Back Silk Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
  1. Title Page
  2. Acknowledgments
  3. Getting Ready
  4. Part One - Autumn/Winter
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Part Two - Spring/Summer
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. Chapter 17
  23. Chapter 18
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Chapter 20
  26. Chapter 21
  27. Part Three - London, Los Angeles, Tokyo, Milan
  28. Chapter 22
  29. Chapter 23
  30. Chapter 24
  31. Chapter 25
  32. Chapter 26
  33. Chapter 27
  34. Chapter 28
  35. Chapter 29
  36. Chapter 30
  37. Chapter 31
  38. Chapter 32
  39. Chapter 33
  40. Chapter 34
  41. Epilogue
  42. Copyright Page

There was some predictable wrangling over which throne Maya would take; as the established Paris couturier with the celebrity father, she naturally felt that she should be in the larger one, but then that was behind the smaller one, and she naturally felt that she should be in front, and would have threatened once again to walk out had one of her minions pointed out that the smaller throne in the front would make her look proportionately large.

Maya sat rigid, staring straight into the camera in order to express her hard, punky, Vivienne Westwood-ish edge. Isabelle relaxed, hitched her legs over the arm of the chair and smiled.

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Maya, ‘you’re ruining the composition.’

‘Let’s leave it to the photographer, shall we?’

‘No! This is my shoot, and they’ve only got you along to make me look good.’

‘Really?’ said Isabelle. ‘Thanks for telling me.’

‘Listen, sweetheart,’ said Maya, barely moving her lips as the camera clicked away, ‘if you didn’t play the urban card so effectively, nobody would pay you the slightest bit of attention.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You and Mercy Williams. That’s the only possible reason why she wore that awful tinfoil dress to the Oscars. Because you’re black.’

‘Oh, and I thought it was because of all the kind words you’d been putting in for me with her people,’ said Isabelle, who had not forgotten Maya’s attempts to keep her away from the Academy Awards.

Maya was sweating, and kept being dabbed. She swatted the make-up artists away like flies.

‘God,’ said Maya, ‘I don’t have time to think about people like you. I mean, I’m the one with the career.’

Isabelle laughed out loud when Maya said this, and the photographer chose just that moment to press the shutter. Maya, sweating, frowining and bug-eyed; Isabelle relaxed, laughing, head thrown back.

‘That’s it!’ said the photographer, through the medium of the translator. ‘We’re done here.’ He also made a few other remarks about the relative merits of his two sitters, which the translator thought better to leave in the original Japanese.