Double Dose, page 6
The receptionist’s desk was so big, it looked like a fortress. Behind it sat a petite woman with dark brown hair, who peered up at them. “Yes?”
“I’m Bitsy Carlisle,” Mollie said. “I’m here for the sisters shoot.”
“Just a moment, please.” The receptionist paged Eleanor, and Mollie could hear her reply over the intercom, “She is?” A moment later a tall, middle-aged woman came out to the reception area. She had blond hair, blue eyes, and, if Mollie’s guess wasn’t wrong, she’d had at least one face lift and possibly some other cosmetic surgery.
“Bitsy Carlisle?” the woman asked.
“Yes, I’m Bitsy,” Mollie said. She pitied anyone who had to go through life introducing herself with that name.
“Eleanor Whistler.” She shook Mollie’s hand. “And you are?” she asked Johnny.
“Arthur Smith,” Johnny said. “The boyfriend.”
“I see.” Eleanor stared at Mollie for a minute. “I thought you couldn’t come. That’s what the San Francisco office told us.”
“My mother decided at the last minute that it was okay. I hope that’s all right,” Mollie said.
“It would be perfectly lovely, only your sister seems to have fallen off the face of the earth.” Eleanor frowned. “We have a private investigator looking for her in Nepal, but with our luck she’s probably decided to climb Mount Everest. Well, come on back and we’ll have a look at you.”
“Can, uh, my boyfriend come?” Mollie asked.
“I suppose, as long as he doesn’t get in the way.” Eleanor turned to Johnny. “Actually, I might have Tomas take some proofs of you. You have an unusually strong face.”
“You don’t say,” Johnny replied.
Mollie elbowed him, and they followed Eleanor down a wide hall to a large office on the right.
“Tomas, would you get me a cup of tea,” Eleanor said. “Cosy Cranberry, please.”
“Right away.” A young man dashed out of the office. It was a huge room, with tall windows, white screens, a few cameras on tripods, and several makeup mirrors.
A woman with short auburn hair walked in. “I heard Bitsy Carlisle was here,” she said. She scrutinized Mollie. “Are you Bitsy?”
Mollie nodded.
“This is Parker Davies, the photo editor at Femme magazine. She’s here to look at the girls who’ll be in the shoot tomorrow evening. We’ll be doing candid shots at a loft party in SoHo.” Eleanor sat at a desk and picked up a clipboard. “It says here that you’re a size seven, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Mollie said.
“You know, it just goes to show you that genes do strange things.” Parker walked around Mollie, making a complete circle. “I’d hardly believe Kathy was your sister if I didn’t know it.”
“There’s some strong resemblance in the eyes,” Eleanor mused.
“Yes, but the body!” Parker looked horrified. “If Kathy was this short—”
“I’m five six,” Mollie said.
“Exactly,” Parker said. “Well, I’m sure you have some other career in mind. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” Mollie said.
Parker nodded. “I suppose Andrew will be able to do something with you. You need to go down to his studio and have them make you over. All the clothes and stylists are down there, too. They’ll pick out your outfit for tomorrow night.”
Johnny started to walk toward the door, but Parker stepped in front of him. “And who are you?” she asked.
“He’s my boyfriend,” Mollie said. “Arthur.”
“Arthur, have you ever modeled?” Parker reached out and touched Johnny’s long black hair. “Beautiful hair. Good eyes, too.”
“You want to check my teeth?” Johnny pulled back his lips. “Or maybe I should run a few laps for you.”
“We could find a lot of work for you,” Eleanor said. “It pays very well, you know.”
“We have a men’s fashion magazine that’s just dying for some fresh faces,” Parker added.
“I’ll sleep on it,” Johnny said. “Are you ready, M—Bitsy?”
“You think about it.” Eleanor handed him one of her business cards.
Johnny shoved the card in his pocket. “Sure.”
“Here’s the address of the photography studio,” Parker said. “You’d better go down now. I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to work on you.”
Mollie felt like punching her. Since when was she such a dog?
