He had an excellent dinner, soft pretzels in Central Park, spent half the next day at the Museum of Natural History. Three comfortable, relaxed days slipped by. Then he had his suit cleaned and prepared himself.

This time he let the cab deposit him outside Harlem Eight. The eighty-story-tall hexagon was part of a complex of eight identical towers situated on parklike grounds. It was an expensive, prestigious commercial address.

The Magdalena Agency occupied all of the seventieth floor. Even the lobby whispered money. The tiles were goldstone, there was lavish use of beveled and etched glass, and the doors leading off the lobby were etched with reproductions of works by Mucha and Erte.

Eric felt out of place. The offices at Selvern were comfortable but stark by comparison, designed to give a different impression. He was accustomed to efficient, businesslike surroundings, not ostentatiousness for its own sake.

The girl in the reception area displayed a complexion the same color as her walnut desk. She was slim and beautiful but not, Eric surmised, quite slim or beautiful enough. Certainly she didn’t begin to compare to the magic image he’d seen in the retreating Cadota that was now enshrined in his memory.

“May I help you, sir?” She eyed Eric’s best suit speculatively. Or maybe it was Eric she was evaluating. He didn’t fit the types she dealt with daily; not handsome enough to be seeking representation, not outlandish enough to be an agent. Any moment now, he thought, she was going to ask if he had a delivery to make.

This won’t do, he told himself angrily. Act like you know what you’re doing even if you don’t.

“I’m here to inquire about the availability of one of your models. For a series of opto commercials.” He gave her his best smile.

Her estimate of him rose several notches. “I see.” He wasn’t sure if she believed him, but he was sure she wasn’t going to take the chance of being wrong.

“May I ask who’s calling and what company you represent?”

“John Frazier," he told her without hesitation. “I’m with Selvern.” Up another notch.

“Just a moment, please, Mr. Frazier.” She gestured toward a gold, late-nineteenth-century couch. Eric accepted the proffered seat and began thumbing through the magazines on the table nearby. They were slick and full of photographs instead of words. Photographs by full sun, photographs by candlelight, photographs by starlight. It was astonishing how many angles the human body possessed and how each could be frozen in time through the symbiosis of eye and machine.

He was enjoying himself when the woman came out to greet him. Her hair was silver shot through with streaks of blond and he couldn’t tell which was natural and which dye. The same went for her expression. She was very pretty, very petite, an elf forged of stainless steel. He was immediately on guard as she shook his hand.

“Mr. Frazier? I’m Joan Candlewaif. Come with me, please.” He put aside the magazines and followed her.

Her office looked out on the parkland below and Harlem Three Tower. She settled easily into her desk. Literally into, as the entrance to the circular work station closed up behind her, sealing her inside a flat-topped plastic doughnut.

“Something to drink, Mr. Frazier? Fruit juice, coffee, tea, chicory, mineral water, soft drink, wine?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

“Helaine said you represent Selvern.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Terkel and Brighton are their Nueva York people.”

“I’m from the coast. From in-house.” He made himself sound conspiratorial. He could thank his relationship with Charlie for his knowledge of advertising, and he’d thought out his speech during his idyllic jaunt around Manhattan.

“We’re looking for someone with a particular look, a special look, to pose in a series of multichannel promos for a new line of consumer electronics products. Preliminary product discussion is already underway, both in Phoenix and Hong Kong. We need someone with an ethereal, distant beauty, very futuristic.” He went on to detail a long list of other imaginary requirements for the imaginary opening while Candlewaif listened intently.

Mentioning Selvern was a risk, but he had to represent something. What better than his own company? He knew Selvern and, thanks to Charlie, something of its in-house agency work. If she thought to check further she would discover that John Frazier did indeed work for Selvern Phoenix. Frazier was Charlie’s supervisor. So long as she didn’t request a picture he should be able to carry the deception off, for the necessary few days at least.

His well-rehearsed speech obviously impressed her. Here was a man who knew what he and his company wanted.

“Everyone’s looking for that special someone with a particular ‘look,’ Mr. Frazier. I don’t have to tell you that. Finding those faces is what makes this business exciting. We have a number of ladies who might meet your description.” She touched hidden switches. A video screen unrolled on the far wall and a compact projector emerged from her desk. She started sorting through boxes of holograms.

