I walked into Lance’s office on Monday morning at 9am sharp. Lance was already there, sitting behind his desk and waiting for me. I couldn’t help but feel nervous, although I tried not to let it show. To my surprise, Lance had dropped the poker face from the Friday prior and had allowed his eyes to soften upon seeing me sitting there across from him.
“Dottie,” Lance said, as he bobbed his head up and down.
“Hi,” I said back, rather quietly, as my eyes darted around the room and then back at him.
“So, what did you think about your performance on Friday?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
I shrugged my shoulders then added, “I thought it was good.”
Lance smiled then added, “I would say it was more than good, Dottie. You had that audience wrapped around your little finger.” He looked at me closely then asked, “Did anybody help you with it or did you just come up with that idea on your own?”
I shook my head no, remembering my promise to Ricky. “It was my idea,” I said. That part was certainly true, but I didn’t elaborate about Ricky’s assistance with it.
“Impressive. Well, I’m giving you a B. I would’ve given you an A had you not changed the tempo and taken off your assigned costume.” Then he rolled his eyes at me and gave out a little laugh. “Really nice work, though. It was very creative. You took risks. You’ve got a lot of talent, Dottie, and I don’t hand out compliments all that often.”
But I wasn’t really hearing the compliments. All I could focus on was the fact that he hadn’t failed me. Lance must have seen the disappointment on my face. I know in the moment that I felt completely defeated. I couldn’t even talk. My plan to get kicked out of school hadn’t worked. Now I’d be stuck in NYC doing musical theater for another year.
“Dottie, why are you trying so hard to get kicked out of school for? What? You think I can’t tell that’s part of what’s going on here with you?”
My eyes opened wide with surprise. I could feel my breathing change. I didn’t want him to see me cry so I pushed back the tears and exchanged my sadness for anger.
“Why are you trying so hard not to kick me out of school?” I asked. “Does this place need my money that badly, my stupid tuition? Is that what this is about? This place isn’t even accredited! These credits aren’t gonna mean anything if I ever decide to go to a real college. I checked!”
“First of all, this school is actually in the process of becoming accredited, but nobody ever said this was college, Dottie. Secondly, what exactly do you think you aren’t leaning right now that you would be learning at a real college?” Lance asked, using air quotes.
I looked at Lance confused. Was he kidding? Then he began to explain his reasoning.
“The experience you’ve had over the last 10 months here is something that no college could ever duplicate. The things you’ve learned about yourself, about other people. It’s probably more than most people your age could learn in four years, if not a lifetime. Those things have nothing to do with academic credits, Dottie. If you want to go to college that badly, then great, go for it. But at least finish out your second year here. Because if you leave now that’s it, it’s over. But if you stay, you get the most you can out of this experience. You complete it and then you go to college.”
Lance shook his head at me as if he wished he could knock sense directly into my brain. “You don’t even look a day older than 12 anyway, so what difference does it make to you? Why are you in such a rush to get out of here?” he continued.
“I don’t like what I’m learning,” I said. As the words escaped me, I realized I wasn’t talking so much about school, but more the lessons the city itself had imparted on me, so I tried to bring it back to my experiences at school. “I don’t like the one-dimensional characters that I keep having to play in musical theater. I’m tired of playing the virgin who needs to be saved,” I said, rolling my eyes at the ceiling.
“Fine, I’ll assign more complex roles to you. There are a few out there, you know. There’s actually a song I have in mind for you. It’s from ‘Into the Woods’ and I think you’d be great for it.”
I assumed he had been talking about the Little Red Riding Hood character and gave out a disappointed sigh, but then he continued.
“In reality, you’re way too young for the role. But I want you to know that I’m hearing you. And I actually think you’ll be great in it, because, quite honestly, I think you could play anything, Dottie. That’s the kind of talent you have. And…if you are willing to stick around, I’d like to personally work with you on this one.”
“What song are you referring to?” I asked, looking for further clarification.
“The song is called, “No One Is Alone,” Lance offered. “Cinderella’s character sings it, but it’s actually sung from a more mature perspective. It’s not the same old virgin song you seem to hate so much.”
