by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 70
Vance wasn’t too sure what I had meant. So I tried to clear things up, “You want to be a fashion photographer, right?” “I just wasn’t…” “Vance, don’t interrupt me.” He stepped back and listened. “You have to tell me what to do. I don’t know what you want or what your ideas are.” “Well I was thinking of doing some beach shots since we’re out at the beach.” “How can you do that if it’s evening?” He looked outside then back at me in a hopeless way. “Vance, why don’t we wait till morning? We’ll go to the dunes. You can do some swim suit shots of me there. Maybe you’ll know what you’ll want by then.”
Vance left and no sooner gone mother returned. She went into her room and shut the door. I knocked and asked to be let in. I heard her feet approach the door then her aging voice, “I’m in no mood to talk to a whore.” Her feet faded. The lights went off.
The following morning Vance showed up. I had him wait in the living room. Mother and I were trying to have breakfast. She barked, “What does this one want?” “He’s a friend of the neighbor. Marge. You know Marge. He wants to be a fashion photographer.” “Oh, I thought he was one of your pimps.”
I slammed down my coffee cup, “I want you out of here when you’re done with breakfast.” I left the breakfast room and told Thisley to get rid of her. Then I led Vance out of the house. He followed me without a word. A little later we reached a beautiful dune where one afternoon, two years before, I was paid $25,000.00 for a Sunday magazine shoot.
I told Vance and he was thrilled to say the least. Excited, he asked, “What did you bring in your bag?” “Several bathing suits and some other things: hats, playthings, very beachy stuff. Tell me what you want me to do.”
I was wearing a snug white tank-top a short faded jean skirt and flip-flops, very free and casual, a great look for shopping or just getting your toes wet on the beach. My short hair, just above the shoulder, was great for a summer shoot. Just a swish and I looked terrific. Meanwhile Vance scouted around for I don’t know what. I said, “I’m over here.”
He came back. “Vance…are you ready?” “Uh, yeah, I think so.” “You either are or you’re not. Now I have to be told what to do.” He shrugged, “You do?” I said, “You’re the boss. Tell me what to do.” I stood there and waited. I have a feeling he might be a better accountant.
He said, “Pose.” “Pose? Vance….” I was losing my patience. “Pose means nothing in and of itself. Tell me what to do. You’re the boss here. I want to be told what to do.” He said, “Well, maybe you ought to put on a bathing suit.” “What kind of bathing suit? Do you have any idea what this shoot will be about?” He was honest, “Not really.” Vance, let me see if I can help you. What is this competition all about?”
“Well, it’s going to be judged in Paris.” I said to him, “Europeans think differently than us.” He said, “How?” I was beginning to think having breakfast with mother was better.
“Vance. You have to give yourself a theme. So when thee see your photos they tell the judges a story. Trust me. I was one of the highest paid fashion models.”