Skinnybones and the Wrinkle Queen Read Online Free PDF Page A

the man says, “but let me comb your hair first. Stand still, Caroline!”
    The girls are all wearing party dresses and hair ribbons, white stockings and baby-doll shoes. One of them has discovered the railing that goes along a winding staircase to the second floor. She’s trying to do something gymnastic on it.
    â€œCaitlyn!” the man hollers when he notices what she’s up to. “Look at what you’re doing to your hair ribbon!”
    She’s managed to snag it on a piece of the wrought iron.
    â€œCandace, can’t you keep an eye on your sister?”
    The older girl shrugs, scowls and blows a big bubble of gum, letting it pop and collapse against her face.
    â€œI told you no gum!” The man’s voice is getting higher by the minute. “Not ‘til after the interview.” He looks at me and shakes his head.
    â€œI wanna Coke.” With the combing finished, the little girl is hopping from one baby-doll shoe to the other, chanting.
    â€œWe better wait...”
    That’s when we see him. The model man coming down the stairs. Definitely Calvin Klein material. All in black except for a white shirt. Silk? Open at the neck. The bit of chest you can see looks like it’s been polished. His hair has blond highlights. As he gets to the bottom of the stairs, I can see he has smoky-blue Jude Law eyes.
    The bubblegum girl licks the last bit of gum off her lips and smiles at him.
    He flashes a smile back at all of us. A white-strip smile that could blind you.
    â€œMr. Andrews? I’m Brad Silverstone,” he says. “We’re ready for you and your lovely daughters. If you’ll just follow me.”
    Then he notices me with my
Elle
magazine.
    â€œMiss Tierney?”
    I nod and give him my best smile.
    â€œGood. As soon as I’ve completed my interview with the Andrews...”
    â€œI wanna Coke...”
    â€œHush, dear.” Mr. Andrews fluffs the ruffles of Caroline’s dress as they follow Jude Law Model Man up the stairs.
    When they come down a half hour later, the Coke kid is howling her head off.
    â€œI don’t wanna be a model,” she shouts.
    â€œYou think they’d be just a bit grateful,” the man says loudly to no one in particular when they get to the bottom of the stairs. “It’s all for them...”
    â€œI’m going to be a veterinarian,” the gymnast kid says to me as I slip
Elle
into my backpack.
    Model Man is at the top of the stairs beckoning to me.
    â€œWhat a crew,” he chuckles, holding the door to his office open. There’s a glittery star on the door and a sign:
Universal Style — Training for the Stars of Tomorrow
. “We’re checking to see how much interest there is in setting up a modeling program for children. Maybe having one of our summer institutes just for kids. I’m not sure.” He looks up at the ceiling as if asking for help from above.
    He clears some papers off a chair for me and then grabs one for himself behind a green card table covered with brochures and files.
    â€œNow, you, Tamara,” he smiles his white-strip-ad smile, “we can work with. And you’ve got bone structure, young lady, that many would die for.”
    He asks me some questions and begins filling in a form. I tell a lie when he asks me my age.
    â€œEighteen,” I say.
    He raises his eyebrows.
    â€œIn a couple of weeks,” I add.
    â€œGreat.”
    When he’s finished filling in the form, he gives me the details of the course.
    â€œIt’s a week-long intensive in the summer and you can choose from a few dates and a couple of locations,” he says, after outlining the program. “We’ll run you off your feet but, at the end of it all, you’ll have a UniversalCertificate and, in the fashion world, that means something. I notice you had last month’s
Elle
magazine. Page seventeen — one of ours. Finished the course last