Water's End

by Jessica Deforest

  "Don't worry. You don't need them. You look great just the way you are, with your hair straight like that."

  Reluctantly, she took him back to the fort, parting from him with a kiss that kept her warm all the way home. After that, they began seeing each other after work, going to the post theater for a movie or the PX cafeteria for dinner, whatever they could afford. His GI salary wasn't much, nor was her civilian pay, but they had fun.

  Weekends, they hiked on the northwest side of the post near the Hunt Lodge, an officer's club annex built in the twenties when officers and their ladies rode to hounds. Now it was used occasionally for parties. They kept to the road, but even then had to watch for the rattlesnakes and copperheads that were so plentiful in the area.

  Anne's attorney had advised her against seeing anyone until the divorce went to court, so they didn't stray far from the post, or else they went out of town.

  Fort Leavenworth was just across the street from the town of Leavenworth, but it might just as well have been a thousand miles away. Lots of town people worked at the fort, but they went home at the end of the day, leaving the place to the military who lived there, so Anne and David didn't have to worry much about gossip. No one saw them together except for David's friends, and they were a close-mouthed group.

  The first of February, when David was paid, they decided to dress up and drive to Kansas City to have dinner and go nightclubbing. An early Valentine's Day celebration, David called it.

  After work, Anne hurried home and squeezed into a black, long-sleeved sheath that fit like a second skin. As she was putting on her makeup, the doorbell rang, and David stood at her front door, looking handsomer than ever in a charcoal suit with a blue button-down shirt and charcoal knit tie.

  His eyes lit up when she opened the door. "Nice dress."

  "I finally made it into a size four." She twirled around. "And if I'm careful, I can just manage to breathe, as long as I don't inhale too deeply and break this zipper. And you," she said, "look good enough to hug."

  She threw her arms around him, and then stood back for another look at him. "We're so cute, I don't know if the world is ready for us."

  Anne liked the attention she was getting now that she had lost so much weight. In the fall she had been a chubby size fourteen, a plump mouse with glasses, and she felt invisible. It was as if no one could see her; they all looked right through her or past her, but not at her.

  These days she seldom wore her glasses, except when she just had to, only when driving or reading. And she was slim and had copper hair. Not only was she visible, but with a vengeance, and she loved it.

  Throwing on their coats, they piled into David's red Oldsmobile convertible, which he had driven back from California after Christmas, and set off for the city.

  "Let's go to the nightclub first," Anne said.

  "After dinner at Oscar's."

  "I've always wanted to go there," she said. "Can we afford it?"

  He nodded. "If we get the small steaks."

  Oscar's was in the middle of Kansas City's stockyards, and though the food was good, she wondered if it was worth the trip, because of the awful stockyard smell. Fortunately, the odor wasn't too bad that night because it was still cold out. The dinner was superb, and she had never tasted better beef. Now she knew why the restaurant was well known throughout the region.

  After dinner, they went to the First Circle, one of Anne's favorite spots. Extremely avant-garde, the nightclub's main lounge had what looked like human arms holding candles on the walls. The arms were plastic but looked real, as if zombies had broken through the plaster.

  Lights shone through the glass-brick dance floor, pulsating and changing colors to the beat of the music. Furthering the effect, each waitress wore an abbreviated devil's costume in red satin, with a cigarette lighter at the tip of the tail to light customer's cigarettes.

  The atmosphere amused them, but what Anne and David went there for was the band, Artie's Rangers. They could play "Night Train" better than any group she had ever heard, but it was their rendition of “Misty” that grabbed her heart when she and David began to dance. Wrapped in his arms, head on his shoulder as they swayed to the music, she knew the lyrics echoed exactly what she felt.

  Before she could say anything, David said, "Listen, darling, they’re playing our song." "Misty" had been popular for some time, and each time she heard it, Anne would remember that magical evening.

