanted the masks, but...
“It's settled.” Renée took the masks and walked to the front of the store.
What else could a supermodel do? Nikki followed, restraining her desire to skip like a nine-year-old kid. After all, did supermodels skip? Not that she was one—or ever would be—but maybe it wouldn't hurt to act a little more dignified once in a while.
At the front of the store, a short and slightly round man stood smiling at them. Nikki tried to think just who he reminded her of—someone she'd seen on television.
He bowed over Renée's extended hand. “Ah, Madame Devereaux, you have made a very wise choice. Masks are very collectible, but still relatively inexpensive."
“Bonjour, M. Bonpland. The mask is for my young friend, Nikki."
The antique dealer raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Mademoiselle Nikki, you collect the masks? You should only collect them, never wear them. You are much too beautiful to hide behind one."
“Yes, thank you.” It occurred to her she did collect masks, even if these were the first in her collection. “Yes, I do."
“I am sure, M. Bonpland, that we may come to agreeable terms for these two masks?"
“Madame, of course. The bargaining is the best part of the buying, no?"
Renée agreed, “But of course,” then offered, “one hundred."
Nikki gasped. One hundred dollars for a couple of masks? After all the money Renée had spent on her today with the makeover and clothes.
The dealer pursed his lips and held the masks up for closer inspection. “But, madame, look at the fine workmanship. The masks are in mint condition. I could, perhaps, allow them to go for ... say, two hundred?"
Nikki couldn't swallow. “That's too much. I don't need them now. I can wait."
The dealer gave Nikki an appraising glance, then shrugged. “You drive the hard bargain, mademoiselle. For you, because I see how badly you want them, and because I have the soft heart for the young lady—one hundred fifty."
“No, sorry too much,” Nikki murmured, shaking her head.
“You have a deal, M. Bonpland,” Renée agreed, ending Nikki's torment.
The antique dealer's face broke into a wide smile. “But of course, madame.” He tapped his temple. “The gray cells told me you would buy the masks for the young lady."
“Thank you.” Nikki couldn't help but grin; she couldn't ever remember having such a wonderful day. And surely no one else knew an antique dealer who looked like Hercules Poirot.
“You are welcome, my child.” Renée turned to the dealer. “And now, I am going to take the young lady home before she finds something else she must have—something you will no doubt wish to bargain away—eh, monsieur?"
The dealer hung his head as if ashamed, then smiled. “Madame, you know me too well.” He quickly wrapped the masks and handed them to Nikki. “Will you be able to manage all those packages, mademoiselle?"
“Oui, Monsieur Bonpland,” Nikki replied, attempting a French accent.
“Charmante, madame, n'est-ce pas?"
“Oui, tr
és chamante, Monsieur."
Nikki grinned. She knew a compliment when she heard one, even if it was in another language. “Merci beaucoup.” Then she added with a wide grin. “That's all the French I know."
The antique dealer brought the finger and thumb of his right hand to his lips and kissed them, then tossing them he echoed, "Trés charmante."
“Nikki, you have made a conquest. Treat him gently, my child.” Renée laughed, a merry sound that gladdened Nikki's heart.
Four
A week after her make-over, Nikki walked into the Devereaux Agency, her stomach flip-flopping like it had all morning. She'd been dreading this meeting with her mother, ever since Renée has insisted on it. Maman, in an elegant, turquoise silk suit, glided beside Nikki. She knew for a fact she'd never look that stylish—never in a million years. But both Renée and Max must think otherwise, or she wouldn't be here, would she?
They stopped at the receptionist's desk.
“Good afternoon, Madame Devereaux,” the receptionist greeted Renée, aiming a friendly, if curious, smile in Nikki's direction.
“Good afternoon, Karen. I believe Maxim is expecting us."
“Yes, madame. I'll let him know you're here. Please, go right in."
“Crystal.” Renée nodded, acknowledging Max's assistant.
