Authors: Phoebe Conn
“Thank you. This place has become so popular there aren’t any empty tables or I’d not have bothered you.”
A good-looking guy with glossy black hair and eyes the color of dark smoke, he was so tall he couldn’t fit his knees under the table and had to sit sideways. When after a few minutes of scanning one of his books he cradled his head on his backpack and closed his eyes, Ana reached into her bag for her camera.
From the day her mother had first pushed her in front of a camera, she’d known models had very short careers. Growing up, she’d spent so much time in photographers’ studios she’d developed a real talent with a camera. She eased out of her chair and knelt to photograph the student from several angles. With no plans to sell the photos, she didn’t need a release, but she hurried to return to her chair and hide her camera before he woke.
When he sat up, he brushed back his hair and checked his watch. “It’s too beautiful a day to study architecture anyway. I like your Goth look. There’s something primal about it.”
Relieved not to be recognized under such a thoughtful stare, she offered him a cake. He took it off the plate before she’d finished asking.
“I forgot to eat breakfast,” he explained between bites. “I need to order something. Would you like anything more?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine.”
He stood but took only a single step. “Will you watch my books?”
“Yes, they’ll be safe.” She watched him duck to enter the café. She spoke to few people outside of her modeling jobs, and he was a refreshing change. There was no harm in letting him believe she was an ordinary girl who enjoyed wearing black.
He returned with a thick roast beef sandwich and a beer. “I study here for the sandwiches. What are you reading?”
“
The Prisoner of Heaven
, Carlos Ruiz Zafón’s latest.”
“Great writer. He spends part of the year here, but I’ve never met him. Have you?”
“No, not yet.” He was concentrating on his sandwich, rather than on her, which was a glorious relief. There had been no rose bouquet that morning, perhaps because florists were closed on Sunday, or leaving early last night had discouraged her mystery fan.
She marked her place and closed her book. “I need to go. Good luck with your studies.”
“Wait a minute, I don’t know your name. I’m Alejandro Vasquez.”
“Ana,” she replied.
“Maybe I’ll see you here next Sunday, Ana.”
His warm smile made her long to come back and step into his world, if only for an afternoon. “I’m not here often.”
“You could try.” He reopened the thick textbook and looked very serious as he turned the pages.
Relieved he hadn’t recognized her, she nodded and walked away without making any promise she was unlikely to keep.
Larina Flores was a highly respected fashion photographer, but Ana hated working with her. The woman demanded poses that were nearly impossible to hold and then took her time photographing them. Ana studied ballet to have the supple grace of a prima ballerina, but it was lost on Larina.
“Try and look more like a man, Gian Carlo. Thrust out your chest and pull Ana closer.”
“Did she just insult my manhood?” he whispered in Ana’s ear.
She answered so softly her lips barely moved. “We’re being paid too well to walk out.”
“What do you want?” he called over his shoulder. “Am I to look like a rooster?”
“Yes!” Larina cried from behind her camera. “Channel a crowing rooster if you must, but I need more swagger.”
“Think of a matador,” Ana suggested.
“They do know how to strut.” He stretched and threw back his shoulders. He was tall, sandy haired with blue eyes, and had a swimmer’s sleek physique. He and Ana were posing for a Gucci cologne ad and had been working under the hot studio lights for two hours. “Why don’t you spray us with a hose so there will be water dripping off me rather than sweat.”
“Hush, Gian Carlo,” Larina ordered. “We’re nearly finished, and sweat gives you a virile edge.”
“She insults me every time she opens her mouth. You do know I’m straight, don’t you?”
Ana hadn’t given his sexual orientation any thought. He was just another model to lean against. “Yes, of course,” she assured him. He was more fun to work with than many men were, and she was sorry she hadn’t thought to take him to the benefit Saturday night.
