The Magnolia Palace(20)
“That’s crazy. You’re skinny as can be.”
“You’re so sweet.”
Even though she was starving, Veronica left half of her sandwich on her plate, not wanting to appear greedy.
After lunch, they returned to the room with the panels and changed into silk Givenchy evening gowns. Veronica’s was jet black, and it picked up the radiance in her hair, making her skin look even paler than normal, but in an arty way that she hoped would please Barnaby. She made a note to wear more black when she went out on go-sees.
They gathered in the big living room in the center of the house, which had French doors that led out to what in summer must be a large lawn, but today was covered in snowdrifts that were getting larger by the hour.
“All right,” said Barnaby, rubbing his hands together. “Everyone outside.”
“What?” asked Tangerine.
“I want you girls leaping in snow. I’ll shoot from the doorway.”
The models all wore their own high-heeled shoes, which would be ruined by the snow. Veronica had paid twenty-four pounds for hers. What a waste. Not to mention their expensive clothes. “What about the outfits?” she asked.
“I don’t care about the outfits.”
Veronica noted a grim expression on the editorial director’s face. She certainly did, although she didn’t seem eager to share that fact.
One by one, the models gingerly made their way down the stone steps. The snowflakes acted as a gauzy filter for the weighty stone wall and gray trees rising above Fifth Avenue, the perfect winter tableau. Maybe Barnaby knew what he was doing, after all. They wouldn’t be out here long, certainly.
Within minutes, Veronica’s ankles turned to ice, the snowflakes bit into her bare cheeks and arms, and the wind, which had picked up, almost swept her off her feet.
They posed as directed, shivering together in a huddle while the PAs replaced the film in the camera, then posed again. Veronica couldn’t feel her fingers or her toes, and her silk shoes were sopping wet.
“I have a brilliant idea,” said Barnaby, pointing up with his free hand. “I’m going to go to the floor above and shoot down at you. I want you all on your backs making snow angels when I give the order.”
“What?” asked Tangerine. “In the snow?”
“Of course.”
“Can we come in and warm up a little while you set up?” Veronica ventured.
“No, won’t be long. Stay put.”
It would take him at least ten minutes to reset on the floor above. And then they were supposed to roll around on the ground? Veronica and Tangerine exchanged glances.
“But it’s freezing,” said Tangerine, her lips blue.
“Tangerine.” Barnaby pointed a finger at her. “I wouldn’t think you would be so cold, with that extra layer of fat you carry around.”
To Veronica’s astonishment, not one of the other models said a word in protest, even though they all had chattering teeth. She remembered the go-see where, fed up by the lack of consideration for the models’ time, she’d channeled her frustrations and discovered a power she didn’t even know she had. She drew on that now. He had no right to be so cruel.
“This is inhumane,” she said. “We’re all going to get terribly sick. And that’s an awful thing to say to Tangerine. You should apologize.”
“Stop it,” hissed Tangerine. “Shut up.”
Veronica turned to her. “We don’t have to be treated like this.”
Barnaby spoke up. “Are you going to hold up the shoot even further than it already is? Let me remind you, we all have a train to catch, and right now you’re the one keeping these girls stuck out in the cold.”
“Yeah, shut the hell up.” Gigi practically spit out the words.
Barnaby spoke with crisp displeasure. “I will make the next few days hell for you if you don’t obey me. You got that, Veronica? If you’re so cold, go inside. We’ll do this without you.”
She thought of Polly, of all the money she was earning, and grudgingly allowed her courage to dissipate. “I’m fine,” she muttered.
Ten minutes later she was flat on her back in a foot of snow, waving her arms and legs back and forth while Barnaby yelled out orders from the upper floor of the Frick Collection. The evening gown stuck to her body, the wet cutting into her skin like acid.
“Veronica, you’re not trying,” brayed Barnaby. “More arms, please.”
A strong gust of wind swept a coating of powdery snow over them, causing the girls to shriek. They’d be buried alive if this continued. Veronica sat up. “I can’t anymore. It’s too cold.”
Barnaby lowered his camera. “That’s it. Get out of my sight. Now.”
He didn’t have to say it twice.
Veronica ran past the crew and disappeared deep into the house.
* * *
Upstairs, Veronica stripped off the soaked, utterly wretched gown, and used her scarf to dry herself off. Shivering still, she pulled on her street clothes, thankful that she’d packed a thick turtleneck and jeans. Outside the window, the snow was coming down even harder. She watched it, mesmerized, miserable at herself for not being able to cope, frustrated at having stood up for Tangerine, only to make matters worse. She packed up her suitcases and sat for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Go down and wait? Leave and catch the next plane back to London?