‘This is crazy,’ Jett said, running his hand through his hair.
‘Is that why we’re here?’ Chris asked. ‘So that he can keep on flexing what he considers his control over us?’
‘I have no idea why he wanted you here. I was merely the messenger,’ Lady Jane said, maintaining a cool attitude. ‘I can only presume he wishes to torture you further, of which, I can assure you, he is quite capable.’
‘How come you’re telling us this stuff?’ Jett asked.
‘I felt it was time you knew what an evil man your father is.’
‘Like we don’t already know that,’ Jett scoffed. ‘You wanna see the scars on my butt? You wanna talk about a bully and an abuser? You wanna meet my mom–a screwed up, emotionally wrecked drunk because of him. Oh, yeah, we know all about Red Diamond.’
‘This is bullshit,’ Chris said impatiently. ‘Is Red coming here this morning or not?’
‘I really don’t know.’
‘Then we’re taking off.’
‘Wait,’ she said, her voice a sharp command. ‘Before you go, there’s something else you should know, something that affects each and every one of us.’
‘Hey–why stop now?’ Chris said. ‘You’re on quite a roll.’
‘Then I suggest you prepare yourself,’ Lady Jane said. ‘For I do not believe you’re going to like what you hear.’
Chapter Forty-Three
‘Hey’ Beverly said, over the phone.
‘Hey,’ Liberty responded, delighted to get a call from her new friend.
‘What happened last night?’ Beverly asked curiously. ‘You turn the big man down?’
‘I listened to you.’
‘Right on, sister! Mr Stud came back into the party lookin’ way pissed. Damon’s not used to gettin’ turn-downs.’
‘I am going to his office later to play him my demo.’
‘Then stay cool,’ Beverly warned. ‘’Cause now he’ll try harder. No way you can weaken.’
‘I don’t intend to.’
‘That’s my girl,’ Beverly said, then–‘here’s the deal. I called my friend Bruce at the Madison Modelling Agency, told him all about you. He’ll see you today, only you gotta be there by noon.’
‘You actually did it?’ Liberty said excitedly.
‘When I say I’m gonna do somethin’, it’s done.’
‘That’s amazing, Bev.’
‘Bruce’ll be straight with you. If he thinks you got no chance, he’ll tell you.’
‘Wow, how can I thank you?’
‘Wait till somethin’ happens before you start thankin’ me.’ A quick pause. ‘Oh, yeah, how’s Cindi doin’ today? That girl was feelin’ no pain last night.’
‘Want to hear the news of the morning?’
‘Go ahead, hit me.’
‘Cindi left. She’s moving in with Slick Jimmy.’
‘You gotta be shittin me? After one night?’
‘That’s what I said. But there’s no talking to Cindi once she makes up her mind. Now I’m looking for a roommate.’
‘You shouldn’t be in too much of a hurry, ’cause this’ll end in tears. Jimmy’s a POW.’
‘What’s a POW?’
‘Pig on wheels.’
‘Huh?’
‘An asshole who bones anythin’ that moves.’
‘Shouldn’t I warn her?’
‘Don’t sweat it. That girl’s gonna find out soon enough.’
After getting the details of where to see Bruce, Liberty put down the phone. She was worried about Cindi, but she was also excited for herself. So much was happening–it was as if the fall she’d taken had opened up a Pandora’s box of new things. Finding out about her father, the video shoot, Damon, Cindi moving out, now this–an appointment at a modelling agency. Maybe she wouldn’t have to go back to work at the coffee shop either, although there was no way she’d dump on Manny and Golda the way Cindi had, she’d give them a couple of weeks’ notice.
Preparing to go see the modelling agent was not so easy without Cindi around to check with. Usually they consulted on what to wear, depending on what they were doing and where they were going. She’d never been on her own–it was kind of liberating.
She rifled through her closet, hating everything. It wasn’t as if she had money to burn on clothes, and she certainly didn’t have anything fancy to wear. Fancy wasn’t her style anyway, so she slid into a pair of skinny beige pants, boots, and a white Gap T-shirt. With her long dark hair, creamy milk-chocolate skin and mesmerizing green eyes, she was a knock-out whatever she wore.
