The Movie (3 page)

‘Can’t you guys control your clients? For the biggest

show of the goddamn decade?’

P,.obert Alton looked him straight in the eye. ‘Michael. Please,’ he said. ‘Nobody, and I do mean nobody, can control her.’

Nine minutes and counting.

‘So you’re telling me that I have to personally ins.ult-to

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demote-eighteen of the most famous models in the world, in front of the entire fashion media,just so Her Majesty will walk down that catwalk for thirty seconds?’

A fresh burst of perspiration beaded Alton’s neck. Winter was quite correct, of course. These backstage shenanigans would leak down to the hawks sitting out front at the speed of light. She was demanding that Alessandro snub every supermodel alive, in public, in her favour.

‘That’s what I’m telling you,’ he said firmly.

Eight minutes and thirty seconds.

Michael Winter glanced at his watch. Either way they would only just make it. The pressure of the decisitn beat down on the back of his shoulders like a lead weight.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Tell Her Highness she’s got a deal.’

lapt, the audience, the cream of the glitterati, stared hopefully at the empty stage. Notebooks were covered in scrawls thick with underlining and multiple exclamation marks. The T-shirt dresses, sculptured bodices and flowing coats in waterproof silk had all been sensations. The swimwear line added a whole new dimension to thigh lines, and he’d come up with some amazing bias-cutting in the evening gowns that turned the demurest walk into a lilting dance, the tiniest movement setting off a tide of motion in the skirts. But that was hardly the point…

It was the reams of fdm their photographers had shot that sent moist twitches between the fashion editors’ legs. That was what would sell magazines; the show as event, Alessandro as king of babe city. Kate in a strawberry satin dress that was really a T-shirt with pretensions. Goddess like Cindy in a simple black swimsuit that would make every woman who saw it join a gym the next day. Jerry’s blonde cascade tumbling around a severe tailored pantsuit. Yasmin, regal and aloof in a full evening gown with a crinoline skirt. Awesome! No other word for it.

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And now the finale…

The room was thick with the sound of held breath, the photographers nervously jockeying for position. Every supermodel in the world had graced .this show - with one exception. As each song shiiied pace, as each new set of outfits debuted on the catwalk, they had expected to see her. But nothing.

Surely now would be the moment. With mounting excitement, the eagle eyes ofthejoumos were trained on the black-curtained entrance to the runway, their talom scenting blood. She had triumphed yet again. God knew how, but somehow Unique had swung it. Their mega client would appear only in the grand finale, setting herself, by definition, in a class of her own, outranking every ‘supermodel in the world. Perhaps she would lead all the models out, or was that expecting too much? When all that female loveliness poured out together onto Alessandro Eco’s catwalk, would she slip in with the others? Or would she try some new trick, some little fillip, that would

‘sppntaneously’ catch the eye of every camera in the place? The Leeward Hall shivered in anticipation.

There was a slight rustle of velvet at the side of the stage

and Alessandro Eco, his aristocratic face reflecting nothing but the profoundest calm, stepped forward to a microphone, holding up one imperious hand in silence before the room could explode into applause.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, it has been great honour for the House of Alessandro Eco to present our collection for you tonight. For your attendance and patience, I thank you.’ He gave a courtly bow. ‘As you may know, I have, since I was a boy, cherished the dream of one day being like the great masters - Balenciaga, Dior, Chanel - who in our modem age paid the beauty of woman the homage it deserves, a homage I attempt, all my life, to pay. The moment of greatest loveliness for woman is surely the day

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of her wedding, and traditionally the couturiers present last the wedding dress, a tradition I am proud to continue.’

The spotlight on the designer faded gently away, and one by one the other lights in the hall were shut down and dimmed until the stage was plunged into darkness. A haunting line of Mozart spun into the still air.

And then the curtains drew back, a web of brilliant lights lit up the platform-but instead of thirty models exploding onstage a single figure appeared from the darkness, stepping demurely into the spotlight. A simple shift of cream silk clung to her perfect body like a second skin, a bouquet of pure ivory lilies was clasped in her delicate hands and a single white rose threaded through her long, dark hair as she processed slowly, gracefully, down the front of the stage onto the catwalk.

