Breaking the Rules (5 page)

F
rank Farantino was one of the best-known and most successful photographers in New York. In the world, in point of fact. And as he walked out into the entrance foyer of his large studio, he stopped dead in his tracks when the tall young woman wearing a white cotton shirt and black trousers turned around to face him.

He held his breath for a split second as he took in her dark, exotic beauty, her unique looks. Thank you, Geo, thank you very much, he thought. He knew at once that his old friend had sent him a winner, and he was extremely pleased—
thrilled,
if he was honest with himself—that this extraordinary girl was standing here.

A wide smile enlivened his saturnine face, made it come alive, and then he strode across the floor, his hand outstretched as he stopped in front of the young woman.

‘Frankie Farantino,’ he said, shaking her hand.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Farantino,’ M answered politely, as was her way, smiling back. ‘Thank you for seeing me today.’

‘My pleasure, and drop the Mr Farantino, would you, please?
The whole world calls me Frankie. And your name is…M?’ He threw her a questioning look. ‘I am correct about that?’

‘Yes, you are. And before you ask me, my full name is Marie Marsden. My nickname at school was M and M, and I decided it might be better, wiser, to drop one M when I started my modelling career.’ She grinned.

He grinned back at her. ‘English, eh? Geo didn’t tell me that. So, how long have you been in New York?’

‘I came here in June, and I’ve been looking for work ever since. I’m afraid I haven’t been too successful, but then I haven’t been here all that long.’

‘How did you meet Georgiana Carlson?’

‘Through a young man I know…he’s called Dax. He’s a model and an actor.’

‘Oh, sure, I know Dax. I’ve used him from time to time. Geo’s boyfriend.’

‘That’s right. And he’s gone off to the West Coast to try his luck.’

‘He’s smart. So let’s go into the main studio, give it a whirl. How much modelling have you done?’

‘A little. In London.’

‘Did you bring any pictures?’

‘Yes. They’re in my tote.’ As she spoke she picked this up and hurried after him, following him into the studio. ‘As for actual modelling, I haven’t done much of that…been on the catwalk, I mean,’ she admitted, looking suddenly rueful.

‘Let’s see the pictures.’ Frankie Farantino stared at her intently, immediately understanding that she was a novice, a young woman looking for that first break, but this did not trouble him at all. He preferred young women who had not been coached, trained—and often tainted—by other photographers. One of the thingshe most enjoyed as a photographer was moulding a girl, actually
creating
her, in a sense, giving her a special look of his own invention. Taking the batch of photographs that M handed to him, he
flicked through them swiftly, then glanced at her and half smiled. ‘They’re not bad, and at least I can see you photograph well. But these just don’t do you justice.’ He handed them to her.

‘I suppose not,’ she murmured, and swiftly put them back in the tote, deciding not to show them to anyone again, especially a photographer.

‘Okay, so let’s get started,’ Frankie said. ‘Go and stand over there on that raised platform, and turn slowly, in a circle, so that I can view you from every angle, study you.’

She did as he instructed, stepped up onto the platform, slowly turning, and turning again when he told her to keep moving. ‘Slowly,
very slowly,
’ he intoned.

Watching her intently, and with concentration, Frankie saw a lot of remarkable things simultaneously. She was lithe, moved gracefully like a dancer and, although she was rather tall, her height was balanced by a good figure and a special kind of inbred elegance. Her face fascinated him…she reminded him of someone he could not quite place. That vague, elusive image flickered at the back of his mind; just as he thought he was about to grasp it, have it fully revealed to him, it floated away—and maddeningly so.

‘Come on down,’ he said at last, and stretched out his hand to help her off the platform. ‘You brought a skirt, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did, and a dress. A simple black sheath. High heels, and a pair of flats.’

‘Good. There’s a dressing room over there.’ He indicated a door set in one of the soaring walls. ‘Please change into…well, anything you want.’

M nodded and hurried into the dressing room. She selected her flared, red cotton skirt, which went well with the pristine white shirt, added a wide black leather belt, slipped her feet into her favourite black ballerina slippers. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she decided to pull her hair back into a ponytail, added hoop earrings, and used a brighter red lipstick to define her mouth.

