Real stories, from one who lived to tell about it
Title: I accidentally posed nude.
Setting: Paris, France late 80’s
Models: Jennifer & me
I met Jennifer, a Texan teen beauty, upon my arrival to Paris. We shared a model’s apartment, and quickly became confidants.
Jen was a dancer at heart, with a svelte figure, golden curls, and a freckled baby face. Her cute Texas accent only accentuated her naivety (not a desired quality when you find yourself surrounded by modeling agents, bookers and photographers circling for fresh meat 24/7).
Luckily, she had me as a friend. A somewhat rebellious, overconfident, con-girl of sorts.
I was a risk taker, willing to put myself on the line in the name of righteousness.
(Me…in disguise. This was one of my fun days as a model, I had a great time on this shoot, I felt like a different person! You should try it sometime, just get wig, deck yourself out and hit the town.)
Back to the story. A few weeks into our Paris modeling dream life, Jennifer came home crying.
“I accidentally posed nude,” she said and collapsed on the bed.
She went on to explain, she didn’t know why she did it, how she did it….she just let her guard down and now was stuck with the brutal reality that she had done something she considered against her morals and standards.
The photographer was Barry, a well connected guy, not someone you want on your bad side. He was funny as hell as a person, but his personality as a model photographer gave me the creeps from day one. He charmed the pants off all the girls, and had a scary ability to get almost anyone to take their clothes off (with the exception of me of course).
As luck would have it, good ole’ Barry lived in the models apartment upstairs (his girlfriend was a model, so he got to stay with her and the four other girls housed there). This guy hit the jackpot with this set up.
We immediately started devising a plan, I was determined to right this wrong.
“At the agency tomorrow, I’ll get the key to the upstairs apartment from one of the girls, I’ll tell them I need the vacuum cleaner or something. We go in, you guard the door, I’ll sift through Barry’s film and grab your shots,” I said confidently.
The plan was set. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough for Jennifer.
Jen was balling as we headed upstairs, and my heart was pounding inside my chest.
I figured worst case scenario Barry busts us and starts freaking out, which we both knew was a distinct possibility.
I clicked open the heavy steel door. No Barry in sight. But a few of the girls were unexpectedly home. Jen made chit chat with them while I pretended to go to the bathroom, but instead diverted to Barry’s room to start the photo hunt.
The room was a total disaster, clothes and crap all over the place. Then I saw his photo equipment, in a relatively organized pile in the corner.
Back in those days, everything was printed to slides, so I started by frantically flipping through books containing sheet after sheet of nude models. Lovely.
It took me about 2 minutes to find Jen’s slides and pop them out. On to the backup film. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I figured the guy had to have backup film. I dug around, almost gave up, but then saw film sorted by date in a file folders.
Bingo! Found them. Double checked that I had them all….and ran like hell.
Jen bolted after me down the long hallway. We were laughing like crazy, we beat the bastard.
Back in the safety of our apartment, we flopped down on our beds, caught our breath, and smiled at each other.
I am not sure where Jen is today, I’ve lost touch with all of my modeling friends. But I know she would remember this day, and be grateful we erased this moment of time from her past.
As for Barry, I ran into him at a club in NY about 3 years later. He was totally coked up, and pulled me into the girls bathroom to do a line (which I rejected of course) .
Once a loser, always a loser.