Model Relationship

I met her while I was still married. I was a thirty-year-old photographer and photo-assistant. I shot a lot of jobs on my own but worked with a few photographers to help pull together large, big budget shoots. The first time I met her was during one of those jobs.

The photographer I was working for had a solid reputation, he’d done some pretty big shoots and had an impressive client list. But the first day of the shoot I knew I wasn’t going to have fun. I had a small, core group of photographers I often worked with. I traveled the country and worked on a wide variety of shoots with them. Eric would not be one of them.

Anne was one of the models on this particular shoot. Three days. It was local, as were all the models. Eric, the photographer took a particular interest in her. It was pretty obvious why. She was stunning. And quite friendly. But she had no interest in him.

It probably all started because I was in the closest proximity to her. We were prepping for a lunch break, and Eric had been hitting on her relentlessly. She had held him off, but lunch was going to be more difficult. She grabbed my arm and told him that we were dating. He looked at me, then back at her. I smiled.

Ten minutes later, she was in the front seat of my Jeep, no top or doors, riding off to lunch. I was not to be the hairdresser’s favorite person that day.

“Lane, thank you. Eric wouldn’t take no for an answer. You saved my life. Let me buy your lunch.”

We had a nice lunch together. Not romantic in the least… a local Mexican place. We chatted about random stuff and enjoyed the break. She asked me if Eric was any good as a photographer, and I confided that I thought he was over-rated. I was proven correct several times over the next couple of days. During one of the scenes we were shooting, he effectively abandoned the camera to talk with the Art Director… “He, Lane, why don’t you just finish up for me…”

The following day, when she showed up, she made sure to make it obvious that we were together. That day, the result was lunch with Eric and another of the models. She wasn’t thrilled with him either but didn’t think as fast on her feet as Anne.

“He’s looking at us,” she said, her arms around my shoulders as we stood next to my Jeep. “Don’t freak out… I know you’re married, but I’m going to kiss you.”

I didn’t have time to react. It ended up being more like an old movie kiss… lips pressed together, but little else. She apologized as we drove back to the location to finish the day.

Several times after that, we ran into each other on another shoot. There was no romance between us, but there was a connection… likely the shared experience of the last shoot we’d both been on. We talked and got lunch again a few times.

A few months later I was at a party with my wife. Anne showed up. They talked and laughed, but there were no bouts of emotion or stories of betrayal. This story isn’t about that.

We worked a few more shoots together, the commercial photography community in Atlanta being small, but not tiny. She was in demand, and I was connected with a few highly respected shooters. I was also often asked to work by out-of-town photographers needing someone local that knew everyone.

It was two years later that I was divorced. It had nothing to do with Anne. To that point, aside from being someone memorable to look at, she wouldn’t have been a footnote in my life. She was a beautiful woman with whom I crossed paths a couple of times… nothing more.

One Saturday, my phone rang. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed it, answering. That was back in the day that phones had cords and were attached to things like walls.

“I was referred to you by Chuck, he said you might be able to help me out with some portfolio shots,” she said into the phone.

I’d barely gotten out a hello…

“Oh my God, Lane? It’s me, Anne. I haven’t seen you in like a year. We worked together a bunch of times… then nothing. How are you doing?”

“I’m good, Anne. I remember. How have you been?” She might not have been a footnote, but I still remembered her.

“I’m doing great. How’s your wife? I loved meeting her. She was so sweet.”

“She left me… a few months ago,” I replied. “We’re divorced.”

“Let me take you out for drinks… we can hang out. It’ll be fun,” she said. It was that fast. Immediate. Not even as much warning as the kiss we’d shared two years before. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

That night I found myself with a tall, incredibly gorgeous woman on my arm. I can’t complain. It was nice. We had dinner, a couple of drinks, and did a little dancing. It was an almost perfect date. My father’s words crept into the back of my mind over and over. He was wiser than I gave him credit for.

The part that wasn’t perfect was the conversation. It wasn’t just superficial. It was about superficiality. Hair. Make-up. Clothes. Not even movies and TV… certainly not books. I couldn’t push the conversation a different direction with a bulldozer.

