“I’ve been waiting for three hours!” said a girl from behind Madison.
“We didn’t even open until an hour ago,” the receptionist snapped; then she looked down at her appointment book. “I don’t see you in here.”
Madison pointed to the eleven A.M. slot. “That’s me.”
“What kind of name is ‘Madison’?” the receptionist snapped again.
Madison resisted the urge to snap back. “The one my mother gave me,” she said, still smiling. “Perhaps you’d like to look over my portfolio while I wait,” she said, then she put the big black book on top of the woman’s desk. This time the portfolio was leather, not plastic.
More than anything in the world, Madison wanted to stand there and watch the face of the woman when she first opened the book and saw the pictures that Cordova had taken. In the end, she’d spent three days with the man. Once his creativity was unleashed, there was no holding him back. When a crate of peaches had been delivered to him to shoot, he’d sent the hairdresser out to buy a cheap black wig and he’d sent his assistant out to find clothes “like a gypsy would wear.” After the snake, the assistant wasn’t protesting any assignment.
Cordova had photographed Madison dressed as a gypsy sitting in the middle of a thousand peaches. Well, it looked like a thousand when Cordova got through arranging them around an artificial hill.
It was Madison who suggested that he drop the “Michael” from his name and just go by Cordova. He’d liked the idea instantly, but he kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye, as though he were afraid that any minute she might change into a creature from outer space.
But now, in the agency office, Madison made herself keep her back to the receptionist as she walked to the end of the room to the only vacant chair. But when she turned around, she had the deep satisfaction of seeing that dreadful little woman looking at the photos with her mouth hanging open in shock.
When she looked up and saw Madison watching her, she closed her mouth and the book. Then, as though it were something she did every day, she got up from her desk, pulled her too-tight blouse down, then picked up the stack of portfolios off her desk. Acting as though taking Madison’s were only an afterthought, she dropped it on top of the stack, then went to the door of the office where Mrs. Vanderpool decided the fates of hundreds of young women.
The receptionist gave a quick knock; then when she opened the door, they heard, “This better be good,” from inside the office. Obviously, Mrs. Vanderpool didn’t like interruptions.
When the door closed behind the woman, Madison realized that her heart was pounding. Had she been too aggressive? Maybe she should have just had her photo taken by a good New York photographer. Something plain. Ordinary. Not with a snake.
It was probably only minutes later that the door opened, but to Madison, it seemed hours. And when the door swung wide, it wasn’t the snotty little receptionist standing there but Mrs. Vanderpool herself. Or, in the modeling world, that would be, Herself.
Madison held her breath as the woman, with her iron gray hair, in her ordinary little dress, scanned the room. When she saw Madison, she halted. “Are you Madison Appleby?”
Madison gave the woman a polite smile and nodded. Truth was, there was a lump in her throat too big for her to speak.
“Would you like to come into my office?”
“Yes, thank you,” Madison managed to get out; then she had to make her feet move forward.
She followed Mrs. Vanderpool into her inner office, and the door closed behind them.
Twenty-nine
“That is, without a doubt, the most wonderful story I have ever heard,” Leslie said.
“Even the second time around?” Madison asked, smiling.
“I could hear that story a thousand times and it would get better with each telling,” Ellie said. “So what happened next?”
“But you know the rest,” Madison answered, looking about for the waitress. “Do you think they have a dessert menu?”
“It’s Maine, ask for blueberries,” Ellie said impatiently. “I want to know what happened next.”
Leslie put her hand on Ellie’s arm. “But we know the rest, don’t we? Haven’t we been seeing your picture in magazines for years?”
“Have we?” Ellie asked eagerly.
“Here and there,” Madison said, smiling, “but I’ve had other things to do besides stand in front of a camera. But then, you two know that story. Oh, good, here comes the dessert cart.”
“Madison,” Ellie said slowly, “I will buy you everything on that cart if you’ll just tell the rest of the story.”
Laughing, Madison pointed to a large slice of chocolate cake with chocolate icing. “I behaved myself,” she said simply as the waitress placed the dessert in front of her.
Ellie and Leslie waved the cart away.