Dark Angel 03: Broken Dream Read Online Free PDF Page B

period, ten years ago, when she was a bigger star even than Jack. Growing up in Bitterroot, I’d seen a thousand pictures in magazines, copied the Linton hairstyle, read a hundred interviews, watched all of her movies. But nothing prepares you for meeting an icon in the flesh.
    She was one hundred per cent stunningly beautiful. It hits you, takes your breath away. Unbelievable, you think. How is it possible for a human being to be so perfect?
    ‘So, Tania, this is your first time in New York,’ Natalia began after she’d invited us to sit down on a sofa under a TV screen playing a kids’ Power Rangers video with the volume turned down. In a whirl of primary colours, Lycra-clad superheroes turned robotic and lifted up trucks, scaled tower blocks, flew through the air. Spotting a red Power Ranger toy on the arm of the sofa, she sprang forward to move it out of Orlando’s way.
    Natalia Linton – beautiful in a smooth-as-porcelain way. Taller than you would imagine, even more slender than you expect, with a mass of dark-red hair piled on her head and unbelievable green eyes. Today she was dressed down in designer jeans, high-heeled black ankle boots and warm grey sweater, with a flame-coloured scarf wound loosely around her neck. A handbag that must have cost the same as a small car sat on the floor beside her chair.
    ‘I feel so sad for what happened to you yesterday,’ she confided, idly pressing buttons on the toy man’s chest and turning him into a caped crusader. ‘We like to think that they cleaned up the city, but I guess we’ll always have crime on the streets. You’ll have seen the warnings on the subways – keep your purses and bags safe.’
    She was soft-spoken, warm and generous. And in the trailer where she spent so much time with the kids while Jack was filming she’d surrounded herself with luxurious things – silk cushions with delicate Japanese embroidery of birds and flowers, soft russet-red and jade-green rugs, Tiffany lamps casting warm pools of light.
    ‘Lucky Charlie came by when he did,’ she added.
    I fell into heartfelt thanks, stumbling over my words, feeling myself blush. Any coherent idea that I might not be overawed by Natalia Linton’s presence had disintegrated. A quick glance at Orlando told me he was suffering the same reaction and then some.
    ‘This is so nice,’ Natalia sighed, smoothing a cushion with long, white tapering fingers. ‘To be sitting here chatting with someone who’s not a journalist or a critic or any kind of media whore. Charlie told me how sweet you were, Tania. He said how much I would like you.’ She offered us coffee, which we turned down and she said good because the coffee they made on set was the worst and she couldn’t drink it herself; she stuck mainly to hot water with a squeeze of lemon.
    Then she asked Orlando about himself and sighed with envy when she learned he wanted to be a costume designer for the theatre. ‘Great job!’ she declared enthusiastically. ‘And you must design for movies too. We need talented newcomers – ones who give us costumes that don’t half kill you. You know, the male fantasy-driven shape that no woman ought to be or ever was, plus wigs and stupid hats for historical dramas that cut into your head and weigh fifty pounds.’
    OK, again – beautiful and charming, funny, smart and easy to be with. Plus all of the above. We were under her spell, scared to pinch ourselves in case we woke up.
    ‘Here, put your number into my phone,’ she told Orlando, handing it to him. ‘I’ll keep it on my contact list. Maybe our costume designer or even our make-up people can offer you work experience. Would you be interested in seeing how that works?’
    Orlando nodded then entered his name and number, eager as a puppy dog. ‘About the media whores remark – I guess you’re no fan of the press?’
    Natalia arched her eyebrows. ‘What’s to like? Did you see them in the hotel lobby earlier this week? They’re like hunters