A tall, incredibly thin man brushed past Crystal as she went into the studio. He seemed annoyed. Crystal turned to watch him storm down the stairs she had just climbed and into Jerry’s first-floor apartment.
“Oh, are you Crystal?” The voice from behind her had a slight English accent.
“Yes.” Crystal turned to see a young girl, near her own age, sitting astride a chair.
“I’m Alyce Winslow,” the girl said. “That mad, mad stork was my tutor. He’s quite annoyed that I don’t choose to learn anything about subjunctive clauses.”
She was the most exquisitely beautiful girl that Crystal had ever seen. The brown hair, disappearing behind her shoulders, framed a face that Crystal somehow remembered from story-books. She was the beautiful princess of every story that Crystal had ever read. Her eyes were blue but not the sparkling kind that Crystal had seen in some White models. Instead, they were incredibly calm and distant.
“I’m glad to be working this morning,” Crystal said. “I would have Geometry if I didn’t.”
“Do you go to school?” Alyce asked.
“You could call it a school,” Crystal said. “I’d call it a zoo.”
“Jerry told me you were beautiful, but I couldn’t imagine how you would look,” Alyce said. “I like to do that, to hear about someone and imagine how they might look.”
“How did you think I would look?” Crystal asked.
“Well, of course he said that you were Black, so I imagined someone darker,” Alyce said. “I thought of Iman, the African girl. I envy her neck. Then I thought you might look like one of the rock stars. But you’re quite special. You’re vulnerable.”
“Vulnerable?”
“It means that you look as if you can be hurt easily,” Alyce said. “Men like that sort of thing, I’m told.”
“I think you’re very attractive,” Crystal said.
“But I’m different than you, so we won’t be competing,” Alyce said. “We’ll work well together. I have a cold look. Men adore that in young girls.”
“Do you know what we’re doing today?”
“Probably nothing. The electricity’s not right or something and Jerry think’s he’s too upset to work. He’s already spoken to the account, and they’ve agreed to put off the shoot until next week.”
“Oh, he didn’t tell me that,” Crystal said.
“He’s upset,” Alyce said. “Have you seen Rowena?”
“No. Jerry said she’s here, though.” Crystal slid down the wall until she reached the floor.
“She’s slinking around in Jerry’s bathrobe.” Alyce smiled with her mouth, but her eyes didn’t change expression. “I’m supposed to work with her next Wednesday, but I don’t have to if I don’t want to.”
“For Jerry?”
“No, for Bob Stiller. Do you know him?”
“I don’t think so,” Crystal said.
“He’s fat and all hands, if you know what I mean. Rowena probably likes him.”
“Here she comes,” Crystal said, noticing Rowena bringing in a bowl of fruit.
“Hello, Rowena.” Alyce put her head to one side and smiled. This time her whole face lit up. Crystal wondered if her smile was as good as Alyce’s.
“Hi, Jerry said it looks like it’s really off,” Rowena said. “I mean, the stupid electricity! That kind of stuff really bugs me.”
“I was telling Crystal that I was looking for someone to work with when I shoot with Bob Stiller next Wednesday,” Alyce said. “I have to figure out who’s free.”
“I’m working with you,” Rowena said. “Jerry said it’ll be good for me to work in jewelry again.”
“The guy from the account said I could choose,” Alyce said matter-of-factly, as she rose from the chair, turned it around, and sat again. “I told him I didn’t like working with just anyone.”
“Oh?” Rowena looked at Alyce.
“The account doesn’t use Blacks, so that leaves Crystal out,” Alyce said. “Who do you think I should choose, Rowena?”
“Do you want fruit?” Rowena asked, holding out the bowl.
“Any bananas?” Crystal asked.
Rowena took a banana from the bowl and handed it to Crystal.
“Are you free Wednesday?” Alyce asked, turning to Crystal. “Maybe I could get the account to change his mind.”
“I—I don’t know,” Crystal said.
