“Me?” Josefina said, a dimple deepening in her smiling cheek. She smoothed her hair in its shiny ponytail, the sides held back by two silver barrettes. “Vogue? Whoo!” She fanned her face. “Who’s the photographer?” she asked.
“Um . . . ,” Anna said, forgetting.
“Franny Rosenblatt!” Julie called from the office.
“Ay, Dios mío! I have to text my sister in El Salvador. She won’t believe it!”
Josefina’s unexpected eagerness gave Anna an idea. It was time to follow up with the mayor’s office.
“Chief of staff.”
“This is Anna in Bambi Von Bizmark’s office.”
“Oh, yes, I haven’t had a chance—”
“Listen, Mrs. Von Bizmark is going to be featured in next month’s Vogue, and there will be a photo shoot with Franny Rosenblatt. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?” Anna asked snootily. “Mrs. Von Bizmark, the school’s principal, our maid—who is a school parent—and the mayor, if he wanted to participate, would all be photographed for the piece. But we need to know today since the shoot is tomorrow.” Since Mrs. Von Bizmark had no idea this was happening, Anna could play hardball. If it didn’t come together, no one would be the wiser. Ten seconds ticked by.
“OK,” said the chief of staff.
“OK what?”
“OK, he’ll do it.”
“Does that mean he’ll come to the opera too?” Anna suddenly saw the two empty seats next to the Von Bizmarks occupied by the mayor and his wife, president of the New York Public Library. Politics aside, this was guaranteed good press.
“Let’s take one step at a time. Yes to the money and yes to Vogue.”
“Great!”
Thirty seconds later, Anna wasn’t sure. Was it great? Appearing in print with the mayor could surely be read as some sort of “statement.” But whose statement? She stared at the phone as if she might find an unsend button on the keypad.
Julie, as excited as Mrs. Von Bizmark about the photo shoot, refused to let Anna beat herself up. “You know what, Anna? You saved a school. Who cares if everyone makes some sort of message out of it? So what if she has to take a photo with the mayor? He’s the mayor. It’s still cool.” Somehow hearing Julie voice her own logic failed to soothe Anna. The Von Bizmarks very loudly hated the guy. “My only worry is, What if there isn’t a gap after all?” Julie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What if your art sells well, and there is no gap in funding? Then they’d have given him a publicity op for nothing. And in an election year.”
“Julie, please, be serious,” Anna said. No one would spend that much on a totally unknown artist, regardless of the quality.
“I’m just sayin’.”
“What about Mrs. Von Bizmark’s gowns? Are they all fit and ready to go?”
“One hundred and fifty percent.”
She wasn’t exaggerating, Anna thought to herself as she thumbed through the two racks of clothes Julie had secured from Bergdorf’s for the shoot. Julie made sure they’d be ready for any creative Rosenblatt whim, from jeans to sequins to the in-between. Suits, frocks, summer dresses. The evening gowns were evenly divided between wearable pieces Mrs. Von Bizmark would take home and fully editorial, clearly meant for a camera’s lens and not real life: a giant hot-pink pouf that came together in some mysterious multihooked invisible corset, a simple black number with cutouts that would require miles of fashion tape and no underwear. Gown after gown, look after look. It was unusual for her to wonder, How much did this cost? but when Max had said to bring “a few looks,” Anna had had a much smaller budget in mind.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Julie said, smiling as Anna finished going through the second full rack of clothes. “How much, right? That’s what you’re thinking?”
“Sort of,” Anna admitted. The tally in her mind hovered near several hundred thousand dollars.
“Nothing! The clothes are on loan. Anything she wears for the shoot is hers gratis!”
“No!” Anna said.
“And anything she wants is discounted.”
“Julie, oh my God.” It was better than the Amex gift cards. It was another step toward that raise. “Does she know?”
“Not yet!” Julie said brightly, rubbing her hands together in gleeful anticipation.
The morning of the shoot, Julie obsessively steamed the clothes at the Vogue studio. She wore her practical outfit: “sweatpants” from her last trip to Paris and a perfectly proportioned white knit crop top of Julie’s own design. Her tousled top bun completed the effect. It looked like she’d fallen out of bed and yet was also ready for her close-up. This was her natural habitat. Even the Vogue stylist soon migrated over from her racks to inspect the Bergdorf pieces, dispatching her two assistants to grab accessories and shoes. Soon Julie and she were fast friends, steaming and draping and debating the merits of a wedge versus a stiletto for a particular plum skirt with a kicky pleated detail.
Anna, on the other hand, felt like a goblin on a rare excursion out from underneath her bridge. It wasn’t her outfit—which was a perfectly fine Stella McCartney hand-me-down blouse over her favorite “fancy” jeans and her new metallic Birkenstocks. It was her attitude, which was positively not fashion. It seemed that her lack of interest, skills, and experience was obvious to the pods of busy interns who evenly divided into artsy professionals and model hopefuls darting by with coffees and clothes.
Mrs. Von Bizmark finally stepped off the elevator in owl sunglasses, a polished ponytail, and head-to-toe Lululemon. The producer rushed to direct her to makeup. Instead, Mrs. Von Bizmark’s eyes landed on Julie, compulsively steaming the fluttery hem of a black Tom Ford gown. Mrs. Von Bizmark drifted over, completely taken in by the dazzling sartorial display.
“How fabulous!” Mrs. Von Bizmark gushed over the clothes. Julie and Anna stood at her elbow, holding their breath. At first, Mrs. Von Bizmark was happy to see so many options. Somewhere in the cocktail dress section, she started to really admire and cluck. By the time she got to the evening gowns, she seemed a little perplexed. But when Julie explained the arrangement with Bergdorf’s, Mrs. Von Bizmark’s head swiveled around like it was on some sort of spring. “You mean we didn’t pay for them yet?”
“Nope! Whatever you use in the shoot is yours to keep at no charge, and whatever you decide to buy is yours at forty percent off!” Julie explained again, intoxicated with this good news. In one fell swoop Julie had eliminated any lingering negative feelings from the luncheon. Mrs. Von Bizmark threw an arm over her shoulders and squeezed. “Great job!” she said, smiling from invisible face-lift scar to invisible face-lift scar.
Yet somehow, Anna had allowed them all to arrive at that moment without having told Mrs. Von Bizmark who else would be part of the photo shoot. She had to pounce before Mrs. Von Bizmark saw Josefina. “And guess who’s here!” Anna interjected, one eye traveling over to where Josefina was undergoing a transformation at the hands of a dead-serious trio of hairstylists and makeup artists.
“Rosenblatt?” Mrs. Von Bizmark said breathlessly.
“Not yet! But! She wanted to do a few pics of you with Josefina and Principal Sellers.” Confusion clouded Mrs. Von Bizmark’s expression, and Anna decided it was best just to blurt it out. “And the mayor!”