My eyes lit up when I remembered the song he was referring to. Lance had piqued my interest.
“So, what do you say? Deal?” Lance asked.
I nodded my head yes. And with that, not only did I agree to work one on one with Lance over the next couple of months, but I signed on to accept more complicated roles in general. Lance was involved with the musical direction of the same show on Broadway so his offer to work one-on-one with me at no charge had been a genuine compliment.
By the end of that week my performance from “Someone to Watch Over Me” was being talked about throughout our small school and had created my new reputation for being able to play parts that I didn’t actually look “typical” for. Apparently in trying to get kicked out of school, I had also inadvertently proven that I was a strong character actress and had catapulted myself into the top tier of performers in my cohort. I was now being handed the most unlikely and sophisticated roles and I was up for the challenge. No more virgins who needed to be saved. I was thrilled! The more unlikely I would be cast in the role, the more intrigued I became and the more I wanted it. And now that the faculty knew that this was the key to keeping me engaged, they continued to give me what I wanted most. I was playing roles that were as different from me as possible. And it was this specific type of acting that allowed me to escape my personal troubles the most, which ended up being the perfect psychological band-aid to keep me afloat for the next year.
By the time summer had arrived, Leo and I had begun taking regular trips out to the Hamptons every few weeks to hang out with his family at the beach. And though we had classes during the summer, the academic schedule was lighter so there was more time to relax and pursue other opportunities. Students attending our school had all signed a contract to not audition for anything related to singing/acting/dancing, but because modeling didn’t conflict with school, I was able to continue pursuing it. And now that it was summer, the modeling jobs were picking up, so I used my extra time to continue marketing myself, as well as going out on modeling calls.
Within a few weeks my agent, Alan, called me to let me know I had gotten a catalog shoot out in New Jersey. Some gigs were booked on mailers alone, some required model callbacks where the model had to go out in person before a determination was made. This shoot had been based on my mailer so there was no in person audition required. I’d have to take a bus out there, but the money was well worth it, so I planned to do it. I called my parents the night before to tell them about it.
“Honey, congratulations! That’s wonderful! What type of catalog is it?” my mom asked.
“It’s a fashion catalog,” I replied.
“Are they shooting in midtown like the other one you did?” she asked.
“No, I have to take a bus to New Jersey for this one,” I said.
“Well, just make sure to let the bus driver know that you’re not familiar with the line and tell him which stop you’re getting off at ahead of time. Make sure to sit by him so that you stay safe, okay?” she said. “Don’t talk to anyone else on the bus. Strange people ride the bus.”
“All right. Love you! Tell dad I love him too. I gotta go.”
The next day I threw my army jacket on over my jeans and t-shirt, laced up my Chucks, grabbed my modeling portfolio, and went down to Penn Station. As I walked onto the bus, I informed the driver that I wasn’t familiar with the bus line and told him which stop I needed him to stop at. I sat down in the second row on the right side, like my mother had encouraged me to do. The driver was a large, white guy in his fifties who struck up a conversation with me as soon as we pulled out of the station.
“So, what’s bringing you out to New Jersey today?” he asked.
“I’ve got a modeling gig out there,” I said.
“Wow, you’re a model?” he asked.
I nodded my head yes without saying anything as he looked me over in his rear view mirror. I was relieved my army jacket was covering up my entire body.
“Not surprising. You’re very attractive. So, are those pictures of you in that big black book you got there?” he asked, continuing to try to engage me.
“Yeah,” I said apprehensively.
“Well, all right! You’re gonna have to show me your pictures then. Let’s see whatcha got.”
I regretted following my mother’s advice to sit close to the driver as I flipped through my book trying to find a headshot, not wanting him to catch a glimpse of my body, let alone a picture of my body in a bikini, and held it up quickly in the mirror for him to see.
“Hold on. I’ll take a look at the next stop,” he said.
