Jenny was lying on the couch when I arrived on Monday afternoon. She had a headache, and Mrs. Prezzioso was afraid she might be coming down with something. Andrea, as usual, was dressed like a little doll. She sat happily on the floor of the living room while Mrs. Prezzioso took some extra time giving me instructions before they left.
“Other than her headache, Jenny doesn’t have any symptoms,” Mrs. Prezzioso explained. “I’ve given her a little Tylenol, so that should hold her. Here’s where I can be reached.”
Mrs. Prezzioso handed me a piece of paper with a phone number on it. The exchange was different from the numbers she had given me before. Were she and Andrea going far away? Maybe this was my chance to find out where she was headed.
“If Jenny gets really sick,” I said, remembering the time she had had a terribly high temperature while I was baby-sitting and had had to be taken to the hospital, “would you be able to come quickly? I mean … where will you be?”
Mrs. Prezzioso pursed her lips and stared at me for a moment. Then she sat on the edge of the couch. “I’ve been a little reluctant to mention it, but Andrea and I have been going to auditions.”
“Auditions?”
“For television commercials and print work,” she explained. “You know — catalogs, advertisements, that sort of thing.” She glanced over at Andrea, who was cuddling a fuzzy teddy bear, and smiled. “We’ve booked quite a few jobs.”
I was amazed. “You mean that’s where you go every day?”
Mrs. Prezzioso nodded. “Sometimes the auditions are at our agent’s office, but we often go directly to the production studios. It’s a rather demanding schedule.”
“I didn’t realize there were that many jobs for babies.”
“Oh, there are. Every Sunday paper has an advertising section featuring the current sales in the big department stores. They always need models. Then there are clothing catalogues, and television commercials selling baby food, diapers, and general family items. Not to mention all the products that use babies in their ads just for humor, like those tire commercials. Sometimes Andrea and I are on the road all day — mornings, too — just going from one audition or job to another.”
Mrs. Prezzioso was trying to sound very businesslike, but I could tell she was bubbling over with pride at how well her beautiful baby was doing.
Jenny had been quiet while her mother spoke. Finally she said, “Mommy, could I please go to the audition with you today? I promise I’ll be good. I’ll sit very still while you’re in the studio and I won’t say a word.”
I realized that Jenny had probably already gone along on a few auditions, at times when Mrs. Prezzioso couldn’t find a sitter.
“Please, Mommy? Oh, please, oh, please!”
Mrs. Prezzioso seemed touched by Jenny’s interest. “Well … all right,” she said. “If Mary Anne comes with us.”
I agreed. I thought it would be fun to see how actors are chosen for commercials. Maybe I’d even see someone famous!
Jenny made a miraculous recovery from her headache. She was standing by the front door before the rest of us had a chance to move. And she was so happy to be with her mother and sister that she burst into song the moment the car pulled out of the driveway.
“The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round, the wheels on the bus go round and round, all through the town.”
We sang all the verses of the song, including the ones about the baby crying, and the mother shushing it. Andrea giggled with delight and clapped her hands (though not exactly on the beat).
The talent agent’s office was in another town on this side of Stamford. I spotted it right away. I could see a steady stream of mothers and babies heading toward the big glass doors of an ultra-modern building.
We pulled into the parking lot and Jenny stopped singing. She knew it was time to get down to business. She sat quietly as Mrs. Prezzioso brushed Andrea’s hair and retied her bonnet, smoothed out Andrea’s tights and checked her hands to make sure they were spotless. No wonder Jenny was such a clean fiend. She learned it from her mother.
The Tip-Top Talent Agency’s offices were in the penthouse of the building. The four of us rode up in an elevator packed with other children and their moms or dads. It was a bizarre ride. The children didn’t act like regular kids at all.
Most stood quietly. One little girl, who looked five but sounded more like fifteen, was giving her mother instructions. “Now when they call my name, I want to go by myself. They like it better when I’m alone. Okay, Mother?”
Her mother, a tired-looking woman in a rumpled blue suit, nodded. “Fine, dear. I’ll stay in the waiting room.”
