Anderson," I asked, certain by now that I had come to the wrong address. She must have been in late forties, with long dark hair and a bird-like face, which looked somewhat stern. As I knocked on the door I remember having this horrible feeling that I had come to the wrong address, and that I was going to make a fool of myself.Ī woman answered the door. 437 was towards the end, a red and white cottage with primroses growing out front it did not at all seem like the place where one would go for nude modeling. It was a quiet suburban cul-de-sac, with small, quaint houses and a little park in the middle of everything. I was afraid that if I waited any longer, some other desperate opportunist might make it there before me and snag the job.Ĭlinewood Lane wasn't very far from where I was, just about forty minutes by bus. I decided not to waste time and went that very afternoon.
It would be like being nude in the boys locker-room, not one of my favorite memories, but still better than waiting tables at four in the morning. So I convinced myself that it was art, like romantic paintings or Greek statues I would be taking part in an artistic endeavor.Īs for the actual photoshoot, I imagined that it would be me, Mr. The nude part bothered me, but it was hard to say no to a hundred dollars. I was about six feet tall, with an average build and a mop of shaggy hair that most people seemed to like. Now I had never considered myself attractive, much less a model, but I wasn't too bad. I could pay all my sundry bills and still have a little left over for the load payments. Anderson." A hundred Dollars was more than what I made in an entire month at my regular job. It was a small ad tucked away in the corner between a picture of a used car and some other rubbish. I was in habit of looking through the classifieds on a daily basis, just incase there was something interesting there, and that was where I found it. I had already had several jobs that year, but none that were too my liking, and none that paid enough to help me cover my bills, not to mention the student loan payments. It was 1992, and I was a nineteen year old Literature student struggling to make my way through college.
0 kommentar(er)
