Lying in Wait(33)

‘I … didn’t think …’

‘Don’t worry, dear, you’ll never be a lingerie model, your bust is too small, but I need to get your statistics.’ She laughed, though not unkindly. She was efficient as she proceeded to measure my hips, waist and bust. Then she stood me on a weighing scale.

‘Do you lose and gain weight easily?’

‘I … I don’t know. I never really weigh myself.’

‘You are one of the lucky ones. Still, you should drop about three pounds and try to maintain that weight.’

I wasn’t sure if that meant an extreme diet.

‘Nothing drastic,’ she said, reading my face. ‘Cut out bread and potatoes and you’ll be there in no time.’

She set up a very bright lamp against a white sheet at the back of the loft and took Polaroid photographs of my face from every angle. She took garments from a rail, and shoes from a rack, and sent me to a small booth to change into them. She had me comb my hair out straight, and pile it on top of my head, and tie it into bunches on each side of my face, and all the time I’d hear the click and whirr of the camera as it spat out print after print of me in every pose – hand on hip, arms behind my head, eyes closed, reclining on a sofa, jumping in the air. Afterwards, she gestured me to sit in the chair opposite hers.

‘I think you’re worth investing in. Would you like me to represent you?’

I didn’t know what she meant. Yvonne patiently explained.

‘Darling, you’re a very beautiful girl, with a natural smile. You are like a young Shirley MacLaine. Perfect skin tone and bone structure. I don’t understand why it took you so long to ring me. Any other girl your age would have chased me out of the shop.’

I didn’t know what to say.

She sighed. ‘Why do redheads have such low self-esteem? You must remember that what might have been carrot-orange in your childhood is what we now call a Titian auburn. Do you know how much people pay to have their hair dyed that colour?’

I shook my head, self-consciously running a hand through my hair.

‘My clients will pay to have you model their clothing, hair products and skin products, or it could be groceries and washing machines, who knows? But I intend to pitch you to the high-end magazines. I make twenty per cent of whatever you make, but I get you the jobs. In the meantime, at my own expense, I will send you to classes for deportment, etiquette, make-up and fashion. You need to know how to move and dress like a model. Never wear polyester again, do you hear me?’

I was mortified. My best dress was not good enough.

‘From now on, wear just cotton and wool until you can afford better. It shouldn’t be long!’ She grinned at me. ‘When can you start?’

I was gobsmacked, and flattered of course, but all this information was a lot to take in. ‘I … I’ll have to talk to my husband first.’

‘Husband? Good Lord, what age are you?’

‘Twenty-four.’

‘Really? My God. Well, not any more. If anyone asks, you’re nineteen. And you are not married. It is perfectly acceptable to have a boyfriend, but a husband already? You should have waited until you were thirty. Fenlon is your married name? What is your maiden name?’

‘Doyle.’

‘That’s worse. We’ll keep it as Karen Fenlon. It has a certain charm.’ A thought struck her. ‘Oh God, please tell me you don’t have children?’

‘No.’ I could be firm about that, at least.

‘Good. About your accent …’

‘Yeah?’

‘Best not to speak unless you’re spoken to. Most of my girls come from … educated backgrounds.’

I shrank back into the chair.

‘Nevertheless, my clients will be paying for what you look like, not what you sound like, but we don’t want to put them off unnecessarily.’ She paused. ‘I’m from the Liberties, you know. La Touche isn’t even my real name.’

That shocked me. People from the Liberties sounded more like me than her.

‘Elocution lessons, darling. Nobody would take me seriously in the fashion business if I sounded like … you.’

‘I can’t … change the way I talk.’

She laughed. ‘With your looks, you probably won’t have to. Now, let’s talk about your lifestyle. Drink? Drugs? Wild party girl?’

‘Pardon?’

‘If you are as successful as I hope, journalists might want to know more about you, your background. Is there anything we need to worry about?’

‘No, nothing. I’m very ordinary.’ It wasn’t a lie.

We spent the afternoon discussing my future. She assured me that I was unlikely to be asked to do underwear shoots, unless I went international, and only if I chose to do so. I smiled at the thought of that. International.

But there were obstacles. While Yvonne would pay for my classes, there were things I’d have to pay for too. I needed a photo book done by a professional photographer. I needed a range of make-up, hair accessories, hats, scarves, stockings of all colours, shoes of all heights. She advised that I could pick up a lot in second-hand shops, but the photographer would cost a week’s wages. Dessie and me were saving for a house of our own. I was happy enough in the flat above the funeral home in Thomas Street, but Dessie had been saying we’d need a garden for the kids.