― Nora Ephron
“Rosy and glowing! That’s right girls. Now look straight into the camera.”
The two columns of contestants streamed toward her and then split into a Y formation, half to her left and the rest to her right. She waited until the maneuver was completed.
“Perfect, girls. Now, that’s it for tonight. Be back tomorrow morning at eight, bright and shining.”
She clapped her hands to dismiss them and watched as they dutifully trouped off-stage.
“So, do you think you can mold them?” asked Moira, casting a dubious glance at the hundred barebacked girls in swimsuits now exiting the stage.
“Putty in my hands,” Victoria Holt breezily replied—and she did believe it herself—she really did.
Victoria had passed a milestone in May—the big Five O she had long dreaded. Still, she couldn’t complain. Her body hadn’t fallen one bit and men still noticed her—Brad Alexander, in particular.
She remembered the day she first noticed Brad’s appreciative glances.
Mind you, he was fifteen years younger, but that didn’t deter him.
He obviously had an appreciation for mature women, the way some men are connoisseurs of fine wine.
Yes, that’s what she was—a warm, mellow and gently aged wine—not frothy and bubbly like the giggling girls she coached. She was Amontillado and they were fizzy champagne.
“Earth to Victoria,” Moira smirked, “are you in there?”
“Really Moira, you can be so unrefined at times.”
“Well, forgive me darling—I don’t have your cachet—or your amazing figure. How do you do it, at fifty?”
“Shhhh!” Victoria hissed, glancing about anxiously. “You’re making me sound positively ancient.”
“Ancient? Archaeology should look so good—besides, Brad doesn’t see you that way. Just think, Victoria—a hundred lovely young girls and he chooses you.”
“Okay Moira—enough commercials for Oil of Olay!”
“Well, I’ve got one word for you…Winning!”
Victoria smiled in spite of herself. “Oh hell—you’re right darling—let those little vixens eat their hearts out.”
“I noticed Miss Texas giving you hell eyes.”
Victoria winced at the mention. “Ah yes, Missy Mae Allison, from the tacky Dallas Stars. She’d entertain Brad all right—as long as he didn’t tire of her cheerleading routines.”
“Catty, Victoria. Draw in your fangs. She’s out of her league in New York. Cotton carnival queens don’t do well in the Big Apple.”
“As if I’m concerned,” Victoria sniffed.
“Meet you later at Chez Cher?”
Victoria nodded. There was that far off look in her eyes that seemed to be there more often lately.
Moira wondered what it was—the pressure of work, abstraction…or nostalgia for the past, perhaps?
She watched Victoria glide gracefully down the corridor and smiled when two deliverymen almost tripped over their tongues as she passed by.
“Yup, she’s still got it,” she mused and wished she had just a little of that mojo.
Eight a.m. came a little too early for Victoria. She had to spend several extra minutes taking care of the shadows and puffiness around her eyes.
“Damn you Moira and your champagne toasts!”
Still, she had to admit she was loath to leave the restaurant and lingered a little too long basking in the attention of Mario and the waiters.
“How much adulation could one take?”
At fifty and counting, probably not enough, she concluded.
She managed to arrive at the convention center earlier than usual and decided to drop by Brad’s office to see if he was in. As she walked down the darkened hallway, she could hear voices.
“Ah jes luv it whan you-all talk so refin’d…”
She paused just outside the door.
“I must admit I have a soft spot for southern belles,” Brad replied.
Some shuffling of furniture followed a little yelp of laughter.
“Am I gonna have to call a police-man?” the voice teased.
“C’mon Mae—you must have seen how I’ve been dying for you. Every time you walked down that ramp, my eyes just ate you up”
Victoria’s heart sank. Missy Mae Allison—her nemesis. How could Brad?
“I heard that you an that Miss Holt were an item.”
“Yeah, I let her think that—it kind of flatters her ego too… and it doesn’t hurt my career any.”
A roaring sound filled Victoria’s head. She placed her hands over her ears head in an attempt to make it stop. The roar grew louder. Frightened, she turned and ran down the carpeted hall toward her dressing room.
“We’re ready for you, Miss Holt.”
“I’ll be there, Freddy,” a thin voice echoed from behind the door.
They were waiting for her on stage, neatly lined up in their places—airbrushed make-up and Vaseline lips.
Victoria shakily made her way to her place and stood gazing at the young expectant faces. Something inside her groaned.
A pang of sharp pain seized her for a moment, gripping her heart and searing through her mind. She allowed it to sweep over her like a hot blast of scorching heat. Then the fire passed.
The voice was frail and an anxious smile flickered across her face.
Then her back straightened and her jaw jutted out.
“Rosy and glowing,” she smiled. “That’s right girls. Now look straight into the camera.”