Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (80 page)

'There is still too much swelling and far too many bruises,' Dr. Zatopek had informed her with his usual brusqueness.
'When I think you are ready, then I shall let you see yourself.
But not a moment before.' And with that, the case was closed.
Dr. Zatopek refused to hear any more arguments, and his
nurses were stern and unbribable.

She could not remember when she had felt more frustrated.

Then there had been the delicate eye surgery; the top men at IA had agreed that her eyes did not quite match in shape;
in the much-magnified close-ups on-screen it was much more
evident than in person.

But now, at long last, the surgery was all over. The bandages
were about to come off. She couldn't hear Dr. Zatopek's brisk heels approaching outside in the hall since her bandages muf
fled all but the loudest sounds, but she caught Ziolko, Skolnik,
Max Factor, and the nurse turning expectantly toward the
door.

She caught her breath and uttered a swift prayer as it opened
and Dr. Zatopek stepped into the room. Her heart was pound
ing. A vice bound her head above her eyes. She dug the fin
gernails of one hand deep into the soft palm of the other,
hoping that the pain would overpower her growing hysteria.

When she looked into a mirror from now on, whom would
she see?

Herself? Or a stranger?

The itchy bandages were off less than ten minutes later, but it
was another three full days before Tamara was finally allowed
to see herself in a mirror. This time it was not the doctor, but
Oscar Skolnik, who declined her request. 'I don't want you to
get the wrong idea,' he said. 'There's still your makeup and your hair to be done first. You've waited this long, what's a
few more days?'

A lot, she discovered to her chagrin: the hours and days
crawled by with interminable slowness. Time had come to a
stop.

When the big moment finally came, Dr. Zatopek was not in
attendance. He washed his hands of the entire affair. 'I have better things to occupy myself with than this foolishness,' he
declared pointedly to Skolnik, who raised his eyebrows in sur
prise. "The sooner this room is vacated, the sooner someone
who truly needs help can be moved in.'

And with that, the door snapped abruptly shut behind him.

The doctor's cutting words and brash tone put a damper on Tamara's spirits. Mercifully, it was only temporary. There was
little time for her to concentrate on the negative aspect of
things—besides which, Oscar Skolnik was proving himself a
rare magician, pulling surprise after surprise out of his hat.
For the first time in six weeks, Tamara was almost faint from
excitement. She thrived on all the bustling attention. A hairdresser had been sent for all the way from Rome to bleach,
colour, cut, and style her hair, and Max Factor had spent the last three days locked up creating the perfect makeup
exclusively for her, which he now painstakingly and artfully
applied, changed, corrected, and reapplied. Throughout,
Oscar Skolnik paced in concentric circles like a predatory
shark or a nervous father-to-be—Tamara couldn't decide
which—constantly barking commands or giving advice on fur
ther improvements. Only Louis Ziolko was a silent bystander,
sitting next to her, from time to time smiling reassuringly or
taking her hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

Still more tedious hours dragged by before Skolnik finally
nodded his tight-lipped approval. The nod was taken as a silent
signal: Max Factor put his brushes, creams, lotions, and
pencils away, and Ziolko emitted a sigh of relief, beamed, kissed her cheek, and got to his feet. Without having said a
word, the men trouped out behind Skolnik like obedient ducks
following their mother, and a plump, pleasant-faced maid came bustling in to help her get dressed. When the woman
first caught sight of her, she stopped cold in her tracks and
stared wide-eyed.

Tamara looked at her strangely. 'Is something wrong?' she
asked.

The woman shook her head swiftly but was silent for a moment. 'Scusi,' she apologized in obvious embarrassment,
her face colouring. 'Please forgive me. I . . . I am unused to
seeing such beauty.'

Tamara stared at her. 'Am I . . . beautiful, then?' she asked
falteringly.

The woman laughed. 'Are you—' Then she noticed
Tamara's dead-serious look and the laughter died in her throat. She stepped closer. 'You do not know?' she asked
softly, her eyes searching Tamara's.

Tamara shook her head, the tears beginning to well up in
her eyes. 'No,' she said hoarsely, swiftly turning away. 'I
haven't seen myself for weeks.'

'You poor thing.' The maid tilted her head to one side and smiled reassuringly. She nodded slowly. 'You are very, very
beautiful, signorina.'

