Fantasy Summer Read online

  Robin nodded numbly.

  “Of course, all this is strictly confidential,” Jean said. “We wouldn’t want the other girls to suffer any hurt pride, now, would we?”

  “I understand,” Robin said. “I won’t tell them.”

  “Good,” Jean said. “Well, Robin, it’s time to get back to work, alas. Are they keeping you busy in the art department?”

  “Busy enough,” Robin said, getting up.

  “That’s good,” Jean said. “We have a lot of wonderful things planned for you for the rest of the summer. And do come to me if you have any problems.”

  “I certainly will,” Robin said, feeling very, very dismissed. “Thanks, Jean.”

  “Thank you,” Jean said.

  Robin walked over to the ladies’ room for a quick, fairly private cry. Jean didn’t have to worry about her hurting anyone else’s pride. Her own was damaged enough for the four of them. She wished Jean hadn’t said a word about the other girls and especially about how and why Image had picked her.

  8

  “Have any plans for tomorrow?” Shelley Haslitt asked Robin on Thursday.

  “Tomorrow night you mean?” Robin asked her. “Tim and I are going to a movie. Why?”

  “I meant tomorrow morning,” Shelley said. “More like five, six A.M.”

  “Just sleep,” Robin replied.

  “How about waking up a little early and helping us with a location shoot?” Shelley said. “Think you might like that?”

  “I’d love it!” Robin said. “You mean real fashion photography, with real live models?”

  “That’s it exactly,” Shelley said. “I know I should have given you a little more warning, but things have been so frantic I haven’t had the chance.”

  Robin had the feeling that wasn’t the only reason for the delay, but she didn’t care. After almost three weeks of watching vegetables being photographed, she was finally going to get to see a real fashion photographer at work.

  “Where’s the location shooting going to be?” she asked, images of all the glamorous possibilities flashing through her mind. Maybe the Hamptons. Maybe the Andirondacks. Maybe even London!

  “On the steps of the Metropolitan Museum,” Shelley replied. “That’s why we’re shooting at sunrise. The light’s better then but sunset is a lot easier because you can spend the whole day setting up. But the museum only gave us approval if we were out before the crowds started coming, so sunrise it is.”

  “Why the Metropolitan steps?” Robin asked, hoping her disappointment didn’t show.

  “We would have used Central Park except for all the trees,” Shelley explained. “You have to be so careful when you’re shooting winter clothes in July that there are no trees or flowers showing. Steps are a lot easier.”

  “But why in the city?” Robin persisted.

  Shelley laughed. “We don’t have an endless budget,” she said. “Do you have any idea how expensive these things are?”

  Robin shook her head.

  “Well, for starters, the models can earn up to two-fifty an hour,” Shelley began. “We’ll be using four models, two men, two women. Models get paid more if it’s a coed shoot. Don’t ask me why. And then there’s the cost of the photographer—don’t forget, we won’t be using Herb—and the photographer’s assistant. Then there are the security people. Off-duty cops, usually. They cost money too.”

  “Are they to keep the crowds from bothering the models?” Robin asked.

  “They’re to keep the crowds from ripping off the equipment,” Shelley replied. “Then there’s the cost of the Winnebago we’ll be renting to use as a dressing room, and kitchen, and all-purpose hangout. There’s even the cost of the food to consider. We can’t afford a couple of hours’ transportation time, so an in-city location makes a lot more sense. Fortunately New York has a lot of different locations to use.”

  “I never thought about all the different costs,” Robin said.

  “I should hope not,” Shelley said. “We don’t like our readers to be concerned with that sort of nitty-gritty.”

  Robin blushed. She still wasn’t happy with the idea that the only reason she’d gotten the internship was that she was the perfect Image reader. She certainly preferred it if the people she worked with didn’t think of her that way.

  “Well, now that you know what exciting stuff you have in store tomorrow, maybe you should get back to work,” Shelley suggested.

  “Sure,” Robin said. “Just one thing. What time should I be at the museum?”

