You should have seen the looks on their faces when my aunt smiled gently and announced, “My niece and I are delighted that you have offered to represent her as a model.”
Talk about a stunned silence. And it looked as if smoke was coming off of Hervé’s head – but that might just have been the light.
Suddenly a loud clapping pierced the still air. It was Miriam. “All right, everyone, get moving! We have a new girl and she has to be at Chanel in two hours. We don’t have one minute to waste! And, Hervé, you can be Axelle’s booker.”
My new status brought everyone to attention. I was quite probably a first for the agency, in that I hadn’t even been modelling for a day and already one of the world’s leading fashion houses wanted to see me. Actually, not just see me, but to actually try clothes on me!
“Let’s start with Axelle’s hair,” Miriam said, as she looked me over. “Hervé, get Victor on the line. She needs a cut.” I could hear some snickering about needing pruning shears. “And a bit of colour.”
“Yeah, but—” I tried to catch Hervé’s attention, but to no avail.
“And clothes, she’s got to wear something else. What is she wearing, by the way?”
“Oh my goodness! Those glasses! Quelle horreur! Call Docteur Douai now!”
“Yeah, but my glasses—” Again I was cut off.
“And shoes! We need to get her a pair of heels and she has to learn how to walk properly before seeing anyone.”
“And, Hervé, make sure you book a manicure and pedicure at Victor’s too!”
“Axelle, these are the numbers for the agency: this is Hervé’s and this is the general number. I’ll give you Miriam’s too, just in case.”
“Oh, and this is the address for your casting. It’s around the corner on the Rue Cambon. You’ll go with Ellie.”
I tried one last time to explain the truth about my hair and glasses – about the little secret I’d been keeping – but I wasn’t given a chance. With a last, “Au revoir et bonne chance!” I was pushed out the door.
Ellie laughed when she saw my look of shock and confusion. I followed her into the lift as I tried to make sense of what was happening. “Axelle, you didn’t seriously think the agency would send you on a casting without polishing you up a bit first, did you? Let me just tell you that no matter how gorgeous or stunning a girl is, when she signs up to be a model, she gets polished.”
“Yes, but what I’ve been trying—”
“Axelle, there are no buts. You have to have a makeover – or the fashion machine will spit you out before they’ve even had a proper taste.”
At that moment the first of two things happened. As we descended in the old-fashioned cagelike lift, Mr Leather Jacket whizzed past us on the stairs, stopping at the bottom to open the door for us. Catching my eye, he gave me one of his wicked smiles. Then, as I stood there grinning stupidly back, I could have sworn he paused for a second, almost as if he wanted to say something but then thought the better of it. Whatever. He turned quickly and left the building. As I pulled opened the large entrance door and looked out onto the busy street, I caught sight of him speeding off on a scooter.
Then, as I stood holding the door open for Ellie while she fished her phone out of her bag, the most gorgeous guy came heading directly towards me. I continued holding the door until he walked through it – not that he acknowledged me. He simply walked through and didn’t stop chatting on his phone until he saw Ellie, at which point he hurriedly put his phone away and stopped to greet her. Ellie introduced me and, with a vague look in my direction, he acknowledged my presence with a curt nod. They chatted for a moment and Ellie mentioned that Miriam had just taken me on as a new model. “Good luck,” he said as he turned to leave – and as he stepped away I heard him mutter, “You’ll need it,” under his breath.
As Ellie and I walked away from Miriam’s, she said, “Dom La Lune is gorge, isn’t he? He has the most amazing green eyes.”
“Is he from the La Lune family?”
Ellie nodded. “He’s Belle’s younger brother. He’s a photographer. He works a lot with Miriam’s agency. In fact, he’s on his way up to drop off some test shots he did for Miriam of a new girl. He told me his whole family is upside down because of Belle’s disappearance. I mean, who can blame them?”
I didn’t say anything else. And while I was excited that I’d just brushed shoulders with a La Lune, I’d have to get a lot further a lot faster if I wanted to crack this case before leaving on Sunday – or before the police solved it. I could only hope that the other La Lunes were easier to engage with.
