Emma sat for a long time on the bed, her hands folded in her lap. If Mother hadn't won the lottery, I never would have met Brix, she thought. I never would have fallen in love. I never would have been a model. My whole life would have been dull and awful. I ought to tell her, and thank her. But I can't, because she doesn't understand. Someday I will. When she gets to know Brix and everything is fine again.
"But that doesn't make sense," Claire said the next morning when Emma told her she was going to Norwalk. "Why would you try out for a modeling job three weeks before you leave for college.?"
Emma fumbled with her car keys; her head was down. "I'm not going to college."
Claire stared at her. "What are you talking about.'' Of course you're going to college; it's all settled."
Still looking down, Emma shook her head. "I know we talked about it, but—"
"Talked about it! Emma, we decided."
"Well, but everything's different now." She looked up and met Claire's eyes. "I want to stay here. And be a model. I've always wanted to be one; you know that."
"Emma, just a minute. You can't spring something like this . . . Listen, you can be a model, you can be anything you want, but first you're going to college. You might think of a hundred other careers you want to try, but if you haven't gone to college, you can't even get a start in them. I'm not going to let you miss out the way I did. Why do you think I never headed my own design group.'' The company wouldn't let me. Their clients wanted people with college degrees; they liked a lot of framed diplomas on the walls. Emma, I want you to have all the chances I never had; I want you to do better than I did."
"I will, I'll do everything better; I know a lot more than you did when you were my age. I'll be famous and rich, and I'll do it myself, without having to win a stupid lottery or anything, and I'll have a better job than you ever had, and I have a man who isn't going to leave me, ever." Emma caught a glimpse of her mother's frozen face, but she was in full flight and could not stop. "You don't have to worry about me; I know what I'm doing, and I have Brix to take care of me. My whole life is changing and it's wonderful."
She started to walk out the front door, but then her steps slowed. She stood still, fumbling with the car keys. "Please don't be mad at me," she said, half turning back to Claire. "I want this so much. I'm sorry if I said things that weren't nice. I'm really sorry. But I have to do this, I have to, and you can't stop me. I'll be back this afternoon."
People turned to look at her as she drove in her red Mercedes sports car with the top down, and after a while she pushed aside her anger and frustration and forgot that she had been feeling guilty about her mother, and a little afraid, and she began to smile. The sun was bright, and the hot summer wind whipped her hair, and she felt like a princess riding in her carriage to the castle where her prince was waiting.
Brix was very formal, as if he barely knew her, as if they had not been in his bed just two nights ago, the cocaine making everything seem easy and beautiful, their bodies together, everything perfect. "Emma Goddard, Hale Yaeger," he said, not touching her, not standing beside her, barely looking at her. "Hale's head of Yaeger Advertising, and this is Bill Stroud, the creative director at Yaeger for Eiger cosmetics, and Norma Colter, the copywriter, and Marty Lundeen, the associate creative director. And you know my father."
Emma shook hands with everyone, feeling exposed beneath their appraising eyes. She wondered if her short white sundress was too casual; she wondered if she should have worn makeup, in spite of what Brix had said; she wondered if she was smiling too much.
Brix turned. "I'll take you to makeup for your photo test."
"Let's talk a little, first," Hale said.
"Good idea," said Marty Lundeen. "Let's get acquainted."
"■^ou understand, Emma," said Bill Stroud, "this isn't the
usual procedure for selecting a model. Ordinarily we have portfolios of candidates and we choose five or six girls to test with our own photographer. And in fact we've already tested four girls, and from them we've narrowed it to two. But Brix wanted this and he has a way with him, so this is a special session. I just want you to know where you stand."
Emma nodded. She glanced at Brix, but he was looking out the window, as if he were bored, and that was when she realized that no one, certainly not Brix, was going to help her. Bill Stroud was holding out one of the black leather chairs surrounding an oval rosewood table in the center of Quentin's office, and Emma suddenly understood that it was for her. She held herself as tall as she could. "Thank you," she said, and sat down.