  “Four A.M. and not a minute later,” Shelley replied. “We’re hoping to start shooting before six and be out of there by eight.”

  “I think maybe I should go to bed now,” Robin said. “I’ll need my twelve hours’ beauty sleep.”

  “If the models get the sleep, we’ll all be in better shape,” Shelley said. “Get to work, Schyler.”

  It was hard to concentrate on the suddenly boring tasks that made up the majority of Robin’s workday, but she put aside all her fantasies and ran around doing errands for everybody else. Eventually five o’clock arrived, and Robin scurried out of the office and practically ran back to her hotel. She waited impatiently until she heard Torey and Annie return to their room, and then she ran over there and told them her news.

  “Four A.M.?” Annie asked. “And you’re excited about this?”

  “It isn’t like it’s the middle of winter,” Robin replied. “It’ll practically be daylight already.”

  “Early morning is a lovely time of day,” Torey said. “Especially in the country. I know lots of people who get up around then to do jobs on their farms.”

  “Up with the chickens,” Annie said. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m very happy that we’re not rooming together, Robin. Be sure to tiptoe as you leave the hotel.”

  “I’ll be quiet as a cockroach,” Robin said. “I’ll have to be, to make sure I don’t wake up Ashley.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Ashley said, sticking her head in. “You should lock your door, you know—it isn’t safe for you to keep it unlocked like this.”

  “We’re willing to take our chances,” Torey said. “Robin’s going to get up real early tomorrow to go on a location shoot.”

  “I know,” Ashley said, plopping down on Torey’s bed. “We’ll be sharing a cab. Assuming there are cabs at that hour.”

  “You’ll be going too?” Robin asked. After a moment’s thought, she decided that on the whole she was happy to hear it.

  “I’ll be assisting the clothes stylist,” Ashley said. “I was talking with her all afternoon about accessories. I think I talked her into white gloves.”

  Robin thought about how she’d spent her afternoon. It certainly wasn’t in consultation with the photographer. She didn’t even know who the photographer was.

  “I’m sure it’s all very exciting,” Annie said, suppressing a yawn. “But I for one am starved and want to eat my measly portion of fish and veggies. Anyone for supper?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Ashley said, and soon the girls were at the hotel’s dining room, eating and talking, and feeling good.

  As far as Ashley was concerned, it made no sense to even try to sleep that night, but Robin, remembering that she had a full day’s work after the shoot, and a date with Tim that evening, thought it was worth it to get as much sleep as she could. So Ashley was banished to the bathroom, where she curled up in the bathtub on top of a pile of pillows and read a sleazy novel.

  It took Robin quite a while to fall asleep. This was the chance she’d been hoping for, the one to see what fashion photography was really like. Maybe she’d do something so brilliant, the photographer would offer her a job on the spot. Of course she wouldn’t take it, not until she’d at least graduated from high school, but maybe after that …

  Robin pictured herself living in New York, learning the ropes, living in a fabulous studio apartment in Greenwich Village. Tim was by her side, of course, going to Columbia, so they could spend lots of time to
gether. Soon she’d set up her own business, taking pictures for Image, and then Vogue and Glamour. Ultimately she’d have a show at the Museum of Modern Art, but that was unlikely to happen for at least ten years. She’d have been on the cover of People magazine several times by then, and profiled on Sixty Minutes. She and Tim would be married, and he’d be a lawyer or an architect or something equally impressive. Maybe a Broadway producer. She’d leave that up to him.

  Eventually she fell asleep and dreamed all night long that she was awake and not able to sleep. It made for a restless, uncomfortable night, and she wasn’t all that sorry when the alarm finally went off at three-fifteen and officially woke her.

  Ashley was snoring gently in the bathtub, and Robin was sorry to have to wake her, but she did. Ashley vacated the room, and Robin showered quickly, finding it hard to believe that she was actually awake and doing things at that ungodly hour. When she went back into the bedroom, she found Ashley curled up on her bed sound asleep, so she woke her up again, this time less gently.

