Taming Mariella by Dara Girard Page B

fat hanging all around your middle. Honey, get out of modeling and become an actor. They have things called ‘cattle calls’ and you’ll fit right in.”
    The reed-thin girl raced past Mariella in tears.
    “Do you have to be so harsh?” Gen asked.
    Donna turned to her ready to give her a harsh reply then censored her words in case they were possible business contacts. “It’s better to be harsh now than having her sit at home waiting for a photo shoot that will never happen. What do you want?”
    “We’re here about the Flash photo shoot,” Gen said.
    “Oh, yeah. I’ve got a few girls in mind.”
    “But we’d agreed to hold an open call,” Mariella said.
    “We’ll do that too, maybe. Give me a few minutes then we’ll get to business.” She turned to her assistant. “Call in the next one.”
    Another girl entered with more confidence than the last.
    Donna looked her over. “Her breasts are uneven. Get me someone symmetrical. I’m not trying to sell a Picasso painting.” She pointed at the girl. “Get those fixed and I’ll be able to use you. Next!”
    Watching Donna brought back the harshness of the business for both Gen and Mariella. Being attractive wasn’t enough. You had to be photogenic and have perfect bone structure. A job could fall through for no reason. You could be hot one moment and not the next. A world that showed such glamour had an underbelly of drug use, eating disorders, cold agents, money problems and fierce competition.
    At last Donna had completed her strange weeding out process and sat down with Mariella and Gen at a small round table set off to the side.
    “Heard you were dropped from Desire,” she said to Mariella. “Anti-aging is still big. We could have you sell facial creams.”
    “I’m not interested.”
    “Probably best. Blacks don’t sell anti-aging creams well.” She turned to Gen. “It’s like having you sell eye shadow,” she said referring to Gen’s nonexistent upper lid.
    When Mariella opened her mouth to reply, Gen quickly rested her hand on her arm to stop her.
    Donna continued talking. “You know if you considered surgery you might get your career back on track. Get those eyes widened and you could pass for say Native American or Latina. With your skin tone you could pass for a lot of things and that will work in your favor. I’m not making any promises, but you can think about it.”
    “Right,” Gen said.
    “We didn’t come here as models,” Mariella said, trying desperately to hold back what she really wanted to say.
    Donna shrugged. “Hey, just in case the photography thing doesn’t go as you plan, I’m just laying out some options.”
    “Well, I think your options—”
    “Are something we’ll think over,” Gen finished, sending Mariella a pleading look.
    “You do that,” Donna said. “Now I’ll take care of the hiring and paperwork. You can leave everything to me. You’re just the photographer. I was hired to get the models for you.” She smiled without warmth or sincerity. “Think of yourself as the technicians.”
     
     
    “Fire her,” Mariella said to Josh as he finished his lunch.
    Josh stared at her with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “What?”
    “You heard me. She has to go.”
    “Who?”
    “Donna Anderson. I will not work with her. Is that clear?”
    “But Ian said—”
    “Then he’ll have to work with her because I will not.” She stormed away.
    Josh lowered his sandwich, his appetite gone, then picked up the phone. He dialed Ian’s number and when he picked up said, “You’d better get down here fast.”

Chapter 9
     
    T he next day the puma struck at noon. He stalked his prey in the Magnolia Midlands in southeastern Georgia among the scent of honeysuckle and the sound of cranes landing on the lake’s calm waters. His prey was unaware of his presence; the chaos of the shoot preoccupied her thoughts.
    Mariella remembered her modeling days—scurrying here and there, impossible quick-outfit changes,