:34 PM

Jasmine is sitting staring out at the sea while she smokes a cigarette and thinks of nothing. At such moments, she feels a deep connection with the infinite, as if it were not she who was there, but something more powerful, something capable of extraordinary things.

She remembers an old story she once read. Nasrudin appeared at court wearing a magnificent turban and asking for money for charity. You come here asking for money and yet youre wearing an extremely expensive turban on your head. How much did that extraordinary thing cost? asked the sultan.

It was a gift from someone very rich. And its worth, I believe, five hundred gold coins, replied the wise Sufi.

The sultans minister muttered: Thats impossible. No turban could possibly be worth that much.

Nasrudin insisted:

I didnt come here only to beg, I also came to do business. I know that only a true sovereign would be capable of buying this turban for six hundred gold coins so that I could give the surplus to the poor.

The sultan was flattered and paid what Nasrudin asked. On the way out, Nasrudin said to the minister:

You may know the value of a turban, but I know how far a mans vanity will take him.

And thats what the world around her is like. She has nothing against her profession, she doesnt judge people by their desires, but she knows whats really important in life and wants to keep her feet on the ground, even though there are temptations at every turn.

Someone opens the door and says theres just half an hour before the show begins. The worst part of the day, the long period of tedium that precedes any fashion show, is coming to an end. The other girls put down their iPods and their phones; the makeup artists do any nec- essary retouching; the hairdressers comb back into place any stray locks.

Jasmine sits in front of the dressing room mirror and lets them get on with their work.

Dont be nervous just because its Cannes, says the makeup artist.

Im not nervous.

Why should she be? On the contrary, whenever she steps onto a catwalk, she feels a kind of ecstasy, a surge of adrenaline. The makeup artist seems in a mood to talk, and tells her about the many celebrity wrinkles she has smoothed, suggests a new face cream, says shes tired of her job, asks if Jasmine has a spare ticket to a party that night. Jasmine listens to all this with infinite patience. In her mind shes back in the streets of Antwerp on the day she decided to get in touch with the two photographers who had approached her earlier. She had met with a slight initial difficulty, but it had all worked out in the end.

As it would today and as it had then, whenalong with her mother, who, eager for her daughter to recover from her depression as quickly as possible, had agreed to go with hershe rang the bell of the first photographer, the one who had stopped her in the street. The door opened to reveal a small room with a transparent table covered in photographic negatives, another table, on which sat a computer, and a kind of drawing board piled with papers. With the photographer was a woman of about forty, who looked at her long and hard, before smil- ing and introducing herself as the events coordinator. Then the four of them sat down.

Im sure your daughter has a great future as a model, said the woman.

Oh, Im just here to keep her company, said Jasmines mother. If you have anything to say, speak directly to her.

The woman, slightly taken aback, paused for a few seconds, then picked up a card and started noting down details and measurements, saying:

Of course, Cristina isnt a good name for a model. Its too ordi- nary. The first thing we need to do is to change that.

Theres another reason why Cristina isnt a good name, Jasmine was thinking. Because it belonged to a girl who had ceased to exist when she witnessed a murder and denied what her eyes now refused to forget. When she decided to change everything, she began with the name shed been called ever since she was a child. She needed to change everything, absolutely everything. She had her answer ready.

My professional name is Jasmine Tigera combination of sweet- ness and danger.

The woman seemed to like the name.

A career in modeling isnt an easy one, and youre lucky to have been picked out to take the first step. Obviously, there are a lot of things to sort out, but were here to help you get to where you want to be. We take photos of you and send them to the appropriate agencies. Youll also need a composite.

She waited for Cristina to ask: Whats a composite? But no ques- tion came. Again the woman was temporarily thrown.

A composite, as Im sure you know, is a sheet of paper with, on the one side, your best photo and your measurements, and, on the other, more photos in different poses, for example, in a bikini, dressed as a student, perhaps one of just your face, another that shows you wearing more makeup, so that they wont necessarily exclude you if they want someone older. Your bust . . .

Another pause.

. . . your bust is perhaps a little large for a model. She turned to the photographer. We need to disguise that. Make a note. The photographer duly made a note. Cristinawho was rapidly becoming Jasmine Tigerwas thinking: But when they meet me, theyll see Ive got a bigger bust than they were expecting!

The woman picked up a handsome leather briefcase and took out a list.

Well need to call a makeup artist and a hairdresser. You havent any experience on a catwalk, have you?

None.

Well, you dont stride down a catwalk as if you were walking down the street. If you did, youd stumble because youd be moving too fast or else trip over your high heels. You have to place one foot in front of the other, like a cat. You mustnt smile too much either. Even more important is posture.

She ticked off three things on the list. And youll have to hire some clothes. Another tick. And I think thats all for now.

She again put her hand inside the elegant briefcase and took out a calculator. She went down the list, tapped in a few numbers, then added them up. No one else in the room dared utter a word.

