amongst themselves in whispers, as curt and intense as Marines about to go into battle.
A skinny girl holds up a blouse.
“This?”
A squat woman with bangs says, “Too much cleavage.”
The girl holds up another.
“This?”
“Lovely,” says an Asian woman with a British accent, and the blouse is pulled onto Bitsy and buttoned.
A skirt is offered.
“Too hot for her,” says a towering blonde in a jumpsuit and boots.
Bitsy knows this is not a reference to the weather.
Finally she is dressed and the skinny girl gets down on her knees and tries at least five pairs of shoes before the others grunt their approval.
The platoon of women withdraw, leaving only the girl to take care of emergencies.
Then it’s the turn of the make-up artist and her assistant, who shove Bitsy down at the vanity and proceed to scrub and smear and tweezer and preen, finally forcing her to pout while greasy lipstick that tastes unpleasantly like burnt toast is applied to her lips.
Finally, primped and painted and dizzy with perfume and nerves, Bitsy is led through to the living room of the suite where Gordon stands with Jane Cooper and a very tall , dark-haired man with a dazzling smile.
Jane says, “Lizzie, you look fabulous.” She points at the big man. “I’d like you to meet my boss, Jonas Blunt.”
Blunt takes her hand in both of his and says, “Enchanted. Let me say how delighted we are to have you join our stable.”
As if he’s talking to a brood mare.
Bitsy mumbles something and then she’s seated on the couch with Jonas Blunt beside her, reeking of some cloying aftershave.
He flaps a wad of paper before her eyes and she hears something about movie rights.
She blinks up at Gordon, shaking her head.
“We’ve talked it through, Bits— Lizzie ,” Gordon says, “and you should go ahead and sign.”
Jonas hands her a fancy fountain pen and she signs the document and he smiles even more broadly as he takes it from her and slips it into a very slim leather briefcase.
“ Now if you’ll excuse me,” he says, rising, “I’m going down to the lobby to meet the first journalist.”
Jane points to a pair of chairs facing one another.
“Sit here, Lizzie,” she says, drawing one of the chairs away from a low table that holds a simple flower arrangement. “Do you need anything? Water? Coffee?”
Divine intervention , Bitsy thinks but shakes her head and says, “No, thank you, Jane. I’m fine.”
“Gordon and I will be in the bedroom watching everything on a monitor,” Jane says. “Jonas will introduce you to Petula Montclair from The New York Times and then leave the two of you alone. Okay?”
“Okay,” Bitsy says, wanting to yell and make a mad dash for the door and freedom.
But she stays in her seat when Jane and Gordon disappear into the bedroom and conjures the smiling face of Daniel Quant.
She tries to slow her breathing but feels close to hyperventilating when Jonas Blunt returns with a very severe -looking woman with a gray hair.
Rising to meet her, Bitsy is sure she looks as stricken as the proverbial bunny in the headlights.
28
Perched on the edge of the huge bed, Jane Cooper seated beside him, Gordon watches the TV monitor that a kid who looked like he was still in high school had lugged in a few minutes before the first journalist arrived.
The kid, a nerd from Jane’s office, set up a webcam in the front room of suite (positioned to be invisible to the media people) which beams picture and audio through to the bedroom, where Gordon and Jane watch.
“We’ll also record all the interviews straight to hard drive,” Jane told him when they came into the room. “It means we can challenge any inaccuracies in the media.”
Gordon, dry mouthed, stares at the monitor, watching Bitsy shaking hands with the journalist, Petula Montclair, who wrote the glowing review of Ivy , praising it’s “post-feminist, post-modern, post-everything” take on the female psyche.
How in
A skinny girl holds up a blouse.
“This?”
A squat woman with bangs says, “Too much cleavage.”
The girl holds up another.
“This?”
“Lovely,” says an Asian woman with a British accent, and the blouse is pulled onto Bitsy and buttoned.
A skirt is offered.
“Too hot for her,” says a towering blonde in a jumpsuit and boots.
Bitsy knows this is not a reference to the weather.
Finally she is dressed and the skinny girl gets down on her knees and tries at least five pairs of shoes before the others grunt their approval.
The platoon of women withdraw, leaving only the girl to take care of emergencies.
Then it’s the turn of the make-up artist and her assistant, who shove Bitsy down at the vanity and proceed to scrub and smear and tweezer and preen, finally forcing her to pout while greasy lipstick that tastes unpleasantly like burnt toast is applied to her lips.
Finally, primped and painted and dizzy with perfume and nerves, Bitsy is led through to the living room of the suite where Gordon stands with Jane Cooper and a very tall , dark-haired man with a dazzling smile.
Jane says, “Lizzie, you look fabulous.” She points at the big man. “I’d like you to meet my boss, Jonas Blunt.”
Blunt takes her hand in both of his and says, “Enchanted. Let me say how delighted we are to have you join our stable.”
As if he’s talking to a brood mare.
Bitsy mumbles something and then she’s seated on the couch with Jonas Blunt beside her, reeking of some cloying aftershave.
He flaps a wad of paper before her eyes and she hears something about movie rights.
She blinks up at Gordon, shaking her head.
“We’ve talked it through, Bits— Lizzie ,” Gordon says, “and you should go ahead and sign.”
Jonas hands her a fancy fountain pen and she signs the document and he smiles even more broadly as he takes it from her and slips it into a very slim leather briefcase.
“ Now if you’ll excuse me,” he says, rising, “I’m going down to the lobby to meet the first journalist.”
Jane points to a pair of chairs facing one another.
“Sit here, Lizzie,” she says, drawing one of the chairs away from a low table that holds a simple flower arrangement. “Do you need anything? Water? Coffee?”
Divine intervention , Bitsy thinks but shakes her head and says, “No, thank you, Jane. I’m fine.”
“Gordon and I will be in the bedroom watching everything on a monitor,” Jane says. “Jonas will introduce you to Petula Montclair from The New York Times and then leave the two of you alone. Okay?”
“Okay,” Bitsy says, wanting to yell and make a mad dash for the door and freedom.
But she stays in her seat when Jane and Gordon disappear into the bedroom and conjures the smiling face of Daniel Quant.
She tries to slow her breathing but feels close to hyperventilating when Jonas Blunt returns with a very severe -looking woman with a gray hair.
Rising to meet her, Bitsy is sure she looks as stricken as the proverbial bunny in the headlights.
28
Perched on the edge of the huge bed, Jane Cooper seated beside him, Gordon watches the TV monitor that a kid who looked like he was still in high school had lugged in a few minutes before the first journalist arrived.
The kid, a nerd from Jane’s office, set up a webcam in the front room of suite (positioned to be invisible to the media people) which beams picture and audio through to the bedroom, where Gordon and Jane watch.
“We’ll also record all the interviews straight to hard drive,” Jane told him when they came into the room. “It means we can challenge any inaccuracies in the media.”
Gordon, dry mouthed, stares at the monitor, watching Bitsy shaking hands with the journalist, Petula Montclair, who wrote the glowing review of Ivy , praising it’s “post-feminist, post-modern, post-everything” take on the female psyche.
How in
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