by Phoebe Conn
“Men don’t scrape off as easily.” With sunglasses and her long hair hidden beneath a floppy hat, she hoped no one would think her worth observing. In a loose brown shirt and jeans, she blended easily into the passersby. “I’m about to starve to death. Are you hungry?”
“Always. It’ll give us a chance to talk, and there’s something I need to ask you.”
She took a deep breath. “Please wait until I’ve finished eating.”
He took her hand, and they walked around the corner to a place they both liked. She lived on fruit and vegetables unless she was a guest at a private party where meat was served. The beef on the Aragon ranch had always been delicious, but she’d not be invited there again. She ordered a fruit salad and sat back in the booth.
“When you mentioned a matador,” Gian Carlo said, “you must have been thinking of Miguel Aragon. How about Santos? Isn’t he enough like his father to interest you?”
“There’s no comparison between them. Santos plans to marry his American honey, and she can have him.”
A smile skittered across his lips. “You ought to hide your hostility better. It makes you sound insincere.”
Not caring, Ana shrugged. “You must know what it’s like to be done with someone.”
He took a sip of water. “I’ll admit to being done with the same woman multiple times. Sometimes it’s easier to stay with someone who’s all wrong than look for somebody right.”
“That’s certainly true, but what if you’re not the right person for anyone else?”
“Are you that depressed?” He reached across the table to take her hand. “You shouldn’t be alone with such dark thoughts.”
She pulled her hand free. “I’ve said too much.”
“You were being honest. Don’t apologize. We should go out, be photographed by the paparazzi and make everyone jealous they aren’t with us.”
He was an appealing man, and a popular model, but she shook her head. “We’d just be pretending like we do all day, and I need a rest.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk with you.” He waited until she’d finished the last grape on her plate and then chose his words with care. “I’ve always hoped modeling would lead to acting jobs. The woman who invited me Saturday night, Rachel Oliveras, is an attorney who handles my contracts. There’s nothing between us, but she’s more comfortable going out with an escort, and I do look great in a tux.”
“You most certainly do.” Her mood had lightened as they ate, and she tried not to laugh at his unending self-absorption.
“Rachel has a friend who does casting for Pedro Almodóvar, and he’s looking for fresh faces for his next film. I have a script to practice. If you’ll read it with me for the audition, it will help me get the part. I can’t talk to a wall and be convincing. They want to see me tomorrow morning. Are you free to do it?”
“I don’t have anything scheduled. Do you have the script with you?”
He patted the messenger bag beside him in the booth. “I do. Do you want to come to my place? Or we could go to yours.”
“My place,” she offered.
He had a red MG and drove them to her condo. When they came in, she saw the pink rose bouquet on the security guard’s counter. “Are those for me?”
“Yes, Miss Santillan. The same chauffeur brought them. There’s a long dress for you too.”
“Thank you, Henry.” The silvery gown was in a clear drycleaner’s bag, and she folded it over her arm while Gian Carlo picked up the bouquet.
The roses held sparkles of dew as though they’d just been plucked from a well-tended garden. “You’d think a man who’d go to this expense would sign his name,” Gian Carlo mused. When they reached the elevator, he pressed the button. “Could they be from a woman?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose they could be, but whoever it is must expect something in return.”
“Maybe they’re simply dazzled by your beauty.”
Ana stepped into the elevator, removed her hat and shook out her hair. “No one appreciates us for our intelligence and charm, though, do they?”
“I don’t complain.” When they reached her floor, he followed her down the hall to her door. “Let me go in first and make certain everything is all right.”
“I’m sure it is. We have excellent security.” She unlocked the door and gestured for him to precede her. Afternoon sunlight bounced off the living room’s pale yellow walls, giving the pretty room a cozy warmth. The furniture was upholstered in a vivid blue and buttery yellow along with a wing chair covered in a complementing floral fabric. A thick cream-colored area rug softened Gian Carlo’s footsteps as he carried the roses to the glass-topped coffee table.
“The yellow roses look the prettiest in here,” he offered. “Do you want these in another room?”
Unwilling to give him a tour, she shook her head. “Leave them with the others.” She hung the gown in the coat closet. Libby had attached a note with her cell phone number, and Ana slipped it into her pocket. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine.” He sat on the couch and pulled the script from his bag. “This isn’t a long scene. Come here so you can read it with me. I’m playing Guillermo, who’s been hired by a man he’s always admired. It means he’ll be moving far away, and he’s saying good-bye to his girlfriend. He’s excited, and naturally, she’s stunned that he’s leaving her behind.”
She took her place beside him and pulled a throw pillow onto her lap. “How does one portray stunned?” she asked.
“I’m the one trying out for the part, Ana. It doesn’t matter what you do other than say your lines.”
She finger-raked her hair off her forehead. “Fine, you start.”
“Pretend I’m walking around the room, too excited to sit beside you.”
“Fine, I’ll use my imagination.” When he rushed through his opening lines, she raised her hand. “You need to slow down. You can still sound thrilled with this unexpected opportunity, but the audience needs to be able to understand you.”