The others sat around the table, filled water glasses from tall pitchers, and asked Emma about school, about her friends and hobbies, about what kind of clothes she liked, and about her new car. She answered everything, telling herself not to smile too much and not to fidget. When they asked where she lived and what she had been doing in the summer, she told them about the new house in Wilton and her Mercedes and the trip to Alaska.
"You're the lottery girl!" Norma Colter exclaimed. "Or, no, you're not old enough. That was your mother.^" Emma nodded. "Isn't that quaint! I've never known a single person who's ever won a single prize. How much was it.^"
"Sixty million dollars," Emma said.
There was a stunned silence. "My, my," said Bill Stroud. "A little more than quaint."
"Six oh million dollars," said Marty Lundeen in a kind of reverie.
"So how come you're looking for a job.^" Norma Colter asked.
"I want to be a model. I've always wanted to be one. Anyway, the money is my mother's; it's not mine. I want to be somebody on my own."
"What about college.^'" asked Bill.
"I want to be a model."
"I'll bet your mother wants you to go to college," said Hale.
Emma shrank back a little. "Does that matter.'' I mean, she does, but she's always helped me whenever I really wanted something, and she wouldn't stop me from doing this; I know she wouldn't. If it works out, I mean. If you want me."
"Well, we'd have to have her okay," Bill said. "You're under-age."^
"I'm almost eighteen."
"But you're not there yet." He looked at Hale and Quentin. "I'm not sure we should even go into a photo test if we're not sure we can use her."
"You can!" Emma exclaimed. "It's all right, I know it's all right. She's never said no to me; she won't this time."
"Never said no.''" Norma asked, her eyebrows raised.
"Not when I really wanted something."
"Well, I'm willing to go ahead," said Hale. "But you understand, Emma, even if this works out and we do want you, we won't offer you a contract right away. We do a few dozen magazine ads and we test them in what we call focus groups and marketing surveys. If our customers like you, then we talk about a contract."
Emma nodded. She had not even thought about a contract.
"So, let's see," Hale added. "Let's go down to the studio."
They left Quentin's office and, in two cars, drove into Nor-walk, to a square, stucco, windowless building. Inside, a small, round woman, with a round, rosy face, was waiting for them. "Emma, this is Lea Partz," Hale said. "She'll do your makeup. Lea, how long do you need.^"
Lea contemplated Emma. "Nice bones," she said to Emma with a complicitous smile, and Emma smiled back, feeling she had found a friend. "Less than an hour," Lea said, and turned to leave the reception room.
Just outside the door, Emma hung back. She heard Bill say, "Nice mouth, sexy eyes; young looking but not a teenybopper."
"She could be any age," said Norma Colter. "In fact, I think it'd be hard, especially in a photo, to guess how old she is."
"And we've got to have that," said Bill. "We can't be locked into a teenage look."
"I don't know," Marty Lundeen said. "She doesn't come across as strong; she seems kind of indecisive. Weak."
"Well, we all sort of pounced on her," said Hale. Emma wanted to thank him, but Lea was waiting impatiently for her to follow her into the makeup room, and so she d
id not hear what Brix or Quentin said about her, if they said anything. They had been silent the whole time the others were questioning her.
It took almost an hour for Lea to put on Emma's makeup, while she chatted nonstop about actresses she had known and worked on, so that Emma would be diverted and relaxed for the camera. When, at last, Emma looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. She was more dramatically beautiful than she had ever imagined. "It's not really me," she whispered. Lea laughed. "It's you and me together, honey: your face and my concoctions. Eiger concoctions, I ought to say, if I value my job. You look good. Come on now." She led the way down a corridor to an enormous, white-walled, white-floored room hung with klieg lights and furnished with cushions, a few scattered pieces of furniture, and tripods holding more lights and reflecting screens. "I didn't do her hair," Lea said as they entered. "I thought it was fine."
"It's fine," said Bill Stroud. He looked closely at Emma. "Ver^ fine."