When we approached the next stop the driver then asked me to show him the picture again. He turned around as I held onto the portfolio tightly so that he wouldn’t be able to flip through the pages. Then I quickly pulled the book back onto my lap as I sat back down. I was beginning to feel uneasy and decided it would be best to move back further in the bus so that I wouldn’t have to talk to him anymore. He had said that my stop was at least another 30 minutes away. As I stood up, I reminded him of where I needed to stop and for the next 20 minutes continued to watch people enter and exit the bus from my new seat. I watched out the window for any sign that we had arrived in the town I was scheduled to visit. That’s when I saw a storefront with a sign on it that matched the name of the town I was looking for. So, I rang the bell to indicate that I needed the bus to stop at the next stop wherever it was, but the driver never stopped. A few minutes later, I walked up to the driver and asked him when he was going to stop.
“Oh, shoot! That’s right, we just missed it. Sorry about that. Did you ring the bell?” he asked. I didn’t hear it.”
“Yeah, I rang it,” I said, getting frustrated. “It doesn’t matter. Just stop here on the corner and I’ll get out,” I continued, wanting to get off the bus.
“Can’t do that,” the driver said. “I can’t just stop the bus on any corner, honey. There are no more stops here. Hold on, I’ll swing back around in a minute. Just sit down.”
So, I walked back down to the middle of the bus, sat down, and continued to watch out the window. Then I noticed that the bus was getting back onto a highway, so I walked back up to the bus driver to see what the deal was.
“I thought you said you were gonna swing back around,” I complained.
“Well, just hold tight. I gotta stay on schedule here. I only got a few more stops in this next town and then we’ll go back.”
I walked a few rows away from him and sat down. I was far enough away for him to not strike up more conversation, but close enough to yell out to him to remind him that my stop was coming up if I saw it again. We drove to the next town and I watched as more passengers exited the bus. After a few more stops, there was just me and one other passenger. I looked down at my watch. I was already over 15 minutes late to the shoot. But maybe there was still time if the driver took me back after that last passenger. Then I watched the last passenger getting off the bus and for a moment considered getting off at that stop as well. I wasn’t comfortable being on the bus alone with the driver. But instead I just watched as the passenger descended off the bus knowing that I was taking a risk by staying on by myself, given how I was feeling. In the moment I had decided that staying on the bus would be my best chance of getting to the shoot before it was too late. Maybe the driver really meant what he said and would take me where I needed to go. If I got off the bus now, in a completely different town, there’s no way I would get to my gig. And the bus driver might be a little creepy but what was he going to do? Abduct me? That would be kind of outrageous. “I’m sure that never happens,” I thought to myself as I tried to stay calm and collect.
“All right. Well, we still have time. Thanks for swinging back around! I really appreciate it,” I said.
“Yeah sure, honey. Not a problem.”
Then five minutes turned to ten minutes. Ten minutes turned to fifteen minutes. Looking out the window I noticed that we seemed to be driving away from town rather than into one, so I asked for another update.
“Hey, are we almost there yet?” I called out, looking down at my watch again. I was now 35 minutes late. The shoot was becoming more and more unlikely to happen.
“Actually, you know what?” said the driver, his voice changing from friendly to threatening. “We’re gettin’ close to my place now. How about we get to know each other a little better? My business partner and I run a little movie business that you’d be perfect for. We’re always looking for young model types like yourself. I’m just gonna swing by there and the three of us can talk about it some more.”
The bus driver hadn’t asked me if I was comfortable or willing to engage in any of this. He had just told me that this is where he was going to take me. I began to dig my thumbnail into my middle finger as I made the realization that I had somehow foolishly managed to become a man’s hostage yet again. “I must be the dumbest and most naive girl ever,” I thought to myself. In the whole city! But then I remembered that I had been able to successfully act my way out of the situation with Mark and some part of me knew that I needed to hold onto that confidence and let the rest of my feelings fall away if I was going to stay focused enough to win this battle yet again.
