this?” I asked, giving up and pulling the fake pearl earrings off my ears.
“I pretend I’m elsewhere,” she said. “For a few minutes someone has power over me, and in my thoughts I just leave. I learned the trick early in life.” A metallic quality crept into her voice, and I knew what she was remembering.
Huene, ignoring us, became angry in earnest as he rummaged through the trunk his assistant had set up for that day’s shoot. Red satin shoes, rhinestone tiaras, an old-fashioned corset, all went flying.
“Numskull,” he yelled at his assistant, a nameless and easily cowed young man with slightly crossed eyes. “Where is the Chanel bag? It must be shown with the next ensemble!”
“They didn’t send it over,” he said.
“Then go get it!” Huene’s hair was standing on end. “Do you think I have all day? No, wait. I need you here. You.” He turned and pointed at me. “You go get it. This isn’t a playground. Here, we work. Twenty-nine, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. You can find it? Go. Run. Tell the housekeeper Huene has sent you for the new red bag and she is to give it to you.”
Lee, grinning, handed me my coat and hat. “Don’t worry,” she said. “He will tip you for the errand. Well. I’ll see to it.”
I ran all the way to the Champs-Élysées, not stopping till I came to the corner of rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, where I paused for a second to catch my breath and smooth down my hair. I knocked at number twenty-nine, and a little maid opened the door and showed me into a hallway painted beige and white, no hint of color or pastel.
“Yes?” A young woman, but very beautiful, very stylishly dressed in a jacket and trousers and a string of pearls wound many times around her throat, came into the hall. “Coco is not here. What do you want, please?”
“Monsieur Huene sent me, from Vogue . He says the red bag was not sent with the clothes for the shoot.”
“Ah. I will see if I can find it.” She smiled at me and left. I took a few steps forward and looked into the room on my immediate right. It was painted in beige and chocolate, and the sofas and chairs were upholstered in white. The windows at the end of the room looked over a manicured garden that stretched all the way to the next street. Because it was February, the garden was all brown and white, like the apartment. I wished I could see it in the summer, see what roses bloomed there. In the corner of the room stood a dressmaker’s dummy in an incomplete Harlequin costume. Chanel was also, at that time, helping to design ballet costumes for Diaghilev.
“Do you like it?” The pretty young woman in the man’s suit had returned. “Nijinsky himself will wear it.” She handed me a small wrapped parcel.
“It’s swell,” I said. “But he may trip on that bit of lace at the back.”
She laughed loudly, throwing her head back. “You are right and brave to say so. I told her the very same thing. It will be adjusted. Do you like perfume? Wait one more moment. Huene will still bethere when you return.” She left again, and this time came back carrying a small square flacon of Chanel No. 5. “For you. Wear it in joy and health.” She kissed me on both cheeks, and then pushed me back out onto the street.
“Misia,” said Lee knowingly when I was back in the studio. “Chanel’s special friend. Isn’t she gorgeous? And you’ve done well for yourself today.”
I had done very well. A bottle of Chanel perfume and a large tip from Huene, large enough to pay our rent for the week, and Huene had asked me to come to other shoots in case he needed me to run errands.
“You are so young and so helpless looking, perhaps even a little not bright looking, if you don’t mind my saying,” he explained. “They will give you anything you ask for.” I wasn’t flattered by this explanation, but at least I would be earning a bit all those days when Jamie was working so hard for Man.
After Lee was finished, we went out for
“I pretend I’m elsewhere,” she said. “For a few minutes someone has power over me, and in my thoughts I just leave. I learned the trick early in life.” A metallic quality crept into her voice, and I knew what she was remembering.
Huene, ignoring us, became angry in earnest as he rummaged through the trunk his assistant had set up for that day’s shoot. Red satin shoes, rhinestone tiaras, an old-fashioned corset, all went flying.
“Numskull,” he yelled at his assistant, a nameless and easily cowed young man with slightly crossed eyes. “Where is the Chanel bag? It must be shown with the next ensemble!”
“They didn’t send it over,” he said.
“Then go get it!” Huene’s hair was standing on end. “Do you think I have all day? No, wait. I need you here. You.” He turned and pointed at me. “You go get it. This isn’t a playground. Here, we work. Twenty-nine, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. You can find it? Go. Run. Tell the housekeeper Huene has sent you for the new red bag and she is to give it to you.”
Lee, grinning, handed me my coat and hat. “Don’t worry,” she said. “He will tip you for the errand. Well. I’ll see to it.”
I ran all the way to the Champs-Élysées, not stopping till I came to the corner of rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, where I paused for a second to catch my breath and smooth down my hair. I knocked at number twenty-nine, and a little maid opened the door and showed me into a hallway painted beige and white, no hint of color or pastel.
“Yes?” A young woman, but very beautiful, very stylishly dressed in a jacket and trousers and a string of pearls wound many times around her throat, came into the hall. “Coco is not here. What do you want, please?”
“Monsieur Huene sent me, from Vogue . He says the red bag was not sent with the clothes for the shoot.”
“Ah. I will see if I can find it.” She smiled at me and left. I took a few steps forward and looked into the room on my immediate right. It was painted in beige and chocolate, and the sofas and chairs were upholstered in white. The windows at the end of the room looked over a manicured garden that stretched all the way to the next street. Because it was February, the garden was all brown and white, like the apartment. I wished I could see it in the summer, see what roses bloomed there. In the corner of the room stood a dressmaker’s dummy in an incomplete Harlequin costume. Chanel was also, at that time, helping to design ballet costumes for Diaghilev.
“Do you like it?” The pretty young woman in the man’s suit had returned. “Nijinsky himself will wear it.” She handed me a small wrapped parcel.
“It’s swell,” I said. “But he may trip on that bit of lace at the back.”
She laughed loudly, throwing her head back. “You are right and brave to say so. I told her the very same thing. It will be adjusted. Do you like perfume? Wait one more moment. Huene will still bethere when you return.” She left again, and this time came back carrying a small square flacon of Chanel No. 5. “For you. Wear it in joy and health.” She kissed me on both cheeks, and then pushed me back out onto the street.
“Misia,” said Lee knowingly when I was back in the studio. “Chanel’s special friend. Isn’t she gorgeous? And you’ve done well for yourself today.”
I had done very well. A bottle of Chanel perfume and a large tip from Huene, large enough to pay our rent for the week, and Huene had asked me to come to other shoots in case he needed me to run errands.
“You are so young and so helpless looking, perhaps even a little not bright looking, if you don’t mind my saying,” he explained. “They will give you anything you ask for.” I wasn’t flattered by this explanation, but at least I would be earning a bit all those days when Jamie was working so hard for Man.
After Lee was finished, we went out for
Similar Books