The Madison Modelling Agency was located in a building off Lexington, and Liberty made it just in time for her appointment. The walls in the reception area were lined with framed magazine covers of different models.
As soon as she walked in she felt insecure: the girls on the covers were all so slinky and glamorous, and what was she? Pretty? Yeah, she was pretty but, as far as she was concerned, nothing special.
Don’t think that way, her inner voice warned her. You are special, you can do whatever you set your mind on. Get some confidence, girl.
She marched up to the reception desk. ‘I’m here to see, uh…Bruce.’
The Asian receptionist, who was more interested in talking on the phone, gave her a cursory glance. ‘And you are?’
‘Liberty. Beverly arranged the appointment.’
‘I’ll let him know you’re here,’ the receptionist said. ‘Take a seat.’
Liberty sat down and picked up a fashion magazine with Tyra Banks on the cover. She stared at the exotic-looking model. Now this girl was special.
After ten minutes, the receptionist instructed her to go in.
Bruce was sitting behind a large cluttered desk. He was a chain-smoking, middle-aged white man, with fleshy features, a brown comb-over hairstyle and bushy eyebrows.
‘Liberty,’ he said, a cigarette stuck to his lower lip. ‘Come in. Sit down. Beverly speaks well of you.’
‘I didn’t have much time to get ready,’ she explained, feeling inadequate in her simple outfit.
‘Get ready for what?’ Bruce asked, shuffling a bunch of papers on his desk. ‘The perfect photographic model is a blank canvas. It’s up to the photographer and client to create the look. Beverly’s a good judge. She seems to think you’ve got it, whatever it might be.’
‘I’m flattered.’
‘Don’t be. It’s not personal,’ he said, taking a gulp of Diet Coke from a can balanced precariously on the arm of his chair. ‘Where’s your book?’
‘Book?’ she asked blankly.
‘Photographs, dear,’ he said, cigarette ash falling on his desk. ‘A portfolio of photographs.’
‘I don’t have any,’ she explained. ‘Y’see, I wasn’t really thinking of being a model–it was Beverly who suggested I come see you. Actually, I’m a singer.’
‘How tall are you?’ he asked, not at all interested in her other career goals.
‘Five-eight.’
‘Too short for runway work.’
‘Oh,’ she said, wondering if that meant this interview was over.
‘Your measurements?’
‘I–I have no idea,’ she said, feeling like an unprepared idiot.
‘I see,’ he said, drumming his fingertips on his desk. ‘No book, no photographs, she doesn’t know her measurements, she’s not that tall, but you have got a face that cries out for attention, so I’m sending you on a couple of go-sees today.’
‘What’s a go-see?’
‘Exactly what it sounds like,’ he said, blowing a stream of smoke in her direction. ‘You go see a client or a photographer, and they make up their minds whether they want to use you.’
‘Right,’ she said.
‘If things work out and we decide to take you on, photographs are essential. We’ll put you together with a photographer who’ll do your book for free in exchange for you boosting his book. That way everyone’s happy. He gets to photograph a beautiful girl, you get the photographs y
ou need.’
She nodded. He’d called her beautiful, surely that was a good sign?
‘Okay, then,’ he said, all business. ‘First appointment two o’clock, second one at three. Do not be late to either of them. Oh, yes, and when you’re through, don’t call us, we’ll call you.’
After leaving Bruce’s office, Liberty grabbed a tuna sandwich at a nearby deli, then jumped a bus to Tribeca where the studio was located.
By the time she found it she was late, and her next appointment was all the way uptown on Eighty-third Street. With the heavy traffic she’d be lucky if she made it by four, let alone three. After that she had the most important meeting of the day, taking her demo to play for Damon, and there was no way she could be late for that.
The first go-see was a joke. There were at least twenty other girls sitting around in Reception, all with portfolios and cute outfits, all looking their best. It was obviously an audition, not a go-see.
Figuring it wasn’t worth staying around and missing the second appointment, Liberty turned and left, stepping into the service elevator with a tall, skinny guy wearing overalls and a trucker baseball cap. He was balancing a large pizza box in one hand.
