makeup on, did a little shading, and whammo.”
The photographer was still studying the picture. “Damn, I just put her in a plain black turtleneck sweater and started shooting and look—
look
at that bone structure. What is she, Swedish or something?”
“I don’t know.”
His assistant came back in with a list. “Name is Dena Nordstrom.”
“I knew it,” the photographer said, “we got us a baby Garbo here or another Ingrid Bergman. How old is this girl?”
“Fifteen.”
The photographer was disappointed. “Oh, well, I can dream, can’t I.”
Albert, who knew him well, reminded him, “Yeah, that’s all you can do if you don’t want another irate mother—or the law—after you.”
The photographer sighed elaborately. He said to his assistant, “Call Hattie over at the agency and tell her we are sending over some pictures … but tell her we get to use her first.”
Two days later, after a phone call was made to Dena’s school and Dena’s mother was finally located at work, Hattie Smith explained that she handled only the top teenage models and that she wanted to sign Dena to a five-year contract and start her to work right away. “You have quite an exceptional daughter. We think with the right representation she has a tremendous future ahead of her.”
Hattie sat back and waited to hear what she always heard from mothers, how excited they were that their little girls were going to be models. This one said only two words: “Absolutely not.”
Dena’s mother was alarmed. She had not known that Dena had been photographed.
Hattie sat up. “Excuse me?”
“Mrs. Smith, I appreciate your interest but we will have to decline your offer.”
“But we think she can be a big star. As a matter of fact, we were considering perhaps using both of you in a mother and daughter spread they are doing next month for
Family Circle
, so if you could send us a recent photograph of yourself—”
“Oh, I don’t think you understand. I do not want my daughter’s picture or mine in any magazine. I’m afraid I don’t approve. I’m sorry.”
Hattie was frustrated. “But I don’t think you understand. Your daughter is capable of making money—a
lot
of money—posing for magazines or doing commercials. You don’t disapprove of money, do you?”
There was a silence. “I work very hard for my money, Mrs. Smith, and I intend to have my daughter receive an education before we consider anything else for her future.”
Hattie was not giving up. “We have no intention of interfering with her education, all of our girls continue their education; we can schedule her shoots around school hours. We already have a shoot lined up for her at
Seventeen
magazine, possibly a cover.”
“Mrs. Smith, as I said before, I do not want my daughter photographed. I am trying to be as tactful as I possibly can, but thank you, no.” And she hung up.
Hattie said, “Damn!”
In three years, when Dena was on her own, they called back and her first professional photo shoot put her on the cover of
Seventeen
magazine. After which she was offered a college scholarship to study drama at Southern Methodist University in Dallas. Dena was pleased, but she did not stay. After her sophomore year she quit to take a job as a weather girl at a television station in Ft. Worth. She had to support herself and as much as she loved the idea of studying theater, she quickly found out television was where the money was and she was good at it from the start.
After eleven months, she began to move from station to station, almost every time to a little larger market, and, in her mind at least, working closer and closer to New York. Dena didn’t mind going from place to place; she was used to it. Her mother had moved allover the country from the time she was four. She was willing to get as much experience as possible, no matter how many places she had to go. When she hit the network, she wanted to be ready.
She worked in Arkansas; Billings,
The photographer was still studying the picture. “Damn, I just put her in a plain black turtleneck sweater and started shooting and look—
look
at that bone structure. What is she, Swedish or something?”
“I don’t know.”
His assistant came back in with a list. “Name is Dena Nordstrom.”
“I knew it,” the photographer said, “we got us a baby Garbo here or another Ingrid Bergman. How old is this girl?”
“Fifteen.”
The photographer was disappointed. “Oh, well, I can dream, can’t I.”
Albert, who knew him well, reminded him, “Yeah, that’s all you can do if you don’t want another irate mother—or the law—after you.”
The photographer sighed elaborately. He said to his assistant, “Call Hattie over at the agency and tell her we are sending over some pictures … but tell her we get to use her first.”
Two days later, after a phone call was made to Dena’s school and Dena’s mother was finally located at work, Hattie Smith explained that she handled only the top teenage models and that she wanted to sign Dena to a five-year contract and start her to work right away. “You have quite an exceptional daughter. We think with the right representation she has a tremendous future ahead of her.”
Hattie sat back and waited to hear what she always heard from mothers, how excited they were that their little girls were going to be models. This one said only two words: “Absolutely not.”
Dena’s mother was alarmed. She had not known that Dena had been photographed.
Hattie sat up. “Excuse me?”
“Mrs. Smith, I appreciate your interest but we will have to decline your offer.”
“But we think she can be a big star. As a matter of fact, we were considering perhaps using both of you in a mother and daughter spread they are doing next month for
Family Circle
, so if you could send us a recent photograph of yourself—”
“Oh, I don’t think you understand. I do not want my daughter’s picture or mine in any magazine. I’m afraid I don’t approve. I’m sorry.”
Hattie was frustrated. “But I don’t think you understand. Your daughter is capable of making money—a
lot
of money—posing for magazines or doing commercials. You don’t disapprove of money, do you?”
There was a silence. “I work very hard for my money, Mrs. Smith, and I intend to have my daughter receive an education before we consider anything else for her future.”
Hattie was not giving up. “We have no intention of interfering with her education, all of our girls continue their education; we can schedule her shoots around school hours. We already have a shoot lined up for her at
Seventeen
magazine, possibly a cover.”
“Mrs. Smith, as I said before, I do not want my daughter photographed. I am trying to be as tactful as I possibly can, but thank you, no.” And she hung up.
Hattie said, “Damn!”
In three years, when Dena was on her own, they called back and her first professional photo shoot put her on the cover of
Seventeen
magazine. After which she was offered a college scholarship to study drama at Southern Methodist University in Dallas. Dena was pleased, but she did not stay. After her sophomore year she quit to take a job as a weather girl at a television station in Ft. Worth. She had to support herself and as much as she loved the idea of studying theater, she quickly found out television was where the money was and she was good at it from the start.
After eleven months, she began to move from station to station, almost every time to a little larger market, and, in her mind at least, working closer and closer to New York. Dena didn’t mind going from place to place; she was used to it. Her mother had moved allover the country from the time she was four. She was willing to get as much experience as possible, no matter how many places she had to go. When she hit the network, she wanted to be ready.
She worked in Arkansas; Billings,
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