Simply Divine Read Online Free PDF Page A

eyes and a petulant, full mouth big enough to seat a family of six. She had cheekbones like knuckledusters, cascades of shining hair and a tight white jersey top through which her nipples could clearly be seen. Jane realised it wasn't the studio secretary at all. She was looking at Champagne D'Vyne.
    'What the fuck's going on?' a voice behind them demanded suddenly.
    A small, profoundly tanned man with intensely blue eyes, tight jeans and stack-heeled boots was standing in the doorway of the office. Three cameras, all with enormous lenses, were slung round his wrinkled brown neck, as were a number of thick gold chains. Jane recognised him instantly as Dave Baker, a well-known fashion photographer who had launched more models than NASA had space probes. He waved furiously at Champagne, tapped his huge, expensive-looking watch and frowned. 'For fuck's sake, we haven't got all day,' he shouted at her. 'Scusi my language, darling,' he said to Jane, his Italian sitting oddly with his Cockney. 'We've been here three hours already and Her Blondeness has only just turned up. Only just got out of bed, apparendy — though whose I wouldn't like
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    to speculate.' He turned on his stack heel in disgust and minced back in the direction of what Jane imagined was the studio.
    Champagne took absolutely zero notice. Her entire attention was focused on the telephone, which had just rung again. She listened intently, then let out an indignant yell into the receiver. 1 don't believe it, Rollsy,' she shouted furiously, completely abandoning her sugary tones. 'You've lent it to Prince who* Well, can't you get it back? No, the blue's simply not on, darling. Nada. I'd have to have a whole new manicure and you know how busy I am, angel.'
    Jane's fingers crept towards her pad and pen. May as well make a few notes. You never knew.
    'Oh, I suppose I could bear BA first class, if you simply can't get it back,' Champagne lisped petulantly. 'But must we go to boring old Paris yet again? Another weekend at the Crillon and I'll kill myself.'
    After a few more minutes in this vein, Jane was stopped mid-scribble by a touch on her arm. It was Dave Baker again.
    'Look, I'm sorry to bother you, cartssima,' he said, the muscles in his wrinkled cheeks working like galley slaves as he cast a furious look at the still-chatting Champagne. 'But would you do me the most enormoso favour? I need to find out urgimento whether the light is OK for these pictures. Would you be a complete cam and sit for some Polaroids so I can check everything before we start shooting on film? Sorry, we haven't been introduced. Dave Baker, fotograficoJ
    'I know,' said Jane, touched by the modesty and friendliness of one at the top of a profession not noted for its humility. 'Of course. I'd be delighted. If you're sure I won't break the camera.'
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    Dave laughed. 'You're a very pretty girl, dear.'
    Jane packed up her notebook and followed him into a large, light room where snake-like black cables writhed over the floor like the inhabitants of a reptile house. A beautiful make-up artist, arms folded, awaited Champagne's pleasure beside an array of pots and brushes while a wide-eyed young man wearing very tight white trousers busily altered the angles of the photographic lamps and measured their strength with a light meter.
    'Molto bene? said Dave, sitting Jane in front of a huge backlit white screen and encouraging her to suck her cheeks in. 'Bella, bella. Amber, carissima, a spot of make-up if you please, and una piccola tweak with the hair perhaps?'
    Amber breathed mintily and absorbedly while she dabbed Jane's face with a bit of powder and lipstick and pinned her hair loosely up behind her head.
    'Gosh,' said Jane, gazing at herself in the mirror Amber held up when she had finished. The soft, shadowy light made her face look fragile, her blue eyes huge and her hair a soft haze of piled-up gold. Amber had also done all sorts of clever things with a lip pencil so Jane's thin mouth, while not