  Next they went to the Louisiana room, with its tiny tables jammed together, to literally rub elbows with tipsy strangers and hear the best jazz in town. Finally, they stopped for a nightcap in the Airline Lounge, a small bar decorated to look like the interior of a jetliner. Anne loved it and pretended they were off to some exotic foreign city together.

  "Psst," David said, leaning toward Anne. "Don't look now, but we're getting more attention. Those people over there can't seem to take their eyes off us."

  "Of course they can't," Anne said. "It's because we're so gorgeous. Folks have been looking at us all evening. God, we're disgustingly vain. Isn't it fun?"

  She looked over at the couple, a handsome grey-haired man, expensively dressed, with a striking blonde in a white wool dress.

  As if on cue, the two came over to their table. "Excuse me," the man said, "but I just wondered. Are you two in the fashion industry?"

  Anne blushed, and David stammered, "No. No we're not."

  "Would you like to be?" the man asked. "Excuse me; that must sound pretty hokey. I'm sorry. My name is Chris Beckwith," he said, "I own Beckwith Modeling Agency. This is my friend, Kitty Patrick. May we join you?"

  "Certainly," David said, pulling a couple of chairs over to their table.

  "Let me buy you a drink," Chris said. Then he said an unfamiliar French word that sounded throaty and romantic. "Okay?"

  David, who didn't understand either, nodded dumbly.

  Anne wasn't sure what the man ordered but was pleased when the waiter brought champagne. It tasted wonderful, and the bubbles tickled her nose. She had never tasted champagne before. The big bottle had a couple of French words on it that Anne took note of, because she figured it was probably quality stuff.

  She noticed Chris's gold cufflinks and watch, and the expensive shoes he wore. Kitty's dress had probably cost more than Anne made in a week, maybe even two weeks.

  Chris fished around in his breast pocket. "I think you two might work out well as models. Why don't you see a photographer and have some composites shot, and then come see me. Here's my card."

  David scratched his head. "Composites?"

  Chris smiled. "A special photograph models use in their portfolios. It's an inexpensive print with several different poses on it and a little information about you. So clients can tell something about the different fashion types you can portray. Any good photographer will know how to do it."

  "But we both work full time," Anne said. "At Fort Leavenworth. David's in the army, and I'm a DAC."

  Chris looked puzzled. "A what?"

  "Sorry, that's slang for a Department of the Army Civilian."

  "I like DAC better," Chris said. "It's easier to say."

  Anne laughed.

  Chris continued, "You can work weekends, evenings, part time, whatever is best for you. I'm sure I can get you all the work you want. Just ask Kitty here. She's my prize client."

  "He's the best, kids, simply the best," Kitty said, smiling a million-watt smile.

  Anne wondered how much it had cost to have all her teeth capped.

  Chris finished his glass of champagne, took Kitty's hand, and stood up. "It's been a pleasure meeting you two. Let me hear from you."

  They stopped by the coat-check room, where he slipped a blond mink coat over Kitty's shoulders. It just matched her hair. Then they glided out the door to a turquoise Cadillac parked at the curb.

  Anne and David sat for a moment or two in silence.

  Finally Anne spoke. "Wow," she said. "Look at the tip he left."

  "And he left
us the rest of the champagne. I don't dare drink any more or we won't get home. Let's take it with us and finish it at your house."

  "Okay," she said.

  "You think he's for real?"

  "With that jewelry, and that woman, and that car, I'd say he's for real."

  "We'd better make an appointment with a photographer."

  Chapter 8

  The call came a couple of weeks later, while she was at work. "Anne?" a woman asked, and without pausing, said, "This is Janet at the Beckwith Agency."

  "Who?" Anne had never heard the voice before, nor did she recognize the name of the company.

  "The Beckwith Agency. We received your composites and Mr. Beckwith would like to see you."

  "Oh. Yes, yes. When should I come in?"

  "Can you make it tomorrow at ten o'clock?"

  "Fine. Where are you located?"

  "We're in the O'Connell Building, forty-fifth and Broadway. Our offices are on the fifteenth floor, suite 1501. That's on the Missouri side," she said, referring to Kansas City, Missouri, which was across the river from Kansas City, Kansas.