He frowned and smoothed the page. “There won’t be an audience, Ana. It will just be the casting director and us.”
Gian Carlo’s looks had made him a successful model, but he hadn’t shown her even a shred of acting talent. “Take your time and give the casting director a longer opportunity to observe you.”
“Oh, I see what you mean. Let’s start again.”
Ana had only a word here and there, but she soon got caught up in the emotion of the scene. She spoke her first line softly, the second a little louder, and when her character realized Guillermo was leaving her, she went way past stunned to a vivid heart-wrenching sob. She looked up at Gian Carlo. “How was that?”
“A little over the top, but the casting director will be looking at me, so it won’t matter.”
They ran through the scene a couple of more times, and when he was satisfied they could give it a professional reading, he stood, ready to go. “I hope the scene didn’t depress you. I don’t have the whole script, but your character probably appears at the end and spits in Guillermo’s eye.”
“I’ve never had an occasion to spit, so we’re lucky it isn’t in this scene.” He’d pick her up in the morning, and she wished him good-bye at the door.
With time on her hands, she loaded the photos of Alejandro into her laptop. Asleep, he looked older, and she wondered if they weren’t closer in age than she’d first thought. He had a lanky build. Maybe he jogged or played soccer. Whatever exercise he chose, he looked fit and damn good. Even if his age wasn’t an issue, he had no idea who she was. If he had known, he would have bragged to his friends about meeting her, and she’d not have wanted to see him again. It was better to be a Goth girl who appeared occasionally on a Sunday afternoon. They’d both have fun, and no one would be disappointed or hurt.
Ignacio Belmonte was a highly regarded casting director, but he looked startled when Ana and Gian Carlo were shown into his office. Ignacio was of medium heig
ht and build, with brown hair and a closely cropped beard. “We’re looking for someone new, not models who are on every other billboard.” He checked his calendar and found a reference to Rachel Oliveras. “Now I remember why you’re here. Obviously a mistake on my part; let’s get it over with quickly. We’ll go into the studio and film it.”
Ana had pulled her hair back and worn a minimum of makeup. She wouldn’t stand out anywhere in her black pants and a tailored white shirt, but Ignacio apparently gawked at every billboard he passed, or he was overly fond of women’s magazines.
The studio walls were painted black and held only a few risers and battered wooden chairs.
Ignacio moved behind the video camera. “Just sit there together. Do you know your lines?”
Ana had few to learn, and to his credit, Gian Carlo had memorized his. She sat forward on her chair, as though eager to hear what he had to say. When Belmonte waved for them to begin, Gian Carlo spoke his lines with a deliberate care as though he were struggling to find the proper way to break his girlfriend’s heart. She gave it her best and sobbed on cue.
The casting director came around in front of the camera. “I might be able to use you as an extra, Gian Carlo, but I definitely want Ana.”
Gian Carlo looked as deeply disappointed as could be expected, but Ana didn’t know what to say. She stood and shrugged. “I wasn’t the one auditioning.”
“So what? You had more emotion in your face than any of the actresses who’ve auditioned for the part. I can’t believe many men have walked out on you, but your anguish touched me. It’s exactly what we want on the screen. We’ll put you in a wig and cheap dress so no one will recognize you. We won’t begin rehearsals for several weeks, but leave your contact information with my secretary, and we’ll send your contract to your agent.”
Gian Carlo was so angry he didn’t speak to her on the way back to her place, and she made no excuses or apologies for the way the morning had gone. Belmonte was completely wrong, however. The only man she’d ever loved had bid her a final loving farewell and died.
Chapter Two
A white-rose bouquet sat on the security desk, and Ana wished she’d been there to receive it personally. “How long has this been here, Henry?”
He looked up at the wall clock. “Maybe half an hour. This time it was a florist’s deliveryman. Their tag is on the roses.”
There had been no tags on the other bouquets, and she hoped it would be a clue as to the sender. Unfortunately, the little envelope was empty, and she removed it from the bouquet. “Please take these home to your wife. My condo is beginning to resemble a wedding chapel, and I don’t need more flowers.”
“Thank you, Miss Santillan. She’ll love them. I’ll tell her they’re from you.”
She cocked her head slightly. “Are you a stickler for honesty, Henry?”
He leaned close to whisper, “I try to be, but if I say I bought the roses, she’ll suspect I’m apologizing for something and demand to know what I’ve done wrong.”
Ana laughed with him and went on up to her condo. She’d added water each day and the four bouquets on the coffee table still looked beautiful, but maybe she’d misunderstood why they’d been sent. She kicked off her flats, sat down at the dining room table and pulled out her phone. A quick review of messages revealed nothing she couldn’t recall. If someone thought they owed her an apology, she’d surely remember why, but came up with a blank.
Maybe one of the ads she’d done had spurred sales and the roses were sent as a lavish thank-you. If that were the case, someone from the advertising agency would have signed the card. They always took credit whenever they could. She turned the small florist’s envelope to read the name and number and called them.
“Hello, this is Ana Santillan. Your deliveryman brought me some beautiful white roses, but there’s no card. Could you please tell me who sent them?”