  “I am not a morning person,” Ashley muttered, but she stood up on her own and made it to the bathroom. Robin listened carefully for the sounds of snores, but heard only water running. In a few minutes Ashley emerged, looking almost normal.

  “They really should pay overtime,” Ashley declared. “Or let us go home at noon and stay away from the office on Monday as well.”

  “I thought you liked it at work,” Robin said, staring at the sweater she’d put out. She’d probably need it now, and regret it from seven A.M. on. Ashley wasn’t taking a sweater, but Ashley was prone to daring gestures, and maybe she regarded being cold as being daring. It was so hard to be rational when you should be in bed.

  She finally wrapped the sweater around her waist, pushed Ashley out of the room, and tiptoed down the hallway. Before they reached the elevator, Robin heard Torey whisper “Have fun” from her doorway.

  “That was nice of her,” Robin said to Ashley as the elevator took them downstairs.

  Ashley didn’t answer. She’d fallen back asleep, propped up in a corner.

  Robin woke her up for the third time as the elevator arrived in the lobby, and the girls nodded hello at the night clerk and walked out onto the deserted street. New York was completely different at night, Robin realized. It was almost quiet, very still, and slightly mysterious.

  “We’ll probably get mugged,” Ashley said. “If we get mugged, I will definitely demand combat pay.”

  “The muggers are asleep,” Robin said. “We’re the only people awake in all of New York.”

  But as she said it, a cab cruised by. Robin hailed it successfully, and the girls rode up Madison Avenue.

  “We’re going to the museum to break into it,” Ashley confided to the cabbie. “There’s a fabulous El Greco that I simply must have.”

  “Get me a Rembrandt while you’re there,” the cabbie said as he sped through the streets. “And a couple of Monets for my wife. She’s a sucker for the Impressionists.”

  “I’ll see how much space I have in my bag,” Ashley said. “What are you going to take, Robin?”

  Robin stretched. “Queen Elizabeth’s bed,” she said. “Or maybe I’ll just go to sleep in it, and let you do the robbing for both of us.”

  “Well, here we are, girls,” the cabbie announced as he drew up near the museum steps. “Have fun, whatever you’re doing.”

  Robin looked out the window as Ashley paid the cabdriver. There were already people swarming around, even though it wasn’t quite four yet. The girls scurried out of the cab and up the stairs, splitting up as they found the people they’d be working with.

  “She’s here, Paul,” she heard Shelley call out as she approached her. “Paul Driscoll, this is Robin Schyler.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Paul said, shaking Robin’s hand. “She’ll do fine, Shelley. Thanks.”

  “What am I doing?” Robin asked.

  “You’re going to be our stand-in,” Shelley said. “Paul is Jessie King’s assistant. He’s going to take light-meter readings of you until we’re actually ready to start shooting the models.”

  “Do I have to do anything?” Robin asked. “Move like a model?”

  “Just stand still,” Paul said. “And be patient.”

  Robin found herself at the top of the museum steps for what seemed like hours. After a while she had to shield her eyes from the sun. She also shifted from foot to foot, and yearned to be anywhere else. She felt foolish and conspicuous, and very glad she had never dreamed of being a model.

  “Who is this creature of loveliness?”

  Robin turned around to see if the man was addressing her. He certainly seemed to be. He was the best-looking man she had ever seen.

  “Greg Lewis,” he said. “I don’t suppose I’ll be lucky enough to be working with you today.”

  “I don’t know,” Robin said. “What do you do?”

  Greg smiled, showing an extraordinary mouthful of teeth. “Just one of the models, I’m afraid,” he said.

  That explained his dazzling perfection. Robin squinted at him and wished she’d thought to bring her sunglasses. They just hadn’t seemed relevant in the middle of the night. Not only was he perfect-looking, he also seemed to be in his late teens, or early twenties at most. Only none of the teenage boys she knew, not even Tim, were quite that polished. This guy positively shone.

  “I’m not a model,” Robin told him. “Just a summer intern with Image.”

  “That’s even better,” Greg said. “That takes talent. I don’t think you’ve told me your name yet.”

  “Robin,” Robin admitted.

