A Not-So-Simple Life

by Melody Carlson

  Consequently, although it seemed like I should’ve made a lot of money, my first agency check, which I got today, was not very impressive. After the agency’s percentage, the photo shoot, the portfolio, and various other expenses were deducted, I made even less than I would’ve earned at Ralph Lauren.

  “That’s not bad,” Campbell Klopstein told me this afternoon. “Good grief, it took me three months to break even with the agency. My parents thought I was nuts not to quit.”

  “Really?” I studied her. She was so pretty and confident and, according to what I’d been hearing, in great demand in the LA. fashion world. It was hard to imagine a model like her just scraping by.

  “Fortunately, I was still living at home back then. But after a year or so, I knew I’d made the right choice.”

  We were on a callback for a new cosmetic line. I wasn’t sure if we were in competition with each other or if they were considering using both of us. But I realized if it was a competition, Campbell would probably come out on top. Not only is her skin flawless, other than the freckles, but she has this most amazing nose. Small and narrow and, I’m guessing, very photogenic. And I had just gotten a zit on my chin. Still, I knew better than to concentrate on this flaw. A blemish could be covered or airbrushed. Welcome to the plastic world of fashion.

  So as we sat there, I tried to remember some of the things I’d been learning. Ways to relax and give the camera your best. In some ways it felt like a mind game. And I’d been doing my “mirror work” (something I’d learned in one of my training sessions). The goal is to spend five minutes or less in front of the mirror while you practice smiling in a natural way. And while you do this, you concentrate on how your facial muscles feel so that when you’re in front of the camera, you can do it again. You can also do it with body poses. Whether it’s tilting a shoulder or placing a hand on the hip, there are ways that look natural and comfortable and ways that just make you look stupid.

  At first I found this whole thing degrading and humiliating, like I’m a puppet that’s being paid to perform. Or worse, a piece of meat that’s being used to sell something I would never in a million years purchase myself. It all goes so against the grain with me. But it’s the price I must pay for now.

  As it turned out, Campbell and I had both been selected for the cosmetic company shoot. First they shot us together and then separately. It took most of the day. And afterward we went out and got coffee.

  “How long have you been modeling?” I asked.

  “I was about your age when I started. I’ll be nineteen next month. Do the math.”

  “Do you plan to continue?”

  “Sure.” She grinned. “It’s not a bad life, you know. The money’s good, and the hours are doable. Why wouldn’t I keep doing it?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know…”

  “You mean am I worried I’ll get too old?”

  “No, that’s not what—”

  “Because it’s not like I’m delusional. I’m fully aware that most girls can’t do this for long. And I’ve considered going to New York…”

  “Why?”

  “To broaden my career, of course. That’s where it’s really happening.”

  “Oh…”

  “But I hate to leave my boyfriend.” I nodded. “Is it serious?”

  She laughed. “It is with me, and I’m hoping it is with him too.”

  I tried to imagine how it would feel to be serious about a guy. I mean, I’ve had secret crushes but never anything I would call serious.

  “We moved in together last summer, and I know it sounds crazy at my age, but I could imagine being married to Gray.” She sighed happily. “I mean, we are so perfect for each other. He’s this really organized and slightly geekish dude, and I’m totally the opposite—crazy and messy and spontaneous.”

  “And you actually get along?”

  “Like peanut butter and jelly.” She grinned. “And I’m the jelly.”

  “Oh…”

  Then she started telling me more about some of the pitfalls of modeling, things to watch out for and people to trust or not to trust. I was almost tempted to take notes. Hopefully, I could remember all this.

  “Am I overloading you?” she said finally, glancing at her watch.

  “No. I really appreciate the inside information.”

  “Well, feel free to call me if you ever need to chat or want to know something about somebody. I may have only been doing this for three years, but I pretty much know the dirt on everyone by now.”

  Then we exchanged business cards, the ones provided by the agency, with their number as well as our cell phones. And we went our separate ways. She went home to Gray, and I went home to see if Shannon was still around. To my surprise, considering it’s a Friday night, she was. But not surprisingly, she was holed up in her room.

  In some ways Campbell is the closest thing to a friend I’ve had in a long time. Of course, I doubt she sees it that way. I mean, it’s not like she invited me to call her up so we could just hang. Besides being a lot older than me, she’s involved in a serious relationship. I’m sure that takes a lot of her spare time. Still, it would be nice to have a real friend.

  October 14

  Once again Shannon and I are like two ships in the night. I’m pretty sure she’s using again, although I have no idea why. Well, other than the fact that she’s an addict. But really, it seemed like life had smoothed out here for us. She actually paid some bills, and the house wasn’t a total disaster. In fact, she almost seemed happy. And I almost felt hopeful.

  But then she started to complain about being bored. Sometimes I wonder if she’s bipolar. I don’t know much about it, other than it causes mood swings. And even after I read about it on the Internet, I couldn’t be sure. It seems like there are a lot of different kinds of bipolar. Plus, using drugs and alcohol can really complicate detection. I suspect she’s a combination of a lot of things. I just wish she’d grow up and get over it. However, I doubt that’s going to happen anytime soon.