“Are you free, Rowena?” Alyce asked.
“You know I am,” Rowena said. “We were supposed to do the shoot together.”
“I could work with you; it might be nice,” Alyce said. “I would, too, if you would do me a favor. Would you?”
“What kind of favor?” Rowena asked. She sat cross-legged on the floor, answering without looking at the younger girl.
“Well, you see”—Alyce crossed her legs and looked over to where Crystal watched in fascination—“I was told that to be a really great model you had to experience all sorts of things that great women experienced. And I imagined that I was a queen of a faraway place….”
“I do that sometimes,” Rowena said, looking up. She was eating an apple, and the juice from it moistened her full lips. “Once I imagined I was a princess and—who was it?—oh, yes, Russell Crowe rescued me from the Huns or some other sort of bad guys. I was a princess and my mom was the queen. It was a neat dream.”
“I imagined I was a queen and my subjects came and asked me for bread,” Alyce said. “And, being a good queen, of course, I gave it to them. And then each of them curtsied to me three times in gratitude. I thought, in the dream, that it was a nice feeling. That if I could do it in real life, it could be useful if I ever got a job that needed that sort of feeling.”
“You want a job as a queen? You’re too young,” Rowena said. “You’d have to be a princess.”
“Rowena, if you do me a favor and curtsy to me three times, so I would know how it felt, I will do you a favor and work with you next Wednesday.”
Rowena didn’t move.
The windows of Jerry’s studio were covered with white sheeting. The morning sun, slanting through them, caught the dust in the air and made it shimmer. The soft light was becoming to Alyce as she sat, head high, almost motionless, in the chair.
Crystal pushed the peels of the banana together and held them as if the banana were again whole. Then, one by one, she let the peels fall, revealing the half-eaten flesh within.
“Rowena?” Alyce’s voice broke the stillness.
Rowena didn’t move.
Crystal, from the corner of her eye, saw Alyce’s head move. Crystal looked up to see Alyce looking at her and smiling. Then the girl turned away and spoke again.
“Rowena?”
Rowena got up and stood before Alyce. Crystal held her breath as Rowena curtsied slowly once, twice, and then a third time. Then Rowena turned quickly and picked up the fruit bowl.
“Want any more fruit?” she asked, smiling.
“No,” Crystal answered, not looking at her.
“Better save it for Wednesday,” Alyce said. “You know how long Bob takes in his shoots.”
Rowena took the fruit and left.
“Do you think that was cruel?” Alyce asked after Rowena had left.
“I don’t know,” Crystal said. “I mean, if it was really a dream…”
“I think it was,” Alyce said, smiling prettily.
“Darling”—George looked over Crystal’s head at her mirror image—“it’s not going to be easy to do you.”
“Do me?” Crystal wrinkled up her nose.
“Don’t wrinkle your nose, it’ll only lead to permanent wrinkles later on.”
“Okay.” Crystal forced a smile. She didn’t particularly like George. He always made her feel uncomfortable somehow, in a way that most older men didn’t.
George was in his late forties, perhaps even early fifties, Crystal couldn’t tell. He was a striking-looking man with silver-gray hair and sharp features. What made him look odd to Crystal, at least close u
p, was the fact that he always wore a powder base and eyeliner.
Crystal sat stiffly in front of the makeup table as George fluttered about her, carefully applying her makeup. First there was the liquid foundation that was slightly lighter than her skin color.
“You have good skin and it’ll last as long as you take care of it.” George put different-colored face powders on the inside of Crystal’s arms. “You’ll have trouble if you ever try to get a face-lift, though. You people scar easily.”
“I’m only sixteen,” Crystal said.
“It won’t last, believe me,” George said. He selected the powder he preferred and sponged the others off.
“That’s a different powder than I’ve been using,” Crystal said.
“Fashion Fair is very good,” George countered. “And it’s different than you’ve been using because Loretta wants you to be different than you’ve been.”
“How?”