They were all there and Emma heard a kind of collective sigh as they looked at her. They looked for a long time, with unwavering stares. She flushed and looked down, to escape those stares. "You'll have to get used to people looking at you, Emma," Bill said. "If they don't look, you're in trouble. And so are we. Okay, let's put you here for starters." He led her to a pile of cushions on the floor. "Find yourself a comfortable position. This is Tod Tallent, our photographer; you do whatever he tells you."
Emma sat on the cushions, tucking her legs under her, while Tod contemplated her in silence, hands on hips, head tilted. Lights came on, hot and blinding, like drenching sunlight. "Okay," Tod said at last. "Emma, stretch your legs out in front of you, lean back on your hands, and let your head fall back. You're looking at the sky or the sun or a bird or whatever. Dreamy look on your face. No, that's just sleepy, give me another one. No, you look bored. Hale, how about some music.''"
Someone put on a tape, and a crooning love song filled the white room. "Dreamy, Emma, dreamy. You're in love and you're dreaming of tonight. Or you're remembering last night. Ah, better. Not bad. Raise your shoulder, stretch your leg, good, good, I like it." Emma heard the rapid clicks of his camera. "Now turn to the right, just your head. No, too far. Good, that's good. Now the left, as far as you can, and lift your chin. Higher. Yes, good, hold that. Now put your arms around your knees and look past my
shoulder. Not at me, past me. And hug the knees. Nice, nice, good, turn to the left, good, perfect, fold your arms on your knees, look all the way around like somebody's behind you. Good, nice, fine. Okay, we'll change the lighting."
Emma held her pose, frozen, barely breathing.
"You can relax, Emma. Couple of minutes."
Emma tried to see past the blinding lights, but she could not; she was alone. Then, abruptly, the lights went out and she closed her eyes against the colored circles that revolved behind her eyelids. In a minute, she opened them. Brix was leaning against the wall, arms folded, looking straight at her. Please smile at me, Emma begged silently. Tell me I'm doing all right; tell me you're proud of me. Tell me you love me. The three advertising people were in a huddle with the photographer. Quentin was talking to Hale, then Emma saw them leave together. She gave a little sigh of despair. She looked back at Brix, but he had wandered over to watch the two lighting men set up a group of reflectors.
"Emma, stretch out on that black couch," Tod said, gesturing toward another part of the room, and Emma moved to the couch and lay down, leaning on her elbow, her head on her hand. She looked at the camera, her lips parted in a small smile. "God, that's good, don't move," Tod said. Emma held the pose, then subtly changed it without being told, moving her shoulders, her hips, her legs, changing her smile, flowing from one position to another. It was as if her body had learned what the camera wanted and, by itself, had become malleable and supple, while her eyes and mouth focused on the dark eye of the camera, beckoning to it. She loved it; she loved being part of something bigger than herself—the camera, the photograph, the advertisement, the whole magazine, everything that all these people were doing together, dozens of people making something happen that would be all over the whole country, maybe the whole world, and she was at the center of it. She loved it. "Good, good, great, nice, perfect," Tod said, his camera clicking rapidly, and then, taking up another camera, he sent Emma to an armchair, and then to an ordinary playground swing, hanging from hooks in the ceiling. "Okay," he said at last. "Good shoot." It had lasted almost four hours.
Exhausted, Emma slid off the swing and stood uncertainly beside it. The others had left the room and returned and now
stood some distance away, talking in low voices. Emma stood beside the swing for what seemed Hke a long time, and then Bill Stroud turned around and his voice echoed in the room as he called, "Thanks, Emma, you were fine. We'll let you know."
Emma stood still, waiting for Brix to come for her. But no one came; the others, still talking, were moving away from her, and Brix was with them.
"Come on, honey," Lea said, taking Emma's arm. "You have a car at Eiger Labs.'' I told them I'd drive you back. VVe go this way."
Emma looked one more time toward Brix, but he did not turn. She saw Lea peering at her. "You did good," Lea said. "I can always tell."
