Breaking the Rules (6 page)

I
t seemed to M that the next few weeks passed extremely quickly. Always well organized, even when she was a child, she made herself a schedule and kept to it. Every other morning she went to the Blane Model Agency to check in with Leni, the receptionist, and afterwards visited another two agencies, International and Famous, where she was also registered. Three afternoons a week she worked as a waitress at the All-American Cheese Cake Café, and on Thursday she helped out as a sales assistant at Jennifer Allen’s chic boutique situated in the Meatpacking District.

She enjoyed being busy, and working helped to deflect some of the worry she felt about Frankie Farantino. She hoped he would keep his word to her.

According to Caresse, whom she called several times a week, he was still in Morocco, and would now be going on to the south of France to finish the shoot. A new development. Only after that would he be back in New York. But Caresse reassured her that Frankie
would
keep his word, as did the women she knew at Blane’s. Leni, and Marla Golding, who handled bookings, had been pleased when she had conveyed Frankie’s interest
in her. Apparently he enjoyed a good reputation and was well liked by them; they told her they deemed him trustworthy. Also, the two of them had been impressed by the photographs Frankie had taken of her, as she had herself.

Only Geo seemed hesitant about the ‘make-over’, as she called it, pointing out to M that she was beautiful in her own right, and did not need to become the replica of a dead movie star.

‘If you don’t know how gorgeous you are, go and look in the mirror,’ Geo had said that Thursday afternoon when she had returned from the shoot at Frankie’s studio. ‘I love your hairstyle, though, and you should definitely keep the bangs because they really suit you. They’d work with a ponytail too, you know, as well as the twist.’ Then, quite suddenly, Geo had frowned and peered at her rather intently, shaking her head, and had added in a gentle tone, obviously not wanting to give offence, ‘I think your eye makeup is a bit too heavy, and your eyebrows far too thick, M, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

M had listened attentively to Geo, and everyone else, and had weighed their comments. She tended to agree with Geo about the eye makeup, and later decided not to bother with it, especially when she was working at the café and the boutique. She would just look ridiculous in those venues if she did an over-the-top theatrical eye job on herself.

M kept herself busy when she wasn’t working. She went shopping for groceries, her everyday needs, and kept her room clean, and scrupulously neat, looked after her clothes and shoes. On a regular basis she emailed her parents in Australia and called her sister in London, either on Friday or Sunday, depending on her new work schedule.

And of course she waited impatiently and with great anticipation for Frankie’s return to New York. She had cancelled the interview with Hank George, on Geo’s advice, who pointed out
that Frankie would probably be annoyed if she went to see another photographer at this stage. After all, he had made it crystal clear that he wanted to launch her modelling career; he had even agreed that she could inform Blane’s of his serious intentions, since she had signed with them when she had first arrived. In fact, he had behaved impeccably.

‘You’ll just have to be patient for a few more weeks until he gets back,’ Geo had murmured recently. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, I just know it is. And when he does return, Blane’s will get you a worthwhile contract with him.’

M thought of Geo now as she wandered around one of the many art galleries in West Chelsea. She often did this at weekends, looking at paintings by people she had never heard of, always deciding that Geo was a much better artist. In fact, she was enormously talented, in M’s opinion, and working extremely hard at the moment, attempting to finish a series of paintings of scenes in Connecticut. They were intended for an upcoming exhibition of her work planned for December and M was encouraging her to stick at it, cheering her on every day.

After meandering around the gallery for a short while longer, M finally left, somewhat unimpressed, and walked in the direction of West Twenty-Second Street having decided it was time to go home.

She was enjoying the late September weather, and it suddenly struck her that today was one of those gorgeous Indian summer days that she and her mother so loved…sunny and warm with a light breeze, a great arc of impeccably clear blue sky above her.

‘A day to be outside in the garden,’ her mother would say on days like this, and she would head outside, beckoning her children to follow.

M experienced an unexpected pang, a sudden tightness in her chest when she thought of her mother, missing her…longing
to be with her…in that glorious garden, but she couldn’t go back there…it was too dangerous…

When she got home, M found Geo in the kitchen, filling the kettle. ‘Oh, lovely! I’m just in time for tea,’ she exclaimed as she came into the kitchen.

