expecting.
“Uh, fine. Except for my dead friend lying in the grass. Otherwise it was a breeze.”
“Oh,” he seemed embarrassed, “that’s right. Poor Catherine. It’s such a shame, she would have done so well. By the way, Sixty Minutes wants to interview you. Here’s the number.”
“Thanks,” Mak answered bluntly. She took the slip of paper and tossed it into the wastepaper basket as soon as Charles turned his head.
“The client’s not very happy,” he went on. “They say they need to re-shoot now, and they’re giving us grief about the money.”
She felt her anger rise. Catherine’s dead, and they’re mad because they didn’t get their precious photo!
Charles answered another call.
A female booker intervened, “I couldn’t believe it when I heard what happened. How awful! She was so sweet.”
Mak extended a hand. “I’m Makedde.”
“Skye.”
“I was just about to introduce you,” Charles said absentmindedly, and continued his phone conversation.
Mak flashed him a wooden smile and turned her attention to Skye. “You left a message on her answering machine. Were you Catherine’s booker?”
“Yes.”
“What was the message about?”
“She didn’t make it to her last casting at Peter Lowe’s studio. I wanted to reschedule the appointment.”
“Did anyone see her leave for the casting?” Makedde pried gently. “Did she get a ride from anyone?”
“The cops asked me that, too. A few people saw her leave Saatchi’s. She probably caught the bus.”
“Did you see her much?”
“Not really. She spoke to me when she called in for her bookings, and I saw her every couple of weeks when she came in for a cheque. She was always kinda bubbly, but she never told me much about her goings on.”
“Did she ever mention a boyfriend?”
“No. But we reckon she had one.”
Mak perked up. “Why is that?”
“Oh, she didn’t hang out with the other girls much. She had some nice jewellery, too. I don’t know. We just figured.” Skye seemed a little overwhelmed by the whole thing. “Did you know that Tony Thomas is being hounded by the cops? Probably because of that exhibition of his. It’s pretty full on.”
“What exhibition?”
“Oh, his S&M photo exhibition. I went to the opening. It’s not my style, but some people think it’s art.”
Oh, really? “Is it still on?”
“It’s at The Space in Kings Cross for a few weeks.”
Makedde decided to give the exhibition a look.
It took her another ten minutes to get Charles’attention long enough to check her details for the following day. She found that she had no work to go to, but Charles suddenly remembered that they had just received a fax from her mother agency, Snap! Models back in Canada. He pointed to a tray full of faxes beside the machine.
She walked over and picked it out of the pile. Her name was scrawled in huge letters across the top of the cover letter. Barbara, the owner, was sending Mak condolences on the loss of her friend. It was a kind gesture, but how could she already know?
“Did someone tell them what happened to Catherine?” Makedde asked, puzzled.
“No. I don’t think so,” Skye said. “Catherine wasn’t even with them, was she?”
“No she wasn’t.” So how did Barbara know already?
Dad.
She supposed he was already spreading the word to the appropriate people. He was taking care of things; looking out for his daughter, pooling resources. He was probably checking up on her, too.
Makedde took the fax with her and left. With the exception of a few of her favourite agencies, she knew that without ten thousand dollar bookings or a recent Vogue cover, a model becomes invisible. After thanking the table of bookers, the invisible woman made a quiet exit.
CHAPTER 8
Catherine Gerber’s lover was relieved to shut the door at midday and take his phone off the hook. He needed time to think. His daily lunch order sat untouched on the desk. He couldn’t eat a bite; not out of grief but
“Uh, fine. Except for my dead friend lying in the grass. Otherwise it was a breeze.”
“Oh,” he seemed embarrassed, “that’s right. Poor Catherine. It’s such a shame, she would have done so well. By the way, Sixty Minutes wants to interview you. Here’s the number.”
“Thanks,” Mak answered bluntly. She took the slip of paper and tossed it into the wastepaper basket as soon as Charles turned his head.
“The client’s not very happy,” he went on. “They say they need to re-shoot now, and they’re giving us grief about the money.”
She felt her anger rise. Catherine’s dead, and they’re mad because they didn’t get their precious photo!
Charles answered another call.
A female booker intervened, “I couldn’t believe it when I heard what happened. How awful! She was so sweet.”
Mak extended a hand. “I’m Makedde.”
“Skye.”
“I was just about to introduce you,” Charles said absentmindedly, and continued his phone conversation.
Mak flashed him a wooden smile and turned her attention to Skye. “You left a message on her answering machine. Were you Catherine’s booker?”
“Yes.”
“What was the message about?”
“She didn’t make it to her last casting at Peter Lowe’s studio. I wanted to reschedule the appointment.”
“Did anyone see her leave for the casting?” Makedde pried gently. “Did she get a ride from anyone?”
“The cops asked me that, too. A few people saw her leave Saatchi’s. She probably caught the bus.”
“Did you see her much?”
“Not really. She spoke to me when she called in for her bookings, and I saw her every couple of weeks when she came in for a cheque. She was always kinda bubbly, but she never told me much about her goings on.”
“Did she ever mention a boyfriend?”
“No. But we reckon she had one.”
Mak perked up. “Why is that?”
“Oh, she didn’t hang out with the other girls much. She had some nice jewellery, too. I don’t know. We just figured.” Skye seemed a little overwhelmed by the whole thing. “Did you know that Tony Thomas is being hounded by the cops? Probably because of that exhibition of his. It’s pretty full on.”
“What exhibition?”
“Oh, his S&M photo exhibition. I went to the opening. It’s not my style, but some people think it’s art.”
Oh, really? “Is it still on?”
“It’s at The Space in Kings Cross for a few weeks.”
Makedde decided to give the exhibition a look.
It took her another ten minutes to get Charles’attention long enough to check her details for the following day. She found that she had no work to go to, but Charles suddenly remembered that they had just received a fax from her mother agency, Snap! Models back in Canada. He pointed to a tray full of faxes beside the machine.
She walked over and picked it out of the pile. Her name was scrawled in huge letters across the top of the cover letter. Barbara, the owner, was sending Mak condolences on the loss of her friend. It was a kind gesture, but how could she already know?
“Did someone tell them what happened to Catherine?” Makedde asked, puzzled.
“No. I don’t think so,” Skye said. “Catherine wasn’t even with them, was she?”
“No she wasn’t.” So how did Barbara know already?
Dad.
She supposed he was already spreading the word to the appropriate people. He was taking care of things; looking out for his daughter, pooling resources. He was probably checking up on her, too.
Makedde took the fax with her and left. With the exception of a few of her favourite agencies, she knew that without ten thousand dollar bookings or a recent Vogue cover, a model becomes invisible. After thanking the table of bookers, the invisible woman made a quiet exit.
CHAPTER 8
Catherine Gerber’s lover was relieved to shut the door at midday and take his phone off the hook. He needed time to think. His daily lunch order sat untouched on the desk. He couldn’t eat a bite; not out of grief but
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