“And if you hear from that sister of yours, tell us right away,” Eleanor said. “I might have to hold her in breach of contract.”
Mollie nodded. As if Kathy Carlisle would be calling her!
“This is the worst project I have ever worked on,” Parker complained. “We were shooting all last weekend, and now we have to work this weekend, too. It’s simply dreadful.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Johnny said.
“Just a second. Excuse me,” Mollie said to the receptionist on their way out. “We’re going to need to hire a limo tonight. We’re going to a big party. Do you know the name of a place we could call?”
“Sure, there’s a company we use all the time.” The receptionist jotted a name and address down on a slip of paper and handed it to Mollie.
“Thanks,” Mollie said. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Frances. Everyone calls me Fran.”
“Well, thanks, Fran.”
Mollie and Johnny were waiting for the elevator when a short man—a dwarf—dressed in black from head to toe walked past them. His hair was slicked back—a trend in the modeling business, Mollie noticed—and he had a goatee.
“Who was that?” Mollie asked Fran. “He looks familiar.”
“That’s Moeller. He runs the modeling shows,” Fran replied. “He arranges everything, makes sure everyone’s on time, helps do up zippers—”
“They let him in the dressing room?” Mollie asked.
Fran nodded. “I don’t think he’s interested in women, or men for that matter, if you know what I mean. He has more of a reputation for … well, I shouldn’t say anything.”
“Come on,” Mollie said. “I’m just visiting from California. It won’t matter if I know.”
“Revenge. He has a reputation for revenge,” Fran said.
“Meaning?” Mollie asked.
“Let’s just say I’ve seen him ruin a few people’s careers.” Fran snapped her fingers. At that exact moment, the elevator door opened.
“Nice trick,” Johnny said.
“Thanks for talking with me, Fran,” Mollie said. They boarded the elevator, and Johnny pressed L. The doors were just about to close when someone stuck a black umbrella in between them and wedged them open again.
“Pardon me,” Moeller said, stepping into the elevator.
Instead of turning around and facing the front of the car, he continued to stand facing Johnny and Mollie. He stared into Mollie’s face and grinned. Then he shifted his head slightly—he had to look up a lot more, since Johnny was six one—and stared at Johnny for a full fifteen seconds.
“Do you mind?” Johnny said.
“Not at all,” Moeller replied. He turned around to face forward. Mollie heard him chuckle softly to himself, and she looked at Johnny and shrugged.
Johnny pulled a matchbook out of one pocket and a pen out of the other. He wrote something on the matchbook cover, then tore it off quietly and gave it to Mollie. “Meet me at my cousin’s at seven. I’ll follow laughing boy,” it said.
“Be careful,” she whispered to Johnny as they got out on the ground floor, keeping a few paces behind Moeller.
“You, too,” said Johnny. “Don’t buy any phony watches on the street.”
“What do you think I am, gullible or something?” Mollie turned to walk downtown to Andrew Janowitz’s studio.
“Or something,” Johnny said.
CHAPTER 8
Instead of taking the subway, Mollie walked to the photographer’s studio. She wanted to get a good look at the Big Apple. With every famous landmark she passed, she remembered that she wouldn’t be able to mention this trip to her parents. If she did, not only would she be grounded, she’d probably be chained to her bedroom radiator.
By the time Mollie got to the Andrew Janowitz studio on Twenty-third Street, she vowed that this was definitely the last time she was going to wear high heels. Her feet were throbbing and blistered, and her calf muscles were aching.
She rang the doorbell, and someone buzzed her into the building. A door swung open at the end of the hallway. “Down here!” a man called out.
Mollie walked down the hall, feeling extremely self-conscious. She was ready to hear her second round of abuse. A Japanese man was standing in the doorway. “Bitsy, right? Eleanor phoned and said you were coming,” he said in a British accent. “I’m Yoyo, I’ll be doing your makeup. Come on in.”
Mollie looked at Yoyo’s arms. They were covered with tattoos of dragons and flowers. She wasn’t sure she was ready to turn her face over to him, but at least he was a lot nicer than Eleanor and Parker.
