Part 10 (1/2)

Fredericka interrupted. ”Francesco, darling. You know Magnolia Gold. Remember the Lady shoot with Nicole Kidman? This is our cover girl.” She swiveled toward Bebe. Francesco turned in Bebe's direction. ”Please meet Bebe Blake.”

”You were expecting someone gorgeous perhaps?” Bebe said with a grin. ”Frank, better have a drink. Catwoman ain't coming. You got your work cut out for you.”

Frances...o...b..inked twice and kissed Bebe's hand. ”Apologies, my lovely lady. You will see. I will make you divine.”

”Bovine? I can do bo-vine standing on my head.” Bebe laughed.

Alone.

Francesco looked confused and motioned toward the breakfast buffet. ”Mangia, everyone,” he said, waving. Pineapple spears, three kinds of berries, yogurt, brioches, and bagels covered a long table set with heavy taupe pottery and a linen cloth. ”We're still prepping the first shot,” he said. ”It all must be perfect.” Two male a.s.sistants in tight blue jeans and black T-s.h.i.+rts were unfurling an enormous white back ground. Several others were setting up a galaxy of lights. ”You must excuse me.”

Magnolia looked at her watch. Nearing eleven. The breakfast hour would drag on another twenty minutes. Then makeup, which takes a good hour, followed by hair, an hour there, too. By then it would be 1:30, and the whole crew-close to thirty people, counting Francesco's aides-de-camp plus Elizabeth Lester Duvall and the Access Hollywood crew who'd be arriving at noon-would announce that, no, they're not hungry, but, sure, they could use a snack. The caterer would present another, far more sumptuous, meal and the gang would chow down as if they were gearing up for a Yom Kippur fast.

They'd be lucky to start shooting by two.

Magnolia wished life would allow her to age in photo shoot time. It wasn't just the slow-mo pace that got to her. It was the talk, endless hours of it, during prep and between takes. ”Did you hear about Dog bone, the new club?” ”My boyfriend and I got totally trashed there last night.” ”We got cut off at the pa.s.s. Had to go to Schiller's Liquor Bar.”

”Did you want to kill?” ”Totally.” ”I so need to lose ten pounds.”

”You're insane. I want your hips.” ”Then be ready for lipo.” And on and on. Magnolia knew that even at Lady she wasn't exactly brokering peace in the Middle East, but at photo shoots she could feel IQ points literally melting away. Plus, she thought crankily as she took a deep breath, this was a smoking crowd. Then there was the music, which as the day wore on, would throb at migraine-inducing decibels, all in the name of trying to ”create energy.”

Why, she wondered, did anyone think shoots were glamorous?

Magnolia wandered off to a corner, and began to read Men's Health, the only magazine she could find. She got almost to the end of ”Put the Tiger in Your Wood-9 Hard-and-Fast Rules for Awe Inspiring Erections.” Just as she was thinking how her ex, Wally, could have benefited from the information, Bebe gave a shout-out.

”Magnolia!” she yelled. ”Whattya think?”

Bebe looked ready for a revival of Cats. Her face was s.p.a.ckled to a Formica smoothness, and smoky gray eyeliner extended almost to her temples. At least Akiko, the makeup artist, hadn't added whiskers.

”Honestly, Bebe?”

”No, lie big. Of course, honestly.”

”Too, too, too . . . Akiko, could you make it more . . . natural?”

Magnolia asked. Akiko smiled sweetly and continued to sculpt faux cheekbones into Bebe's well-fed face.

”Hey, I like it,” Bebe said. ”The eyes stay. And Jean-Luc here”- she pointed to the town's premier makeup man, who was cursing his boyfriend in French on a cell phone-”we've already decided on spiky hair. A whole new me.”

A Bebe who readers might not recognize, Magnolia thought. A Bebe who could frighten small children. But time was marching on. Elizabeth and Access Hollywood had shown up with a truckload of equipment. As Elizabeth bossed them around like the secretary of defense, their presence added an element of chaos, which only slowed the tempo as they directed Bebe in their filming and interviewed Francesco.

Magnolia bivouacked with Fredericka. ”If we can finish Bebe's hair and get her into the first outfit, will Frances...o...b.. ready in thirty minutes?”

”I'll ask,” Fredericka said. She returned in five minutes. ”Francesco thinks ve should break to eat.”

The lunch, which Francesco had ordered from Tabla, his favorite Indian restaurant, was worthy of New Delhi in high summer. Nor mally, chicken tikka with mango chutney and mint, coconut rice, and orange glazed carrots would have appealed to Magnolia. But today she could only look at the clock. Their star hadn't even tried on clothes.

Toward the end of the break, Magnolia approached Bebe. ”We've got to keep moving,” she said, and motioned Bebe toward the clothing while she held up a Marni dress with a forgiving cut.

”Hate it,” Bebe said, as she polished off a big bite of a pink sweet everyone else had left on the buffet.

”How about this?” Magnolia pulled out a simple gown by Calvin Klein.

”Nope.” Bebe chewed loudly.

Magnolia offered Bebe a jacket by Michael Kors, followed by a Moschino Cheap & Chic skirt and sweater. Reject. Reject.

”You're kidding, right?” Bebe said, yanking off her sweats.h.i.+rt and exposing her black lace bra. From the back of the last rack she with drew a flimsy leopard T, and stretched it over her head, smearing her eyeliner. ”Love it,” she said as she stripped to her panties, which, to Magnolia's relief, were grannies. ”Help me find a bottom.”

Ruthie and Magnolia searched and returned with eight pairs of pants. Nothing fit. If the pants were made with back or side zippers, Ruthie would be able to cunningly split a seam and no one would be the wiser, but every style zipped up the front.

”Houston, we have a problem,” Magnolia said. ”Ruthie, have your a.s.sistants run out and look for plain black pants.”

”No-no-no-no-no,” Bebe said. ”I'll wear my bike shorts.” Bebe began to squeeze back into her spandex.

”Bebe,” Magnolia said. ”You can't.”

”Watch me,” Bebe responded, grinning.

”Seriously. It's all wrong for the cover.”

”It'll be fun,” Bebe said, gathering h.e.l.l into her arms. ”What do you think, you big, bad boy?” She tickled the cat's neck until he purred. ”Doesn't Mommy look f.u.c.ktabulous?”

”Do you think we could let Francesco decide?” Magnolia asked, peeking out from behind the curtained dressing area and motioning him over. ”Like I care what that fat old fart thinks? Magnolia, are you forget ting whose magazine this is? This is me. I live in bike pants. End of story.”

Francesco stepped behind the curtain. Bebe danced to the sound of Prince. ”So, Frank, can you make me bo-vine?” she asked, striking a hands-on-hip pose.

The photographer glared.

”Francesco, let's just try a few shots in these clothes,” Magnolia said, softly and evenly.

”They will not do.” He folded his arms over his belly. ”I do not see it.”

”See it,” Bebe said, mirroring his stance.

”Excuse me?” he asked.

”See it, Frank,” Bebe repeated, s.h.i.+mmying to the music.

”Basta, basta,” Francesco answered, walking away. ”I will not be insulted. I am Frances...o...b..llucci.”

Magnolia closed her eyes and hung her head. When she took a look around, Fredericka was grinding her teeth and cursing in German.

Bebe was laughing, and Francesco had escaped. Magnolia looked at the large clock on the wall. Four o'clock.

”Serious sc.u.mbag, that Frank,” Bebe said. ”Remind me why you booked him.” Because as soon as they heard you were the celebrity, six photographers we asked first said no, Magnolia recalled. And one of them was polite about it.