“That will have to do,” Larina called. “Now I want a few shots with Ana alone and some with you by yourself, Gian Carlo. Your light eyes add some heat, but I don’t want to print a stare-off between you and all the other men selling cologne. Aragon is outselling everything else on the market, and your Nordic look will counter Santos’s dark glare.”
Gian Carlo turned away from the lights and blew Ana a kiss. When they were finished for the day, he walked along with her out of the building. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to speak to you Saturday night. Why did you leave so early?”
Ana came to an abrupt halt. “Have you been sending me roses?”
He frowned, clearly perplexed. “No, should I have?”
She shifted her bag on her shoulder. “Of course not, but someone who wishes to remain anonymous has been. I left early to discourage him, if he was there.”
“It must be difficult to avoid a man you can’t name,” he responded with a soft chuckle. “I often have to scrape off giggling women, but it’s a hazard of our trade.”
“Men don’t scrape off as easily.” With sunglasses and her long hair hidden beneath a floppy hat, she hoped no one would think her worth observing. In a loose brown shirt and jeans, she blended easily into the passersby. “I’m about to starve to death. Are you hungry?”
“Always. It’ll give us a chance to talk, and there’s something I need to ask you.”
She took a deep breath. “Please wait until I’ve finished eating.”
He took her hand, and they walked around the corner to a place they both liked. She lived on fruit and vegetables unless she was a guest at a private party where meat was served. The beef on the Aragon ranch had always been delicious, but she’d not be invited there again. She ordered a fruit salad and sat back in the booth.
“When you mentioned a matador,” Gian Carlo said, “you must have been thinking of Miguel Aragon. How about Santos? Isn’t he enough like his father to interest you?”
“There’s no comparison between them. Santos plans to marry his American honey, and she can have him.”
A smile skittered across his lips. “You ought to hide your hostility better. It makes you sound insincere.”
Not caring, Ana shrugged. “You must know what it’s like to be done with someone.”
He took a sip of water. “I’ll admit to being done with the same woman multiple times. Sometimes it’s easier to stay with someone who’s all wrong than look for somebody right.”
“That’s certainly true, but what if you’re not the right person for anyone else?”
“Are you that depressed?” He reached across the table to take her hand. “You shouldn’t be alone with such dark thoughts.”
She pulled her hand free. “I’ve said too much.”
“You were being honest. Don’t apologize. We should go out, be photographed by the paparazzi and make everyone jealous they aren’t with us.”
He was an appealing man, and a popular model, but she shook her head. “We’d just be pretending like we do all day, and I need a rest.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk with you.” He waited until she’d finished the last grape on her plate and then chose his words with care. “I’ve always hoped modeling would lead to acting jobs. The woman who invited me Saturday night, Rachel Oliveras, is an attorney who handles my contracts. There’s nothing between us, but she’s more comfortable going out with an escort, and I do look great in a tux.”
“You most certainly do.” Her mood had lightened as they ate, and she tried not to laugh at his unending self-absorption.
“Rachel has a friend who does casting for Pedro Almodóvar, and he’s looking for fresh faces for his next film. I have a script to practice. If you’ll read it with me for the audition, it will help me get the part. I can’t talk to a wall and be convincing. They want to see me tomorrow morning. Are you free to do it?”
“I don’t have anything scheduled. Do you have the script with you?”
He patted the messenger bag beside him in the booth. “I do. Do you want to come to my place? Or we could go to yours.”
“My place,” she offered.
He had a red MG and drove them to her condo. When they came in, she saw the pink rose bouquet on the security guard’s counter. “Are those for me?”
“Yes, Miss Santillan. The same chauffeur brought them. There’s a long dress for you too.”
“Thank you, Henry.” The silvery gown was in a clear drycleaner’s bag, and she folded it over her arm while Gian Carlo picked up the bouquet.
The roses held sparkles of dew as though they’d just been plucked from a well-tended garden. “You’d think a man who’d go to this expense would sign his name,” Gian Carlo mused. When they reached the elevator, he pressed the button. “Could they be from a woman?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose they could be, but whoever it is must expect something in return.”
