Priceless Read Online Free PDF Page A

gotten over the loss, and Greta missed hercolleague and friend, too. Early in Charlotte’s teen years, things had started to go badly, with boys and God knows what else. It was hardly surprising; there was no one there to set an example, although Greta had done what she could. Now Charlotte was a young woman, and there wasn’t much Greta could do to protect her anymore.
    In fact, there wasn’t anything anyone could do.

Chapter

SIX

    Leaving the triplex an hour or so later, Charlotte decided to walk across the park instead of making Davis get out the car.
    “Are you sure, Miss?” Davis looked concerned. “The park? Alone?”
    “Oh, for goodness sake, Davis. It’s Central Park in broad daylight, not Tompkins Square at two A.M . I’ve been taking care of myself in Paris for the last year. I even took the Metro alone, with only a fresh baguette to protect me.”
    Davis wasn’t known for his lightheartedness. He went pale. “Your father wouldn’t like it, Miss. It won’t take me a minute to pull the car around.”
    She shook her head, pressing the elevator button. “No, Davis. I’ll call you if I need a ride back from Janet’s, OK?” She knew she was making him anxious, but that wasn’t really her problem. Her dad could take care of himself, and so could she.
    After the warmth of the apartment, the chill of the park was a shock. She greeted the doorman and pulled her Ungaro cashmere coat tightly around her. She’d forgotten how cold the city could get, especially once you stepped out of the protective canyons of the avenues. Joggers wearing earmuffs and gloves passed her, their breath clouding, their eyes focused, the tinny buzz of theiriPods like passing insects. Charlotte had never enjoyed running—she was more of a yoga and Pilates girl, although mostly, she was a “naturally skinny and likes a big salad” kind of girl.
    She found herself thinking about her mother. She wished she remembered more, but her memories consisted of brief scenes, scents, her mother bending down to kiss her good night when she and her father were going out, the smell of Chanel No. 5 and finely milled face powder. Clearly, Jackie had loved her, and she’d taken her everywhere. One of Charlotte’s favorite pictures was of herself as a toddler, backstage at some runway show, covered in makeup and surrounded by topless models, all of whom were smiling down at her like soft-hearted, long-lashed giraffes. She was grinning back, toothless and happy, and at the side of the frame sat Jackie, getting her hair done, her glance proud. In Paris during the last year, she’d been greeted as a prodigal child, welcomed to all the fashion houses, embraced and clucked over by designers whose names were permanently etched on the pages of
Vogue
. Stories of her mother were told with great affection, and photos were brought out that made Charlotte catch her breath. Many of them were pictures of her as a baby with Jackie. Some were of Jackie pregnant, candid shots of her helping other models get ready for shows she was too spherical to work. And in some, she could see her father, relaxed, smoking his cigars, watching his beautiful wife with hot eyes and a warm smile.
    More than one designer told Charlotte she should be a model, but the aging models who’d held her at those long-ago runway shows shook their heads at the idea. “No,” they’d said firmly. Finish college first. Get an education. Your mother would have insisted, and she would have been right.” One woman, Nadia, who’d parlayed a successful modeling career into an even moresuccessful career as a booker, said she wouldn’t even represent her if she asked.
    “
Non, non, non.
Your mother was my dear friend, and she would curse me from her grave if I even suggested such a thing. Modeling is a cruel business,
ma chérie
, and she would keep you from it. She had fun, because she loved clothes and designers and other models, but it isn’t the way it used to be. It is a big business