Secrets of Paris_ A Novel - Luanne Rice [97]
The man studied Kelly’s petition. He tapped his finger up and down it. “Let’s see,” he said. “You are twenty-seven years of age, born in Cavite province in the Philippines.”
“Yes sir,” Kelly said, trying to place his accent. She had never heard one like it. A banner on his wall said “Miami Dolphins.” Was he from Florida?
“Ever been arrested?” he asked.
“No sir,” Kelly said.
“You finished college? Majored in accounting?” He spoke too fast for her to respond. “Worked at a bank in Cavite? You’re a Catholic? Never married? With no children?”
“I have no children,” Kelly said, a bubble of panic rising. She fought it down, forced herself to breathe normally.
“What I don’t understand, Miss Merida,” said the man, smiling slightly, looking at her for the first time, “is how your education and past work experience prepare you to assist Mrs. McBride.”
“I have a flair for the work,” Kelly said, earnestly. “And I am an integral part of her business.”
“So, tell me just what you do.”
Kelly leaned forward, to read the Formica nameplate on the man’s desk. It said “Mr. Wright.” She felt better, knowing his name. “Mrs. McBride is a stylist,” Kelly said. “She is hired by magazines all over the world to create photographs.” Kelly remembered several of the examples Lydie had invented for her. Lydie had told Kelly to remember the examples, then use her imagination. “Right now Mrs. McBride is directing advertisements for d’Origny jewelers. We are putting on a banquet. Everyone will be there!”
“A banquet to advertise jewelry?” Mr. Wright asked skeptically.
“Oh, yes,” Kelly said. “Beautiful guests will be photographed wearing the jewels. We had to rent ball gowns, foods …” What else would you have at a banquet? She tried to picture fiestas in the Philippines, like the feast of St. Mary Magdalene on July 22. “Beautiful tablecloths, embroidered with flowers, birds, and dancing ladies,” she said. “Also centerpieces of fruits and flowers. With a twenty-piece band playing music for dancing. Also men to carry statues, very festive, to swing in tune with the band.” Kelly had no idea how close this image was to what would happen at a French banquet. She hoped the American Mr. Wright would have no idea either.
“And Mrs. McBride can’t arrange that on her own?”
“Oh, no! It takes both of us to do it right. We must have at least twenty different foods on the table—many noodles, beef and pork, oysters, mussels, shrimp, crabs, boiled chicken, and some desserts.”
“So you order the food, that sort of thing?” Mr. Wright asked.
“Yes, and Mrs. McBride is very picky about the way the foods look. Not everyone can do it right! Because the magazines and companies are paying a lot of money, so she insists it be perfect.”
“How long have you worked for Mrs. McBride?” Mr. Wright asked.
“One year,” Kelly lied, sitting even more erect. “And she has trained me to know exactly what she likes. And we have the same taste in everything! Imagine how difficult it would be for her to train someone new, someone very different from her.”
“Hmmm …” Mr. Wright said, making notations.
So far all was going well, Kelly thought. But she must not relax or let him trick her.
“Would you be willing to accompany her to the United States?” Mr. Wright asked.
Kelly took her time. Was this the trick question? Her brother Paul Anka had warned her there would be one. “Yes, I am willing,” she said after a minute.
“You have family in America? Your mother and two sisters?”
“That is true.”
“Can you tell me the first President of the United States?”
“George Washington, followed by John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison …” Kelly said proudly. She knew them all; she wished he would ask her to name them.
“Have you ever been to Russia?” Mr. Wright asked.
“Never!” Kelly said. “It is the Evil Empire.”
Mr. Wright smiled a little, making Kelly very happy. Then he looked very stern, leaning on his elbows in a way that warned Kelly he was possibly about to