Part 13

(Go to Part 1 for the beginning.)

(Continued from Part 12)

 To drum up business I call modeling agencies and offer to test. Testing means photographing models for free. It's supposed to be an opportunity for the photographer to build up his portfolio which in the beginning is usually putrid because photographers like myself in the early stages don't know a thing about lighting. Lighting is crucial for both the photographer and the model. For example, if the new model, who often does her own make-up to save money, has painted herself to perfection, and she's wearing an extraordinary designer gown from Neiman Marcus, which she'll return for a refund the next day, it's all for naught if I screw up the lighting, which I usually do since I'm lighting illiterate. It's no wonder models develop an Attitude when they have to endure this maddening process called testing.

Testing also takes it's toll on photographers. I can vouch for that. No wonder I become temperamental when I have to witness a beginning model's imitation of a statue. Of course that's only if she manages to show up even near the scheduled time, which she usually doesn't, and there is definitely no such thing as a courtesy call canceling or informing the clock-watching shutterbug that she's going to be a bit late because of the accident on the freeway which is a weak cover for the fact that she was out partying all night as arm candy for a sugar-daddy until her eyes are more circled than a raccoon. Testing makes everyone testy.

This afternoon Annie, an aspiring model, drives up from San Diego for a test shoot. I'm waiting for her at the park across the street from the Beverly Hills Hotel, and when her car pulls up my heart sinks because I see she's not alone. Ray, the boyfriend, had asked to watch the session but earlier Annie talked him out of it, I thought, tactfully explaining that it would be too distracting. Distracting is an understatement because as soon as a model starts to pose in the least bit seductively the boyfriend always starts with the suspicious disapproving stares that make her eyes look like she's watching a tennis game. Back and forth they go from the camera to her pissed off boyfriend and pretty soon she's looking as pissed off as he is and the shoot is shot.

Annie is first to get out of the car in a thin turtleneck sweater, a dark pleated skirt, and sexy black patterned stockings. She's has an Audrey Hepburn haircut and though she's petite in size she carries herself with alluring poise. I'm sorry, Frank, but he changed his mind and said he wants to watch. Ray gets out and starts in on her. If you've got nothing to hide, then why can't I be here?! This distraction excuse is bullshit. It's not bullshit, she says. Tell him, Frank. She looks at me with knitted eyebrows that tell me the smiling, feel-good shots I had hoped to produce are out the window. Don't tell him to tell me, Ray says. If you want me to get lost, you tell me! Fine, she says. I want you to get lost, and they toss the word Fine back and forth a few times until he says, I'm taking the train back. You take the car and have a great fucking shoot. He storms off and disappears and she says, Fine! Suddenly she bursts out crying and there's her make-up-to-perfection running down her face in colored streaks. I hold her till she's out of tears and tissues, and Annie tries to pull herself together. I still want to do the pictures. The show's gotta go on, right? Her chin starts to quiver and she's balling her eyes out and I'm feeling helpless seeing her so pained and pathetic with make-up that looks like a Jackson Pollock. No, I haven't eaten, she says. Sure, I'd love to go to lunch. McDonald's is fine, and if it's okay with you we'll shoot next weekend and this time I'll leave Ray at home. I promise.

(to be continued every Tuesday)