‘That you are,’ Geo agreed, laughing. ‘I sort of anticipated you, I suppose.’ Lighting the gas ring under the kettle, Geo went on, ‘Come into the studio for a moment, M, please. I’ve finished the painting you liked…I’d love your opinion of it.’

‘Lead the way,’ M said, hurrying after Geo down the corridor and into the light-filled studio that opened onto the garden.

Walking over to the easel, M stood in front of the large oil painting, instantly captivated. It was of a grand lake with stands of trees clustered on the rise of a hill at the far side of the water. The canvas was brilliant with autumn colours at the time of the changing of the leaves…russets, reds and pinks, amber, a strange purple-wine colour and varying shades of gold. And the entire painting was suffused with soft golden light, which seemed to shimmer across the surface of the water.

Stepping back, M stared at it from a distance, and for quite a long time. Finally turning, she said to Geo, ‘Don’t touch it again. Leave it alone. It’s finished, and it’s superb. The way you’ve managed to capture light on canvas is brilliant. I’ve noticed this before in some of your other paintings, and it’s such a marvellous talent. Congratulations, Geo.’ She squeezed the other woman’s arm. ‘All your hard work has paid off.’

Geo’s face was wreathed in smiles. She said softly, sounding pleased, ‘Thank you. I’m so thrilled you like it. I value your judgement.’

The whistling of the kettle startled them both and, swinging around, Geo hurried across the studio, heading for the kitchen.

For a moment longer, M lingered in front of the painting, continuing to study it, admiring it; she had become somewhat awed by Geo’s work, understanding that her friend was an artist of enormous talent who needed a break, just as she herself did.

Sighing under her breath, M went out to the kitchen, hoping that Geo’s exhibition would be a stunning success: certainly she deserved nothing less.

The two women sat in the windowed area of the kitchen, sipping their mugs of tea, talking about the upcoming exhibition to be held at a well-known gallery in December. And then, abruptly, Geo changed the subject when she said, ‘I’m glad we’ve become friends, M. I like you such a lot.’ She shook her head wonderingly, bit her lip. ‘When I remember how foolish I was, suspecting you and Dax, I feel like a real fool. I apologize again, M.’

‘Don’t be so silly, Geo, I’ve forgotten it.’

Geo smiled, but she was fully aware that M hadn’t forgotten it. She knew she had managed to frighten M, and frighten her very badly, and she had a strange feeling that this fear still lingered. M had insisted that they install a new alarm system, and she’d had no option but to go along with it, splitting the bill with M. Well, the old system had been on the blink, and essentially M was right, wanting their security.

Aware of the growing silence, Geo now said swiftly, with a laugh, ‘I have to admit it was jealousy of all things—silly, stupid
jealousy
…’

M nodded her understanding, then glanced away, stared out of the window at the little back garden, lost in her thoughts. Suddenly sitting up straighter in the chair, she murmured, ‘In jealousy there is more self-love than love.’

Geo was taken aback, but after a moment’s reflection she exclaimed, ‘There’s a great deal of wisdom in your words, M.’

‘Oh, no, not my words,’ M responded, shaking her head. ‘They were written by the Duc de La Rochefoucauld in the seventeenth
century. Still, I believe they’re as applicable today as they were then.’

‘Absolutely,’ Geo agreed, and took a sip of the hot, sweet tea, wondering how M could remember that obscure but interesting quote. On the other hand, the young English-woman sitting opposite her was filled to overflowing with knowledge, and about so many different things. She could talk expertly about books and plays, movies and opera, and she knew a lot about art. Geo admired her for all this, and also because she was so brave, coming alone to New York, wanting to make it on her own. M’s aspirations were similar to her own, and Dax too shared the same kind of ambition.

‘How did you learn so much about art, M? I mean, you speak so expertly—yes, that’s the best word—about Renoir, Monet, Bonnard, the Impressionists, Post-Impressionists and Turner, particularly Turner. Even I don’t know everything you do.’

‘From my sister,’ M responded swiftly. ‘She took me to a lot of art galleries even when I was a kid, and she instilled a great deal of knowledge in me. Force-fed me, I suppose you could call it. I’ve always said that children learn so much from exposure to the arts in general, and certainly my exposure to all the great galleries in England and France helped to create a love of paintings in me.’