“This is Yves, who’ll be doing your hair, and that’s A.J.” Yoyo pointed to a tall, muscular man wearing doctor’s surgical greens who was talking to some other girls. He held a camera with a large flash in his hand, so Mollie assumed that was Andrew Janowitz.
“Come on over, let’s see what you’ve got,” Yves said. Mollie went over and sat in a chair in front of a huge lighted mirror. Yves touched her hair, then picked it up and let it fall. “Not much body, but we can take care of that.”
“You’re not going to cut it, are you?” Mollie asked. It would be hard to explain to her parents how she’d gotten a brand new hair-style while she was staying up in an isolated cabin in the mountains.
“I think you’d look fantastic in short hair,” Yves said. “Really short. It would bring out your eyes.” He touched her hair again. “This cut is a tad drab.”
Mollie watched him carefully as he stood behind her. “I don’t think I could pull off the Sinead O’Connor thing. How about if you just spruce it up a little?”
Yves raised one eyebrow and tapped his comb against his wrist. Then he snipped his gold scissors in the air several times.
“See, my boyfriend doesn’t like short hair,” Mollie said quickly.
“He’ll get over it,” Yves said.
“He’s six foot one, he has a police record, and he’s training for the Olympics in kick-boxing,” Mollie said.
Yves cleared his throat. “Perhaps a trim will suffice. Let’s shampoo you.” He snapped his fingers. “Brian, shampoo.”
An hour later, Mollie barely recognized herself in the mirror. Her hair looked disheveled, almost as if she had just gotten up—but each strand was perfectly in place, in a messy kind of way. Yoyo had put on her makeup, subtly adding color to her eyes and her cheeks.
Going into the dressing room, Mollie glanced instinctively around for Moeller first, and changed quickly into the dress the stylist had chosen for her. It was a slinky black number, and all Mollie could think was that she looked as if she should be on MTV.
When she walked back into the main room of the studio, Yoyo nodded. “That’s nice on you.”
Mollie smiled. “Thanks.” She had almost forgotten why she was at the studio. She’d been so wrapped up in becoming a model for the day that she’d totally forgotten about Meredith. But she didn’t have time to ask any questions—A.J. called her over and started taking test shots.
“These will go in the magazine if the candids at the party tomorrow night don’t come out,” he told her. “Just relax. The camera will pick up your natural beauty.”
Natural beauty? Mollie wanted to laugh. The only thing they hadn’t changed about her was her toenails. It was embarrassing, trying to pose in front of women who were real models. A few of them were sitting around in the studio, waiting their turn. Mollie wondered which were the models, and which were the younger sisters. She couldn’t tell. Parker was right—they were all much taller than she.
“Nice,” A.J. said, snapping picture after picture. “Now let me see pensive.”
Mollie frowned.
“Not that pensive.”
They stopped when he’d shot three rolls of film. “Let’s break for lunch!” he yelled.
Mollie heaved a sigh of relief and hurried into the dressing room to change out of her clothes. She didn’t want to offend Yves and Yoyo by taking off all the makeup and letting down her hair, so she left it the way it was. She went back into the main room.
“You can take that stuff off now, you know,” one of the models on the couch said to her.
“Oh, I forgot.” Mollie went back into the dressing room and grabbed a jar of cold cream. She put some on her face, then wiped the makeup off with a tissue.
The same model wandered into the dressing room and started looking through the wardrobe. “I can’t believe they want me to wear this.” She pulled out a bright green, spangled dress. “Ugh.”
Mollie looked at the woman as she held the dress up against her. Maybe she was imagining things, but she thought she saw Meredith Hughes’s mouth. “This might seem like it’s completely out of the blue, but are you by any chance Hilary Hughes?”
“Yeah, I am.” Hilary put the dress back in the wardrobe.
“I’m a friend of your sister’s,” Mollie said. She wasn’t sure how she was going to explain being at the studio. “I just got here from San Francisco.”
“Meredith didn’t say she knew anyone else who was modeling,” Hilary said.