For a second there was complete silence, as the crowd was struck dumb by her sheer beauty, by the fragile, nervous, virginal quality of her walk, the way she seemed to glance shyly out at them from under those doelike chocolate eyes, as though completely overwhelmed by the attention. Then, as the fashion world realized what they were witnessing, the hall erupted in an orgasmic frenzy of cheering and applause. The fashion editors were shooting to their feet in a standing ovation, the photographers snapping and strapping, flashbulbs exploding around her for the one picture that would make the front page of about every tabloid in the Western world the next day the magnificent, minimalist finale of Alessandro Eco, now without the shadow of a doubt Designer of the Year, and the best PP. coup for any mannequin this decade - to oust eighteen other supermodels, to appear for just these few moments, to dose the show herself, as though it was she, and only she, that they had all been waiting for…

As she walked gracefully out towards the frenzy in front of her, P.oxana Felix pemaitted herselfa tiny smile.

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‘lLoxana!’

‘tLox! ILox!’

‘R.oxana, please[ Just for one second!’

They were everywhere, damouring for her attention, begging for the tiniest hint ofa sn’file or a glance-reporters from the favoured shows and magazines, trade photographers, the normal fashion camp-followers. Backstage was a battleground as people scrambled for a word from Christy, a comment from Naomi, a precious shot of any supermodel in glorious dshabillde. But by far the largest duster of drones hovered around 1Loxana Felix, undisputed Queen Bee. Disgusted, numbers of the other girls were leaving, with a curt ‘no comment’ and frantic agents trailing in their wake.

‘ ‘Never again will she work for me,’ hissed a distraught Alessandro to Michad Winter as another beauty swept past him, tiny button nose in the air. ‘Michdle, that bitch spill blood over all my collection - never another cover girl wed wear my clothes. All I hear, all I see is controversy!’

‘Yeah? All/hear is cash tills,’ replied Winter, a wide grin plaStered across his tanned face. ‘Controversy and coverage are synonymous in Webster’s, amigo. Didn’t you know that?’

‘tLoxana, did you know in advance that Alessandro would cancel the other girls for the finale?’ somebody asked.

Pushing a lock of glossy raven hair out of her sparkling eyes, the young woman hughed softly. ‘He did what? Damian, you’ve got it wrong. It must have been planned that way;’

‘No, everybody was pulled in your favour,’ another hack told her eagerly.

tLoxana’s sculptured cheekbones and smooth pale skin registered nothing but confusion for a few moments, while the pack bayed its assurances that she had been honoured above the rest. Then a delightful girlish blush spread across

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handles business,’ and every man in the room was in love again.

‘lobet Alton, was it your idea to insist on the change in choreography?

‘Absolutely,’ Alton said easily. He was almost enjoying himself. In her eagerness to pass the buck, his vicious little cash-cow was turning him into a powerful Svengali of the beau monde. Surely other stars would flock to him now, he thought, and then recalled with a pang that loxana didn’t allow him to rep any other big stars.

‘Why? Didn’t you realize you’d be upsetting some of the most powerful women in fashion?’

Alton placed a fatherly hand on loxana’s alabaster shoulder, felt her stiffen under his touch and instantly withdrew it. ‘It wasn’t about egos,’ he said shamelessly, ‘it was about the clothes. I felt that no one but the most beautiful girl in the world should close the best show in the world.’

‘Oh, Bob, really,’ loxana reproved him, in low tones of molten honey.

‘Were you trying to say that loxana is in a class of her own, like Alessandro is in a class of his own?’ suggested a girl from English Vogue hopefully.

‘No comment,’ said R-obert sternly, treating them all to a flamboyant wink.

‘Enough, enough, please, signoras, signori,’ Alessandro insisted, knowing a good exit line when he heard one. ‘My little bambina is exhausted. You know how she hate publicity. Please, this way, we have much champagne…’

loxana Felix exchanged little kisses, pressures and hugs with the favoured few as they trooped dutifully off in search of liquid and more basic refreshments, confusion and embarrassment at causing such a fuss written all over her face. As soon as the door to her dressing room dosed

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she pulled out a small bag of white powder from her blusher box and licked a minute pile offthe back of her tiny wrist, perfect bones almost translucent under the skin. Alton eyed it hungrily: the new form of ground Ecstasy that was all the rage at the shows this summer. She made no move to offer him any.

‘A triumph, if I say so myself,’ he announced.