  The good news is that I’m making good money now. Okay, on some levels it feels like bad money. Or maybe just dirty money. Because, like Campbell warned me, there are some skanks in this industry. I’m sort of surprised at how many people assume that because I’m modeling, I’m also willing to sell my soul to the devil. Although to be fair, I’m not so sure there is a devil…or a God. Anyway, it’s sad how models get a reputation for certain things like wanting to have sex with a photographer or stylist or the slimeball doing the lighting. I try to make myself perfectly clear around certain forms of lowlife. And Ms. Montgomery has made it known that she doesn’t want her models compromised in any way.

  Naturally, I never point out just how compromised I feel every time I pose in front of a camera. I figure that’s my problem. In a way I am prostituting myself for money. Okay, I’m not having sex, but I’m selling my body and my face. And it really makes me sick. This whole industry makes me sick. And I hope that as soon as I’m free, I will find a more wholesome line of work.

  Speaking of emancipation, I took my GED test and passed with flying colors. I actually studied for it and was surprised at how easy it was. Still, it feels weird to be finished with high school—without having gone one day. And it makes me sad. And lonely.

  Maya’s Green Tip for the Day

  Did you know that some shoe companies—the same ones that charge you more than $150 for a pair of shoes—might not be paying their workers a living wage? A worker in India might be making less than $2 a day to make those great-looking, big-name shoes. That’s why when you see a Fairtrade symbol on a product, you can feel good about your purchase. You know that you’re not contributing to wage slavery in another country.

  Twelve

  November 28

  It’s Thanksgiving today. Not that anyone in this house pays attention to such traditional nonsense. And not that I care since I don’t eat turkey and since I feel this holiday is simply the celebration of white people taking over a country that wo
uld’ve been better off without them. But that’s just my take on it. Still, I can’t help but wonder about the whole family thing. The image of happy American families gathering to—gag—eat meat and watch football games is slightly intriguing. Even to a vegan.

  Anyway, I would probably be totally depressed by the fact that I pretty much have no family and Shannon is AWOL again…except for one thing. I got paid yesterday, and it was the biggest check yet. My savings account has more than ten thousand dollars in it now! I know that doesn’t sound like much to some people, but I feel like a millionaire.

  The other thing that makes me extremely happy is knowing my birthday is only two weeks away. Emancipation day! Okay, not exactly. But it’s the day I intend to file. And I’ve already done the research and have a plan that will pressure both my parents into agreeing. Sure, some might call it blackmail. Particularly Shannon. But I simply call it a full disclosure of the facts unless they both sign on the dotted line.

  And if all goes well, I will soon be on my own! I’ve already started to look for another place to live. At this point I think I’ll try to rent a room somewhere nearby. Although I did find a studio for less than eight hundred dollars a month. If I could find someone to live with me, it might work. Not that anyone is stepping up to offer. Still, I’m keeping my eyes open. And if I take a roommate, I will make sure that she doesn’t do drugs or alcohol. And that she has a respectable job. Not that I consider mine terribly respectable, but that could change in the new year.

  On the other hand, if I moved out of Beverly Hills, I might save money. But then there’s the transportation thing. To get to jobs, if I keep modeling, I would probably need a car. And although I’ve been studying for my license, there are some obstacles. Like drivers’ training, which I haven’t had. Also, I don’t even have a learner’s permit yet. Anyway, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to afford a car. Even a cheap car, with gas and insurance, would tap my budget. Sometimes, like today, I wonder why a fifteen-year-old girl has to figure these things out.

  Really, shouldn’t I be out in the backyard tossing a football around with my dad and siblings? Waiting for Mom to finish roasting the turkey? Whipping that cream to top the pumpkin pie? Like I’d even want to eat such things. On the other hand, and this is the honest truth, I would probably exchange my vegan lifestyle to be part of a traditional American family. Not that I think they exist. It’s probably just an old fairy tale. Or something that people pretend to live up to.

  December 2

  To the tune of two hundred dollars, I met with a lawyer today. Her name is Jeannette Williams, and she advised me on my emancipation. According to her, I have a pretty good case.

  “Here are the basic criteria,” she told me. “You must be at least fourteen.”

  “Check.”

  “You must have a good reason not to live with your parents.”

  “Check.”

  “You must be in school until graduation.”

  So I explained about my GED certificate.

  “That will work.” She nodded and returned to her list. “And you must have a legal way to make your own money.”

  “Check.”

  “You must know how to handle your own money and budget.”

  “Check.” This was actually not new to me. I’d read this much online. I was beginning to wonder if paying for legal advice was a waste. But Ms. Montgomery had recommended Jeannette to me, and I was trying to do this thing right.

  “Emancipation would improve your life,” she said.

  I considered this. It could be a matter of perspective. “Well, it’s fairly miserable living with my mom. I mean, there are times when it seems okay, but her addiction is pretty upsetting, not to mention unpredictable. And then she doesn’t pay the bills on time. And I feel like I’m on my own anyway, except that I’m living with a loose cannon.”