  "Thank you for your call. See you tomorrow." Anne hung up in a daze. She had a lot of work piled up on her desk, but if she pushed it, she could finish up by the end of the day. "Betty," she called across her desk, "is it okay if I take tomorrow off?"

  "If your work is caught up and you have plenty of annual leave, why not?" Betty turned to Sergeant Traynor. "Come on, Ardelle, let's go down to the vault." The two women took their time, chatting as they strolled down the hallway.

  "David," Anne said, "the Beckwith Agency just called me to come in tomorrow."

  "Wow. Congratulations, babe."

  The piles on Anne's desk looked forbidding, but the only way to get through them was to get started, and now. So she began sorting through papers and assigning priorities. When she finished, she realized there wasn't as much to do as she had thought.

  David's phone rang. "Sure," he said into the receiver, a huge smile on his face. "See you then," he said and hung up. "Anne, that was the Beckwith Agency. They want to see me too, at ten-thirty. I'm off tomorrow, so you can ride down to the city with me."

  Anne hugged herself. "Wow. Do you realize what this can mean?"

  "Money. Lots of it."

  Giggling, she held her wrist dramatically to her forehead, posing like an old-time movie star. "Fame, fortune, the movies?"

  "Face it, babe, we're stars."

  That night she had trouble sleeping. She had to admit she was surprised the agency called; her composites hadn't looked like much to her. In fact, she thought it an understatement when the photographer told her the photos didn't do her justice.

  "Your cheekbones are broad and you're so fair that the light doesn't bounce off your face right," he said. "The camera loves certain types, and they don't even have to be pretty. It has to do with the light. Your coloring is lovely, but the camera doesn't begin to pick it up.

  "Although you're a pretty girl, you're not meant to do photography work," he said. "Don't let it get you down, though. You're tall and slim, so there are other things you can do, like runway modeling for fashion shows."

  She accepted his verdict, knowing in her gut he was right, but she was disappointed, even though she should have known. She'd never taken a good picture in her life. Somehow she thought a professional would know how to photograph her so she'd look good. Heads turned wherever she went, so she knew she was attractive. Why couldn't the camera think so too?

  David's composites, on the other hand, astounded her. Every photo on the page made him look like a movie star. There wasn't a bad angle or shot in the bunch. She especially liked the one of him seated at a drafting board, T-square in hand and a big smile illuminating his face.

  The next morning, she put on her makeup with great care and decided to wear a new emerald-green wool sheath. David rang her doorbell as she tried to get the zipper up.

  "Darn this thing," she yelled, tugging at the waistline.

  The doorbell rang a second time and she ran to open the door, tugging at the zipper as she went. No matter what she did, it wouldn't budge, and she muttered under her breath as she opened the door.

  David was no sooner across the threshold when she closed the door behind him and turned her back to him, hands on her waist.

  "Help," she said. "This dumb zipper won't work, and I'm so nervous I could, I could . . ."

  "Hey, little girl," he said, "cool it." Cradling her neck in his strong hands, he rubbed the tension away. Before she could pull away, he traced a line down her bare back, raising goosebumps from her neck to her knees.

  Seeing his effect on her, he zipped her up, and then turned her around to face him. "Sorry," he said. "Sometimes you're just too delectable. Do you have any idea how elegant your back is? This is the first time I've seen it. That soft curve from the nape of your neck to your waist puts me away."

  He kissed the tip of her nose. "Actually, taken individually, every part of you is delicious. And the sum of the whole is even greater." With a kiss on her eyelids, he said, "Who says love is blind?"

  "David," she said. "Will you stop that? It's eight o'clock in the morning, we have less than an hour to make it into downtown Kansas City, and all you can think about is love."

  "What's wrong with that?" he said, pretending to ward off a punch.

  Anne grabbed her coat and purse. "Come on, now, you silly galoot."

  "What did you call me? Is that some kind of special Kansas word or something? You folks shore talk funny in these here parts."