Frankie was loading his camera and looked up when M
walked out into the studio. Instantly he knew exactly whom she resembled. A young Audrey Hepburn. He felt sudden excitement surge through him; he could hardly wait to capture her image on film. Only then would he know what he
really
had, what her potential was.

‘You look great, M!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’d like you to stand over there, in front of that white picket fence with the backdrop of a green field behind it.’

Frankie followed her, put his camera on a side table, and explained, ‘Move around a little, honey. Move your arms, strike a few poses you’re familiar with. Like this.’ He gave her a quick demonstration, picked up his camera and stepped away from her. ‘It’s okay, practise for a few seconds. Don’t look so worried. Smile, M, give me a few dazzling smiles.’

She did as he suggested, and proved so adept he started to shoot immediately, constantly throwing out encouraging words. ‘That’s great! Right on! Now turn left, move your body more. Hey, honey, you’re a natural. Wow! That’s great! Hold that pose. You’re fabulous!’

He went on photographing her for half an hour, exclaiming encouragement and praise, only stopping to grab a different camera, or reload film. Finally he stopped, sat down on a tall stool, and beckoned to her. ‘Stand here, M, stand here in front of me.’

‘Was I all right?’ she asked quietly. ‘Did I move the way you wanted?’

‘
Absolutely.
And you’re great. But I need to ask you something…have you ever had bangs?’

‘Do you mean a fringe?’ She ran her first finger across her forehead. ‘That’s what we call it in England…a fringe. And no, I haven’t.’

‘What about short hair? Or have you always worn it long?’

‘Mostly, but it was short when I was much younger—when I was a little girl, actually. Why? Don’t you like my hair?’

‘It’s magnificent. Beautiful. So long and glossy, and yes, even
dramatic. There’s a lot you can do with long hair.’ Frankie pursed his lips, held his head on one side, and then, suddenly turning away from her, he shouted, ‘Caresse! Come on in here, would you, please?’

A moment later the petite red-headed pixie was running into the studio. ‘Yes, Frankie, here I am. What do you need?’

‘Where’s Agnes? Is she here?’

‘She said she’d arrive by two. With Luke Hendricks, remember? He’s doing that shoot for the ad agency with you.’

Frankie looked at the big round clock on the opposite wall. It was almost one. Turning to Caresse, he said crisply, in an urgent voice, ‘Find Agnes. Try her mobile. Ask her if she can come in a bit earlier, as soon as possible, in fact, and locate Marguerite Briguet, please. Tell her I want her to do a very special makeup job. Okay?’

‘Right away, Frankie!’ Caresse scooted off.

Leaning forward, Frankie Farantino gave M a hard, penetrating stare. ‘I need to give you a whole new look. It will be wonderful for you, but we might have to cut your hair.’

M gasped, taken aback, then stood there gaping at him, her dark eyes widening. She was momentarily speechless. Cut off her hair?

Frankie murmured in a gentler tone, ‘I promise you it will change your life. And it will be a truly
unique
look, very special to you—’

‘A reinvention?’ she asked, cutting in. ‘Is that what you’re suggesting?’

He nodded, continuing to stare at her speculatively. ‘That’s what I mean. Will you go for it?’

‘
Absolutely.
I love reinventions, Frankie.’

‘I really don’t want to cut this hair,’ Agnes Manton said softly, smoothing one hand down the long black hair that was one of
M’s great assets. ‘Look at it, Frankie, it’s like a…a mantle of shining black silk. It would be criminal to cut this off, truly a criminal act.’

‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ Frankie shot back, a brow lifting. ‘It is only
hair,
for God’s sake, and so it will grow back again, Agnes.’

‘I don’t mind,’ M interjected, swivelling her head to look up at the hairdresser. ‘And Frankie’s right, you know, I
can
grow it back if I want to.’

Agnes nodded, but remained silent, studying the young woman carefully, liking her.

