neagena2010: переводы

→“Though I’d probably like it better if it was me and two guys. Better to be the central focus, don’t you think?”

→“But with my luck, the guys would be more interested in each other.” Sasha lifted her hand and studied it. “I’m thinking about adding some collagen to my hand. My knuckles are so bony.”

→“Excuse me?”

→Heather blinked. “Excuse me?”

→“Threesomes? I didn’t care for it much, either.”

→The gown had to be size two. “I could never get into that.”

→“The media can’t decide whether Echarpe is gay or into multiple partners,” Sasha whispered.

→“I see.” Maybe Echarpe was more like Hugh Hefner than Liberace. Heather eyed the two models. She probably weighed as much as their combined weight. Nonsense. Size twelve was normal. She turned to admire a daring red gown on a white mannequin.

→“They’re Simone and Inga, famous models from Paris. Some say Echarpe’s involved with them. Both of them.”

→“Yes.” Heather noted the two emaciated women with pale flawless skin and long hair.

→Sasha leaned closer. “Do you see the two women by the old man with a cane?”

→Heather eyed the man’s frilly lavender shirt. The lapels on his black tuxedo were encrusted with lavender beads and sequins. “I see what you mean.”

→“He stopped coordinating his own shows. And he certainly wouldn’t be bothered with a shop like this in the middle of nowhere. He has little people for that.” Sasha pointed at a slim man across the room and whispered, “That’s Alberto Alberghini, Echarpe’s personal assistant, though I have to wonder just how personal he is.”

→Heather winced. “How sad.”

→Sasha snorted through her surgically shortened nose. “No one sees Echarpe anymore. It’s like he disappeared off the planet. Some say he’s suffered the cost of his own genius and lost his mind.”

→“You never met him? But you were in his show in Paris just a few weeks ago.” Heather and her longtime friend Sasha had both dreamed of glorious careers in the world of high fashion from the moment they’d discovered their Barbie dolls had cooler clothes than anyone else in the small town of Schnitzelberg, Texas. Heather was now a schoolteacher, while Sasha had become a successful fashion model. Heather waffled between being enormously proud of her friend and being reluctantly envious.

→“I don’t know. I’ve never met him.” Sasha pivoted like she was working the runway while she looked around to see who was watching her.

→“How old is Echarpe?” she asked Sasha. “In his seventies?”

→Marilyn Monroe in an Echarpe dress. Cary Grant in an Echarpe tuxedo. This guy knew everybody.

→The walls on the ground floor were painted a soft gray and boasted a series of black-and-white photos. She wandered over for a closer look. Wow, Princess Di wearing an Echarpe gown.