Read Entr'acte for Free Online

at the rear. The guy immediately descended on the two of them, and when he determined that only Joyce was a prospective client, he honed in on her with a hard-sell approach.
    Although she had intended to get an idea of the cost and how she ought to dress, the photographer insisted what Joyce had on was fine without so much as glancing at her outfit.
    The price in the ad turned out to be for 50 black and white photos; color was extra, fast service was extra, “and they’re cheaper by the hundred,” he wheedled.
    Debbie took Joyce aside and whispered to her that she was being charged too much. “I ran my resume off myself at a quick-copy place. I got 100 for $9, on nice heavy paper. Black and white photos are good enough, and he wants too much for those.”
    They held a conference that the photographer interrupted 38
    ENTR’ACTE
    several times, announcing that time is money. Although there wasn’t a sign of it, he claimed he was very busy, and had a large group coming in by appointment later.
    Joyce named a price for 50 black and white photos that was about two-thirds of what he had asked for. “That’s with the embossed name line, resume on the back, and ready by the end of the day,” she said.
    “No way, forget it,” he said, and pushed through the curtains into the studio. Joyce and Debbie turned around to leave but the photographer was still talking.
    “…obviously think I’m running a vegetable stand here. I can’t get something like that ready in a few hours, it’s already the middle of the afternoon. Maybe first thing tomorrow.”
    Joyce turned to Debbie. “That would mean I could go out on calls tomorrow too. I want to get started. And the price isn’t bad now.”
    She felt her roommate looking at her with admiration, and called through the curtains, “Do we have a deal, or what?”
    “Yea, yea,” the guy said resignedly. “Sit down there and make yourself beautiful. I’ll be right with you.”
    There were jars of makeup on the table, but as they unscrewed the lid of each jar, the women convulsed in laughter. One jar had purple eye shadow, another green and a third one appeared to be silver eye shadow with gold glitter in it. “Who would wear this stuff?” Joyce said.
    “I don’t know,” Debbie said doubtfully. “But chances are you won’t be up for the same parts as her.”
    Joyce washed and dried her face, then took her own, hypoallergenic makeup out of her purse. She applied a shade barely darker than her own skin, and a pale rose blush to her cheeks. Then she outlined her eyelids with pencil and used just a hint of mascara on her lashes.
    39
    FRANK JULIANO
    She reached behind her and undid the elastic keeping her hair in a braid. Her thick, honey-colored hair tumbled over Joyce’s shoulders, and she shook her head to spread it out.
    “Oh, the fresh-scrubbed look. Wonderful. You’ll work a lot,”
    the photographer said in a monotone when he emerged. He sounded like he was reciting a speech, and the women just looked at each other.
    Joyce perched on a stool in front of a blue screen that unrolled from the wall. The screen had been fully extended so that it even went under the stool, making Joyce look as if she was floating.
    The photographer put his light meter up against Joyce’s sweater, creased his brow and started moving the lights and the umbrellas that reflect them. He wired all of the lights into the flash trigger of his camera and began snapping pictures.
    For some, Joyce looked back over her shoulder, a carefree smile on her face. In others, she stood with her hands on her hips as if she was playfully scolding someone; her gold and white sweater, rust-colored skirt and Topsiders with socks making her look like a preppie.
    Then she sat at the man’s computer terminal, typing her resume into the system and listing all the roles she played in high school and the classes from “Muriel Pettit, noted Broadway dancer.”
    “That’s my grandmother,” she shyly told Debbie.
    When