Breaking the Rules

M smiled to herself at that thought. Some of her family were quite well known, and certainly she didn’t need to meet strangers who were famous. Dax loved to party with them, and although she liked to hang out with him in the MePa, as it was called, she had managed to slip away when he set his sights on movie stars and the like, becoming oblivious to her.

Dax had gone, taken a plane to the West Coast to seek his fame and fortune, and she wished him well. Deep down she felt a gloomy, gnawing feeling inside; she knew enough about Hollywood to understand it was a world of pain and heartbreak, disappointment and disillusionment.

He had come to say goodbye, her lovely friend Dax, with his eye-catching blond handsomeness, quirky personality and flashing smile. And his rather childlike innocence. He had also had dinner with Geo before flying away, and later Geo had confided that their romantic relationship was indeed over, but they remained friends, and Geo seemed relieved about this.

M was well aware that Dax had gone alone to the West Coast; his entire being was now fully concentrated on his career. He, too, had confided in her … about his love life. Apparently he had not only said farewell to Geo, but also to his new love, Jason. He wanted a fresh start, he had told her; wanted to concentrate wholeheartedly on his career.

Giving her a big hug he had whispered against her hair, ‘I took your advice to heart, M. The only thing I am going to think about is becoming a movie star. Nothing else matters.’

She thought about this now as she continued to walk towards the Meatpacking District, heading in the direction of Frank Farantino’s studio for her appointment at noon. ‘Movie star.’ If that was what Dax wanted to be, and wanted it enough, then he might well get it. Certainly he had the looks, and a unique kind of charisma, a presence. But could he act? Well, that didn’t really matter, did it? Some movie stars were great actors; others couldn’t act their way out of a paper bag. Yet this didn’t seem to prevent them getting work. He had willpower, and that would help him. But was he ruthless? She pondered that. And was he tough enough to withstand the battering, the rejections, and perhaps, most important of all, the competition? She wasn’t sure; she could only hope that he was, for his sake.

Someone she knew very well had once done a stint in Hollywood, and had explained that one needed the stamina of a bull, the skin of a rhinoceros, the brain of Machiavelli and the looks of a Greek god to make it in Dreamland, as he had called it. Perhaps her brother was right … and so she would say a prayer for Dax. He would need lots of prayers. And luck.

Frank Farantino’s photographic studio was on the second floor of what had once been a meatpacking warehouse. The huge black wooden door, decorated with brass nailheads, had FARANTINO painted on it in bright red, and there was a bright red arrow painted above the doorbell. RING IT had been written out in brass nailheads, and she did as she was instructed.

A moment later the door was pulled open by a petite, very pretty woman with startlingly blue eyes and bright red hair cut in a short spiky style. She was dressed entirely in red: T-shirt, tights and cowboy boots.

‘Hi!’ she exclaimed, craning her neck, staring up at M. ‘You’re the appointment, right? The friend of Geo’s?’

‘Yes, I am.’

Opening the door wider, the girl said, ‘Come on in then, don’t stand there. What’s your name again? I’ve forgotten it.’

M laughed. ‘It’s very simple … I’m called M, as in a capital M.’

‘I see. What’s it stand for? The M, I mean.’

‘Marie.’

‘So why don’t you call yourself Marie?’

‘I prefer to be called M.’

‘I guess a lot of girls are calling themselves by an initial these days. So it must be the “in” thing. My brother saw it on YouTube, or some such thing. Maybe it was on Facebook. Or MySpace.’

‘Actually, it’s not something that’s particularly new. The Duchess of Devonshire, who lived long ago, was called G. That was G for Georgiana, by the way.’

‘Who?’ The girl stared at her, a look of puzzlement flashing across her delicately boned face.

‘Never mind, it’s not important. And may I know your name?’

‘Caresse.’

‘It’s pretty, very unusual. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.’

‘I hope not, because I invented it. I didn’t like my own name, so I came up with my … invention.’

‘What was your real name before you changed it?’

‘Helen. Ugh. So dull.’ She made a face.

‘Helen,’ M repeated softly. ‘The face that launched a thousand ships. A very famous name, in fact.’

‘What do you mean?’ The red-headed pixie gave her a hard stare.

‘Helen of Troy … she was so beautiful her husband and her lover fought a terrible and ultimately tragic battle over her … it was known as the battle of a thousand ships.’

‘When was that then?’

‘Twelve hundred years before the birth of Jesus.’

Caresse gaped at her, slowly shaking her head. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I learned it at school.’ Clearing her throat, M went on quickly, ‘Anyway, here I am to see Mr Farantino.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘And I’m on time. It’s exactly noon.’

‘I’ll go and get him,’ Caresse announced, and hurried away.

M watched her go, frowning to herself. Caresse had seemed very young at first glance, but now she thought this pretty, pixielike creature was nearer to thirty than twenty. But she seemed so nice, and M had taken an instant liking to her.

SIX (#ulink_2fef49bb-eacb-5e8e-b65a-688180326487)

Frank Farantino was one of the best-known and most successful photographers in New York. In the world, in point of fact. And as he walked out into the entrance foyer of his large studio, he stopped dead in his tracks when the tall young woman wearing a white cotton shirt and black trousers turned around to face him.

He held his breath for a split second as he took in her dark, exotic beauty, her unique looks. Thank you, Geo, thank you very much, he thought. He knew at once that his old friend had sent him a winner, and he was extremely pleased – thrilled, if he was honest with himself – that this extraordinary girl was standing here.

A wide smile enlivened his saturnine face, made it come alive, and then he strode across the floor, his hand outstretched as he stopped in front of the young woman.

‘Frankie Farantino,’ he said, shaking her hand.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Farantino,’ M answered politely, as was her way, smiling back. ‘Thank you for seeing me today.’

‘My pleasure, and drop the Mr Farantino, would you, please? The whole world calls me Frankie. And your name is … M?’ He threw her a questioning look. ‘I am correct about that?’

‘Yes, you are. And before you ask me, my full name is Marie Marsden. My nickname at school was M and M, and I decided it might be better, wiser, to drop one M when I started my modelling career.’ She grinned.

He grinned back at her. ‘English, eh? Geo didn’t tell me that. So, how long have you been in New York?’

‘I came here in June, and I’ve been looking for work ever since. I’m afraid I haven’t been too successful, but then I haven’t been here all that long.’

‘How did you meet Georgiana Carlson?’

‘Through a young man I know … he’s called Dax. He’s a model and an actor.’

‘Oh, sure, I know Dax. I’ve used him from time to time. Geo’s boyfriend.’

‘That’s right. And he’s gone off to the West Coast to try his luck.’

‘He’s smart. So let’s go into the main studio, give it a whirl. How much modelling have you done?’