“Keep still,” George said as he applied the translucent powder. “You’re going to be in your twenties tonight.”
Crystal watched in the mirror as George worked. He dusted her face very gently and then began applying highlighter. He worked slowly, stepping away from her now and again to see how he was doing.
“Don’t sweat,” George said as he wielded the small sponge he used. He highlighted Crystal’s cheekbones, blending the light powder carefully upward toward her temples, making her eyes appear slanted. It was a nice effect, making her look almost Asian.
“How can I keep from sweating?” Crystal said, without moving her face.
“Think about money,” George replied. “Money thoughts are very calming when you have the stuff.”
“How do you know I have money?” Crystal asked.
“Stop talking,” George said. “You have youth and you look delicious. It’s like having a blank check. You just have to decide how many signatures you’ll take. Lift your chin up.”
Crystal lifted her chin.
George did Crystal’s eyes with dark-brown eye shadow, making them look deeper, adding years to her face. There were touches of highlighter on her brows and deep gold on the lid itself.
The last bits of roundness from her face were taken out with contour shadow on her cheeks. Crystal hardly recognized herself in the mirror.
“Don’t be surprised,” George murmured. “Given a decent bone structure, and enough time, I can perform all sorts of little miracles.”
“I do look older,” Crystal said.
“Ssh!” George put on the lipliner and brushed on two shades of lipstick, a brown shade on her upper lip and a reddish-brown shade on her lower. Then he touched them lightly with gloss.
“You have wonderful lips,” he said.
“Thank you,” Crystal said. She stared at herself in the mirror. “Did Loretta—”
“Yes.” George answered Crystal’s question before she asked it. “Loretta asked me to make you up to look like a kumquat that’s just right for the harvesting.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that she believes in you, I guess,” George said. “And Crystal, do put your dress on carefully; it’s rather flimsy.”
The dress was an iridescent white wraparound with a togastyle neck. When the draped material was fastened by two small catches at the hip and waist, a slit exposed her left leg from mid-thigh. The hem was higher on the left, cutting from just above the left knee to just below the right. It was stunning.
“What do you think?” Crystal asked.
“If I were the type to be excited about such things,” George said, “I would be.”
“Do you mean that?” Crystal asked.
“Yes, I do.”
He produced white feather earrings, which he put on her.
“Hmmm, nice.” Crystal turned her head to see the earrings in the mirror.
“I see you’re getting in the mood for the evening’s festivities,” George said. “I think I have something else for you, too. Loretta didn’t say to have you wear this, but you simply must.”
George left the dressing room. Crystal looked at herself in the mirror again. She smiled as she realized that she couldn’t not look at herself. In the back of her mind, she had thought about George standing in the room as she took off her school clothes. He didn’t really count, she thought.
“Here, let me try this on you,” George said, returning.
It was a white cashmere stole, which George threw casually around Crystal’s shoulders. The material felt wonderful against her bare skin.
“Now, say ‘I am dee-vine,’” George said. “And mean it.”
Crystal smiled, her even white teeth just barely visible between her full lips. “I am dee-vine!” she said. And she meant it.
“Here, turn and take a good last look,” George said. “You can’t stare at yourself in public, you know.”
Crystal looked as George turned her gently by the shoulders.
Crystal Brown, she said to herself, you are divine.
The limousine was to take her to Fifty-seventh and Fifth, where she was to meet Sean Farrell at the Palm Court in the Plaza. The driver chatted amicably as they wound their way through the late-evening Manhattan traffic.
When the chauffeur opened the door of the limo in front of the Plaza Hotel and Crystal stepped out, she felt that all eyes were on her. A middle-aged man turned away from the woman he was with to look at Crystal and she saw the woman turn the other way as she passed them and made her way slowly up the stairs of the fashionable hotel.
She had been to the Palm Court before with Loretta for lunch. She walked slowly across the entrance lobby, aware that people were looking at her, probably wondering who she was.
“Crystal?” A short, heavyset man had crossed over to her and stopped her in front of the entrance to the Palm Court.
