There Was a Little Girl: The Real Story of My Mother and Me by Brooke Shields

suggestion, gave him a nice tip, and exited the cab. But the idea stayed with her, and as fate would have it, a few weeks later one of her photographer friends phoned in a panic. “We need a baby who can kiss!” He was shooting an Ivory soap ad and was seeing countless babies for the campaign. The client was not happy with the selection. Not one baby out of hundreds he saw was the one. They were either not similar enough to the model chosen as the mom, not cute enough in a unique way, couldn’t kiss, or they were simply hysterical. The baby had to know how to kiss, but that was the last thing any of these kids wanted to do at this moment. It was mayhem. Kids were screaming and the client was on the verge of tears.
    The photographer begged my mother to bring me down to his studio. I vaguely feel like I can remember being carried through the chaos and cries. It could be that I have been told the story so many times that I imagine I actually remember. But as the story goes, it was midafternoon and I had already had my afternoon nap, so I was in great spirits. Being, as usual, comfortable and acclimated around adults, I was all smiles, and kisses, and curiosity. I got the job on the spot and was shot for the ad, holding a bar of soap out to my“mother”—no kissing involved after all. During the shoot I reportedly sat on the floor of the freshly white-painted set and opened twenty-four cases of Ivory soap, each containing twelve bars each. The client was thrilled and everybody was happy.
    The relieved photographer scooped me up in his arms and hugged my mom for saving the day. To the world, that photographer was the already famous Francesco Scavullo. But to me, he was just “Uncle Frankie.”
    My modeling career had begun.
    So by the ripe old age of eleven months I already had a major national ad under my belt. Mom realized that she had an opportunity and should follow up. I was not with any agency, so we had no percentage to give away and the money from this first job went solely to my mother and me. Mom had periodically worked part-time at Brentano’s bookstore, but the salary would not cover child care and living expenses. Though not required, Dad did help out with the rent, but the chance for additional revenue being generated by us was clearly appealing.
    Mom found me a manager named Barbara Jarrett, although it appears as if I did not have another big modeling job for a while. By the time I was two or three, however, I began to get jobs for catalogues and I spent the next few years being managed by both Mom and Barbara. I find it interesting that both my mom and I began working at a very young age. Cleaning houses and modeling are very different, but a certain work ethic was instilled in us both early on. Mom was imaginative and gutsy as a child and now she was being forthright and creative as a mother. She was turning chance into an opportunity.
    I still had hardly any hair, so for the first two years I modeled primarily as a boy. Once, right before leaving on a location shoot for a catalogue in Jamaica, Barbara took my mom aside and said: “For God sake, don’t take her bathing suit off around anybody. They think she’s a boy.”
    As child models, we got paid to do the activities that we might not have always been able to afford ourselves. The trips were always a blast. The moms and the kids would meet early in the A.M. on a street corner and all load into a huge camper. They had fun drinks and snacks, and the drive was crazy, with kids playing and singing songs. I loved being on locations or checking into various tropical resorts and chasing lizards and being in the sun. It was usually the same basic group of kids who eventually became close and even longtime friends. These were some of my earliest and fondest memories of being a model.
    I thought my mom could do no wrong. I believed she could even change the weather.
    One day, when I was about four, she bought me a red patent-leather raincoat and matching rain