Beauty, Disrupted

by Carre Otis

  We drove along the coast and into the small town of Bodega. Stopping at the address I had been given he leaned in to kiss me. “Call if you want to come home early,” he joked. As he pulled away, I stood for a moment in the drive, collecting myself and taking a deep breath. I was nervous. This was unknown territory.

  Just then a beautiful, streamlined young gal a few years older than me pulled up on a bike. Her long blond hair was caught up in a rainbow barrette. “Hi! I’m René,” she greeted me with a grin.

  As she dismounted, I couldn’t help but stare at her unbelievably athletic body. Her arms were rippled with muscle, and she reached out to give me a hug. Again a sense of familiarity hung in the air. Together we walked into the house. Warm faces, flowing skirts, mostly gray-haired women greeted me. I removed my shoes and placed them next to the other pairs inside the door.

  “Have you met Tsultrim yet?” one woman asked. I had not, I replied.

  “Well, why don’t you go on upstairs and say hello before everyone gets here.”

  In an instant I was herded through the house and up a long flight of stairs. I could smell a strange incense burning. A faint but familiar bell sounded from the room I was moving toward. As I heard it, it was as if the lights dimmed, yet everything before me became crystal clear. Quietly, I knocked. A moment of hesitation, of fear, bubbled up. Why am I here? I wondered. What on earth am I doing?

  Entering the room, I could see that a beautiful altar was set out on the floor. Candles of different colors sat in each of the four directions, while a blue one flickered in the center. Flowers and crystals caught the light, and in the middle of all this there appeared to be a small cauldron. Later I would come to know that cauldron as a kapala skull cup, a human skull used as a ritual tool in both Buddhist and Hindu practice.

  Sitting at the end of the room, holding court, seated in a cross-legged position, was Tsultrim. Her being emanated brilliance and compassion. I made my way slowly toward her, and she smiled, nodding for me to come closer. As I did, something uncontrollable happened. I burst into tears until my tears became quiet, body-racking sobs. Falling at her feet and placing my forehead on the floor before her, I just let myself cry, not entirely sure, nor even caring, why. It was as if lifetimes of longing and pain were moving through me and I was finally before someone who truly knew and loved me. I hadn’t said my name, yet in a flash her arms wrapped around me, stroking my hair, and then a simple, clear greeting—“Welcome home, Carré”—came from her mouth. I was stunned. And silenced. I immediately knew I was home. I couldn’t explain it intellectually, but I understood it emotionally. That old longing, that old heartache I had always associated with being homesick, evaporated.

  That weekend was a milestone in my life. I will never forget it. How long had I been searching for this path? How long had I been waiting for my teachers? After meeting Tsultrim, I began to study and put into practice the profound elements and instructions of Tibetan Buddhism. And as I did, a wisdom awoke inside me, a wisdom that would guide me through some of the most trying times anyone could face in this life.

  Returning to the farm that Sunday afternoon, I knew that things had changed. I now had something I did not before. I had found my teacher, and I had connected with my beliefs, both remembered from another time. A new chapter was beginning, and in it was more of the unknown. But I was ready. Armed with a new strength and a resilience within, I realized I was ready to return to work.

  MODELING AGAIN

  The farm was proving to be a smaller world than I had once thought, and I was getting antsy. Every community has its politics, and the farm was no different. Ethan and I were both in an increasingly uncomfortable position; we never had jobs, so we never had any of our own money either. It was humiliating to so constantly be dependent on Nan.

  A part of me craved being busy and out in the world again. I had already tasted that kind of independence. No matter how far behind I had left Paris, the yearning to be back “out there” was returning, like a beast to his feeding grounds. Whether it was for fame, money, acceptance, or just to finish off what I’d begun, the world of modeling still had its allure. And as safe and nurturing as the farm was, I still wanted an escape.

  I was ready for a change. Rumor had it that there was catalog work in the city. Thinking that could be a good steady gig, I set up an appointment with a local agency called Look and drove in for a meeting. Marie-Christine Kollock was the agency owner. This petite French woman with plenty of spunk to spare met me at her office. We looked through my portfolio together; I showed her the shots from New York and France. By San Francisco standards, I was considered a star. I had a French Elle cover, and that counted for a lot. I went straight to work.

