Vogue

September issue drops and the cover girl won't blink. Green eyes locked through the halftone dots, black veil pulled across her mouth, dark hair falling like a Bond opening credit — she knows something you don't and she's not telling until you buy the magazine. WEEK #25. AMAZING SPECIAL AMAZEMENT. The masthead screams pulp-detective, the woman underneath plays Ursula Andress walking out of the surf with a switchblade in her bikini. Anna Wintour would peer over the sunglasses and give a single nod. That's the whole review.

Flip her over and the burnt-orange speckled carpet handles the dirty work — grip, stall, sit on the lip and pose for the photographers. Slick side slides, carpet side stops, both sides dressed for the runway. Cue Madonna: come on, Vogue, let your body move to the music. Greta Garbo and Monroe, Dietrich and DiMaggio — put in the catwalk reps, then land the cover.

Strike a pose. Hit the four. The mystery girl approves. That's all.