“Actually, I’m not,” Mollie said. “I mean, I am, but—”
“Knock knock!” Yoyo called.
“You can come in,” Hilary said.
Yoyo walked into the dressing room. “Bitsy, you’ll have to come here tomorrow evening before the party, and we’ll do the same thing we did today again. Okay?”
Mollie nodded.
“And you, Hilary my dear, are next,” Yoyo said.
“Oh, joy,” Hilary said when he was gone. “I’m so sick of being made up for these things, I could puke. I’m glad Meredith’s photos from last week turned out nicely, though.”
“Why are they doing two separate shoots?” Mollie asked.
“Too many people,” Hilary said. “I think they’re using something like twenty-five different sets of sisters.”
“So did they get some of you and Meredith together?”
“Yeah, at last weekend’s thrill-a-minute party. They want some extras of me. I guess it’s for some prelim hype stuff for the International Face Show. So here I am, wasting a perfectly good Saturday.” She ran a brush through her long brown hair. “I don’t remember Meredith ever talking about anyone named Bitsy,” she said.
“I’m not Bitsy,” Mollie said. “My name is Mollie Fox. Meredith and I got to be friends during that earthquake a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh!” Hilary looked confused. “So who’s Bitsy?”
“Someone who was supposed to be here, but couldn’t come. See, I wanted to figure out how Meredith ended up getting busted, so I decided to show up in Bitsy’s place,” Mollie explained. “You do know what happened to Meredith, don’t you?”
Hilary nodded. “So you’re here, like, snooping around?”
“Sort of,” Mollie said. “Anyway, I was wondering if we could get together and talk. Maybe you could help me retrace Meredith’s steps while she was here.”
Hilary shrugged. “I hardly even saw her.”
“That’s what she said. Still, it might help.”
“Okay, I guess.” Hilary scribbled an address on an envelope with an eye pencil. “Come to my apartment tonight around nine thirty, and we can talk before I go out.”
“You go out at nine thirty?” asked Mollie.
“No, not until eleven,” Hilary said. “Things don’t get started until then.”
“Oh,” Mollie said. “Right. Well, I’ll see you then. Thanks.”
“Sure,” Hilary said. “Hey, you’re not here all by yourself, are you?”
“No, I’m here with … a friend,” Mollie said. “We’re staying with his cousin on Staten Island.”
“You can bring him, too, if you want,” Hilary said. “Your friend, not his cousin.”
Mollie didn’t know what to think. It certainly didn’t sound as if Hilary were hiding anything. “Hilary, you won’t tell anyone who I really am, will you?”
“No. I like the idea of pulling a fast one on Eleanor. If you’ve made it this far, you’re set. And you do look a little like Kathy Carlisle.”
“Really?” Mollie said.
“Except you’re too short,” Hilary added.
“So I’ve heard.”
“What can I do you for?” A man behind a bullet-proof window chomped on a cigar and stared at Mollie.
“I’m looking for a limousine,” Mollie shouted back.
“What kindja want?”
“I don’t want to rent one. I want to look at one,” she said. “I think I lost something in one of them earlier this week.”
“Here’s the lost-and-found.” The man lifted the glass, shoved a box underneath, and closed it again.
Mollie looked through it quickly. The box wasn’t going to help her—she needed to see the car. “It’s not in here.”
“Then we didn’t find it,” the man said. He lifted the glass and took back the box. He was watching a soap opera on TV, and he obviously didn’t plan to miss even one juicy scene.
“You might not have seen it—it’s a small earring,” Mollie said. “I really need to find it. It doesn’t belong to me, I borrowed it from a friend, and now I’ve lost it. I’m sure it’s in the limo that we took to the airport because—”
“All right, already.” The man glared at her.
“So can I see the car?” Mollie asked.
“What kind was it?”
“A BMW stretch limo. Do you have a bunch of them?”
“Only one. It’s over there.” The man gestured with his head toward the garage on his right. The door had a large padlock on it.
“Could you let me in?” Mollie asked. “It’ll only take a second. I’ll wait for a commercial break.”