  She pointed to the door. "Enough. Out the door. Now."

  During the drive to the city, she fidgeted, fumbled with her purse, and straightened her hose several times.

  By the time they finally sat down in the Beckwith Agency's waiting room, she began to calm down, so she was less giddy when the secretary called her name and led her into Chris Beckwith's office.

  The big room was even more luxurious than she thought it would be, all tan leather and walnut against a backdrop of palest ivory. The raw-silk drapes alone probably cost more than everything in her house put together.

  Chris leaned across a walnut Queen Anne desk to shake her hand. "So glad you could make it," he said. "We'd like to represent you. I'm going to ask you to sign a contract with us. I think you show great promise as a runway model."

  "Photographic work isn't my thing, is it?" she said.

  "The camera isn't good to many people. About 80 percent, in fact, don't photograph well. That's why print models are paid so much. But don't worry. You can still earn additional income doing fashion work evenings and weekends. Who knows, you may decide to do this full time. Let's see how you work out."

  Handing her a sheaf of papers, he said, "Here, read this carefully; my secretary will take it when you've signed it. Oh, and I've set up an appointment for Kitty to coach you. She'll give you some tips on how to showcase the clothes and glide that runway."

  Anne went back to the waiting room while David went into Chris's office. She tried to read the papers. They were all in legal double talk, but she trusted Chris, so she signed the papers and gave everything to the secretary.

  Soon David came out, smiling broadly, with his own set of papers. "Looks like we made it, kid," he said, signing his name.

  Anne jabbed him in the side. "Aren't you going to read your contract?"

  "Did you read yours?"

  "Uh, well, I . . ."

  "Just as I thought." Handing the papers to Chris's secretary, David gestured to the door. "Let's hit the Country Club Plaza for lunch. Time to celebrate."

  Chris's secretary, whose thick glasses made her look like a giant fly, stared wistfully after them.

  The following Saturday, Anne spent the day with Kitty Patrick.

  "Look," Kitty said, "I want you to get your feet straighter; plant each one right in front of the other. No, don't turn out the way a ballet dancer does. Straight. That's it."

  She pushed back on Anne's chi
n. "Now get that head up. Pretend you have a string that goes right through the middle of your skull, pulling it up toward the ceiling. Shoulders back, and tuck those hips under."

  Kitty walked around behind Anne. "Not that you've got any fanny at all, lucky girl."

  "You know, this is not as easy as I thought it would be," Anne said, stretching her weary back. "I can do everything you tell me, as long as I don't have to do it all at once. When I tuck in my behind, I forget to turn in my feet."

  "Don't worry, you'll get so you do it all the time. It'll be second nature. Come on out here in the hall now. We're going to practice stairs. Go up top there. Now, when you come down, the trick is not looking at your feet. Look out at the audience. And don't swing your arms.

  "Yes, that's more like it" Kitty said. "If you kick back and touch the next step with your heel you won't have to worry about falling. You'll be able to locate the step better."

  By the end of the day, Anne felt she had made real progress. "Maybe this isn't as hard as I thought it was."

  "You sure you haven't done this before?" Kitty asked. "You've learned really fast, and you're looking great."

  Anne was happy with her progress. "I've never modeled, but I was in every school play we had, so I guess being onstage doesn't scare me."

  "Good thing, because we have a show for you next weekend. You'll do the Wendy West collection." She handed Anne a sketch map. "Here are directions, the name of the contact person there, and my number."

  Kitty patted her on the shoulder. "Call if you have any questions or problems. You know which shoes and accessories to bring. And you should have extras, too. You never know what will happen during a show. Heels break, necklaces come unstrung. It's good to be ready just in case."

  That evening, Anne could hardly wait to tell David all about her day. But more important, she wanted to hear about his photo shoot.

  "Boring, dull, tedious. And those lights are hot," he said. "But the money is great. I made more in two hours than the army pays me in a month."

  "I don't make that much doing runway, but it's still worth the drive. And I get to keep the clothes from the Wendy West show."