“Maybe they’re simply dazzled by your beauty.”
Ana stepped into the elevator, removed her hat and shook out her hair. “No one appreciates us for our intelligence and charm, though, do they?”
“I don’t complain.” When they reached her floor, he followed her down the hall to her door. “Let me go in first and make certain everything is all right.”
“I’m sure it is. We have excellent security.” She unlocked the door and gestured for him to precede her. Afternoon sunlight bounced off the living room’s pale yellow walls, giving the pretty room a cozy warmth. The furniture was upholstered in a vivid blue and buttery yellow along with a wing chair covered in a complementing floral fabric. A thick cream-colored area rug softened Gian Carlo’s footsteps as he carried the roses to the glass-topped coffee table.
“The yellow roses look the prettiest in here,” he offered. “Do you want these in another room?”
Unwilling to give him a tour, she shook her head. “Leave them with the others.” She hung the gown in the coat closet. Libby had attached a note with her cell phone number, and Ana slipped it into her pocket. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine.” He sat on the couch and pulled the script from his bag. “This isn’t a long scene. Come here so you can read it with me. I’m playing Guillermo, who’s been hired by a man he’s always admired. It means he’ll be moving far away, and he’s saying good-bye to his girlfriend. He’s excited, and naturally, she’s stunned that he’s leaving her behind.”
She took her place beside him and pulled a throw pillow onto her lap. “How does one portray stunned?” she asked.
“I’m the one trying out for the part, Ana. It doesn’t matter what you do other than say your lines.”
She finger-raked her hair off her forehead. “Fine, you start.”
“Pretend I’m walking around the room, too excited to sit beside you.”
“Fine, I’ll use my imagination.” When he rushed through his opening lines, she raised her hand. “You need to slow down. You can still sound thrilled with this unexpected opportunity, but the audience needs to be able to understand you.”
He frowned and smoothed the page. “There won’t be an audience, Ana. It will just be the casting director and us.”
Gian Carlo’s looks had made him a successful model, but he hadn’t shown her even a shred of acting talent. “Take your time and give the casting director a longer opportunity to observe you.”
“Oh, I see what you mean. Let’s start again.”
Ana had only a word here and there, but she soon got caught up in the emotion of the scene. She spoke her first line softly, the second a little louder, and when her character realized Guillermo was leaving her, she went way past stunned to a vivid heart-wrenching sob. She looked up at Gian Carlo. “How was that?”
“A little over the top, but the casting director will be looking at me, so it won’t matter.”
They ran through the scene a couple of more times, and when he was satisfied they could give it a professional reading, he stood, ready to go. “I hope the scene didn’t depress you. I don’t have the whole script, but your character probably appears at the end and spits in Guillermo’s eye.”
“I’ve never had an occasion to spit, so we’re lucky it isn’t in this scene.” He’d pick her up in the morning, and she wished him good-bye at the door.
With time on her hands, she loaded the photos of Alejandro into her laptop. Asleep, he looked older, and she wondered if they weren’t closer in age than she’d first thought. He had a lanky build. Maybe he jogged or played soccer. Whatever exercise he chose, he looked fit and damn good. Even if his age wasn’t an issue, he had no idea who she was. If he had known, he would have bragged to his friends about meeting her, and she’d not have wanted to see him again. It was better to be a Goth girl who appeared occasionally on a Sunday afternoon. They’d both have fun, and no one would be disappointed or hurt.
Ignacio Belmonte was a highly regarded casting director, but he looked startled when Ana and Gian Carlo were shown into his office. Ignacio was of medium height and build, with brown hair and a closely cropped beard. “We’re looking for someone new, not models who are on every other billboard.” He checked his calendar and found a reference to Rachel Oliveras. “Now I remember why you’re here. Obviously a mistake on my part; let’s get it over with quickly. We’ll go into the studio and film it.”