market, sweetheart. It was just an example. Just walk like you’re walking down the street.”
Stiffly, embarrassed, Maddalena made her way to the end of the hall. She turned just before the door to the waiting room and came toward Lorraine and Antonio at the other end.
“One more time,” said Lorraine. “More natural, OK? I’m not here.” She covered her eyes.
Obviously she was flunking. It had always been a point of pride that she carried herself well and that, like a mannequin, her body had been built to show off clothes. According to the reaction of Lorraine Stetson, though, she walked with the grace and sophistication of a donkey. She was shaking, and felt tears coming on. Antonio handed her his handkerchief, and she quickly dabbed her eyes.
She was then led into a room of mirrors. There, Lorraine pointed out the tiny mole on her left ear, ran her finger down the length of her nose, and examined all angles of her profile. She made notes in a little pad of lined paper. Antonio watched from the doorway as she sat Maddalena in front of a powerful makeup mirror and commanded her first to smile, then frown, then get angry, now look sad.With every new face, she pressed a button on the mirror to change the light: day to dusk to evening to office. “Let’s see your teeth,” Lorraine said, and nodded as Maddalena held her mouth open wide. “Good,” she said. “Not too European.”
Back in the office, they sat in silence as Lorraine shuffled papers. Her large hoop earrings, gold choker, and assortment of brilliant rings seemed gaudy at first; now Maddalena realized she herself must be out of touch with the times, a simple village girl after all, with no sense of style. Her own jewelry was understated: two small posts in her ears, a thin gold cross attached to her necklace, her wedding band, no bracelets.
After two long minutes, Lorraine folded her hands, looked directly at Maddalena and said, “It would be our honor to work with you, Mrs. Grasso.”
She covered her mouth. “Are you sure?” she asked, through her hand, then dropped it. “I didn’t think I did very good. The walking—”
“I trust these,” Lorraine said, and again held the photographs. “These don’t lie. My job is to train my eye—to see through imperfections, beyond inexperience. To see the future, if you like. But the camera’s eye is pure; it sees only the truth of the here and now. In these pictures the camera tells me, ‘I’m in love with Madeline Grasso,’ and now so am I!”
Antonio clapped his hands. “So you think she can make it big?”
“Oh, yes,” Lorraine said. “With our help, absolutely. Just look at her!” She gazed at Maddalena with the ardor of a mother at her newborn baby, astonished by the miracle of her existence. “I’d be a fool to let you out of here without signing some papers.”
“I’ve got my own pen!” Antonio said, and pulled one from the pocket of his blazer.
Things were moving very fast. Three days before, Maddalena had sat in an office much different from this one, hands folded,listening to Dr. Barone tell her there was nothing physically wrong with her or Antonio, that it must be her obviously frazzled nerves that prevented her from getting pregnant; three hours before, she’d dressed for a dinner party at the home of Giovanni Vitale and his sweet but scatterbrained wife; now a kind stranger in a pink suit was grabbing hold of her life and steering it in a new direction.
“Two ds ?” she asked Antonio, her pen on the lip of the folder. “Spell it for me again, please. Slowly.”
What a thrill it was for Maddalena to see Lorraine print her full name, date of birth, and address on the complicated form and hand it to Antonio. It was an official document: the words small in places, bold and oversized in others. As Antonio looked it over, Lorraine reached into a drawer with her free hand and pulled out a stapler and a stack of colored folders.
“I don’t know anyone else in America with my same
Stiffly, embarrassed, Maddalena made her way to the end of the hall. She turned just before the door to the waiting room and came toward Lorraine and Antonio at the other end.
“One more time,” said Lorraine. “More natural, OK? I’m not here.” She covered her eyes.
Obviously she was flunking. It had always been a point of pride that she carried herself well and that, like a mannequin, her body had been built to show off clothes. According to the reaction of Lorraine Stetson, though, she walked with the grace and sophistication of a donkey. She was shaking, and felt tears coming on. Antonio handed her his handkerchief, and she quickly dabbed her eyes.
She was then led into a room of mirrors. There, Lorraine pointed out the tiny mole on her left ear, ran her finger down the length of her nose, and examined all angles of her profile. She made notes in a little pad of lined paper. Antonio watched from the doorway as she sat Maddalena in front of a powerful makeup mirror and commanded her first to smile, then frown, then get angry, now look sad.With every new face, she pressed a button on the mirror to change the light: day to dusk to evening to office. “Let’s see your teeth,” Lorraine said, and nodded as Maddalena held her mouth open wide. “Good,” she said. “Not too European.”
Back in the office, they sat in silence as Lorraine shuffled papers. Her large hoop earrings, gold choker, and assortment of brilliant rings seemed gaudy at first; now Maddalena realized she herself must be out of touch with the times, a simple village girl after all, with no sense of style. Her own jewelry was understated: two small posts in her ears, a thin gold cross attached to her necklace, her wedding band, no bracelets.
After two long minutes, Lorraine folded her hands, looked directly at Maddalena and said, “It would be our honor to work with you, Mrs. Grasso.”
She covered her mouth. “Are you sure?” she asked, through her hand, then dropped it. “I didn’t think I did very good. The walking—”
“I trust these,” Lorraine said, and again held the photographs. “These don’t lie. My job is to train my eye—to see through imperfections, beyond inexperience. To see the future, if you like. But the camera’s eye is pure; it sees only the truth of the here and now. In these pictures the camera tells me, ‘I’m in love with Madeline Grasso,’ and now so am I!”
Antonio clapped his hands. “So you think she can make it big?”
“Oh, yes,” Lorraine said. “With our help, absolutely. Just look at her!” She gazed at Maddalena with the ardor of a mother at her newborn baby, astonished by the miracle of her existence. “I’d be a fool to let you out of here without signing some papers.”
“I’ve got my own pen!” Antonio said, and pulled one from the pocket of his blazer.
Things were moving very fast. Three days before, Maddalena had sat in an office much different from this one, hands folded,listening to Dr. Barone tell her there was nothing physically wrong with her or Antonio, that it must be her obviously frazzled nerves that prevented her from getting pregnant; three hours before, she’d dressed for a dinner party at the home of Giovanni Vitale and his sweet but scatterbrained wife; now a kind stranger in a pink suit was grabbing hold of her life and steering it in a new direction.
“Two ds ?” she asked Antonio, her pen on the lip of the folder. “Spell it for me again, please. Slowly.”
What a thrill it was for Maddalena to see Lorraine print her full name, date of birth, and address on the complicated form and hand it to Antonio. It was an official document: the words small in places, bold and oversized in others. As Antonio looked it over, Lorraine reached into a drawer with her free hand and pulled out a stapler and a stack of colored folders.
“I don’t know anyone else in America with my same
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