‘Want a piece?’ he asked, flipping open the lid.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be delivering that?’ she asked.
‘Nope. I’m supposed to be eating it,’ he said, grinning. ‘Feel free to help yourself.’
‘No thanks. I just had a sandwich.’
‘You here for the audition?’ he asked, helping himself to a hefty slice of pizza.
‘I was, but there’s too many girls waiting.’
‘You came all this way and you’re not gonna see anyone?’ he said, between chews.
‘I can’t stay around–I’ve got to be somewhere else at three. Do you work here?’
‘Guess you could say I help out.’
‘What’s the audition for anyway?’ she asked curiously.
‘A swimsuit layout.’
‘Like a Sports Illustrated kind of thing?’
‘More like a Stuff or Maxim,’ he said, going for a second slice of pizza. ‘You know those magazines?’
‘I’ve seen them.’
‘You’re probably not the right type,’ he said, a dribble of tomato sauce sliding down his chin.
‘You have to be a type to be in those kind of magazines?’
‘You gotta be a little more zaftig.’
‘Oh, thanks.’
‘You got a great look, though,’ he said encouragingly. ‘You could do commercials.’
His compliment softened her up. ‘I saw my first modelling agent today,’ she said, dying to confide in someone. ‘He sent me on two go-sees, this is the first, but he didn’t tell me anything about either of them.’
‘Gimme your name and agency, and I’ll mention you were here an’ couldn’t stay.’
‘Liberty. The Madison Modelling Agency. Won’t they think it’s rude that I left?’
‘At least I can tell them you made the effort.’
‘Thanks, and enjoy your pizza,’ she said, as the creaky elevator ground to a halt.
‘I will,’ he said, still busily chewing. ‘Good luck with the other job.’
She made the second go-see with minutes to spare. There were no other girls present, just a mannish-looking woman sitting alone in a photographer’s loft.
The woman looked her over, asked a few questions, took a couple of Polaroids, then sent her on her way.
She left feeling dizzy and hopeful, thinking that maybe–just maybe- she was finally heading for the break she’d been wishing for all her life.
Chapter Forty-Four
‘Where we going?’ Sonja asked, sitting in the back of Red Diamond’s Rolls-Royce admiring her reflection in a small gold compact–she’d stolen it from the dressing room of a woman whose husband had been using her services while his wife was out of town.
‘I do not pay you to ask questions,’ Red growled. ‘Questions are not part of your job.’
Sonja ignored his rudeness. She didn’t give a shit. As long as the money kept coming, who cared?
Famka adjusted her skirt so that the chauffeur, who could barely concentrate on his driving, got a clearer view of her snatch. Like Sonja, Famka never wore underwear unless it was at a client’s request.
Both women had seen Basic Instinct several times. Both women fancied themselves in the Sharon Stone role. Tough, fearless, sexy, predatory, they were true admirers of American cinema.
Sonja yawned. The decrepit old billionaire was a sex-mad little bugger. He’d wanted the entire sex menu, and then he’d wanted more. ‘What we do if he dies on us?’ she’d asked Famka, who was more experienced when it came to dealing with very old, sex-crazed billionaires.
‘Take all his cash and run like hell,’ Famka had joked.
‘Here’s what I require you girlies to do,’ Red said, breaking into Sonja’s thoughts. ‘When we get to my house you walk in, one on each side of me. There’ll be people there who’ll probably insult you. Ignore ’em. Say nothing.’
‘People insulting me cost more,’ Sonja stated, clicking her gold compact firmly shut.
‘Me too,’ agreed Famka.
‘How much more?’
‘Double our agreement.’
Red cackled. He admired women who knew how to make a deal.
‘Come in, dear,’ Sofia Courtenelli said, gesturing for Amy to enter her office. ‘Meet my friend and our new signature model, Gianna. Gianna, say buon giorno to one of my best PR girls, Amy Scott-Simon.’
‘Ciao!’ Gianna exclaimed, as if they were old friends. ‘It is you.’
‘You two know each other?’ Sofia asked.
