The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [115]
“Off with the coat,” Madame said. “Quick, quick!”
She shrugged off her coat and threw it over her arm.
“Melodie?” Madame called, and a young maidservant, pretty in purple with a frilly white organdie apron, hurried forward. “Quick, take away her coat and her shoes.”
“Turn around,” Madame said, waving her arm to indicate just how she should spin. “Yes, yes, the posture is good, and the height … too thin, of course, but that’s good … and the long neck is quite beautiful. Show me your legs,” she commanded suddenly.
Missie stared at her, suddenly angry; she was being ordered around and asked to show her legs, and she didn’t even know what the job was. Putting her hands on her hips the way she had seen Rosa do, she stared at Madame Elise belligerently. “Why?” she demanded.
“Why? How else would I see what your legs look like? And never put your hands on your hips like that, you look like a fishwife, not a mannequin.”
“A mannequin?” Missie’s eyes almost popped out of her head.
Madame Elise’s foot tapped impatiently on the soft gray carpet. “Why else am I interviewing you?” she demanded. “I have girls standing in line to become an Elise mannequin and all you do is ask questions. Now, let me see your face. Kneel here in front of me.”
Missie knelt and Madame took her chin, tilting her face this way and that. “Ah,” she said, softening, “the eyes are a true violet, my favorite color.”
She smiled suddenly. “You are … unexpected,” she told Missie. “I did not expect you to turn up on my doorstep. You are unexpectedly beautiful, and unexpectedly, you will become my new mannequin. My favorite girl, Barbara, eloped suddenly with a millionaire from Texas.” She sighed dramatically. “All my girls marry millionaires—everyone knows that to be an Elise mannequin is a stepping-stone into society. But my spring collection is to be shown next week and I designed all the star evening dresses around Barbara. Only she had that quality necessary to bring out the sensuousness of the fabrics. Now, you have the height, the build, the bone structure, beautiful hair and eyes—and I can teach you the rest. We will adapt Barbara’s dresses to fit you and you will show them here next week to the very cream of New York society.”
She sat back, smiling triumphantly at Missie. “Oh, but I can’t …” Missie began, “I mean, I’ve never …”
“Of course you can,” Madame Elise said calmly. “You will begin today. But first some tea.” Melodie appeared like magic with a tray and Madame motioned Missie to sit beside her. “Beware les éminences grises.” She laughed, indicating the two poodles. “They bite when they are disturbed, especially men. Ah, they hate men….”
Missie sat down gingerly at the edge of the sofa, accepting the tea.
“Eh bien,” Madame said. “Now, what is your name?”
“Missie, Missie O’Bryan.” She flinched as Madame tuttutted, waving her hand in the air in distress.
“Oh, no, no, no, no … nevaire … I refuse to have a mannequin called Missie—like a maidservant.”
“Well, your maidservant is called Melodie,” she retorted.
Madame Elise laughed, running a hand through her luxuriant red hair. “Nonsense, her real name is Freda. Mon Dieu, I ask you?” She laughed again, waking the poodles, who began to yap shrilly, sending the lusters on the chandeliers tinkling.
“Actually, Madame,” Missie said, “my real name is Verity.” It had been so long since she had used it she had almost forgotten.
“Verity?” Madame cocked her head first this way and then that, studying her again. “La vénté, ‘the truth.’ Ah, but I like that, it is cool, calm, elegant. Virginal, almost. Yes, yes, it suits you. Verity you shall be. Now, off you go to the fitting rooms. We must try on those dresses.”
Missie thought about her patched cotton underwear and stared at her, horrified. “Oh, but I can’t … I mean….” She was so humiliated she just wanted to die, and blushing, she said quickly, “You see, Madame, I’m a poor girl. I have no pretty things, my undergarments …”
“Ah! I understand.” Madame Elise’s face softened, and she leaned