“Good afternoon, madame. Mrs. Prentice and Mr. Landry are already here.” Crystal opened the door for them.
“Thank you, Karen.” Renée placed her hand on Nikki's elbow. “Everything will be fine. You'll see."
“I sure hope so. I'm not looking forward to it.” Uh-uh. No way did she want to confront her mother. Mama had been a bitch during their telephone conversation. She's gonna be a real pain today. I just know it. Don't blow this for me, Mama, she begged silently.
What little self-confidence Nikki had deserted her like someone had pulled the stopper out of a drain—and it didn't feel too good. Yes, there sat her mama in a nice, comfortable chair across from Max's desk.
“Hi, Mama."
“Nicole, my baby,” she gushed. “You look so beautiful."
“Thank you.” Nikki looked down at her feet. She wasn't used to hearing compliments, especially from her mother.
Max stood up and spoke. “Mrs. Prentice, this is my mother, Renée Devereaux. Nikki, you may remember meeting Ned Landry?"
“Uh-huh.” With a start, she realized she did recognize him. He'd been with Max the night she'd run into Max on the street.
Her throat closing with emotion, Nikki took a deep breath. Besides, she found keeping her gaze off Max difficult. Her benefactor wore a black, pinstripe suit, which fit his broad shoulders perfectly. She looked down at the floor and tried to count the flowers in the Oriental rug, but failed. Sneaking another glimpse of him, she caught his eye. He winked.
Yes, he did.
“Why don't we assemble at the conference table?” Max suggested, gesturing toward it.
“Exactly what do we need a lawyer for, Mr. Devereaux?” Nikki's mother asked, glancing at Max's friend and attorney. She stood up, brushed the wrinkles from her skirt, then walked to take her place at the highly polished, oval table. Nikki and Renée followed, with Max and Ned Landry sitting down last.
Max continued in his deliberate, patient manner. “As I explained earlier, it's a formality. Nikki is a minor, and you, as her parent, will have to sign any legal documents for her. We need to apply for a work permit and passport, in case she has an assignment out of the country. I trust you brought the documents my assistant requested?"
“Yes,” Jessie replied, patting her black, patent-leather purse. “They're right here."
“Good,” Ned Landry replied. “Let's get right down to business.” He opened his briefcase and removed a stack of papers.
“Fine, business is good,” Jessie began. Leaning forward, her elbows on the table, she continued, “I want to know what I get out of this deal."
“Mama!"
“You hush,” Jessie hissed. “I'll handle this."
Nikki shrank back. She'd been right. Her mother would ruin everything.
This time, Ned Landry took over. “We've drawn up papers which say Nikki's earnings, once she generates them, will be placed in trust until she is of age to manage her own affairs. For the present, she will continue to live with Mrs. Devereaux. Her room and board are free. She will receive a generous clothing allowance, as well as spending money—an allowance, if you will."
“Excuse me. I guess you've got a Harvard education, but I don't think you understand plain, old English. What's my cut?” Jessie asked.
“Your cut?” the attorney asked.
“Yeah, let's talk percentages. Either I get a commission, or my daughter comes home with me, and I'll find her another modeling agency."
“There's no need to be rash, Mrs. Prentice,” Max began, looking at his friend and attorney.
Nikki considered crawling under the table. Classic Mama at her worst.
“Look here, I know you fellas get a healthy commission. You're bound to. I just want a fair share. After all, this is my little girl we're talking about. What it boils down to is this, if you want my Nikki to sign with your agency, it's gonna cost you."
Nikki felt her face flush. Forget crawling under the table. She'd just slash her throat with a fingernail. She glanced at Renée, whose green eyes had widened.
“It will be all right, Nikki,” Renée reassured her. “We will work it out."
“First of all,” Max started, “we don't even know what kind of earnings Nikki will generate."
“Hmph. You must've thought she'd generate something, or you wouldn't have moved her into your house.” Nikki watched in horror, as an ugly expression crossed her mother's face. “Unless this is all about something else—not modeling at all."
