“I’d prefer to give you a screen test in the studio, with the proper sets and costumes, but I’m willing to make do with what we have here. Stand there.” He pointed to the center of the room.
She did so and waited. He backed away, holding out his hands in two L shapes, and knelt low. “That’s right, bring your chin up, look above me, over me.”
For a fleeting moment, her nerves kicked in again, but she reminded herself she’d been studied closely before, that this was no different from the hundreds of other times she’d been inspected, scrutinized. She hoped the bags under her eyes from the weekend of sleep deprivation didn’t show.
“My God, you look good from every angle,” he said. “I’m going to talk, and I’d like you to react to what I’m saying in whatever way feels natural. Are you ready?”
She nodded.
“Go to the doorway.”
She walked to where she’d first entered.
“Here’s what I envision. I want to tell your story.”
“My story?”
“Yes. This will be a collaboration. Angelica, the Artists’ Muse.”
A collaboration. Her name in the movie’s title.
He continued. “We must capitalize on what you’ve done before, show that you’re an emblem, embedded in the culture of New York City. That you’ve been persecuted and called vile names, but that your essence is still pure.”
Vile names? She didn’t want to draw attention to the scandal with her landlord. The whole point of going to California and acting was to get beyond all that, move forward. She was about to volunteer that she’d be happy to act in a movie that had already been written, but she couldn’t get a word in. He was backing up, talking quickly.
“Let’s pretend it’s the first time that you’ve come to an artist’s studio and been asked to pose. Go ahead, action.”
“Action?”
He stood and blew out a breath. “Yes. Enter the room as if it was a studio. Can you do that?”
“My mother was always with me.”
“No mother. We need to raise the stakes, heighten the narrative. You’re all alone, and this is the first time you’ve done this. Can you remember that?”
She could, and shivered a little at the memory.
“Yes! Exactly what I’m looking for. What you did there. Keep on going.”
She’d impress him with her acting skills, even if this was not what she had expected. Lillian entered the room and stood, looking about with wide eyes, as if she were surrounded by finished statues and works in progress.
“Wonderful! Now here comes the artist. He’s circling you.”
She stiffened, watching the imaginary man as he passed by.
“Terrific. Now, we’ll have to re-create what happened to you in the studio. You sense that he wants more than just a model, and it frightens you. Show me that.”
She broke out of character, confused. “But that never happened. All the sculptors I worked with were working artists, not seducers. My mother made quite sure of that.”
“Again with the mother. There is no mother, all right?”
“But if it’s going to be my story, then shouldn’t we be true to it? I’m not ashamed of what I did, posing as a model. There was nothing untoward about it.”
Mr. Broderick plunked down in a chair, knees wide, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He spoke evenly, like a disappointed parent patiently explaining the rules to a young child. “You’re not some farm girl from Omaha who no one has heard of before. If you are the true Angelica, we have to embrace your recent notoriety.”
“I’d like to get beyond my notoriety, if I can.”
“It’s too late for that. But if you can make the audience fall in love with you, feel like they understand your plight and empathize with you, then you’ll have all the power in the world. Power will get you out of a pickle, and that’s what you’re in, at the moment.”
She crossed her arms, uncertain.
“The studio wouldn’t allow me to film anything that’s the least bit distasteful or gauche,” Mr. Broderick offered. “You’ll be safe with me. But you have to trust me, can you do that?”
She eyed him warily. “I guess.”
“I’m going to demand a lot from you, Angelica. You’ll need to expose yourself, and I want to know now, right now, if you’re going to be able to do that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for one thing, I’ll need you to offer up raw, undiluted emotion. Really dig deep. And there should be at least one shot of your legendary dimples.” The last sentence was said almost to himself, as if she weren’t even in the room.