“Sorry to distract you from your daydreaming, Axelle,” Ellie said, as she linked her arm through mine and pulled me in the direction of Victor’s, “but we have a lot to do before we go to Chanel. And, more importantly, you promised to explain to me why you need my help – and I want to hear everything because, whatever it is, you made it sound important and mysterious…”
I forgot all about Dom’s eyes and Mr Leather Jacket’s cryptic smile. Looking up, I let the sun hit my face for a moment. Even though I’d only just met Ellie, I instinctively knew I could trust her. So I told her about my desire to find Belle. I told her everything, starting with my being dispatched to Paris as punishment, as we made our way to Victor the hairdresser’s on the Rue du Mont-Thabor.
Standing at an exclusive-yet-discreet-looking doorway we rang the bell and waited until we were buzzed into an inner courtyard filled with potted trees of varying size and shape. On the far side of the courtyard was a glass door with a simple V etched into it. Large floor-to-ceiling windows were to the left and right of it. Music and laughter echoed round the courtyard walls. Victor himself came to the door to see me in; his curiosity was palpable. “Miriam says you are the next big thing!” he said loudly above the din of the hairdryers.
“Although,” he continued as he slowly looked me up and down, “I have to say, ma chérie, you’re actually more of a small thing. But, no matter – small can be beautiful. And it certainly will be by the time I’ve finished with you!”
I’d never been in a salon like Victor’s. It certainly made a change from the local hairdresser’s I occasionally (and grudgingly) visited at home. High ceilings and gilded mirrors gave the space an undeniably glamorous feel, yet Victor’s funky touch prevented things from becoming too elegant or stiff. His receptionist clucked round me like a mother hen before taking my jacket and helping me into a crisp white dressing gown. Then I was whisked away to sit behind the privacy screens at Victor’s station.
Just as I sat down, Aunt Venetia arrived – after sorting things out with Miriam, she’d come to oversee my transformation. “Victor, it has to look natural yet sophisticated, not too trendy but edgy,” she said.
“Yes, exactly,” Victor said, as he searched for the right brush to tackle my growth with.
“Before you start I have to tell you that my hair—” Once again I was cut off. Did anyone in fashion let anyone else speak?
“Axelle, this is no time to tell us about your hair. Victor’s the best, people are waiting, and we haven’t got much time,” Aunt Venetia said crisply.
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts!” Aunt V and Victor said in unison.
Frustrated, I ducked the brush Victor was about to take to my hair, slipped out of my chair, and dashed to the loo I’d spotted near the entrance. In one swift movement I jumped in, shut the door and turned the lock.
I took a deep breath then adjusted the light, turning the dimmer up as brightly as it would go. I wanted to take one last good look at myself. I’d been hiding behind my glasses and thick hair for so long that sometimes I forgot what I looked like underneath it all – not that Jenny ever did, but she was under oath. Anyway, I loved the anonymity my disguise gave me – after all, no one ever looks twice at girls with bushy hair and big glasses.
Slowly I took my glasses off and folded them, before setting them on the side of the sink. My eyesight was just as sharp without them – I’d never needed
glasses. Then I lifted my hands to my “hair” and gently searched through the teased mass for the clips I used to stick the extensions on with. Another couple of minutes and they were all out. Gently, I ran my fingers through my real hair. Soft and brown, it fell in jagged chunks to my shoulders.
“Hallo? Axelle? Petite chérie?” It was Victor knocking on the door. “We aren’t going to do anything drastic to you – promise! – we just want you to look your best!” Then, after a pause: “Your aunt and Ellie have left to pick you up some new clothes. Why don’t you step out and we’ll go over everything together. There’s no need to be frightened. I won’t do anything you don’t agree with. I promise.”
Taking another deep breath and a last look in the mirror, I gathered together my glasses and hairpieces. Then I opened the door and watched as Victor’s face registered the change. It would be an understatement to say I’d surprised him.
By way of explanation, I handed him what looked like a brown angora rabbit with glasses on top of its head. Then, without waiting, I walked past him.