There is a common misperception about violence towards women. Many people assume that if it happens, that it just happens to a woman once; that women must somehow “learn their lesson,” smarten up and move on. But what I learned that day was that being a female was more like living in a video game. Women were constant targets who always needed to be running away from men in order to not get eaten alive and killed. The only difference was that unlike video game characters, the evil men weren’t exactly labeled. You just always needed to assume that if they were a man, that they were out to get you. Being female, apparently, was going to be a never-ending nightmare from the time any man decided I was attractive enough to fuck until the time that all men would eventually decide that I was not. Why hadn’t anyone ever warned me of this before? But here I was in another shitty situation and I needed to think quickly in order to get out of it. I allowed my mind to zip through scenarios as it had on that night with Mark until I found the one that I thought would work most successfully.
“Oh my god, are you serious?” I asked excitedly. “You make movies? That’s totally awesome! My stars must be aligned or something today!”
“Yeah, honey, they sure are,” the driver said.
“Hey listen, let’s stop at the next gas station or anyplace with a bathroom ‘cause I really gotta go,” I said, making sure to pose what I was saying as a statement rather than a question.
“Actually, let’s just hold it,” he replied. “My house isn’t too far from here.”
“Oh cool! I definitely can’t hold it though!” I said, kind of out of the side of my mouth as I began to contort my face into unattractive expressions. “Trust me on that one! I’m about to crap right here. Hey look! There’s a gas station coming up. Perfect! I’m kinda hungry too. Doritos for both of us, my treat! Oh my God, I have to go so bad!”
I started making laughable noises and jumping up and down in the aisle next to my seat, acting comedic as I made funny faces to him in the mirror. I essentially acted as non-sexy as possible to kill whatever sick fantasy was playing in his head long enough for him to forget his goal and give in.
“All right. Fine. You gotta make it quick though,” he said, annoyed, as he pulled the bus into the gas station.
Then I had a quick decision to make about my modeling portfolio. If I took it with me, he’d know I was onto him and that I wasn’t planning on coming back to the bus. But as crazy as this sounds, in that moment, the thought of him jerking off to pictures of me in a bikini seemed worse than dying so I took a risk and hid the book inside my army jacket and continued to distract him with verbal nonsense about my beginning to crap until I quickly ran off the bus and into the gas station.
I stormed through the front door of the station and let my portfolio drop to the floor once I reached the front counter and began to quickly demand a phone from the woman working behind it.
“I need a phone! Where’s your phone? I need to call the police!”
She was Asian and didn’t seem to speak any English as she began to call out to someone for help in another language. A man, presumably her husband, came out from a back room and I immediately began to yell at him as well.
“911! I need a phone!”
“Lady, why you need to call police?” the man asked in his broken English.
“The bus driver is holding me hostage!” I yelled as I slammed my hand onto the counter.
The two of them looked at me stunned without making any movement.
“Where is your phone?” I yelled, as I shook my hands out in front of me.
The man grabbed the phone from under the counter. Then I saw two little toddlers peeking out from a back room looking frightened. The man, apparently their father, pointed as he yelled to his wife to leave and go into the other room. She quickly ran to her children and shut and locked the door behind her. I dialed 911 and began to speak to the operator. I told her that I was being held hostage by a bus driver somewhere in New Jersey and was stopped at a gas station.
“Do you know your exact location?” the operator asked.
“No,” I quickly replied. “What’s the address here?” I asked the father. I couldn’t understand what he was saying so I asked him to write it down.
“All right. I’m tracing your call now but it’s going to take a minute,” the operator said.
I looked at the note the father had jotted the address on and quickly recited it back to the operator.
“All right. The police are being dispatched right now. Hold tight. They should be there quickly.”
Then I saw the bus driver out of the corner of my eye through the window. He had exited the bus and was walking towards the station. I must have been breathing fire when I placed my hand on the window in front of me, as if my hand were enough to stop him. I think it must have had something to do with the fact that there were children there. This unknown, previously dormant side of me kicked in, a maternal side that I had not been aware of. I suddenly felt prepared to kill the guy with my own hands if I had to. In fact, that moment was the first time that it became apparent to me that I was likely capable of killing another human being. The hatred that began to manifest on the night Mark assaulted me had somehow grown into this. It took me by surprise. But as soon as the bus driver made eye contact with me and saw the look on my face as I talked on the phone, he quickly backed up, turned around and got back onto the bus. Then he sped out of the driveway of the gas station parking lot, his wheels screeching as he pulled out.
