“Yes, well one could. Only I think that would be too Life magazine. What interests me is a damn good face. A flamboyant face but a wise face—oh, shit. I’ve left my card in my other bag—a face that stands up to scrutiny and says I like me as I am and you can all go to hell.”
Jupiter Dodd had his brown leather agenda from Bendel’s out now. He wasn’t going to let her get away without a phone number. And Stefan. Stefan was going to pay her back for proving him wrong and being a success with Jupiter Dodd. He was going to like her more for it … admire her, at least, but he’d have to pay her back. Here it came. He was flirting blatantly now with the girl.
“I’ll be in touch,” Claire smiled and walked away. Stefan, still peeved, pretended he didn’t see her coming.
“Hi,” Claire said. “Remember me?”
Stefan looked right past her. It was Jupiter Dodd at her heels. He could hardly believe it.
“One more thing,” Dodd drew her close to him with an air of confidentiality. “I’ve got these bags under my eyes for crying out loud. Since weeks. So if you want to wait a little while before we shoot. Like till after a long weekend. I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I think,” Claire grinned at Stefan, “that if you were any more interesting looking, I wouldn’t be shooting you, I’d be painting you.”
“Ha, ha.”
“No, really. You look great. And if you’re worried, put some Lipton tea bags on your eyes for twenty minutes. All right?” Jesus.
The gallery director scuttled up to Dodd. “Come, Jupiter. Andiamo! You’ve got to meet Julio Marble. It’s his show, after all.”
They all stared at Julio Marble. A man, Claire thought, who looked suspiciously serene for one announcing the end of the world.
Dodd took Claire’s hand into his own smaller one. “Will you be coming up to Laraine’s later?”
Ashamed now of her little scam, Claire recognized him for what he was: a nice, successful, slightly demented but kind man. What was the matter with her? Was that why she’d become a photographer? To be the one in power? In demand? The poor man’s Picasso? The guitar player who’s indifferent to music but joins the band to get the girls? How stupid she was. If anyone was vain it was she.
“We’d love to come,” Stefan thrust his wine glass between them with an authoritative jiggle.
“Oh, good. Don’t not come, now,” he scolded Claire. “à bient?t!”
“à bient?t?!” Stefan mocked her now with new respect. “What did you do to the man? Talking to Jupiter Dodd about his bags! I can’t believe it! Put tea bags on them, she tells him! Five minutes in town and Jupiter Dodd asks her to join him at Laraine’s. The girl is a marvel.” He was showing off for the glamorous girl at his side now but Claire didn’t mind. Point made, she found herself wondering if the Mayor had had his late walk.
After the show they whizzed uptown. Stefan had a penchant for going faster than the speed of light in a town where pedestrians darted out from the curb just for the hell of it.
“Stefan, slow down!” she finally yelled.
“Can’t talk!” he shifted excitedly. “Driving!”
“Yes,” Claire closed her eyes.
“Wheee!” Stefan’s gorgeous sidekick giggled from the rumble seat. There was no reason why they shouldn’t give her a lift up to Laraine’s if she wanted to come, Stefan had told Claire. No reason indeed. It occurred to Claire that if he was trying to make a hit with her this was not exactly the way to do it. Or was it? Stefan hadn’t seemed particularly attractive to her tonight until he’d draped the vile creature on his arm. Was he smarter than she’d thought? And why were women who looked like that inevitably named Nicole?
“Come on, Stefan! You’ll get a ticket!”
“Diplomatic immunity!” he hollered back.