Jessie jumped up from her chair. “Come on, Nikki, you're coming with me right now. You're not staying in that foreigner's house another minute."
Max's mouth dropped open, but it was Renée who rose from her chair, her face red from Jessie's insinuations. “One moment, if you please. Nikki lives with me in my house. If it were not for the generosity of my son and me, your daughter would still be living on the streets and eating out of garbage cans.” Renée's voice deepened. “I will not take your insults. If I were a man, I would strike you."
Nikki swallowed. Hold on. Renée's fists were actually clinched at her side. Out on the streets, someone would be calling, “Cat fight, cat fight."
“Now, now, ladies,” Ned Landry cautioned, with a placating smile. “Let's remember that we're here to do what's best for Nikki, not start World War Three."
Nikki giggled and looked at Max. He winked at her. Visions of cat fights aside, it was time she took control. “Okay, everybody, here's the deal.” She slapped her hand on the table, guaranteeing everyone gave her their full attention. “Whatever you're going to put in trust for me, give my mama half of it."
“Fifty percent? Nikki, that's reckless,” Max protested.
“That's the deal,” she maintained. “That and I stay at Mrs. Devereaux's until I'm at least eighteen. After that,” she turned to her mother, “you won't have any say in my life, my career or my finances."
“But, Nicole...” Jessie whined, but Nikki recognized the gleam in her mother's eyes—she was already counting that money.
“Fifty percent of my earnings for the next couple of years isn't too much to pay for my freedom."
Landry shrugged, looking back and forth between Max and Renée. “The girl's got a point."
“Are you sure, Nikki?” Max asked.
“Oh, yeah. Never been so sure."
“All right then, people, we have a deal,” the attorney declared. “Let's do it."
Max hit the intercom. “Crystal, we need a clause added to the Prentice contract.” He dictated the simple clause.
Within minutes, the revised contract had been signed. It was official. Nikki Prentice might belong to the Devereaux Agency, but she'd taken her first step toward independ
ence.
Nikki walked to the door with her mother.
“You're cold,” Jessie told her.
“I learned from the best, Mama. I learned from you."
“Oh, to think that you could talk so mean to me."
“I'm not mean, just realistic. You were glad when I ran away. One less responsibility. You didn't even look for me, did you?"
“Of course, I did, baby."
“Sure."
“You'll never know how I worried about you.” Jessie stopped and pretended to wipe away a tear. “But I should've known you'd land on your feet."
“Okay, whatever."
“Look, I gotta go. Call me sometime?"
“Sure. Don't spend it all in one place, Mama."
“You are mean. I don't care what you say. You may have them fooled, but I've known you a lot longer than they have. These fine people will find out what kind of person you really are and turn on you in the end."
“Bye, Mama.” Nikki waved. Her mother took the hint, shaking her head as she left.
Nikki turned. Renée stood behind her, an apologetic smile across her face. “I am sorry. I know this has been a difficult situation for you."
“It's worth it to be free of her.” Nikki shrugged. No big deal.
“Then, you are ready to come home with me?"
Nikki nodded, then turned to Max and Ned. “Bye, guys.” She waggled her fingers at them. They both had curious expressions on their faces. Guess she surprised the heck out of them ... herself too. It felt good to stand up to her mother for once. Before closing the office door, she cast one more look at Max. Couldn't help it. Her old street friends would've said Max was “one righteous dude."
~ * ~
Well, that's that,” Max declared. Walking over to his desk, he placed Nikki's file in his out-going stack. He sat down, but realized he was still edgy. His fingers seemed to have a will of their own, nervously drumming on the top of the desk. The new Nikki—attired in stylish clothing, flawless make up—stunned him. Her blonde beauty was ethereal, touching him on some visceral level he'd never before experienced, but strangely feared.
See You In My Dreams Page 5