‘You had nothing to do with it, Bob. Play the big guy with the schmucks out there, but never try and scare me for credit. OK? Cause you’ll be fired faster than an AK-47.’

‘OK, OK,’ Alton said, forcing a grin through the shame. Long ago she had cut off his balls to play marbles with. ‘You’re’right, sweetie, of course you are. You just added another thirty thou to every single shoot.’

‘Fifty, right,’ Alton concurred, wondering if Madonna’s manager took as much shit as he did.

‘I’m not interested in that. You know what I’m interested in,’ loxana said, slowly and with menace, tu,rning those limpid chocolate eyes at him as though they were bayonet blades. ‘Have you found me a suitable vehicle yet?’

Alton twisted helplessly. ‘Didn’t you get Beach Party II? I had it messengered over.’

She gave a delicate little cough. ‘Let me see. Beach Party II. The part was for the stupid bimbo who dates the lifeguard. Yeah, I remember that one. It came right after Living Doll and Sweet Sixteen, the ones Unique sent me last week.’

Her agent swallowed hard.

‘Don’t bother to send me any more scripts, Bob.’ ‘Honey, I knew you’d see reason. Those parts aren’t worthy of you, I know that, but it’s allwe could come up with - lots of girls have dabbled in acting, but the studios just aren’t interested…’ Seeing her expression, his voice trailed away.

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‘You’re fired,’ tkoxana Felix said calmly.

Alton almost choked in surprise and dismay. He had

discovered tkoxana and repped her for the last five years. ‘What?’

‘Lost your hearing, Bob? I said you’re fired. As my personal agent and personal manager.’

Robert Alton’s pudgy face had gone ash-grey. Over the years 1koxana had demanded the removal of every other star model the Unique agency represented, for the privilege of controlling all aspects of her own career-the lucrative Tshirts, the calendars, the straight campaigns, catwalk appearances, the perfume franchise.., it had been done so slowly and subtly that none of his colleagues had really noticed, but the Unique agency was Fkoxana, Inc. Without her they were nothing. A handful of bread-and butter girls with no star potential in sight.

‘I told’you two months ago I wanted to act. And I do mean act, Bobby, not drape myself over some moron in a teen beach flick.’

‘But the other girls -‘ tkoxana sighed, a deep, whistling sigh drawn in through her perfectly applied soft berry lipstick. ‘How many times, Bob? I am not “the other girls”. Something that SKI never failed to realize.’

SKI? She was going to Sam Kendrick? Bob felt a fresh burst of sweat erupt down hii collar. He could not believe this was happening.

Tve been talking to a guy .called David Tauber over there. He’s young, he’s lean and he’s hungry. My plane leaves for LA at ten tomorrow.’

‘Please,’ Bob managed. ‘lq.oxana, just give us one more chance.’

Laughing at him, toxana Felix shook her lovely head. ‘No way, Bobby boy. There are no second chances with me. You think you can treat me like a piece of pretty met,

just because I’m a woman? You have another think coming.’

‘loxana, please,’ Bob repeated desperately. He was begging her now, and they both knew it.

‘Relax. You can still book my modelling activities.’

Alton almost wept with relieŁ

‘For the moment,’ she added icily. A pleasant feeling

began to contract in her upper arms, the first sign of the drug kicking in. She wanted to be alone to enjoy it. ‘Get out. Bob. And tell the driver to make sure my caris ready at eight.’

‘Yes, sweetheart,’ Alton said meekly, the useless sack of

lard. Jesus Christ, what she had to put up with. loxana stared coldly at him until the door to her dressing room closed and she was finally alone.

Her painted nail tapped gently on the fret-class ticket to

Los Angeles pinned up on the mirror in front of her.

This was going to be fun.

She was loxana Felix, and she always got what she wanted.

Eleanor Marshall was the most powerful woman in LA.

That was the thought that kept drumming away at the back of Sam Kendrick’s mind as he turned his steel-blue Maserati into the agency parking lot, the velvet-smooth handling of the big machine slipping him into his acre wide parking space with its usual grace. Nearly every other space in the lot was already full, but that fact scarcely registered on Sam. It was seven-thirty in the morning, and he expected his damn offices to be full. Never mind that the contracts stated nine to six. If you wanted to work for Sam Kendrick International, the third most powerful agency in Hollywood, you’d better be there by seven and you’d better not leave till ten.