Frankie said, ‘I want to show you something. Just a minute.’ He stepped away from the dressing table in the hair and makeup room at the back of the vast studio, headed for the bookcase at the far end. Taking down a picture book, he flicked through it, quickly found the photographs he wanted, and walked back to the two women.

‘Look at these, Agnes, and you’ll better understand what I’m aiming for. Here.’ He handed her the book, indicating several pages.

When Agnes saw the title ‘audreystyle’, and stared at the first few pictures he was referring to, she knew at once what he wanted.
A replica of Audrey Hepburn with one of her short gamine hairdos.
Nodding, Agnes said to Frankie, ‘I can still create the look you want without cutting off all of M’s hair.’ She flipped through the book, showed him several other photographs, explained, ‘Here, take a look at this one. Bangs, but with the back in a tight chignon. I should try this first, don’t you think? I just don’t want to be hasty, cutting off all this gorgeous hair.’

Frankie took the book away from her, glanced at the particular photograph she was talking about, and had to agree that there was some truth in what Agnes was saying. With bangs and a twist at the back, Audrey did look more sophisticated and elegant, but she was still Audrey Hepburn.

M said, ‘Can I see the book, Frankie, please? So I know what the two of you are talking about.’

He gave it to her without a word.

M exclaimed, ‘Oh, my goodness, Audrey Hepburn! Is that what you want to do, turn me into a new
Audrey
?’

Frankie laughed. ‘You got it, kid. Any objections?’

‘No, not at all. I’d love it, actually.’

‘Okay then, let’s do it.’

‘I don’t want to do any cutting,’ Agnes reminded him, a warning look on her face.

‘That’s okay with me,’ Frankie answered, and then said to M, ‘You told me you’d brought a black sheath and high heels. Correct?’

‘Yes. Would you like me to go and put them on?’

‘No, not for the moment. Agnes is going to copy this hairstyle here.’ He turned to the stylist, said in a firmer voice, ‘You must cut the front, though, because I want M to have bangs, and copy this upswept look, please. It’s a very elegant Audrey here…this photo is from
Roman Holiday,
I believe.’

‘But…’ Agnes began, and stopped when she saw the adamant expression on Frankie’s face. She had worked with him for years and knew when to stop arguing with him.

‘Bangs okay with you, M?’ he asked. He took the book from her, found the picture he wanted, then handed it back to M, pointing his first finger at a page.

‘Bangs are okay, very okay with me,’ M responded, and stared down at the book, then smiled at Agnes. ‘Let’s do it, shall we?’

Placing a cotton cape around M’s shoulders, Agnes picked up her most expensive scissors, took a deep breath and began to cut M’s hair at the front, creating the bangs Frankie insisted on.

M sat back in the chair, watching Agnes work, saying nothing, secretly loving the idea of becoming an Audrey Hepburn look-alike. That really was genuine reinvention, and then some. She smiled inwardly, wondering why she hadn’t thought of this
herself. God knows her brothers had often teased her about having such a marked resemblance to the famous actress.

Frankie announced, ‘I’ll leave you to it, Agnes, and when Marguerite arrives I’ll send her in immediately.’ Resting one hand on M’s shoulder, he added, ‘Marguerite is another genius, and between Agnes and her they
will
turn you into the woman in these pictures. You’ll be the image of the real thing,
par excellence.
’

‘W
ow!’ a male voice exclaimed in a soft but awed voice from the shadows at the back of the main studio. Finally walking out into the bright light, the man added, ‘Wow! Wow! Wow!’ and stopped just a few feet away from Frankie, who was in the process of photographing M seated on a tall stool.

‘Hey, Luke!’ Frankie cried, as he swung around and saw his friend. ‘You’re right, she is a
wow, wow, wow,
isn’t she?’

Instead of responding to Frankie, Luke looked at M and addressed her instead. ‘You certainly are spectacular, just as you were in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
—you looked exactly as you do today.’ He shook his head, a wide grin spreading across his handsome face. ‘Of course I know you couldn’t possibly
be
Audrey, but you certainly could be her twin. So what’s your
real
name?’

