“How do you like it?” he asked me.
“Do you know how much all this costs?”
“A safe investment, in my mind. And the purse?” he asked the salesgirl.
“Ah, oui.” She went out and brought one back. Its price was $500.
“Perfect,” Mr. Bob said.
I looked at the salesgirl and then at the other customer, who had stopped buying anything for herself and was now more fascinated by what was going on with us. What was I getting myself into? How come the restaurant and this salesgirl knew him so well? I tried to imagine what my father would say if he knew where I was and what I was doing. Mama would probably start crying.
Mr. Bob looked at his watch. “You might want to freshen up or something before we start out,” he suggested.
This was my time to back out. I could just go into that changing room, get back into my own clothes, hand the beautiful dress and shoes to the salesgirl, and walk away. But I didn’t.
I returned to the changing room and got back into my clothes. The salesgirl took the dress, shoes, and purse and packaged it all in a pretty bag with the store’s name. Once again, I heard Mr. Bob say, “Put it on my bill, s’il vous plaît.”
“Très bien,” she replied. Another customer entered, but the first had remained and was still watching us as we left the store.
“Okay, that’s done,” Mr. Bob said. “So where do I pick you up in”—he looked at his watch—“about an hour?”
“I’ll meet you in front of the restaurant we were at,” I said.
/>
“Really?” He studied my face for a moment. He understood and nodded. “Fine. An hour.”
We parted at the corner, and I hurried away. My mind was spinning with the possibilities. He really was an agent, probably an agent for a modeling firm. He was taking me to meet the owner of the firm. Other girls dreamed of becoming international models making tons of money. The idea had flashed through my mind from time to time, but I never really dwelled on it or on the thought of becoming a movie or television star. I had a nice voice, but I couldn’t imagine myself going on some television show and winning. The truth was, I never had high ambitions for myself. Miss Gene loved to point that out whenever I was brought into the guidance office for a session.
It was something else I could easily blame on my father, I thought. He criticized and chastised me so much it was impossible for me to have a good image of myself, or at least one good enough to build some ambition on it. And my mother didn’t imagine great things for me, either. Yes, she wanted me to do well in school, but she never pushed me to do anything. It was as if I would magically fall into something that would clarify my future and save us all from the deep, disastrous pit lying in wait for me.
What else could this be but a modeling job? I was determined to do my best to get it, because I knew I would make enough money to do just what Mr. Bob suggested and be independent. It was all a great stroke of luck. If I hadn’t been in that restaurant when he was, none of this would be happening. I should be grateful now that no one had even thought of hiring me for one of those low-paying jobs.
I sped up. I wanted to work harder on my hair and do the best job on my makeup that I could with what little I had before returning to meet Mr. Bob. I felt strong and confident again. When I entered the fleabag hotel, the old man was behind the counter. He widened his eyes and looked surprised at the smile I had for him.
“You staying another day?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not.”
I laughed and hurried up to my room. I laid the dress, shoes, and purse on the bed and stared at it all. With taxes, this man had just spent almost three thousand dollars on me. How did he even know I would show up and he would ever see me again? Surely he saw something in me that gave him so much confidence.
It was only when I looked into the smoky, cracked mirror that I thought to myself, If this turns out to be nothing or something disappointing, Papa will have won.
And it would be a long time before I smiled with the arrogance and confidence with which I had smiled at the old man downstairs again.
3
I was in front of the restaurant early. As I stood there, I thought that maybe being early was a mistake. It showed too much eagerness, and in my experience, when you showed too much eagerness for anything someone else could do for you or give you, you were at a big disadvantage. All my life, I believed it was the nature of people to enjoy the feeling of superiority that your being in debt to them brought them. Papa and his military family taught me that with their ranks and officers and the way underlings were often treated. All that bullying was supposed to make the victim tougher and build character, but to me, it was simply a way for those in charge to feel more important. Maybe that was why I was so defiant most of the time.
Watching the buses and cars go by, I wondered if Mr. Bob had expected me to have a proper shawl or jacket to go along with my new dress. I glanced at my image in the window. I was wearing a beautiful dress with beautiful shoes, but I couldn’t help feeling awkward and out of place. I was certainly too formally dressed to be standing on a sidewalk in this neighborhood. The longer I waited, the more ridiculous I began to feel, despite the admiring looks and comments I was getting from men of all ages who were passing by or going in and out of the restaurant.
I had almost turned to flee when a black stretch limousine suddenly pulled up to the curb. The driver, in full chauffeur uniform, stepped out quickly and opened the rear door. He turned to me and nodded. I was a bit dumbfounded, but when I looked into the automobile, I saw Mr. Bob smiling.
“You look great,” he said.
I got in, and the driver closed the door.
“I like what you did with your hair, but you really do need some professional help with it and with your makeup. You’d be surprised at the difference it will make when a professional gets to work on you. I’m sure Mrs. Brittany will have something to say about all that. If anyone can turn a swan into a princess, it’s Mrs. Brittany.”