The doors opened into a huge carpeted waiting room filled with black-and-white striped couches and lots of big plants. Framed pictures of magazine ads and movie posters covered the walls.
“We have to check in,” Mrs. Prezzioso said. “Why don’t you two find a place for us to sit?”
I looked around the crowded room and wondered silently, where? The couches were taken, and the corners were filled with mothers and fathers clutching pieces of paper as they read dialogue with their kids. I chose a not-so-crowded corner for us. Mrs. Prezzioso explained that the slips of paper weren’t the full script, but only the kid’s parts. “They’re called sides,” she added.
I love being around kids, but watching this group gave me a weird feeling. None of them was playing. In fact, some of the children sat stiff as little automatons while their parents murmured instructions in their ears. Every now and then they would nod, without even looking at their mothers or fathers.
A woman named Joan, with bright red hair, big horn-rimmed glasses, dangling earrings, and a layered black outfit appeared at the receptionist’s desk. She held a clipboard in one hand. “Katie Collins, Kirk Enquist, Millicent Montague, and Tiffany Wells,” she announced in a loud voice. “You’re up.”
“Excuse me.” A distraught mother hurried to Joan. “Millicent really does better in a one-on-one situation,” she said. “Those other children, especially Tiffany Wells, will get in the way.”
Joan shrugged. “Millicent auditions with the other kids, or she doesn’t audition at all. Those are the rules.”
After a few final instructions from their parents, the four children whose names had been called filed through a door into another room. I got a glimpse of the room as Joan held the door open. It looked like a dance studio, with a shiny wood floor and lots of mirrors. Several adults were seated behind a long table at the far side of the room.
After the door closed, the receptionist, who looked like a model herself, made a general announcement. “When the kids are done, they’ll be seeing babies for the Yummy Tummy spot. If you’d like to look at the storyboard, I have it here at my desk.”
“What’s a storyboard?” I whispered to Mrs. Prezzioso.
“It shows what the television commercial will look like,” Jenny replied.
Mrs. Prezzioso smiled at Jenny. “That’s right, angel. It goes through the spot, frame by frame.”
Along with some other moms and babies, we walked up to the reception desk and looked at a piece of art board covered with rows of pictures, like a comic strip. “Here’s a close-up of the product, and this is a long shot. You see?” Mrs. Prezzioso pointed to one of the squares. “It shows the baby and the whole room. In this case the Yummy Tummy spot is basically about a baby eating Grandma Perkins Apple Dumpling baby food and getting it everywhere.”
I had to laugh. The artist had drawn a baby holding a spoon in one hand and rubbing her stomach with the other. Her face, nose, bib, and the entire kitchen seemed to be covered with blobs of baby food.
“How will Andrea audition for that?” I asked.
“Oh, they’ll probably put a bib on her and hand her a spoon, and then videotape whatever happens,” Mrs. Prezzioso replied. “Andrea loves the camera. As soon as she sees that red light, she comes alive.”
The receptionist, whose nameplate read Libby, s
queezed the toe of Andrea’s bootie. “And how does Miss Andrea feel about Grandma’s apple dumplings?”
Andrea answered with a bubbly giggle and a clap of her hands, which made everyone laugh.
“She’s adorable,” Libby said with a sigh to Mrs. Prezzioso. “An absolute doll.”
I caught the expression on Jenny’s face when Libby said that. She drooped. As we returned to our corner, several mothers stopped us to coo over Andrea.
“What a little princess,” one mother said. “And so well-behaved. Does she ever cry?”
Mrs. Prezzioso shook her head. “Almost never.”
A woman sitting nearby looked up from the magazine she was reading. “Yes, little Andrea is the darling of the industry.” She sounded bitter. “Why, I’ll bet she books nearly as many commercials as she auditions for.”
“One out of three,” Mrs. Prezzioso replied coolly.
I felt a little confused by all the show biz talk. “What does book mean?”
“It means that you’ve been hired for the job.” Mrs. Prezzioso hugged Andrea, who was examining the ribbon of her bonnet. “And Andrea is hired for quite a few jobs.”
I checked Jenny’s reaction. Again, she looked terribly sad. But she quickly put on a smile and patted Andrea on the back. “My sister is perfect.”