  “What a lovely name,” Greg said. “How long have you been here, Robin?”

  “About an hour,” Robin replied. “My feet hurt. Don’t you feel silly doing this for a living?”

  “It’s only until my acting career gets going,” Greg said. “I’m up for a very big part on one of the soaps right now. The minute that comes through, it’s good-bye to modeling.”

  “Good luck with it,” Robin said, wishing he would go away, and the assistant would dismiss her, and she could meet Jessie King, and start learning what fashion photography was all about.

  “Gregory!” a woman called out, and sure enough, Greg scurried away, leaving Robin standing all alone. Half her wishes were granted, Robin realized, but she still wasn’t happy with her function in life.

  When she tried to break away, though, Paul told her to get back there, since he had to do the final light-meter readings. Robin sighed, shifted, and squinted a few minutes longer.

  Then out came the models, all dressed in perfect winter fashion. Robin nearly died from sympathy when she saw them dressed in wool coats and scarves. Sure enough, one of the women had white gloves on. What’s more, her scarf was being held together with a circle pin. Robin knew she’d have to tell her mother that when she called on Sunday.

  It was hard to tell who was the prettiest of the models, but Robin favored Greg, who was dressed up in a three-piece suit and a very fancy overcoat. He was sweating like a pig. Ashley, Robin noted, had been given the highly responsible job of wiping the sweat off the brows of the models. She felt better about her own job after that.

  Jessie King came out of the van and checked things out with Paul for a few minutes. She was a beautiful black woman who looked completely competent. Robin was willing to bet she had great upper-arm strength, too. She’d definitely have to start working out with weights as soon as she got back to Ohio.

  And then, almost without warning, the actual shooting began. As soon as it did, a crowd started forming at the bottom of the steps. It wasn’t even seven yet, and already there were joggers out, and people walking their dogs, and people just out for reasons all their own, and they all seemed to have gathered around to watch. Robin was thankful she wasn’t still standing in.

  “Move a little to your left, Dorrie,” Jessie King said, and the model followed her instructions. Soon Ms. King ordered the models to hold hands, laug
h at imaginary jokes, play with their scarves, tease each other, and generally behave like four teenagers who’d known each other forever. She snapped pictures continuously, starting with Polaroid shots that took a minute or so to develop. The pictures were rushed back to the Winnebago, where presumably the Image editors approved or disapproved them. Then Ms. King started shooting the real thing. Her assistant, Paul, obviously was keeping count of how many shots she was taking, since when one roll of film was finished he’d hand her a fresh camera and load the first one. He also handed her different lenses when she asked for them.

  Robin watched it all, almost as fascinated as the crowd at the bottom of the stairs. Ashley was no longer wiping off sweat, and she too was standing to one side, taking it all in.

  Then suddenly it was over. “I have enough,” Ms. King declared. “Thanks, everybody.”

  “Thank you,” Shelley said, and the models broke their poses and ran back to the Winnebago, presumably to change into something a little cooler.

  Robin walked over to where Paul was putting away Ms. King’s equipment. He was surrounded by security guards, but she was let through.

  “Oh, Jessie,” Paul said. “This is Robin, the Image apprentice. She was a great help to me all morning long.”

  “Hello, Robin,” Ms. King said, smiling at her. “What did you think about all this?”

  “Some of it was fun, and some of it just seemed tedious,” Robin said. “I don’t know yet.”

  Ms. King laughed. “That’s probably true of any job,” she said. “Have you been thinking of photography as a livelihood?”

  “I’ve been dreaming about it,” Robin admitted. “I’m not sure that’s the same thing.”

  “It isn’t always,” Ms. King said. “All I can tell you is try every sort of photography before you decide on one. I used to fantasize endlessly about being a news photographer, going to war armed with a camera, taking pictures that would show the world the futility of it all. My mother, on the other hand, thought I should be happy taking pictures of weddings and babies. I ended up in fashion. Believe me, I never thought about fashion. I just stumbled into it, and now I love it and can’t imagine doing anything else.”