"Oh, Lea, I love you," Emma said impulsively. And all the way home, driving in her red car, she thought of Lea and what she had said. You did good. I can always tell. But no matter how many times she repeated Lea's words to herself, she still saw Brix's back as he left the room.
"Well.'"' Hannah asked as Emma came in the kitchen door from the garage. "Are you the famous new face or not.^"
"They said they'd let me know. Where's Mother.''"
"She had a lunch date with somebody and then they went shopping. My dear, you look all worn-out."
Emma slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, tears in her eyes. "I am, I'm so tired, and I don't know if I was any good."
"Good heavens, Emma, you're always good; you're wonderful. If they don't want you, it's because they want another kind of wonderful, that's all it means."
Emma looked up. "Thank you," she said, and thought of Lea. Why were women nice to her, and not Brix and his father.^ "Was Mother furious at me.''"
"She's never furious at you. She's worried and she's unhappy."
Emma's head drooped. "I know. But she can't run my life. I wish she'd try to understand me and help me do what I want, instead of what she wants."
"I thought you agreed on college," Hannah said mildly.
"Well, I don't anymore, that's all, I've got something better, and if she loved me, she'd help me—"
"Don't you ever accuse your mother of not loving you!" Han-
nah said fiercely. "You know she does, more than anything, and she'd do anything she could to make you happy. She thinks you're making a mistake; should she keep quiet about that, if that's what's worrying her.'*"
Emma toyed with the salt shaker. "I think, if they want me, I'll move out and get my own apartment. I was thinking about it, driving home. It just wouldn't work if I stay here; Mother would hate it, watching me go to work every day instead of—"
"You won't move out, Emma, my Lord, what are you talking about.'' You belong here; this is a family and you're part of it, and your mother isn't the hating kind. She'd keep on loving you the way she always has. What in heaven's name would you get by moving out.^ Except a private place to sleep with your young man."
Emma felt her face burn. "That isn't what I meant."
Hannah waited, but Emma kept her head down and was silent.
"Well, if that's not what you're looking for, you stay right here," Hannah said. "We love you and we want you here, not running around the countryside as if you don't have a real home. You just forget this foolish idea; don't even mention it to your mother; it would make her even unhappier than she is."
Emma looked up. "Hannah, is she going to marry Quentin.'*"
"Why don't you ask her that.''"
"Because I can't talk to her about h
im. Or about Brix. Or about anything. We used to talk all the time and now we hardly do at all. He's very strange, you know, Quentin; Brix hates him and loves him and he's afraid of him, too, I think, and I don't think he's at all nice, underneath."
"Who's not nice, Brix or his father.^"
"His father, of course. Brix is wonderful."
"But he didn't say you were good today.-^"
Emma winced. "He couldn't; he was with his father and a bunch of advertising people."
"Really.'' He couldn't come over and say thanks, you were verv good, I'll talk to you soon.-' Is that the same as he can't call you for a week or more at a time because there's no telephone where he works or where he lives.^"
"Oh, leave me alone!" Emma cried. "1 bclicc what he tells me; I love him and 1 know he loves me, and if you keep talking
that way, I will move out; I can't stand it if you keep accusing him all the time."
"Okay, I won't. I won't say a word." Hannah bustled about the kitchen, making dinner. "I'm trying something new: the most interesting recipe. It's so good to have a family to cook for; I was bereft when it was just me. Did you know I was a caterer once.'^"
Emma shook her head. "You said you were a cook. You cooked for friends, you said."
"Well, I did, but I was a caterer, too, not for long, but I had some major clients. Corporations and some very wealthy folks out on Long Island, that sort of thing."
Distracted, Emma looked up. "Was this before or after you had the affair with the real estate man.^"
"Oh, after," Hannah said casually.
"But I thought you went to college to be a teacher afterward."
"I took some time off from being a teacher. Then after a while I went back; I decided catering wasn't for me." Hannah opened the refrigerator and took out cucumbers and sesame seeds. "I don't remember the exact dates. You don't remember those things once you hit seventy."
"But—" Emma began, and then the telephone rang and she grabbed it.
Pot of gold : a novel Page 20