  Slowly and steadily I began to clock my hours. And just as steadily I was able to put some coin in the bank. I would drive from the farm in the early-morning traffic, an hour into the city. By 5:00 P.M. I was making my way home. The commute was endless but necessary at first. The farm gave me the security I needed to find my way back into the industry. San Francisco proved to be tame enough, so within a few months Ethan and I decided we could handle the move. We found ourselves a sweet little apartment on Dolores Street. From our second-floor balcony, we would often hear the calls of the wild parrots of Telegraph Hill screaming through the air.

  As the months passed, a basic routine began to develop. I was able to balance work, home, and a strong devotion to my Buddhist practices. My world was opening up. I was gaining strength and momentum. The daily bookings for local catalogs like Macy’s and Emporium were helping me to hone my skills and boost my confidence. But soon San Francisco began to feel like a small town, too.

  I continued to set my goals higher. I felt as if I could conquer the world one step at a time. I began to think that maybe success was all in the timing—and perhaps my time was coming. I knew I still needed a “big” agent, but I didn’t want to go backward and be represented by a massive corporate agency where I was just a number. I wanted to hold on to my individuality. I’d seen what it was to be caught up in the great modeling machine, and I hadn’t liked it, to say the least.

  Los Angeles was the best bet. I did not want to return to New York. And I would rather be dead than go back to Paris. I began to ask around about agents in Southern California. One name kept coming up: Paul Fisher with It Models. From what I could gather, he was the closest thing to a New York agent—only he was close enough to familiar stomping grounds.

  He and I chatted easily on the phone, and I agreed to drive down and meet him.

  Paul was young. He seemed like a kid himself, or at least a big-brother type. He talked a mile a minute and was all about “possibility.” Dressed in a pair of white jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers, he was the walking antithesis of the agents I had met. I believed his rap, though, and his enthusiasm was contagious. I was very frank about what I wanted. And even clearer about what I didn’t want.

  I wanted to work, I wanted money. But I didn’t want to sell my soul or have anyone else do so. “Groovy, sister”—he nodded as if he understood me. Time would tell whether he did or not. But we agreed to work together. And that was the beginning of a new era for me.

  By the time I arrived home, I already had a call from him. Herb Ritts was shooting for German Playboy and wanted to see my tits.

  “What? Are you serious? First of all, who is Herb Ritts? And second of all, Paul, there is no way in hell I am going to shoot for Playboy!” I was appalled. Playboy stood for everything I hated.

  “Carré, baby, you gotta trust me on this one,” Paul begged. “Can you please just have Ethan take some Polaroids of your tits and FedEx them to me, sweetie?”

  What did I know? He was asking for my trust. I wanted to break into the big time. And this was the way he thought it would happen.

  “Okay,” I told Paul. And that day Ethan took a gazillion Polaroids of my tiny young breasts. Maybe two included my face, but the rest were all tits.

  As it turned out, Herb loved
my tits. And that was the beginning of my biggest breakthrough. At that time Herb Ritts was shooting for every magazine under the sun. And doing it beautifully. His black-and-whites, his nudes and shadows, as well as his amazing editorials were all the rage. He was on top. He turned out to be my in.

  Within months I was shooting for American Vogue, Elle, Allure, and Glamour. I was booked for Revlon’s “Most Unforgettable Women” campaign with Richard Avedon. It was Arthur Elgort who photographed me in the Hamptons for Vogue. It was awesome and exciting.

  I spent a week shooting for Guess with Ellen von Unwerth in Italy, and the pictures rocked the industry. I was traveling, having fun, and beginning to develop an attitude of invincibility. I carried over the magic of the farm, the self-image of being a wild hippie girl, and I maintained my spiritual practices. But I was starting to have trouble staying grounded in such a body-oriented business. I needed to slow down. Unfortunately, my requests for a break went unanswered. There was a constant reminder that it was now or never hanging over me. That damned sense that the clock was ticking, that an expiration date loomed on the horizon, was always present. That urgent “get it while you can, get it while it’s hot” mentality prevailed, and with it both the pace of the work and the round-the-world travel only increased.