Five hours after picking me up, she dropped me off at my house. I kissed her hand and thanked her for a wonderful evening. It was a lie. I’d been bored to tears almost the entire time. Dinner was too fancy, and the nightclub was too loud. What she had brought to the table was ego-stroking looks.

She had a perplexed look on her face as she backed out of my driveway. I waved after unlocking my door. She waved back and smiled. I went inside and went to bed. I probably kicked myself for not taking the opportunity to invite her in… or at least go in for the kiss. She seemed quite ready for more.

The next afternoon I was in the garage working on my Jeep when I saw a pair of shapely calves step up next to me. I rolled out and Anne was looking down at me, smiling. Cut-off jean shorts, t-shirt, and sneakers. I don’t think she ever looked better. At least not to me.

“Hi, Anne. What’s up?” I asked.

“Just in the neighborhood. I thought I’d stop by and say hi. Hi,” she laughed.

I was almost done, so she pulled up the stool that was in the garage and sat down. She asked a few questions about my Jeep and my little Triumph Spitfire sitting next to it in the garage.

“Some people I know are getting together for a little cook-out. Interested in going?” I asked her.

The previous night’s date hadn’t gone well in my opinion, but in the few minutes she sat in the garage asking me about the Jeep and the car, there had been no mention of make-up or clothes styles. Since I’m also a sucker for a terribly attractive woman, I was willing to give it another go… and I would have serious cred showing up with her on my arm.

She played the part of the doting girlfriend incredibly well. We looked engaged. And everyone loved her. I was kind of digging her myself at that point. She was a different person. I felt a comfort with her. The previous evening was forgotten as it seemed to me that we connected.

After the evening cook-out, we went for a little ride. She seemed to enjoy the Jeep, her foot on the doorjamb, her hand absently toying with the hair on the back of my head. Good thing the top was off, otherwise there would not have been room for my ego.

We got back to my house, and I invited her inside. The TV was playing softly in the background as we got comfortable on the couch. Pretty soon we were wrapped around each other like a braid.

“Lane, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” I replied, my lips tracing a path along the nape of her neck.

“Can you shoot some portfolio shots for me?”

I had shot portfolio images for a few models. My personal rule of thumb was that if they were friends, the cost would just cover film and processing. I generally shot enough that both of us could have some images for our books. It wasn’t a big deal to me.

“Sure. I’ve shot stuff for friends before.”

“So, you’d do that if we were dating?”

“Even if we weren’t dating.”

Ten minutes later I was sitting on the couch alone. And seriously annoyed. It might be more accurate to say I was pissed.

“Son, no matter how good-looking she is, somewhere there is a guy sick of her shit. He’s decided the candy isn’t worth the crap.”

I was about to be that guy. It took ten minutes for her to say that the only reason she went out with me the first time was that she wanted me to shoot pictures for her. She let me know that it wasn’t terrible, because she thought I was cute… but that she wasn’t that interested in me.

Ouch.

I let her know that if she had led off with “Would you be willing to shoot some pics for me?” that I probably would have agreed.

The “first date” hadn’t hurt my feelings. As I walked away that evening, I wasn’t feeling it. It wasn’t a horrible date… it was just one that didn’t click.

The “second date” was a different beast. It seemed like there was a connection. Not the “please stand here and pretend so Eric doesn’t try to feel my butt again” connection, but something that could have had traction. But I knew pretty soon after that I’d been blinded by the dazzling smile and perfect shape.

My life moved on. I met and married an amazing and beautiful woman, and we have two incredible boys and a cool dog. We’ve built a life based on respect, trust and love. Especially respect.

I’ve been used before, and I’m sure I’ll be used again. Generally, I even know when it is happening, and I let it. That wasn’t it. What it was, was the reminder that beauty is only skin deep. Pretty wrapping doesn’t make the present inside worthwhile.

“Son, no matter how good-looking she is, somewhere there is a guy sick of her shit. He’s decided the candy issn’t worth the crap.”