So that was it. Andrea was perfect, and Andrea got heaps of attention. Andrea was a baby star who made TV commercials, and modeled for magazines, and was showered with compliments from total strangers, while Jenny was just a regular little girl. She was feeling left out, and she’d decided that the best way to get some attention for herself was to be just as neat, clean, and perfect as her sister.
The door from the studio burst open and the girl named Millicent ran into the room, followed by Joan. “Mommy!” she cried. “I want to go home. They’re a bunch of meanies.”
“What’s the matter, dear?” Mrs. Montague cried, rushing to her daughter’s side.
Joan fixed Mrs. Montague with a stare. “We asked her to eat some of Grandma’s Kiddie Casserole and she refused. She said it made her want to throw up.”
“Millicent has a very delicate stomach,” her mother replied.
Joan blew out her cheeks in frustration. “Why didn’t you tell us that before the audition? You and your daughter have just wasted a great deal of precious time.”
“Come on, Millie,” said her mother huffily, ushering her daughter toward the elevator doors. “We don’t have to listen to her. That Grandma’s kiddie food is terrible. I wouldn’t have been able to eat it either.”
The director’s assistant didn’t seem to be fazed by Mrs. Montague’s comment. She shook her head, and then checked her clipboard. “All right, folks. It’s baby time and Andrea Prezzioso is on deck.”
While Jenny and I waited for Andrea to audition, I wondered what I would do in Jenny’s position. Would I try to compete with my sister, the way Jenny was doing, or would I just give up and get depressed? That was something to discuss with my friends. I couldn’t wait for our Monday afternoon BSC meeting. We had a lot to talk about.
“So the mystery is solved,” Claudia said. Our Monday afternoon meeting had begun, and she was passing around a bowl of potato chips and pretzels. “We finally know where Mrs. Prezzioso and Andrea have been going.”
“The mystery is solved,” I said, taking a handful of chips, “but not the problem. Jenny’s still Miss Priss. She’s going overboard staying clean and neat because she’s trying to compete with Andrea. She’s heard so many people call Andrea perfect, she’s starting to believe it — and to believe that looking perfect is the only way she’ll get any attention for herself, I think.”
Stacey dug in the bowl and pulled out a pretzel. “I had no idea the Prezziosos wanted to be in show business.”
“Mrs. Prezzioso does seem like the perfect stage mother,” Jessi said. She’s met more than one in the dance world, I guess.
“And remember how competitive she got when Andrea was in the baby parade?” Kristy added.
I frowned. “I wish Jenny would realize that she’s beautiful, too, and lots of fun to be around. I can see why it’s hard, though. People are always going to make a bigger fuss over a baby who giggles and coos than an older kid.”
Everyone nodded. We sat quietly, trying to think of a way to let Jenny know she was just as important and wonderful as Andrea.
Brrring!
The phone broke the silence so abruptly that we jumped.
“Yipes!” Claud shrieked.
All of us giggled, but Kristy laughed so hard that potato chips exploded out of her mouth. That did it. Nobody could answer the phone.
Brrring!
“You get it,” Kristy managed to gasp. She pointed at Stacey.
Stacey couldn’t even talk. She was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face. She just shook her head and pointed at Claudia.
Claudia stopped snickering long enough to yelp, “No way, José!” She motioned at me to pick up the phone, and her gesture knocked the bowl of chips onto the carpet. Of course, that made us laugh even harder.
Brrring!
This was getting bad. A client was calling and no one was answering. We gulped deep breaths of air, trying desperately to compose ourselves. Shannon recovered first and dove for the phone before it could ring again.
“Baby-sitters Club, this is Shannon Kilbourne,” she said in an ultra-formal voice, which set us all off again.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Prezzioso,” Shannon said, looking meaningfully at the group. Instantly, we quieted. “Yes, she’s here,” Shannon replied. “Would you like to speak to her?”
Shannon held the phone toward me. I put the receiver to my ear, hoping nothing was wrong.
“Hi, Mrs. Prezzioso,” I said. “Is Jenny all right?”