  Just before my burnout, I was scheduled to fly to Baja California to shoot with Patrick Demarchelier, one of Vogue’s most famous photographers. I was on thin ice. Paul was pushing me past my limits. I was a wreck. I had begged him to cancel the job in Mexico; I told him I couldn’t go on. I needed to shut down and head home. I needed to see nature, and Nan and Ethan. But he was insistent. His rap never changed. He always promised that every job would be the last before I’d get some rest, but it never was.

  Once I committed to Baja, Paul decided to fly in and meet me to help me get through the shoot. I recall arriving sometime after midnight. The Hotel Twin Dolphin was the best luxury resort Cabo San Lucas had to offer at the time, but for me it was all wrong. I was escorted to my room and proceeded to have a meltdown. There was no TV. No minibar. It was too hot. I was too tired. I sobbed and sobbed, and, quite frankly, I don’t think Paul knew what to do with me.

  “Do you really want me to go and tell Patrick you can’t do this?”

  “Yes!” I screamed. “Would someone finally fucking listen to me!”

  I collapsed onto the bed and slept, listening to the waves crashing below in the pitch darkness of the Mexican night.

  When I awoke, it was morning and Paul had come back from a walk. He’d found Patrick and the crew on the beach and told them I was sick. We had to go home.

  “Well, what did he say? Is it okay?” I asked Paul.

  “I don’t know, sister.” Paul looked at his feet. Clearly I was bumming him out.

  I had this gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that the pay was more important to him than I was. Am I just this guy’s meal ticket? Does he care at all? I thought. Agents are aggressive by nature and I was one of his biggest clients at the time, so I know that leaving money on the table was hard. But I had to draw the line somewhere. I was at my breaking point.

  Back in L.A., I decided it was time to check in with Tsultrim, my teacher.

  “Carré, I am doing this retreat in Ojai, California,” she told me. “Another dakini retreat. You should come.”

  It sounded perfect. Amazing. I would just need to extract myself from my life and clear the dates. Calling Paul, I booked myself out. He was baffled and clearly disgruntled. “But, baby, we have all of these incredible jobs on hold for you.”

  “Paul, I have to take some time off. The jobs will wait.” And without another word I hung up the phone and packed my bags for Ojai. I knew that if I were to continue on, I would have to take care of myself. No one else would.

  The beginnings of spring were in the air. I made my way north out of the city and drove along the coast and then inland to Ojai. It was a beautiful drive—blossoms on the trees, a crisp blue sky. Gentle winds kicked up the dust on the lone road that wound up the mountain. At the top sat a small retreat center, the Ojai Foundation.

  I parked my car in the open lot, then got out and stretched. Looking around at the 360-degree view, I drew in a long breath and exhaled. Damn, was it time to leave that storm and stress behind or what?

  Making my way to the main yurt, I could see Tibetan prayer flags snapping in the wind. I sensed Tsultrim near, and an excitement bubbled up. I missed her, and I missed that sense of connectedness She was it. And I was close.

  I saw her an instant later, standing in a field not far from me. “Tsultrim!” I yelled excitedly, and ran toward her, almost stumbling as I moved across the grass. She grabbed me tight and held me close. I remember breathing in her scent, so grounded and full.

  “Beauty . . .” she cooed at me, holding my face in her hands. I lost myself for a moment in the sea of her sky-blue gaze.

  Brimming over with joy, I followed her like a puppy to the practice hall, a beautiful wooden dome with hardwood floors. Maroon prayer cushions called zabutons were set up in a circle. I made my place next to Tsultrim and her assistant, a Native American medicine woman named Sparky Shooting Star, and sat quietly watching as the other retreat participants, all women, entered. There was a silence that hovered, a quiet I hadn’t felt for some time. Closing my eyes and listening to the wind stirring the pines, I relaxed.

  Tsultrim began with a greeting, and we went around the circle, stating our names and setting an intention for the time we would share together. And then we began our evening practice.

  When darkness descended, Tsultrim raised her bell, the sharp tinkling letting us know that our session was over.