M gave Geo a big smile. ‘I can admire, but I can’t do it—paint, I mean—but you can, Geo. You’re enormously talented, and don’t ever forget that, and you’ll see, your exhibition will be a tremendous success. And you’ll be on your way.’

‘Oh, God, I hope so, and all I can add to that is, from your mouth to God’s ears.’ Leaning across the table, Geo now murmured, ‘Guess who called me earlier?’

‘Dax.’

Geo looked startled. ‘How do you know? Oh, he probably called you too, didn’t he?’

‘No, I haven’t heard from him today, but he’s the only person we have in common.’

‘Yes, that’s true. Anyway, he’s back in New York.’

‘Already!’ M sounded surprised, and she began to shake her head in disbelief. ‘Sooner than even I thought.’

‘Yes, me too. But he’s back because he’s got a job in the theatre at last. Can you imagine, he went to LA to look for work in the movies, then ends with a part in a play on Broadway.’

‘But that’s wonderful! How did it happen?’

‘He was introduced to Iris Ingersoll in Beverly Hills, at some party. Through an actor he met there—someone who befriended him, I think. Iris is a Broadway producer.’

M was about to say she knew that, but swallowed the words. She realized she had been saying too much to Geo lately, revealing things, and so she merely nodded.

‘He’s starting rehearsals next week. He’s got the second lead, and the thing is this, M, he’s invited us to a party to sort of…well, celebrate, I guess. I hope you don’t mind, but I said yes. For both of us.’

M gaped at her, frowning, but remained silent, continuing to frown.

Geo exclaimed, ‘Oh, don’t look so upset, M! It’ll do you good to get out of this house. All you seem to do these days is wait on tables serving cheese cake and help women to try on expensive dresses. And visit the modelling agencies. Come on, say yes. Go with me. It will be a treat for both of us.’

‘When is it?’

‘Tonight.’

‘Short notice, wouldn’t you say?’ M raised a dark brow, eloquently so.

‘Yes, it is, and Dax said that himself. But he just decided to do it today. He called it an impromptu party, and he does want us to come so much. And I’ve nothing better to do. Do you?’

‘Where’s he having it?’ M asked, ignoring Geo’s question.

‘At Iris Ingersoll’s apartment. On Park Avenue. Drinks at nine,
and a buffet supper around ten thirty. To cater to the theatre folk, you know, who’ll get there late.’

‘What’s the dress form? What are we supposed to wear?’

‘Something festive, Dax said.’

‘I guess I’d better go upstairs and ransack my wardrobe,’ M murmured, finally smiling at Geo.

‘Oh, M, this is great! You’re going to come?’

‘Why not? I’d like to see Dax, congratulate him. He’s wanted this for so long. It’s nice to know one of us finally got a break.’

‘And you never know who you’ll meet there,’ Geo announced, grinning at M.

Although her room was only fairly modest in size, M had liked it from the first moment she had seen it. Painted a creamy-buttery colour, it had a large window looking out onto West Twenty-Second Street; it was airy and light-filled, and very sunny this afternoon. The dark red and gold Oriental carpet covered the entire floor, and added a warm, cosy feeling, as did the dark red curtains at the window. There was a day bed along one wall with a dark red damask cover, and piles of gold and red pillows, so that it served as a sofa; nearby, a large armchair upholstered in the same dark red fabric as the curtains faced the television set on a stand. A coffee table, a large chest of drawers and several lamps completed the room, which M kept as neat as a pin.

Her golden rule was no clutter, and there was a paucity of personal things here, especially photographs of her family; only a few books stacked up on the chest revealed something about her, and that wasn’t very much.

M walked across the room and picked up her mobile phone, which had been charging while she was out. She saw a missed call, and knew at once that it must be from Dax. It was, and she called him back; his phone was turned off and so she left a
message congratulating him, and saying she would see him that evening.

Wondering what to wear for the party, she headed towards the wardrobe and opened the double doors. She had several suitable outfits, all black except for a grey silk trouser suit, which Birdie had given her a couple of years ago. Pulling it out, she held it up and stared at it critically, pursing her lips, and then she hung it back in the wardrobe, mentally discarding it.