“Oh, she’s fine. In fact, she’s more than fine. She’s decided she would like to be a model, just like Andrea.”
Surprise, surprise. “Really!”
“And she seems to be very serious about it.”
“I think Jenny would make a wonderful model,” I said sincerely.
I saw the other members of the BSC, who were obviously listening to my side of the conversation, raise their eyebrows at each other.
“Why, thank you,” Mrs. Prezzioso replied. “Anyway, I’ve made an appointment for Jenny to have some head shots taken —”
“Head shots?” It sounded like some painful medical procedure.
“Photos for her portfolio,” Mrs. Prezzioso explained. “All models and actors need them. I’m sending her to Robert Gautier’s studio on Thursday. He did Andrea’s head shots. He’s wonderful.”
“That’s great.” I shrugged at the group. I wasn’t sure why Mrs. Prezzioso was telling me all of this.
“But I have a problem,” she continued. “Andrea got a callback for a national spot at the time of Jenny’s photo session. I really can’t cancel, since Robert is usually booked up weeks in advance. Would you mind staying with Jenny at the photo session while I take Andrea to the callback?”
Usually, when a client calls, we take down the information and then discuss it with the other BSC members to see who is available. But since I’d agreed to be Jenny’s semi-permanent sitter, I told Mrs. Prezzioso I’d do it.
“You’re an absolute dear,” Mrs. Prezzioso said. “I’ll see you at three-thirty sharp on Thursday.”
I hung up, and promptly filled my friends in on what Mrs. Prezzioso had said.
“Jenny is a natural for commercials,” Kristy said thoughtfully. “I’m surprised she didn’t think of it before.”
Claudia, who had managed to scoop most of the chips and pretzels back in the bowl and was now licking the salt off her fingertips, said, “This should solve Jenny’s problem. She and Andrea will both be successful models, so no more competing for attention.”
“You know, I’m not so sure about that,” I said, biting my lower lip anxiously. “I mean, what if she isn’t a success? Just because you’re pretty doe
sn’t mean you automatically get the job.”
I worried about Jenny for the rest of the meeting and on and off over the next three days. On Thursday, Mrs. Prezzioso drove us to Robert Gautier’s as planned. His studio was in this really wonderful old Victorian house.
The front parlor was stuffed with antiques and oriental rugs. It was gorgeous, but it looked inviting, too — not like a museum. Dressing rooms were under the stairs. While Mrs. Prezzioso checked in with the receptionist, I carried Jenny’s bags in from the car.
She had so much luggage, it looked as if we were moving in. I’m not kidding. I brought in a garment bag that held five changes of clothes for Jenny, a canvas tote filled with five pairs of shoes, a small overnight case holding brushes, face powder, hair ribbons, and gloves, and a shopping bag loaded with props — a plush teddy bear, a doll, and a stack of beautifully illustrated storybooks.
While I struggled to fit everything into one of the dressing rooms, Jenny nervously checked and re-checked her appearance in the hall mirror.
“All right, my angel. I’ve arranged everything,” Mrs. Prezzioso announced. “Just do what Mr. Gautier tells you and don’t forget to smile. We’re sure to get some lovely shots for your portfolio.”
I held Andrea so that Mrs. Prezzioso could hug Jenny. It wasn’t much of a hug. They both seemed overly concerned about mussing Jenny’s hair and clothes.
“Is there anything special you want me to do?” I asked Mrs. Prezzioso as she headed for the door.
“Just keep Jenny calm and I’ll see you in an hour.”
Calm? That would be a challenge. Jenny knew this afternoon’s session was a big deal, and she was nervous. To make matters worse, we had a ten-minute wait ahead of us. Jenny tried her hardest to sit still but ten minutes can be an eternity for a four year old. I tried to play a quiet game with her, but she couldn’t concentrate. She squirmed in her chair. Then she paced the room. She checked the mirror.
Finally, Robert Gautier strode into the room, looking as if he had just stepped off the deck of a cruise ship. He wore crisp white pants and a white polo shirt that showed off his incredible tan. Resting in his jet-black hair was a pair of designer sunglasses.
Mary Anne and Miss Priss Page 4