M started to answer him, but Frankie cut across her. ‘This is M, Luke. She’s known simply as M, and she’s my new discovery. I’m going to launch her modelling career, yes indeedy, and I have big plans for her. I
know
what I’m seeing through this lens. And it’s something sensational.’

‘Congratulations, Frankie,’ Luke responded, and then walked towards M, his hand outstretched.

As they shook hands, the two of them sized each other up.

M found herself looking into a pair of light grey eyes set in a rather puckish face, one which appeared to be full of merriment, and with his short curly blond hair and slight build he reminded her of a choir boy, though perhaps a rather devilish one.

For his part, Luke was captivated by the young woman, dressed in the black sheath and wearing tons of pearls and sparkling drop earrings. A few minutes ago he had been talking to Agnes and Marguerite in the hair and makeup room, and both women had told him how Frankie had instructed them to play up M’s striking resemblance to the late movie star. There was no question that they had done a truly magnificent job. This young woman was stunning, but he knew she would be even if she weren’t an Audrey lookalike.

‘I’m happy to meet you, Luke,’ M finally said.

Luke cleared his throat, suddenly realizing he was gaping at her like a silly, dumbstruck schoolboy. ‘Me, too, er, what I mean is, I’m glad to meet you. You’re English?’

‘Yes, I am, but I’m living here now. I came over about three months ago.’ As she spoke, she gently extricated her hand from his tight clasp.

‘If you need someone to show you around Manhattan, need anything at all, I’d be glad to help you. Just let me know.’ He took out a business card and handed it to her.

‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling at him.

‘Hey, hey, hey, not so fast, Luke, my boy! No poaching my talent. After all, I discovered her. And M’s going to be working for me
exclusively.
’

‘I was merely volunteering to be a friend.’

‘I know, Luke, I know.’ Stepping closer to the younger man, Frankie said in a lower tone, ‘Thanks for coming in to help with the ad agency shoot. The models are here, already changing
before they go into hair and makeup. We’ll start shooting in about forty minutes or so, because I do want to finish up with M, need to do a few more shots.’

Luke nodded. ‘Are we shooting in this studio? Or one of the others?’

‘The big one at the back. The scenery’s already set up for the first session, and I’m sure Ted is in there already, looking at the new backdrops that came in last week. Why don’t you go and introduce yourself, and have a few words with him? He’s a nice guy, genuine, and he’s been throwing a lotta work my way lately.’

‘Okay,’ Luke responded, giving a wave to M and hurrying off, fully aware that Frankie preferred to shoot without spectators, unless it was a ‘civilian’ like Ted Langton, or some other friendly agency guy. Even he himself was only tolerated when he was actually
working
for Frankie as his first assistant, otherwise he was forbidden to enter just like the others.

Once they were alone, Frankie explained, ‘Luke’s one of my protégés, and he’s already on the way to becoming a great photographer. He’s got a small studio of his own, and has a couple of regular clients, but I give him as much work as I can. I want to help him get ahead.’

‘That’s nice of you, Frankie,’ M said, meaning it. She and her siblings had been brought up to be helpful to others; it was one of the family rules.

‘I’ve always believed that everyone is worth helping, and most especially if they have potential, and talent.’ Frankie put down his camera and walked over to her, studied her for a moment. ‘I think you should take off all the pearls, M, and the long earrings for the next few shots. I’d like you to look simpler. Your hair is fine, but Marguerite needs to powder you down. I’ll go and get her.’

Before she could volunteer to go to hair and makeup herself, Frankie had hurried down to the far end of the studio where this room was located.

In his absence, M walked over to a trestle table, took off the many strings of pearls he had draped around her neck earlier, and the earrings as well. She placed them in one of the boxes that contained costume jewellery; in the others were artificial flowers, small kerchiefs and ribbons, all kinds of accessories. On the spur of the moment she took out a piece of black velvet ribbon, went over to the mirror on the wall behind the trestle table, and tied the ribbon round her neck. Standing back, she eyed herself.

