Four Blondes

“Thank you,” Janey said. She followed Mariah into a large, open studio. There were other people there. Desks. Layouts. A man with a video camera.

“We’re looking for a few special girls,” Mariah said, the emphasis on “special.” “It’s not enough to be beautiful. We want girls who have personality. Who have lived a little. We want,” she said, taking a breath for emphasis, “girls who can be role models for our customers.”

In other words, Janey thought, smart models. Now there’s a new one. She nodded.

The other people came around.

“Do you mind putting on some lingerie?” they whispered. They always treated you with kid gloves at these auditions, so they couldn’t be accused of sexual harassment.

“Do you mind lying on that couch?”

“Do you mind if we videotape you?”

“I don’t mind,” Janey said. “I’ll go naked if you want.”

Mariah laughed. “Luckily, this isn’t Playboy,” she said.

Oh, but it practically is, Janey thought.

She lay down on the couch. She arranged her magnificent body, resting her head on her hand.

“Tell us a little bit about yourself, Janey.”

“Well,” Janey began, in that soft voice that gave no offense, “I’m thirty-two. I’ve been a model for . . . sixteen years now, I guess, and an actress too, although I like to say I’ve been acting every day of my life. I’m pretty independent. I’ve never been married. I guess I like to take care of myself. But it’s hard, you know? I’m a model, but more than that, I’m a single woman, trying to make my way through life. I have my ups and downs like every other woman.” She smiled and turned onto her back.

“I have days when I feel ugly. And days when I feel fat . . . like right now . . . and days when I think, ‘Am I ever going to find a guy I really like?’ I try pretty hard. Last summer I worked on a screenplay about my life.”

“And what do you want out of life, Janey?”

“I don’t know what I want, but I know I want something.”

“And what about your goals?”

Janey smiled and pushed her hair back. She turned onto her stomach, swinging one leg up. She put her head in both hands. Her expression was serious, but not too serious. She looked directly at the camera.

“I guess you could say . . . I don’t know where I’m going.” She paused a second for effe

ct. “But I know I’m going somewhere.”

“Brilliant,” they said.

Eight months later.

Janey pulled into the driveway of the house on Daniel’s Lane in Sagaponack in her new Porsche Boxster convertible. The car was pure flash: silver paint with a red leather interior, a special order. It was a bonus from the Victoria’s Secret people, not that they had to give her one, since she had a two-million-dollar contract for four years. It called for a maximum of fifty days of work a year, which meant, as her new agent pointed out, she’d have plenty of time to go on auditions and even do a television series or a movie. She’d already gone on three auditions for an action film with a big movie star, and they were “seriously interested.”

Janey closed the car door carefully. It wouldn’t do to scratch the paint. Already her sister had asked if she could drive the car, and Janey had said no. “You’ve got plenty of money, Patty. Get your own car,” she said.

“But I want to drive your car,” Patty whined. She looked so plaintive, they’d both cracked up.

Janey walked toward the house, twirling the keys around her finger. It was an unusual house, with the kitchen and living room (with fireplace) on the second floor, with a large deck from which you could see the ocean. There were five big bedrooms downstairs, and outside, a charming antique shack that could be used as a separate guest cottage or an office.

“Do you plan to have lots of company?” the real estate agent had asked.

“No,” Janey said. “I’ll probably use it to do some writing. I’m working on a screenplay, you know.”

“Really?” the real estate agent said. “I know you’re in that Victoria’s Secret ad. But I didn’t know you were a writer. Beautiful and smart. What a lucky girl.”

“Thank you,” Janey said.