“Ma chérie,” Victor said, once we were back at his station, “you’re the only girl I’ve ever met who intentionally disguised herself so that she looked worse than nature intended.”
“I had my reasons,” I said and left it at that. I wasn’t about to get into any explanations.
“Yes, well, it’s a surprise – but an enjoyable one,” he said, applying some kind of honey-brown-colour-gloss-shine-something-or-other to my scalp with what looked like a special plastic paintbrush. “Your hair is in good condition considering, and actually your cut is okay. Later Chrystelle will shape it a bit, but I like the jagged edges. It suits you to have hair that isn’t too pretty, if you know what I mean. You look good a bit boyish and wild. I’m adding a gloss to give it some shine and a touch of colour to darken the lengths a bit. That’s it.”
Victor is very tall and energetic. As his hands flew in all directions, working their magic on my hair, a steady stream of assistants came by, asking questions or seeking advice. According to Chic: Paris magazine, which my mother is forever quoting at me, Victor is nothing less than “the Hair Colour Oracle”. He is what is known as a colourist. Victor doesn’t cut hair – he only colours it. His was the first salon in Paris to specialize in colour alone. Ten years ago, Victor arrived in Paris, sixteen and penniless, and today is consulted by every A-list actress and top model in the world.
He was wearing a pink T-shirt with FIND BELLE scrawled across the front. On the back was a drawing of the famous “Feather Dress” she’d designed five years ago. As its name suggested, it had been made entirely of feathers. So great was its impact in turning fashion back from grunge to glamour that Italian Vogue had dedicated an entire issue to that dress alone.
“Do you know Belle well?” I asked Victor.
“Yes, ma chérie,” he answered. “She was one of my first clients and very young when we met – about fifteen or sixteen. I met her backstage at a La Lune show. I was there to put streaks of colour in the models’ hair. Pink, blue, and orange. Anyway, she wanted blue streaks – so I did them. You should have seen her mother’s face! Fiona, Belle’s mother, is very elegant and formal – she was not amused. But we were! I’ve been working on her hair ever since.
“In the beginning she would come to my flat when I did her colour – I had no salon then. I could barely afford my rent! Anyway, Belle is so sweet and so loyal, not only did she come to me but she sent every one of the models she worked with – she still does. Thanks to Belle, many top girls became my clients and friends. Then she started sending me the actresses who bought her designs. Of course, we started as friends, and that has carried on…” His voice began to quaver. “I just hope they find her…I hope she’s alive.”
“What do you think has happened to her?” I ventured.
“Ah, ma chérie, that is the question!”
“But surely there must be some theories about why she’s disappeared? Yesterday her brother Claude suggested that her disappearance is due to too much stress.”
“Humf!” he snorted, but he didn’t elaborate. In the mirror, I watched Victor. I couldn’t tell whether he was studiously ignoring me or just concentrating really hard on my hair.
“Maybe the stress of the business got to be too much for her and she decided she needed a break? Maybe she’s taken off to Mexico or Bali or something?” I persisted.
“Ma petite Axelle, you are very curious, non?”
“Yes – but it’s odd. Why would she disappear now, during Fashion Week? If she really disappeared for personal reasons then this is the worst time to do it. Any designer would instantly draw massive amounts of attention to themselves by disappearing at a time like this. So I can’t help but think that it isn’t just stress…despite what the family claims…”
As my probing didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere, I decided to change track with my questioning. “What wa— is she like?”
“Beautiful, talented, charming. And, like I said earlier, loyal and sweet. Everything you read about her is true.” Victor was now bending over me with a comb in hand. I watched as he carefully used the back of the comb to scrape off some of the goop on my hair. “Hmm…another two minutes and your hair will be more shiny and soft than since it first grew out of your head.”
“What about the rest of the family?” I asked, bringing him back to Belle.