“Oh, Miss Santillan, how nice to speak with you,” a cheerful woman replied. “A very nice man, a chauffeur driving a limousine, but his employer didn’t come inside.”
“Did he use a credit card?”
“No, he paid in cash. Is there something the matter with your bouquet? We’ll replace it immediately if there is.”
“The roses are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Has the chauffeur visited your shop several times lately?”
“No, I’d not seen him before today. Is there something I should tell him if he returns?”
“Yes, please explain I no longer accept gifts without the sender’s name. It’s very important for security, you understand.”
“Yes, Miss Santillan, I’ll do that. Good-bye.”
Ana bet wherever the chauffeur had bought the other roses, he’d paid in cash, so there was no point in calling around hoping to discover his employer’s name. Perhaps he expected her to begin waiting for him in the foyer and had switched to the florist’s delivery to keep his employer’s identity hidden. Her admirer struck her as more of an ass than dangerous, and she forgot him to check her work calendar.
A job scheduled with Armand tomorrow for a jewelry line might be fun. A study of Renaissance paintings had provided her with a wealth of graceful gestures, and a ring always looked more beautiful on a carefully posed hand. She had a ballet barre in her second bedroom and traded her street clothes for a black leotard. Her mother had insisted she study ballet, and she’d loved it. At one time, she’d hoped to join a ballet company, but she’d grown too tall. There were some male dancers over six feet in height, but ballerinas were dainty creatures they could easily lift and turn, not striking women born with the height for haute couture.
She took an occasional ballet class and admired the way ballerinas kept their stately posture long past middle age. After warming up, she put on her favorite music and danced only to please herself.
Wednesday morning, Armand kissed both her cheeks. “What game were you playing Saturday night? You were there, then you weren’t, and Libby wandered into your place for a few minutes.”
Ana debated telling him about the roses, but, sure it would sound silly, she shrugged off his question. “I wanted to leave early without being noticed, and Libby helped me escape. Now what are we doing today?”
“I want that sultry look you do so well. After Teresa does your hair and makeup, choose any of the black gowns on the rack. I’m creating a nighttime scene on a balcony. You’ll play the confident woman waiting for what the night will bring.”
“No man today?” she asked.
“No, I want you to fill the page, glancing over your shoulder. We’ll leave the man to the viewer’s imagination.”
“Fine. That’s the best place for them.”
Armand rested his hands on his hips. “Oh, my dear, I expected to see you with a date Saturday night. Are you alone again?”
“I wish you wouldn’t stress the word ‘again’.”
He bowed his head. “Forgive me.”
“Of course.”
Teresa had a small studio. An artist with hair and makeup, she had delicate features and tight gray curls that flopped about like a lion’s mane. She’d been with the ad agency for many years, and she and Ana worked well together. She fluffed the model’s hair. “You have such beautiful hair. Are you going to let it grow forever?”
Ana’s soft curls touched her waist now, but she had no reason to cut it. “I may.” She closed her eyes as Teresa worked to give her an elaborate upswept do, and followed the makeup artist’s directions as she applied cosmetics to give her a sultry lavender-shaded eye.
Armand’s assistants had set up the nighttime backdrop. Denise was a petite bundle of energy and Roberto a laidback, ponytailed man. The ad featured magnificent diamond jewelry, and when they’d finished shooting, Ana watched over Armand’s shoulder as he put the photos on his computer. They had exactly what he’d been told to capture, but she wasn’t satisfied.
“We’ve seen this same ad a million times. Why don’t we try for something new?”
He turned to
look up at her. “What do you have in mind?”
“What if we went with playful rather than sultry, and I posed in a towel with a shower in the background, or a waterfall, or a lush garden. Make it look as though diamonds are all a girl needs to wear.”
Roberto nodded. “Let’s use the green screen and fill in the background later. Maybe with a few fig leaves, we could set you in the garden of Eden.”
“I won’t pose in anything smaller than a bikini,” Ana responded. “If you have a snake dangling from a tree, it will look as though diamonds are evil, so we shouldn’t go there.”
“A waterfall would be good,” Denise offered. “We can spray Ana so it looks as though she’s wet from standing so close to the water. Make her skin sparkle like the diamonds.”
Ana turned and raised her hands as though blocking the spray. The diamond bracelet, necklace, ring and earrings all flashed their bright fire near her face. “How about this?”
“I like it,” Roberto said.
Armand shrugged. “We can try it. Let’s wrap you in a sarong so you’ll look as though you’re on an island vacation. Go see what Teresa has.”
Teresa had yardage they used for a variety of purposes, and they chose a pale lavender silk that showed off Ana’s slim figure and peach-toned skin. Once the photos were in the computer and the waterfall inserted into the background, they were all pleased they had something original and new. Ana went to change into her street clothes. When she came out, Armand was speaking with one of the ad executives who’d been at her table Saturday night. Rather than interrupt them, she waited to say good-bye.
“Good work,” the executive complimented. “This will take the campaign in a fresh direction.”
Armand shrugged. “I often have more ideas than those in your first sketches.”
“Then stop hiding your talent and keep using them.” He slapped Armand on the shoulder and walked away.
