The design is plastic: polymer, clear neoprene, but it hangs and drapes, not clings. Coins - various nations, various denominations - are pressed into it, and the bodice line, which starts low in the back and rises under the arms to meet a neck cord in front, is coated here and there in gold leaf. Ana hugs herself in a way the garment can’t - she’s not cold, just self-conscious.
Guy, the wardrobe guy:
- Pretty sheer.
- Is sheer the same as transparent?
- Hey, you’re beautiful, you know? Don’t worry.
- Yeah yeah yeah. What’s up with the money?
- Dunno.
- I think I’d rather just be naked.
- Why?
- I feel like a statue or something.
The photographer consults with his assistants about lights, they laugh and break their huddle. "Ok...here’s the deal: I need you to stand there, very still, like a Greek statute. Think Aphrodite or something. Got it?"
Ana nods, and looks at Guy. He shrugs his shoulders, palms up, and raises his eyebrows - what?
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