THIRTY-FIVE REPORTERS occupied the chairs in the Carlyle Suite, prepared for Jessyca Volpi's press conference. In front of them, decorated with dozens of red and white roses, stood the table where the top model would sit, alongside her manager and LaVey's English representative.
To the left, a battalion of photographers, flashes at the ready, fought for space. Three video cameras positioned along the sides and in the central aisle would turn millions of viewers into witnesses to the event.
Jacob entered the room fifteen minutes before the scheduled arrival of the star, walked over to the central table and swept his eyes across the auditorium. At the back, two security guards, stationed in opposite corners, listened closely to instructions coming through their earpieces.
Wearing a serious expression, the manager switched on the microphone and gently tapped it with his index finger. It was working.
— Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Jacob Maxwell, and I am Jessyca Volpi's manager. As you know, she is in London for the launch of a LaVey perfume taking place tomorrow. To avoid confusion, numbered passes were drawn. I ask that you respect the order, and I would also like to remind you that only one question per media outlet is permitted. Thank you — the manager instructed, sitting down to the left of the armchair reserved for Jessyca.
Two minutes later, Sebastian Honoover, LaVey's English representative, greeted him and sat down to the right of the princess's "throne."
— It's almost time. I hope Jessyca isn't late. I'll speak to the press only at the end of the conference — the executive whispered, already well aware of the model's reputation.
At exactly eight o'clock, a door on the opposite side from the journalists' entrance opened. Jessyca appeared in the Carlyle Suite accompanied by Bronny. She wore a long scarlet dress with a sensual slit revealing several inches of her shapely right thigh. Around her neck was a purple scarf with dozens of pearls tied to its ends. Intertwined diamonds hung from her ears, but it was the white-gold tiara on Jessyca's head that stole everyone's attention.
The word "Babalon," formed by hundreds of tiny diamonds, glittered amid the bursts of camera flashes. Her face, lightly made up, displayed a broad, enchanting smile.
She strutted toward the table and posed several times for the photographers before greeting Sebastian and sitting down. The Black Angel positioned himself behind her, one meter away.
— I think, for the first time in my life, I managed to be punctual — the Brazilian said, checking her wristwatch.
— I see you made quite an effort — Jacob continued, drawing laughter from the audience.
— You may begin the interrogation.
— BREDD, DAILY TELEGRAPH — the first reporter introduced himself. — Miss Volpi, you were recently invited to star in a film. Will this be the beginning of your movie career?
— Good evening, Bredd. It would be fun to play Messalina. When they invited me for the role, I read a few things about her. Did you know the empress challenged the most famous woman in Rome? And won by managing to sleep with more men in twenty-four hours — she replied, staring at the embarrassed reporter.
She noticed that everyone looked stunned.
— Getting back to your question, I have no intention of canceling the commitments on my professional schedule and moving to Hollywood.
— Watch your language — Jacob whispered.
— Nice answer — Gregor murmured with a smile.
— CAMILLE, FROM THE MIRROR. Good evening, Jessyca. I had prepared a question, but I decided to change it the moment you walked in. What does the word Babalon on your tiara mean?
— Isn't that the name of the perfume we're launching? — she asked Gregor, feigning surprise, and the group laughed.
— I'm joking. Babalon is the woman who inspired Samwell LaVey to create my outfit and Vanessa Segala to design the jewelry. Coincidentally, she too was not exactly a very pure woman.
Jessyca searched for Meggie among the journalists, but her friend still wasn't there.
— WINSTON, FINANCIAL TIMES. Your fortune is estimated at five hundred million dollars. Do you plan to invest part of it in ventures of your own?
Jessyca watched someone appear behind the enigmatic woman and grab her arm.
— Are you on another planet? — Jacob whispered.
— Sorry, I got distracted. Could you repeat the question? — she asked, turning back to the reporter.
— Do you plan to invest your fortune in businesses of your own?
— Before that, I'd like to say that a large portion of what I earn goes to a foundation I created in Brazil. Its goal is to give underprivileged girls the opportunity to enter the fashion world professionally. Next year, I'll open my own modeling agency to serve the Brazilian advertising market.
— And what about the real estate market? — the journalist continued.
— I don't have time to keep track of everything they do with my money. I only ask them kindly not to spend it all.
The room erupted in laughter.
— JOHN, EVENING STANDARD. Good evening, Miss Volpi. Incredible, you're even more beautiful in person — the reporter complimented her before asking his question.
— Thank you. I can't say the same — the Brazilian shot back, drawing more laughter from the audience.
— A journalist, quite famous around here, published a story claiming that your father practiced black magic in the Brazilian countryside. Did you inherit that from him? — John needled.
Jacob wrote something on a piece of paper and discreetly slid it across the table. Jessyca read what was written and turned back to the reporter.
— I haven't read the article yet, but I've just been informed that this Saul Nolland fellow is more famous for frauds than for good journalism. Just to correct the mistake: my father did not practice black magic.
— Why did you favor your slanderer with your only exclusive interview in London? — John fired back.
Murmurs began spreading through the auditorium. Sebastian looked at Jacob, waiting for an explanation. The manager turned to the top model and whispered:
— Can you explain what this means?
She paid him no attention.
— Dear John, I intend to give him a lesson on Afro-Brazilian religions. My father proudly practiced Candomblé, not black magic. I'll be doing a service to my country and its culture. I cannot stand ridiculous prejudice — the top model evaded, thinking:
Why didn't Meggie tell me about this? Damn it.
— I'd also like to receive religion lessons in your suite — the provocative reporter murmured, ending his participation in the press conference.
— If you're a naughty boy and need a lesson, who knows...
— JOYCE, VOGUE. JESSYCA, Samwell LaVey had been out of the haute couture market for six years! He retired saying he would never design again, and now he's back, in spectacular fashion. Who convinced him to change his mind?
— When I arrived at the hotel, the outfit was already in the suite's closet and fit perfectly. It didn't need a single alteration. I'm glad LaVey has returned from his vacation, but I can't answer why he changed his mind. Perhaps Mr. Honoover can give you a satisfactory answer — the Brazilian replied, turning toward LaVey's English representative.
— He wasn't on vacation. He signed a confidential exclusivity agreement with us. The first result is what you're seeing today, and soon he will hold a press conference of his own — Sebastian Honoover explained.
— Wow! You managed to fool everyone — the reporter commented.
— GEORGE, THE SUNNY...
— Do you work with Meggie? — Jessyca cut in.
— We work in the same newsroom. She's an assistant in the special reports section. Before asking my question, Miss Volpi, I'd like to clarify something about Saul Nolland.
— Since he isn't here to defend himself, go ahead — Jessyca consented.
— This I want to see — John provoked.
— Saul Nolland received the British Press Awards prize for Best Reporter. I doubt the Evening Standard reporter will ever come close to that — George fired back.
Jessyca smiled discreetly, while John decided it was better to remain silent.