  In the cool night air, I got out my flashlight and found my way to my yurt. I placed my bag in the corner, undressed, and pulled the mosquito netting down over the small and simple bed I would rest in for the week’s stay. An owl hooted in a tree overhead, and I wondered about that old tale I’d heard from Nan: The owl signifies death and change, representing the great mysteries of the night. I knew that a part of me needed to die. And to do this I needed to surrender. Death was part of the flow. It was part of life and a central piece of slaying the ego. I was back on my path and clearly had some work to do.

  Our days were full of practice, outdoor meditation, and mask making. I hadn’t let that creative side of me come forth since I’d left the farm. I relished the time to play and explore.

  But a part of me was holding on to the outside way of life. I had become accustomed to certain foods and diets, and now in the contrast of a group of healthy, hearty women, I felt that my strange habits and neuroses seemed to stand out in the light. I was always on a diet. Always fearful of gaining weight. And even in this relaxed atmosphere, I had to micromanage everything.

  One afternoon I departed from the retreat’s schedule, deciding to go for a run. I blasted along the winding dirt paths up toward the top of the mountain. After an hour, still breathing heavily, I returned to the group. Tsultrim sat quietly under the shade of an old oak tree.

  “Why are you running, Carré? What are you running from?” she asked in a very open and curious way. Clearly, running was not part of the curriculum.

  I was speechless. I had no answer for her. I was running. I just wasn’t sure from what.

  During our evening practice session, the caretaker for the retreat center came in and looked around the room. She had a note in her hand. And although she’d entered discreetly, everyone stopped and noticed her presence.

  Tsultrim looked up. “What do you need?” she asked.

  “There was an urgent call for Carré. She needs to call this person back as soon as possible.”

  I was alarmed and stood to look at the piece of paper she handed me. The note simply read, “Call Mr. Fisher as soon as possible.” What the fuck was he doing calling me here? But my concern grew, and I excused myself to go to the main house and make a phone call.

  “Paul? Is everything okay?” I asked once he had pi
cked up.

  “Yeah, baby. Better than ever. I have the most exciting news!” I could hear the kid in his voice.

  “Paul, I told you not to call me. Not for the week. Come on! Whatever it is can wait!”

  I was pissed off. And put off. But a little part of me was curious. And jonesing for some contact with the busy outside world I was so used to.

  “Baby, I’m sorry. But this can’t wait. It won’t wait. It’s a now-or-never thing.”

  “What?” I demanded to know. “What?”

  “It’s what we’ve been waiting for. It’s your big break. Zalman King called. Mickey Rourke wants to meet you. They’re casting a movie—a big movie. They . . . want . . . you.” He was beside himself, talking a million miles a minute.

  “What? Are you serious? Are you kidding?” I was stunned. A movie? With Mickey Rourke? Like, from 9½ Weeks? Oh, my God. Any kid would be over the moon with this news.

  “But, Paul . . . I can’t leave retreat. I really can’t. I can meet them in five more days. Please.” The karmic rules of retreat were clear. And I knew the fallout of breaking their boundaries could be serious.

  “No, Carré. It’s now. The time is now. They’ll send a car. They want to meet you tomorrow.”

  Excitement mixed with apprehension. I needed to talk with Tsultrim. But somewhere my mind was already made up. Samsara was calling. Temptation was beckoning. I was being lured. It was unclear in that moment what exactly was out there calling my name, but there was a sense it was dangerous.

  I told Paul I’d call him back, I had to speak to my teacher.

  “Okay,” he agreed. “But, Carré . . . this is your shot. You can go back to the retreat after your meeting. A few hours out of your time. That’s all I am asking.”

  “I got it, Paul. I’ll call you back.” And with that, I hung up the phone and walked through the night to meet with Tsultrim.

  “Carré, this isn’t good,” Tsultrim warned me. I knew what she was going to say. I just didn’t want to hear it. “You made a commitment to be here. It is just like when a flame is ignited in the darkness, many things will flock toward that light. Not all of them good things. That is you now. A bright light. And there are forces that beckon. This is a test, my dear.” I knew that what she was saying was true. I knew it in my heart and soul.