The Third Grace Read Online Free PDF

clothes—usually dark neutrals with vertical stripes that gave her even more height. Aglaia herself approached dressing differently. She preferred the originality of her own handmade clothes and often incorporated vintage fabric or bits of antique beadwork in her sewing. She dressed to state her opinion, choosing a grey plaid shirt if constrained to visit her parents’ farm or a vivid turquoise knit when brainstorming for a new costume at work. Lou, on the other hand, always exuded crisp classiness. At the moment, she lounged back on the upholstery in a studied elegance of pearls and paisley and smart leather heels. Her precise bob framed the hollow cheeks, every brunette hair keeping its place so that her earrings hardly showed.
    â€œYour period pieces in the dramatic productions I’ve seen so far have been impressive,” Lou said. “You must do a fair bit of investigation before you start sketching.”
    â€œI erase a lot,” Aglaia said, reluctant to take all the credit for her designs, “but my boss does keep a great reference library for us at work. He points me to the right books, and he’s a stickler for details.” Just today Ebenezer MacAdam had vetoed the use of polyester thread on a pair of cotton bloomers. According to him, even illusion was worth authenticity, his whimsical costumes reflecting what was true about reality—Little Red Riding Hood’s innocence shown in a cape woven of pure lamb’s wool or the wickedness of the villain in fur from a real wolf. “Eb always says art is only an imitation of life.”
    Interest sharpened the countenance of the professor, quick as usual to discuss anything philosophical. “That’s not very pragmatic,” she said. “I think imitation is an art in itself, and that audiences expect deception as part of the game.”
    â€œIn the theater, of course,” Aglaia stipulated, but she was struck by her own duplicity when it came to everyday life, careful as she was to project just the right image.
    Lou rubbed at an invisible spot on her glass. “Well, judging by your product, your form of realism works for you. The talk around the university is that you’re a rising star. The dean of the drama department apparently reads the critics’ picks in the entertainment section of the city paper. So,” Lou smiled at Aglaia as if anticipating the effect of her next words. “I’ve taken the liberty of recommending you for possible placement as the new wardrobe consultant. You’ll be hearing from the university soon.”
    Aglaia inhaled her wine in surprise and, gulping for air, excused herself to get a drink of water.

    Lou was gratified by Aglaia’s reaction, interpreting it as exhilaration over the possibility of a job at PRU. The girl’s loyalty might be bought after all, she thought. Her catechizing of Aglaia was proceeding as intended, and she would be very valuable in helping to shake up the university administration that kept Lou imprisoned in academic mediocrity. Lou had known it the moment she first spotted Aglaia, sweating on the gym’s stationary bike and chatting familiarly with Dr. Dayna Yates—newly appointed associate dean of PRU’s department of sociology at the tender age of thirty-five, and the person who effectively held in her hands the future of Dr. Chapman, Ph.D.
    Lou’s move west to Colorado seven years ago had been motivated by the hope of securing her success in academia. True, Denver was inferior to the cosmopolitan New York City in almost every respect, but here she’d become a big fish in a small pond with easier access to those in authority, and she was a virtuoso at networking.
    From the outset, it was the pursuit of tenure that had lured her from her former, dead-end posting. Platte River University recognized her proficiency in cultural studies and she accepted their offer of a tenure-track position in the faculty of social