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The next morning, she had taken her first taxi to the Ford Models Agency. It was on East Sixtieth Street then, in a narrow red town house. She walked up the steps. She pushed open the door. The room had industrial gray carpeting and posters of magazine covers on the wall.
She waited.
Then Eileen Ford herself came out. She was a small woman with curly gray hair, but Janey knew she was Eileen Ford by the commanding way she held herself. She was wearing brown shoes with a one-inch heel.
She scanned the room. There were four other girls. She looked at Janey. “You,” she said. “Come with me.”
Janey followed her to her office.
“How tall are you?” Eileen Ford asked.
“Five-ten,” she said.
“Age?”
“Sixteen,” Janey whispered.
“I want you to come back on Monday at noon. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Janey said breathlessly.
“Give me your phone number. I’ll need to get your parents’ permission.”
“Am I going to be a model?”
“Yes,” Eileen Ford nodded. “I think you are.”
Janey walked out of the office. She was shaking. “I’m going to be a model,” she wanted to shout. She wanted to run and skip and jump. “A model! A model! A model!” And then, as she was leaving, a beautiful girl walked in, a girl whose face Janey recognized from the cover of magazines and glossy advertisements. Janey sucked in her breath, watching her. The girl was wearing an ornately beaded jacket with jeans. She had on suede Gucci loafers and was carrying a Louis Vuitton valise. Janey had never seen such a glamorous creature.
“Hello, Bea,” the girl said to the receptionist. She had long blond hair that fell in perfect waves down her back. “I’ve come to pick up my check.”
It was Friday.
“Going away this weekend?” Bea, the receptionist asked, handing her an envelope.
“The Hamptons. I’m catching the eleven-fifteen Jitney.”
“Have a good one,” Bea said.
“You too,” the girl said. She waved.
The Hamptons!Janey said the words over and over again in her head. She’d never heard of them. But surely, they must be the most magical place in the world.
When she got home from the class, her phone was ringing. It was probably Harold. He’d promised to call, to find out how “school” went. She picked it up.
“Janey!” It was her booker at the modeling agency. “I’ve been trying to get you all evening. This just came in. Victoria’s Secret. They called. Asked specifically for you. They’ve got a new campaign. They want you to audition to be one of their girls.”
“That’s nice,” Janey said.
“Get this. They want women. They said women. No skinny little girls. So act your age. And Janey,” he said warningly. “Don’t blow it. Blow this, and I promise you, your career is over.”
Janey laughed.
“Janey Wilcox?” the woman asked, holding out her hand. “I’m Mariah. I’m the head of corporate for Victoria’s Secret.”
“Nice to meet you,” Janey said. They shook hands. Mariah had long dark hair. She was pretty, about thirty-five. Her handshake was firm. There were hundreds of women like this in the industry. They weren’t quite attractive enough to be models themselves, but they wanted to do something “glamorous,” and they took themselves a little too seriously.
“We all loved your book,” Mariah said. “We wanted to meet you.”