‘Last night I was at a party for Amy and Maxwell Diamond,’ Gianna said, looking stylish and sexy in a Dolce & Gabbana charcoal wool pinstripe pant suit. ‘My ragazzo, Jett, is Max’s younger fratello. Jett do the photographs with me. You’ll fall in love with him, Sofia. Every woman falls in amore with my Jett. He’s delizioso, si?’ she said to Amy, who stood transfixed to the spot.
Amy nodded silently. So Jett was the male model in the photographs with Gianna. Jett was working for Courtenelli. Could anything be worse?
‘Where was this party?’ Sofia asked, bristling because she hadn’t been invited.
‘It was my rehearsal dinner,’ Amy quickly explained. ‘I didn’t spend much time there because my friend, Tina, went into labour, and I left to go with her and her husband to the hospital.’
‘Max is molto bene, you are buona girl.’ Gianna sighed. ‘He is bello, rich, and–how you say in your country? Sexy. Is he sexy?’ she added in a teasing voice. ‘Molto sexy?’
‘Excuse me?’ Amy said, taken aback.
Gianna gurgled with laughter, all gleaming white teeth and lightly tanned, glowing skin. ‘If he is anything like my Jett, you are one very contento woman.’
‘When do I get to meet Jett?’ Sofia asked, holding out her hand and admiring her blood-red manicure.
‘Today,’ Gianna said casually. ‘He be here later.’
‘Did you need me for something?’ Amy asked, realizing she’d have to come up with an excuse to leave work early if she didn’t want to see him again–which, of course, she did.
‘Ah, yes,’ Sofia said, tapping her tapered fingers together. ‘It would be excellent for Gianna and myself to have lunch with Liz Smith.’
‘Today?’ Amy questioned, startled. Did Sofia honestly believe that Liz Smith would be free on a moment’s notice?
‘If Liz can manage it,’ Sofia said airily. ‘If not, maybe tomorrow. What day you do photographs, Gianna?’
Gianna shrugged. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Let me ask Nigel,’ Amy said, desperate to get out of Sofia’s office. ‘I’ll call Liz and get back to you. I’m sure she’d love to meet Gianna.’
‘She should,’ Sofia said haughtily. ‘Gianna is the most famous model in Italy. During fashion week who does every designer beg for?’ A dramatic pause
. ‘Gianna and Naomi Campbell. No other model can touch them.’
‘I’m sure,’ Amy muttered, dying to leave. ‘Is there anything else?’ she asked, trying not to let her feelings show.
‘No,’ Sofia said, dismissing her with an arrogant wave.
‘Wait,’ Gianna said. ‘If this Liz, whoever she is, cannot lunch with us today, how about you, Amy?’
‘Oh, no,’ Amy said quickly. ‘I usually grab something at my desk. I couldn’t possibly encroach on your time with Sofia.’
‘Is okay,’ Sofia said, smiling at Amy in a patronizing way. ‘Is not usual I lunch with my staff, but today I make exception. You come with us, Amy.’
‘I’d love that,’ Amy said, thinking, I can’t imagine anything I’d like less. ‘Uh, let me go find out if Liz Smith is available and I’ll get back to you.’
She fled from Sofia’s office. She’d been trying to put a good face on things, but seeing Gianna in the light of day, the reality of it all sunk in. She’d slept with this gorgeous supermodel’s boyfriend, and even though he’d turned out to be Max’s brother, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Which was sick, really sick.
It was supposed to have been a fling, a tempestuous one-night fling to prepare her for a great marriage, a safe marriage, where she’d be with Max forever, and they’d have fantastic sex and live happily ever after.
Only she and Max hadn’t had sex yet, and judging from last night it wasn’t going to be that fantastic.
Max hadn’t called today. Was he mad about last night? Did he think she’d come on too strong?
If he thought that, it was ridiculous–she was marrying the man, they had to work things out.
She decided to give him a buzz, then she thought, no, let him call her, he was the one who’d rushed her out of his apartment.
She hurried to find Nigel, who was working in the design room. ‘When is Gianna doing the photographs?’ she asked.
‘The shoot is set for tomorrow,’ Nigel said, studying a series of sketches.
‘And your favourite Italian also wants to know who the photographer is.’