Circles [antikvár]

One Jennifer Cranshaw's office resembled a Broadway rehearsal hall. Long-limbed modek were everywhere: slouched against walls, sitting cross-legged on the floor, doing exercises in the comer, or lounging in the doorway drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups. All attention was centered on Jeimifer, who was patiently instructing a tall redhead in denim overalls and a T-shirt. Jennifer removed her burgundy mohair jacket and dropped it on the nearest chair. Placing her left hand on the gentle curve of her hip, she shifted her weight, lowered her right shoulder, assumed a theatrical pose, and threw back her head. Then, with the grace of a dancer, she glided across the floor, her slender le^ peeking through a slit in her skirt. Her trim body swayed provocatively, moving in time to an imaginary beat, her mauve silk blouse rippling as she walked. When she had reached her desk and resumed her normal posture, she was greeted by a spurt of enthusiastic applause. It was three days before the Jolie party—a grand celebration of the magazine's fortieth anniversarv—and Jennifer was making her final selections for the fashion show she was staging as part of the evening's festivities. Her present concern was Coral Trent. The young model was obviously nervous. After explaining once again the movement she had jmt demonstrated, Jennifer left Coral in the care of Jolie s models' editor so she could zero in on the others. She switched on a disco tape and, directing each woman with hand signals, indicated stops and turns and do-it-agains with long, expressive fingers. In a few days, twelve himdred people would descend on Cloud 9, New York's famous see and-be-seen disco, to honor the magazine. As promotion director, Jennifer was in charge of monitoring every detail from the spectacular fashion retrospective, to coordinating guest lists, hiring en-1