That will be around two thousand euros, I think. We wont in- clude the photos because Yassershe turned to the photographer is very expensive, but hes prepared to do the work for free, as long as you give him permission to use the material. We can have the makeup artist and the hairdresser here tomorrow morning and Ill get in touch with the people who run the course to see if theres a vacancy. Im sure there will be, just as Im sure that by investing in yourself, youre creat- ing new possibilities for your future and will soon recover any initial expenses.

Are you saying I have to pay? Again the events coordinator seemed taken aback. Usually, the girls who came to see her were so mad keen to realize the dream of a whole generationbeing considered one of the sexiest women in the worldthat they never asked indelicate questions like that.

Listen, Cristina . . .

Jasmine. The moment I walked through that door, I became Jas- mine.

The photographers mobile phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and moved away to the far end of the room, which had, until then, been in darkness. When he drew one of the curtains, Jasmine saw a wall draped with a black cloth, tripods mounted with flashes, boxes with blinking lights, and several spotlights suspended from the ceiling.

Listen, Jasmine, there are thousands and millions of people who would like to be in your position. You were chosen by one of Antwerps finest photographers, youll have the help of the best professionals, and I will personally manage your career. On the other hand, as with ev- erything else in life, you have to believe that youre going to succeed and, for that to happen, you need to invest money. I know youre beau- tiful enough to enjoy great success as a model, but that isnt enough in this highly competitive world. You have to be the best, and that costs money, at least to begin with.

But if you think I have all those qualities, why dont you invest your money in me?

I will later on. At the moment, we need to know just how com- mitted you are. I want to be sure that you really do want to be a pro- fessional model or if youre just another young woman excited by the possibility of traveling, seeing the world, and finding a rich husband.

The womans tone of voice had grown severe. The photographer returned from the studio end of the room.

Its the makeup artist. She wants to know what time she should arrive tomorrow.

If the moneys essential, I can probably . . . Jasmines mother began to say, but Jasmine had got up and was walking over to the door, without shaking hands with either the woman or the photographer.

Thank you very much, but I dont have that kind of money, and even if I did, I would spend it on something else.

But its your future! Precisely. Its my future, not yours.

Jasmine burst into tears afterward. First,shehadgone to that expensive boutique where theyd not only been rude to her, but implied that she was lying when she said shed met the owner. Then, just when she thought she was about to start a new life and had discov- ered the perfect new name for herself, she learned that it would cost her two thousand euros just to take the first step!

Mother and daughter made their way home in silence. Jasmines mobile rang several times, but she just glanced at the number and put the phone back in her pocket.

Why dont you answer it? Weve got another appointment this af- ternoon, havent we?

Because we dont have two thousand euros.

Her mother grasped Jasmines shoulders. She knew what a fragile state her daughter was in and had to do something.

Yes, we do. Ive worked every day since your father died, and we do have two thousand euros. We have more than that if you need it. Cleaners earn good money here in Europe because no one here wants to clean up other peoples messes. Besides, were talking about your future. We cant go home now.

The phone rang again. Jasmine became Cristina again and did as her mother asked. The woman she had the appointment with that afternoon was ringing to apologize and explain that another commitment meant that she would be a couple of hours late for their meeting.

Thats all right, said Cristina. But before you waste any more time, Id like to know how much its going to cost me.

How much its going to cost? Yes. Ive just had a meeting with another photographer and he and his colleague were going to charge me two thousand euros for the photos, the makeup . . .

The woman at the other end laughed.

No, it wont cost you anything. Thats an old trick. We can talk about it when we meet.

Her studio was similar to the one theyd visited that morn- ing, but the conversation they had was completely different. She asked Cristina why she looked so much sadder than when theyd first met; she clearly still remembered their initial encounter. Cristina told her what had happened with the other photographer, and the woman explained that it was common practice and one that the authori- ties were trying to clamp down on. At that very moment, in many places around the world, relatively pretty girls were being invited to reveal the full potential of their beauty and paying through the nose for the privilege. On the pretext of looking for new talent, agen- cies would rent rooms in luxury hotels, fill them with photographic equipment, promise the would-be models at least one fashion show a year or their money back, charge a fortune for any photos they took, call in failed professionals to act as makeup artists and hairdress- ers, suggest enrollment in particular modeling schools, and then, quite often, disappear without a trace. The studio Cristina had visited was, in fact, a genuine one, but shed been quite right to reject their offer.

Theyre appealing to peoples vanity, and theres nothing neces- sarily wrong in that, as long as the person involved knows what theyre getting into. Its not something that only happens in the world of fash- ion either, it goes on in other areas too: writers publishing their own books, painters sponsoring their own exhibitions, film directors who go into debt in order to buy their place in the sun with one of the big studios, girls your age who leave home and go to the big city to work as waitresses, hoping to be discovered one day by a producer wholl propel them to stardom.