Tamara turned to look at her. Impulsively she reached out
and pressed the woman's hand. "Thank you,' she whispered
fervently, her voice trembling with relief.

'For what? Speaking the truth?' The matronly woman was
happy now, smiling. Humming cheerfully, she busied herself
digging wordlessly through voluminous layers of rustling tissue
paper in an enormous sleek cardboard box. After a moment
she unfolded the Vionnet gown from Paris which Skolnik had
ordered to Tamara's new measurements and had brought with him. The humming stopped suddenly.
'Mamma mia!'
the maid
exclaimed with a gasp, holding it up, her dark topaz eyes
dancing as she examined it closely, all the time making
impressed little cooing sounds.

Tamara took a deep breath and drew closer to inspect the
gown. 'How pretty!' she exclaimed instinctively, reaching out
to feel the luscious white silk taffeta. It was cool and regal.

'Ah, what a treasure, signorina! Just look!
Bellissima!'
the
maid exclaimed, holding the gown against Tamara. She
sounded breathless, like an excited child at Christmas.

Yes, it was indeed a treasure, Tamara had to agree. Even
she, inexperienced as she was as far as good clothes were concerned, had at least been exposed to Hollywood's finest
costumes through the magic of the motion pictures she had
seen; now she had to admit wholeheartedly that genuine Paris
couture was light-years ahead of the most splendid costume
designer's most extravagant creation. This exquisite gown was
designed to take one's breath away. As well as stand up to the
most minute scrutiny. No mere costume, this.

The maid slid the gown reverentially off the padded velvet
hanger and helped Tamara dress, her face beaming, her cheer
ful, bustling manner and constant stream of words never let
ting up. '
Mamma mia,
but you look like a
principessa, si! A
genuine
principessa.
Maybe you have Italian blood? I have
heard all about you, of course. Everyone here gossips like
magpies, but I truly had no idea how beautiful you are! And
this gown . . . Now, turn around, please, and let me fasten . . .'

When Tamara was completely dressed, she moved tenta
tively this way and that, feeling the fabric's every elegant
move, every billowing swirl. She looked down at herself, once
again silently cursing the absence of a mirror. But she knew
that the gown was a masterpiece of design and handwork. It
reached to mid-calf in the front and down to the floor in the
back, flaring gracefully from her shoulders to the small of her
spine, where a series of tiny seed-pearl buttons held it snug.
An attached sash from the front wrapped around to the back in a kind of massive sculptured-taffeta bow which fell to a six-
inch-long train.

'You are a fairy-tale vision, signorina.' The maid stepped
back to study the effect, happily wringing her plump, short
red hands as she beamed in pleasure. Then, wishing her the
best, the maid left.

The men once again filed in, stepping forward to examine
her more closely, then stepping back again as though they
were studying their own reflections in a mirror or deciding
upon the purchase of a particularly priceless object. In they leaned. Back they stepped. Over and over. Max Factor hur
riedly made some line adjustments with a pencil and a brush.
Finally, wordlessly, they all looked at one another and nod
ded. Now there were smiles and handshakes all around.
Congratulations for one another.

'That doctor's a magician if I've ever seen one,' Skolnik said
happily, lighting his pipe. 'Can't see a stitch, can you, Max?
He'd make a fortune in Hollywood.'

And'. . . Can't believe what that platinum does to her hair.
See if we can't bribe that hairdresser to come out to Holly
wood. We sure could use her . . .'

And'. . . Makeup's good, Max. Real good. Nice definition
around the eyes. Gives her a kind of . . . hmmm . . . haunted
quality, wouldn't you say? But sexy. The women'll love her and try to copy her, and the men'll eat her up, fantasizing
about her in the bedroom. A great job, Max.'

And'. . . That Vionnet lady's something else. Just from the measurements, she came up with this gown. Tell you what,
we'll have her make up an entire wardrobe, maybe even have
her do some sketches for movie costumes.'

Tamara bit down on her lip, disgusted with them all.
What
about me!
she railed silently.
Didn't I have something to do
with this? Isn't this
me
they're going on and on about? After all
I've had to go through
. . .

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she glared at Skolnik and cleared her throat
angrily.

Ignoring her, Oscar Skolnik snapped his fingers at Ziolko,
who went out into the hall and signalled for two orderlies to
carry in a draped three-panel dressing mirror. Tamara stared
at it, her heart thumping. The moment of reckoning was at
hand.