Victor shrugged his shoulders. “The others I only know a little. Her mother, Fiona, is très chic and formal. Her oldest brother Claude is smooth and sophisticated – he does the company PR. And Rose, she’s a year or two younger than Claude, is in charge of the company’s accounting. Honestly, I don’t know her at all. Rose has always been the shy, awkward one in the family. Darius is number three – the sandwich child; very nice, also shy, and the family intellectual. He writes about fashion history. And then, of course, there’s Fiona’s favourite, Dom. He’s a photographer. Handsome – and he knows it.”
Dom’s green eyes came to mind. “Why is he his mother’s favourite? What about Belle?”
“Dom is Fiona’s favourite because he’s good-looking and charming – and the youngest. As for Belle, she’s always been her father’s favourite. Patrick La Lune has always believed she’s the most talented of his children. I’m sure if he wasn’t so ill – he doesn’t go out in public any more, he can hardly breathe let alone leave his bed – this never would have happened. He used to watch over her like a hawk. Anyway, despite their many differences, the family is very close – in any case, that’s the impression they’ve always given.”
“Impression? So you don’t think they really are close?”
Again Victor shrugged his shoulders. “They all live together in a large mansion.”
“Couldn’t living together make them less close rather than more close – I mean, them being so different and all…?”
Victor was ignoring me again. Why? As if in answer to my unspoken question, he said, “Ma chérie, you are too curious.”
“But I’d like to find her.”
That comment caught Victor off guard. He stopped moving his hands and looked into the mirror, catching my eye. He had an eyebrow lifted quizzically.
“I’m serious,” I said.
“Well, then, ma chérie, I must wish you courage.”
“Courage?”
“Yes, ma chérie, courage – and lots of it – because in order to solve this mystery, you’ll have to go up against a…”
I waited for him to finish his thought, but he didn’t. His lips were firmly shut.
“A what?” I asked.
“No, I’m sorry, ma chérie, I won’t say it. It’s only an old rumour – and, anyway, this isn’t the moment for such a dark matter,” he continued. “Right now we must concentrate on getting you ready for Chanel.”
Then he asked me to tilt my head back into the wash basin and began washing the colour-gloss out with the most amazing-smelling lemon-lavender shampoo (from his own brand). I shut my eyes and
let all kinds of questions float through my mind: What was he talking about? What old rumour? And why was it such a secret? Somebody else must know. Who?
“Voilà!” announced Victor, waking me from my reverie as he stepped in front of me. “Now we cut and dry your hair, then we must start make-up… Hmmm…although, first we must tackle those eyebrows of yours,” he said holding my chin in his hand and turning my face this way and that. Then he held out his hand like a surgeon at the operating table, and his assistant Maxi handed him a pair of tweezers.
“Ouch! Hey, that hurts!”
“Ma chérie, stop complaining. This thick monobrow isn’t doing you any favours – unless you like caterpillars. Today an eyebrow should be thick but tamed. Ah…like this!” he proclaimed finally, handing me a mirror. But I hardly had a chance to look before Victor began to apply the make-up and Chrystelle started trimming my hair.
I couldn’t wait to tell Jenny how little was painted on me. “As a model, there is no point in wearing much make-up – if any,” explained Victor. “Remember, the photographers, editors, and clients you will be meeting are all experts in beauty. They will be looking at your profile, bone structure, skin condition, teeth and smile – not your make-up. Hair is important too, of course.”
He was dabbing everything on by hand in light feathery movements. Apparently I didn’t need concealer or foundation. Instead, a light dusting of loose powder was brushed onto my face with a large, thick, pillow-soft brush. I shut my eyes and breathed deeply as the sable hairs flickered gently over my skin. Next, Victor dabbed a bit of Nars blush over my cheekbones. “The creamy texture of this blush looks soooo natural,” he cooed.
Suddenly a gust of spring wind burst through the opened door, blowing the sound of familiar voices over the top of the privacy screen.
“Just wait till you see what we’ve picked up for you!” It was Ellie. She and Aunt V had returned from their shopping trip. “You’re going to look amazing,” she gushed.
“I have to admit,” Aunt V added, “we were lucky. Now let’s try some of the stuff on. I think we should start with the Karl Lagerfeld jeans and the H&M jacket and top.”
A Crime of Fashion Page 5