No, they wouldnt take any photos now. She needed to get to know Cristina better; pressing the camera button was the last stage in a long process that began with uncovering your subjects soul. They arranged to meet the following day to talk more.

You need to choose a name. Its Jasmine Tiger. Yes, her love of life had returned.

The photographer invited her to spend the weekend at her beach house near the Dutch border, and they spent eight hours a day experimenting with the camera.

She expected Jasmine to reveal on her face a whole range of emo- tions suggested by words such as fire, seduction, water. Jasmine had to try and show both sides of her soul, good and bad. She had to look down, straight ahead, to the side, to stare off into space. She had to imagine seagulls and demons. She had to imagine shed been at- tacked by a group of older men and left in the restroom in a bar, having been raped by one or more of them; she had to be sinner and saint, perverse and innocent.

Some photos were taken out in the open, and even though her body was freezing, she was able to react to each stimulus, to obey each sug- gestion. They also used a small studio set up in one of the rooms so that the photographer could play around with different types of music and lighting. Jasmine would do her own makeup, while the photographer did her hair.

Am I any good? Jasmine would ask. Why are you spending so much time on me?

But all the photographer would say was: Well talk about that later, and then spend the rest of the evening looking at the work theyd done that day, thinking and making notes, but never commenting on whether she was pleased or disappointed with the results.

Not until Monday morning did Jasmine (for Cristina was defini- tively dead by then) get an opinion. They were waiting at Brussels sta- tion for the connection to Antwerp when the photographer suddenly said:

Youre the best model Ive ever worked with. Youre joking. The woman looked at her in surprise, then said: No, really, you are. Ive been working in this field for twenty years now; Ive taken photographs of countless people; Ive worked with professional models and film actors, all of them highly experienced, but none of them had your ability to express emotion. And do you know what thats called? Talent. In certain professions, talent is quite easy to measure: managing directors who can turn around a business on the verge of bankruptcy and make it a going concern again; sports- men who break records; artists whose work lives on for at least two generations; so how can I be so sure about you as a model? Because Im a professional. Youve managed to show your angels and your demons through the lens of a camera, and thats not easy. Im not talking about young people who like to dress up as vampires and go to Goth parties; Im not talking about girls who put on an innocent air to try to arouse the pedophile in men. Im talking about real demons and real angels.

The station was full of people walking back and forth. Jasmine looked at the train timetable and suggested they go outside. She was dying for a cigarette, and smoking was forbidden within the station precinct. She was wondering whether she should say what was going on inside her just then.

It may be that I do have talent, but if I do, theres only one reason I was able to show that talent. You know, during all the time weve spent together, youve never said anything about your private life and never asked about mine. Do you want me to help you with your luggage, by the way? Photographys basically a profession for men, isnt it? Theres always so much equipment to lug around.

The woman laughed.

Theres nothing much to say, really, except that I adore my work. Im thirty-eight, divorced, no kids, but with enough good contacts to be able to earn a comfortable living, but not to live in any great luxury.

Theres something else I must add to what I said: if everything goes to plan you must never ever behave like someone who depends on her profession to survive, even if its true. If you dont follow my advice, youll be easily manipulated by the system. Obviously, Ill use your photos and earn money with them, but from now on, Id suggest you get yourself a professional agent.

Jasmine lit another cigarette; it was now or never.

Do you know why I was able to show my talent? Because of some- thing I never imagined would happen in my life: Ive fallen in love with a woman, a woman I would like to have by my side, guiding whatever steps I need to take, a woman who with her gentleness and her rigor managed to get inside my soul and release both the best and the worst that lie in those subterranean depths. She didnt do this by long in- struction in meditation techniques or through psychoanalysiswhich is what my mother thinks I needshe used . . .

She paused. She felt afraid, but she had to go on. She had nothing now to lose.

She used a camera.

Time stood still. The other people outside the station stopped moving, all noise ceased, the wind dropped, her cigarette smoke hung in the hair, the lights went outthere were just two pairs of eyes shin- ing brighter than ever and fixed on each other.

Youre ready, says the makeup artist. Jasmine looks up and sees her partner pacing up and down in the improvised dressing room. She must be feeling nervous; after all, this is her first fashion show in Cannes, and if it goes well, she might get a fat contract with the Belgian government.

Jasmine feels like going over and reassuring her, telling her that everything will be fine, as it always has been before. She might get a response along the lines of: Youre only nineteen, what do you know about life?

She would reply: I know what your capabilities are, just as you know mine. I know about the relationship that changed our lives one day three years ago, outside a train station, when you gently touched my cheek. Do you remember how frightened we both were? But we survived that first feeling of fear. And thanks to that relationship, Im here now; and you, as well as being an excellent photographer, are doing what you always dreamed of doing: designing and making clothes.

She knows its best not to say anything. Telling a person to calm down only makes them even more nervous.

She goes over to the window and lights another cigarette. Shes smoking too much, but then why shouldnt she? This is her first major fashion show in France.