The Magnolia Palace(66)

Mr. Broderick leaned in closer. “What a time you’ve had of it, my girl. Trust me, I know these reporters, and they don’t care what the real story is. Nor do the police. You were right to stay out of sight and then seek me out. I will take care of you. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“You will?” Opening up to him had been the right decision. “I’d be happy to audition for any role, no matter how small.”

He stood and began to pace. “I can already see it in my mind’s eye, which is always a good sign. This is how I work, I wait until the story comes to me. One can’t rush the creative process.”

A ripple of courage zinged through her. “You remind me of the artists I posed for,” she said. “The best ones often circled me in the studio for an hour before they even began. They’d mumble to themselves, make sketches, that sort of thing. Once they started work, it became a partnership, in many ways. I’d often offer up suggestions that came to mind as I posed.”

“You were a muse to them and you’ll be a muse to me, I can see that. Do you have anything that’s keeping you here in New York?”

She thought of Miss Helen and Richard. It was better for her to leave so they could figure out whatever arrangement would work best without her muddying things up. “No. I have no one.”

“I meant, this investigation. Do the police have a warrant out for your arrest?”

“I believe I may be wanted for questioning, or at least that’s the way it’s been written about in the press.”

“Fine. Then you can leave with me tomorrow, and we’ll put you up somewhere quiet near the studio while we figure out the best story for the press. We’ll say that you fled the big, bad city for the sunshine of Los Angeles, and that you’ve been reborn.”

“Reborn?”

“I’d prefer to give you a screen test in the studio, with the proper sets and costumes, but I’m willing to make do with what we have here. Stand there.” He pointed to the center of the room.

She did so and waited. He backed away, holding out his hands in two L shapes, and knelt low. “That’s right, bring your chin up, look above me, over me.”

For a fleeting moment, her nerves kicked in again, but she reminded herself she’d been studied closely before, that this was no different from the hundreds of other times she’d been inspected, scrutinized. She hoped the bags under her eyes from the weekend of sleep deprivation didn’t show.

“My God, you look good from every angle,” he said. “I’m going to talk, and I’d like you to react to what I’m saying in whatever way feels natural. Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“Go to the doorway.”

She walked to where she’d first entered.

“Here’s what I envision. I want to tell your story.”

“My story?”

“Yes. This will be a collaboration. Angelica, the Artists’ Muse.”

A collaboration. Her name in the movie’s title.

He continued. “We must capitalize on what you’ve done before, show that you’re an emblem, embedded in the culture of New York City. That you’ve been persecuted and called vile names, but that your essence is still pure.”

Vile names? She didn’t want to draw attention to the scandal with her landlord. The whole point of going to California and acting was to get beyond all that, move forward. She was about to volunteer that she’d be happy to act in a movie that had already been written, but she couldn’t get a word in. He was backing up, talking quickly.

“Let’s pretend it’s the first time that you’ve come to an artist’s studio and been asked to pose. Go ahead, action.”

“Action?”

He stood and blew out a breath. “Yes. Enter the room as if it was a studio. Can you do that?”

“My mother was always with me.”

“No mother. We need to raise the stakes, heighten the narrative. You’re all alone, and this is the first time you’ve done this. Can you remember that?”

She could, and shivered a little at the memory.

“Yes! Exactly what I’m looking for. What you did there. Keep on going.”

She’d impress him with her acting skills, even if this was not what she had expected. Lillian entered the room and stood, looking about with wide eyes, as if she were surrounded by finished statues and works in progress.

“Wonderful! Now here comes the artist. He’s circling you.”

She stiffened, watching the imaginary man as he passed by.

“Terrific. Now, we’ll have to re-create what happened to you in the studio. You sense that he wants more than just a model, and it frightens you. Show me that.”

She broke out of character, confused. “But that never happened. All the sculptors I worked with were working artists, not seducers. My mother made quite sure of that.”

“Again with the mother. There is no mother, all right?”

“But if it’s going to be my story, then shouldn’t we be true to it? I’m not ashamed of what I did, posing as a model. There was nothing untoward about it.”

Mr. Broderick plunked down in a chair, knees wide, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He spoke evenly, like a disappointed parent patiently explaining the rules to a young child. “You’re not some farm girl from Omaha who no one has heard of before. If you are the true Angelica, we have to embrace your recent notoriety.”