“That may not be necessary,” Eric told her. He had no intention of spending the rest of the day trapped in the office, looking at pictures of beautiful women who meant nothing to him, could mean nothing to him. “We’ve done a considerable amount of research on our own and settled on a hopeful already. I know she’s represented by Magdalena. I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have mentioned that earlier.”

“Not necessary.” Candlewaif was good at covering her surprise. “It makes my job much simpler, doesn’t it? I’m glad you’ve selected a Magdalena model. Of course, until we discuss the details of her employment I can’t guarantee her availability. Who was it you had in mind? Veronika? Senta Cross?”

“Lisa Tambor.” Eric made a show of consulting his notepad.

The woman frowned. “Tambor? I don’t … oh, yes, yes, of course I remember her. She did work for us, but very briefly. I’m sorry to say. She was very much in demand, but I always had the feeling her heart wasn’t in her work, that she regarded her employment here almost as a lark, a vacation of sorts. A strange girl. Pity. She could have been one of the best.”

“She doesn’t work for you anymore?”

“Not for some time now, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“So were we. I don’t know why she quit. We did everything we could to try and persuade her she had a great future with Magdalena. What was peculiar was that she was serious about not modeling anymore. We thought she’d been given a better offer by one of our competitors, but evidently that wasn’t the case.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Quite sure, Mr. Frazier. Ours is a tight little gossipy world, you see. As soon as anyone changes agencies, it’s common knowledge throughout the business. No, Ms. Tambor did not go to another agency, not here, not overseas, or I would know of it. She really did quit the business.” Candlewaif smiled icily. “Found herself some sugar daddy or someone to take care of her. I suppose that’s an easier career, for some.”

Eric bridled at the woman’s implications but said nothing. It might be true. He remembered Polikartos’s words.

“Just a minute,” she murmured, searching through her files. She found what she was hunting for and popped it into her projector.

The tiny instrument whirred to life and the room automatically darkened. Exquisite faces and bodies filled the screen on the wall, blurred by high speed. Gradually they slowed and poses became visible, life-size and tridimensional.

Eric’s fingers tensed on his chair. It was her. There was never a doubt in his mind, not from the first diffused, artsy exposure. It was her.

“Yes, I remember her,” Candlewaif was murmuring. “Very quiet girl, almost a child in some ways, quite mature in others. She seemed to know exactly what she wanted and how to go about getting it. When she got what she wanted out of Magdalena, she demanded and received her release.

“I’m not kidding when I say that we did everything we could to try and keep her with us, Mr. Frazier. We made her offers very, very few beginning models ever see, ever even dream about. She was as indifferent to the money as she was to the profession. A strange lady. She did have something. Your people certainly targeted on it, as did ours. You can see it in her holos.”

You can see it on the street, in a moving car, Eric thought excitedly.

“All great models have something distinctive about them,” the woman went on. “Tambor wasn’t refined, but the uniqueness was there. As I said, she could have been one of the best.”

There was a soft snap. The image on the wall vanished as the projector died.

“I wouldn’t argue with your assessment,” Eric finally said.

“I wish I could interest you in some of our other models. There’s a young lady from West Africa, Sara Noba, who is quite striking and possesses much the same bone structure … though she’s not the same girl, of course. We have other well-known models who—”

“Nothing against any of your other people,” Eric said quickly, “but before we reconsider I’d like to make a try at persuading this Lisa Tambor to work for us. Selvern is one of the largest corporations in North America. Perhaps with the promise of that kind of exposure …”

“Tambor was interested in exposure even less than money,” Candlewaif told him.

“We can offer her a great deal. Wouldn’t it be worth your while if I could persuade her? It might induce her to return to the fold.”

“Of course we’d like that. Unfortunately there’s nothing I can do for you, Mr. Frazier. I can’t give you Lisa Tambor’s address. We take our models’ privacy very seriously here. As I’m sure you know from your own work, the world is full of oddballs and the unbalanced. I’m not including you, naturally, but this is a policy I’m not in a position to change. The most attractive and visible men and women become targets for the most unbelievable abuse.” He started to comment but she wasn’t finished yet.