M was thrilled and excited that Frankie Farantino had liked her, had seen something so special in her that he had spent so much time photographing her. She realized that this might be the break she had been waiting for. Perhaps Lady Luck
was
with her today. She suddenly thought of her big brother, who always gave such credit to Lady Luck, and decided he would have been proud of the way she had worked this afternoon. He had instilled one thing in her:
be professional.

As M turned and walked back to the centre of the studio, Frankie reappeared with Marguerite in tow, the latter carrying her basket filled with the tools of her trade.

‘According to Frankie, you need a touch-up,’ the makeup artist said, smiling at her, peering at her face appraisingly. Marguerite took out a damp sponge, went over her face with it, patted her dry with a tissue, dipped a brush in powder and flicked it over her cheeks. ‘You’re not as shiny as I expected. Now all we need is a little blush on top of the powder, and you’re ready. Your eyes are fine, M, they don’t need anything.’ Marguerite finished her work, stepped back and said, ‘You’ve weathered the hot lights very well.’

‘Thanks, Marguerite,’ M answered and went back to the middle of the floor, sat down on the stool.

Frankie, who was busy reloading film, looked across at her and exclaimed, ‘The ribbon looks great, honey, and that’s all you need.’

He photographed her for another twenty minutes, moving around her, taking shots of her from different angles, praising her, telling her to hold a certain pose, until he finally had everything he wanted.

‘That’s it, M. At least for today. And you’ve been a great subject. You know what: you’re good at this, honey.’

‘And thank
you,
Frankie. Actually, I’ve enjoyed it,’ she told him. Walking across to him, she now asked, ‘Did you mean it when you told Luke you were going to launch my modelling career?’

He was taking the film out of his camera and he glanced up, nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘I’m so pleased about that! So, where do we go from here? What happens next?’ she asked, her excitement reflected on her face.

‘I have to start using you in some of my fashion shoots for the magazines. That’s how we’ll begin.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘Not for a few weeks,’ Frankie murmured, putting the camera down on a table. ‘I have to go to Morocco on Monday, to do a fashion spread for
Harper’s Bazaar.
’

M nodded, gave him a quizzical look. ‘So when should I plan on being here, Frankie? When will you need me?’

‘I’ll have to let you know. You see I’ll be in Morocco for a while, honey—it’s a big spread, time consuming.’

‘And there’s no way you could include me in that?’ she asked, her eyes riveted on him.

He shook his head. ‘No, the models have all been selected. In fact, some are already on their way over there.’

‘I understand.’ She gave him a bright smile, although she was disappointed, and went on, ‘I’d better let the Blane Agency know about our session today, and your intentions, don’t you think?’

Startled by her sudden and unexpected businesslike manner, he stared at her, his eyes narrowing, then said, ‘But Geo told me you were registered with a number of modelling agencies. Why are you mentioning Blane in particular?’

‘Because I signed with them when I first came to New York, and I like the women working there. They seem sincere to me, and they’ve tried to be helpful. I should have proper representation anyway, shouldn’t I?’

‘Okay, you’re right and I understand. So yes, you can go ahead and tell them.’

‘And what about the photographs you’ve taken today? When can I see them? I’d love to know how I look in them.’

He grinned at her. ‘Of course you would. So drop over next week and Caresse will have a set for you.’

‘Thank you.’ She moved away, went back to the small table near the stool, retrieved Luke’s business card, then, swinging around, she asked, ‘What do you plan to do with the pictures you took today?’

‘What do you mean, M? I’m not following you.’ He sounded puzzled.

‘Are you going to place them with a magazine? Or use them in some way? Or was this a…a dry run, I suppose I would call it.’

‘That’s right, it was exactly that. I usually do a session with a new girl, if I think she has potential. And you know already I feel that about you. Some of them are duds, you know, but certainly not you. I foresee a great future for you as a model, M, and I do plan to help you get to the top. When I come back from Morocco.’

Frankie walked across the floor and put his arms around her, gave her a big hug. ‘Thanks again, honey, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.’