“Yes?”
“I’m Richard Sugarman, Sean’s manager,” the man said. “Loretta probably mentioned my name.”
“Yes,” Crystal said, not remembering the man’s name at all.
“Yeah, well, Sean was supposed to meet you for a drink in the Palm Court, but he really doesn’t want a drink so he figured the two of you could go straight over to the club, okay?”
“Oh, all right,” Crystal said. “Where is Sean?”
“He’s up in his room now,” Sugarman said. He looked Crystal up and down. “You’re really a good-looking girl.”
“Thank you.” Crystal smiled.
“Loretta said you were, but…” Sugarman shook his head. “Look, I’ll give Sean a call. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Crystal looked at her watch. It was eight-thirty; they had plenty of time. They weren’t supposed to be at the club until nine. She watched as Sugarman used the house phone. He spent three or four minutes on the phone, turning several times to look at her.
“He’ll be right down,” Sugarman said after he had hung up the phone and come over to where Crystal was sitting. He pulled a chair closer.
“We have time,” Crystal said.
“Yeah, sure.” Sugarman wiped the side of his face with his fingertips as he spoke. “How long you in this business?”
“A few months,” Crystal answered.
“Yeah, well, nothing wrong with that,” Sugarman said.
“Sean’s been in show business for a long time?”
“Yeah, you could say he was born in the business. His father did commercials and his mother was in about seven movies in this country, and she did the voices in two of them Godzilla movies.”
“Oh, maybe I’ve seen her.”
“Yeah, yeah, could be.” Sugarman’s hand went to his face again. “You know, you don’t look Black. I don’t mean there’s anything wrong with that…. But it’s probably easier if you don’t look too ethnic. You could be Chinesey or Hawaiian or African—something like that.”
“I guess.”
“Sean, he don’t like these arranged things, but it’s part of the business, you know.”
“That’s wh
at Loretta said.”
“Where do you live, the West Side?”
“Brooklyn.”
“I bet a nice-looking girl like you has lots of boyfriends,” Sugarman said.
Crystal looked away.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Sugarman said.
“I guess to some people it comes naturally,” Crystal said.
“Yeah.”
It was another fifteen minutes before Sean Farrell came down from his room and walked toward the front of the Plaza.
“Oh, look, there’s Sean now.” Sugarman jumped to his feet. “The car’s outside.”
Sean Farrell was shorter than Crystal had imagined him to be, but Loretta was right, he was beautiful. His eyes were a deep blue, almost sparkling. He wore a tuxedo that fitted him well. It was formal but, at the same time, he looked very comfortable in it.
“Well, I’m Crystal.”
Sean didn’t answer. He looked from her to Sugarman. “Did you tell her what side I wanted her on?” he said.
“No, er, look”—Sugarman shifted his weight from one foot to the other—“Crystal, we want you on Sean’s left side. Now, if you forget, he’ll just move you to that side. Now, if they’re taking pictures of the two of you, he’ll be on your right and they’ll take pictures from the right side. Now, I don’t want pictures of you two together.”
“What? I thought that was the idea—”
Sean turned away.
“I mean you’ll be together but not touching. There should be a few inches between the two of you. That way any pictures come out good for both of you. You know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean,” Crystal said. She remembered Loretta saying that Sean would try to outshine her. She had expected something a bit more subtle.
“Try to keep this in mind, now,” Sugarman continued. “There’ll be no standing-still pictures. If the two of you are standing still and you see a photographer coming toward you, just walk away. Or Sean’ll walk away from you.”
Crystal glanced at Sean, who was staring out the door. She wondered if he was wearing shoes with high heels. She glanced down as Sugarman went on.
“And Crystal, don’t touch his face. He really doesn’t like his face being touched. So don’t put your hands on his face, and don’t, you know, kiss him. If you want to touch him, you can touch him on the arm or on the hand. I don’t mean holding his hand, just touching it.”
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