  “I think you have a convincing case in that regard, Maya.” She smiled. “And then, of course, your parents must be okay with the emancipation. If they don’t sign off, you could end up with a long, drawn-out case. And I don’t think you can afford that…not and have the funds you need to convince the court you can live independently from them. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes.”

  So then she told me I didn’t have to hire an attorney to do this, although I sensed she wasn’t convinced I could really do it without a lawyer. “You can present your case yourself and ask a judge to declare you emancipated.”

  “And that’s it?” I asked hopefully.

  “Not quite. You must also give your parents notice that you are seeking emancipation. In writing.”

  “I can do that.”

  She gave me the name of a government Web site with the forms and petitions I would need to fill out, writing down the numbers of the forms I should download as well as the court fees and costs.

  “Although you might do a waiver.” Then she told me which form to use for that. “And you need to build your case.”

  Build my case? Okay, I was already feeling fairly confused, and I began to wonder if she wasn’t purposely throwing too much at me, hoping I’d retain her for legal advice after all. Still, I continued to take notes, and she started rattling off another list. Things I would need to present to the judge, including a letter stating why I want emancipation, a letter from me stating that I know what emancipation is and that I asked about it of my own free will.

  “My assistant will prepare a list and send it to you.”

  “Is that everything?” I asked, resisting the urge to wipe my brow and say, “Whew.”

  “You also need a letter from your employer stating where you work, what you make, how long you’ve worked there. And a pay stub. And since you’re not renting yet, you should take something that proves you have a suitable place lined up. Also your bank statement.”

  “Okay…” I paused from my note taking to look up, and I’m sure I looked fairly overwhelmed just then.

  “It’s really not all that complicated,” she finally said, “and you seem like a very smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. But feel free to call my assistant if you have any more questions. And that Web site should be very helpful too.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And really, Maya, I’m sure you can handle it just fine.” She shook my hand. “Normally, I wouldn’t encourage a teen to take this action, but in your case I think it’s appropriate. Just keep in mind that being emancipated does not give you all the same rights as an adult.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you still have to abide by the law as it applies to minors. No drinking, you can’t vote—things like that.”

  I smiled. “No problem.”

  “Good luck.”

  So I went home, and after carefully going over my notes again and checking out the Web sites until I had a fair grasp on all these details, I spent the rest of the day attempting to get my ducks in a row. And like Jeannette assured me, it’s not really that complicated. Just a little overwhelming at first. And then time consuming. Perhaps the hardest thing was to write the letter to my parents. After several drafts that I scrapped, I finally decided to keep it unemotional and businesslike. It might be best not to rock their boats too hard. Well, unless they decide to rock back. Then I will let them have it!

  December 6

  This is the darkest day of my life. And that is not an exaggeration. No one died. Well, except for me. In many ways I feel that I am dead now. And I’m even considering how this might be accomplished in actuality. If Shannon’s car were here, which it’s not, I would go into the garage, close all the doors, open all the windows of the car, turn on the ignition, and just go to sleep. In fact, I might even sneak into a neighbor’s garage. Who knows?

  The day started out normal enough. I went to a photo shoot and subjected myself to the usual humiliation of being primped and fussed over, even getting my boobs taped into place, and then sweltering under the lights, I attempted to look cool and calm. Aloof was what the director was going
for. I think I pleased him. What I won’t do for the almighty dollar.

  Then I went by the agency to pick up my check, my personal justification that compromising myself for money is marginally acceptable. After that, I went straight to the bank, just like I always do on Fridays. I waited in line, signed my check, pulled out my passbook, and made my deposit. But then the teller handed me my deposit slip, and just like always, I looked at the total. And then I blinked and looked again.

  “Something is wrong,” I told the teller, holding out the slip as if that should explain everything.

  “What’s that?”

  “The amount.” I pointed to the number on the bottom. “That’s way off.”

  “Let me see.” She took back my passbook and punched the numbers into her computer. “No, that’s right, Maya. With what you just put in today, you now have a total of $985.65. Not bad.”

  “But I just put in $900!”

  “Yes. That, along with the existing $85.65, makes it—”

  “I had more than $10,000 in that account!” I was shouting, and I’m pretty sure everyone was staring at me.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Perhaps you’d like to speak to the manager. There are other customers waiting.”

  I nodded firmly. “I definitely want to speak to the manager.”

  I had to wait for what felt like an hour but was probably just minutes. The whole time I was fuming to think that the bank had somehow made a stupid mistake and had somehow misplaced all my money. But I had all my deposit receipts in the back of my passbook. And all my deposits were meticulously recorded. No big deal. I had what I needed to make them understand the situation.

  “Can I help you?” asked a middle-aged woman in a navy blue suit.

  I held up my passbook and quickly explained my dilemma. She asked me to come over to her desk, where she began to punch in numbers on her computer. She looked at the screen and nodded as if it all made perfect sense.