Gold Diggers. Tasmina Perry
Dan Stevens walked through the door grinning from ear to ear. Karin, however, did not think he had much to smile about. He was two hours late for the casting – she couldn’t abide lateness – and she met his grin with a stony face. Dan knew he was getting off lightly: Karin Cavendish in hell-hath-no-fury mode was a fate you wouldn’t wish on an enemy. But she was in no position to make a point; she was very, very lucky to have secured Dan’s services for the campaign. If she hadn’t given Dan his first break, setting him up an appointment to see her fashion editor friend at Elle when he was a struggling nobody, she would never had the kudos to book him. But Karin’s irritation immediately melted away when she spotted the petite blonde girl trailing in nervously behind Dan. The girl was exquisite. Long pale blonde hair hung at either side of a perfectly oval face with a cute upturned nose, full lips and lovely almond-shaped eyes.
‘You’re a little late for the casting,’ said Karin, holding out a hand. ‘Can I see your card?’
Summer stood in the doorway, nervously playing with the strap of her handbag. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have one with me,’ Summer replied politely, a little intimidated to be face to face with Karin.
‘She wasn’t sent for the casting,’ said Dan quickly. ‘I found her shopping on Regent Street. I’ve taken some quick Polaroids and – here – I really think you should take a look.’
Karin quickly studied the Polaroids, a crucial tool for casting. Pictures in a model’s portfolio were so retouched that it was often impossible to tell whether she photographed well or not. But these Polaroids were amazing. She really was beautiful; in the flesh and on film.
‘How tall are you?’ asked Karin, still looking at the photographs.
‘Five eight,’ lied Summer.
‘Five seven,’ said Karin coolly, scribbling it on the bottom of the Polaroid.
She looked up at the girl again; she looked familiar but she couldn’t place where she had seen her before.
‘Have I met you before?’ she asked.
Summer felt uncomfortable. She didn’t want to mention her mother. It always sounded as if she was cashing in on Molly’s fame.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
Suddenly the penny dropped: seeing that long hair swishing about was a dead giveaway. Now Karin saw it – the nose, that wide, luscious mouth, that long curtain of platinum hair. She felt herself stiffen with displeasure. The platinum hair suddenly looked a little too brassy, her generous breasts just a little too large.
‘You’re Molly Sinclair’s daughter, aren’t you? You came to my benefit dinner.’
‘Really?’ asked Dan, congratulating himself for spotting talent.
‘Really,’ smiled Summer, flushing.
‘Well, thanks for coming in. Goodbye,’ Karin said quickly, gesturing towards the door with her eyes.
Summer’s heart plummeted and she slowly turned and left. She was gutted: Dan Stevens hadn’t even spoken out for her.
‘Are you not even going to get her to try a swimsuit on?’ said Kirsty after Summer had left. ‘She was lovely.’
‘A pretty girl, yes,’ offered Karin brusquely. ‘But she’s too small and too curvy.’
‘Karin, she’s fantastic!’ laughed Dan incredulously.
‘She belongs on a Sports Illustrated cover!’ snapped Karin.
‘I thought you wanted the campaign to be sexy?’
‘If the girl is too obvious it’ll look tacky.’
‘Well I can’t believe she hasn’t fronted a big campaign before. The second I take to her into Vogue, every magazine and fashion company is going to want her. Her day rate will skyrocket.’
‘You’re going to take her to Vogue?’ asked Karin, her eyes narrowing.
‘US Vogue. I see them on Monday.’
Karin’s mind went into business mode, thinking three moves ahead.
‘What agency did she say she was with?’
‘La Mode agency,’ said Dan.
‘Never heard of them,’ sniffed Karin, but she was secretly pleased. A small, unknown agency would give her Summer for peanuts, just to ingratiate themselves with a fashion house. It could save Karin thousands and, if Dan was going to champion her as he was suggesting, this girl could be the next big face – and Karenza would have her first.
‘I wonder what she’d be like brunette?’
Karin snatched up her phone. ‘Jane? Can you send the model back up?’ she asked the receptionist. As they waited for Summer to come back up, Karin opened her desk drawer, removing a pair of scissors which she gave to Kirsty.
‘Can you just cut me some of your hair?’
‘What?’ replied Kirsty, startled.
‘Your hair. I need it,’ said Karin tartly, her eyes locking with Kirsty’s. ‘Come on, it’s important. Just two or three inches will be fine. It will grow back, for goodness’ sake.’
Kirsty gingerly snipped at the bottom of her brown bob and handed the segment of hair to Karin.
As Summer came back into the room, Karin walked purposefully towards her. ‘I want you to go to Joel at Real Hairdressing,’ said Karin, handing Summer the brunette locks. ‘Tell him I sent you and tell him to make your hair that colour. When he’s done it – and not before – come back here and maybe we can start trying on some swimsuits.’
Kirsty and Dan looked at each other and smiled.
Jilly was worried. After that snake Richard had gone off with the office floozie and Erin had moved out of his apartment, Jilly had fully expected her granddaughter to return to Cornwall immediately. After all, she had no home, no boyfriend, some job answering telephones twelve hours a day; what on earth could be keeping her in London?
‘I just don’t understand it, lovey,’ she said down the phone line. ‘London’s expensive, it’s lonely. Why don’t you come home?’
Erin had to admit Jilly had a point. She’d been in London six weeks and here she was, living in a single room in a Bayswater hotel costing her a hundred pounds a night. She hadn’t any friends to stay with after she’d left Richard’s – she could hardly have asked Adam to put her up for a few days while she found somewhere new to live – and working so hard at the Midas Corporation, there seemed neither the time nor the opportunity to make any new friends. It wasn’t quite the glamorous life either of them had imagined for her; then again, there was something about Midas that made her fizz with excitement, and it wasn’t just her £70,000 pay-packet. She wasn’t quite ready to leave just yet.
‘When you spent four years at university getting a Russian degree, it wasn’t to spend your life making somebody else’s travel arrangements, was it?’ said Jilly. ‘Come home. Finish your novel. That’s you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?’
Erin felt an enormous rush of guilt at the mention of her novel. Jilly could almost read her mind; Erin hadn’t written a word since she had been in London. But she’d started another career now and she couldn’t very well admit defeat so soon and go running home just because Richard was such a rat.
‘Let me give it a week,’ said Erin. ‘This hotel arrangement is purely temporary. If I haven’t got settled in a week, we can talk again.’ She put down the receiver and resolved that she had to find somewhere immediately, if not sooner.