“The bus driver just drove off,” I said panicked into the receiver.
“Just stay put until the police arrive. Don’t leave unless you’re in further danger.”
“All right,” I said.
I hung up the phone, trying to slow down my breathing and apologized to the father behind the counter for yelling at him.
“It is fine. That was scary for you. You go into back room with my wife and have soup. I will call you when police arrive.”
I followed the father into the back room. The room was small and had boxes lining the walls from the floor to the ceiling. The wife and her two toddlers were sitting at a child size table in the middle of the room that had four small chairs. The children, a boy and a girl, were the same size. Perhaps they were twins. They were eating soup and crackers and staring up at me as they ate. The father left the room and the wife motioned for me to take a seat with them. She offered me soup, but I declined. As I sat there watching the children eating it occurred to me how different and scary the little girl’s life would likely be compared to her brother’s. It seemed the girl’s options would be to either end up in a fucked-up situation like me or become the wife and slave of some guy who owns a gas station. “Being a girl is complete bullshit.” The thought came to me again just as it had as I lay on the OBGYN clinic table close to a year earlier.
“Police are here,” said the father, not long after, as he poked his head into the back room.
I stood up and followed the father back into the shop and introduced myself to two, white, male officers.
“Hi, I’m Dottie.”
“You called 911 about being held hostage on a bus, is that correct, Ma’am?” the first officer asked in a thick New Jersey accent.
Nobody had ever called me ma’am in my entire life.
“Yes, that was me.”
“I’m Officer Michaels and this is my partner, Officer Sutton.”
“Hi. Thank you for coming so quickly,” I said.
Then Officer Michaels, the older of the two, turned to the father and asked, “Sir, is there anywhere on the premises where we could have some more privacy? We don’t want to be in your way here.”
The father grabbed three folding chairs from the back room and brought them out. He carried them to the far end of the shop beyond the soda machine. The officers waited while the father opened all of the chairs then the two officers and I sat down facing each other.
“Okay Ma’am. I’m going to ask you to recount the whole story from the beginning,” said Officer Michaels.
“Um, sure…but that’s gonna take a while. Did you want to go after the bus driver first?” I asked, rather shocked that they were just sitting there with me. “Because he already got away. He sped out of here…in a bus…like over 15 minutes ago when he saw me talking on the phone. He went that way,” I said, as I pointed to the right wondering why they weren’t eager to chase him down.
“Ma’am, this is not a movie,” Officer Michaels said, his voice full of condescension as he continued to talk. “We’re going to need to question you first which could take anywhere between an hour to two hours, depending. So, how ‘bout you just let us do our jobs and after we speak to you, Officer Sutton and I will decide whether or not we need to pursue this case any further.”
“I didn’t say I thought this was a movie, but the guy is dangerous and he’s out there operating a public bus. I just kinda wanna prevent him from trying to hurt anybody else,” I retorted back to the two officers whom I had already decided that I didn’t like or trust.
“Okay. I’m gonna ask again. Your story, Ma’am?”
I sat there utterly shocked that this was how it was going to go down. But I suppose in retrospect that I kinda get it now? I suppose, in an alternate universe, that I could have been trying to frame a random bus driver for no reason whatsoever. Right? Yeah, not so much. So anyway, I told them the whole story and then patiently waited for their combined brilliance to kick in.
“And where is this modeling portfolio now?” Officer Michaels asked.
The portfolio. I had forgotten about it when I was on the phone with 911.
“It’s by the front counter on the floor,” I said, as I looked over at the father who was pretending to do work behind the counter while he listened in on the interrogation.
“I get it for you,” said the father. He walked around to the front of the counter and found the portfolio on the floor and then walked it over to the officers and me. He was kind enough to not open it.
“Thank you, Sir,” Officer Michaels said as he reached for the portfolio. My heart sank as he and Officer Sutton began to carefully flip through the portfolio, studying each and every photograph of me.
“The bus driver’s not in there, dumb fuck,” I said in my head over and over again, pursing my lips together to make sure that I wouldn’t say it out loud.
Then they got to the first bikini shot of me, and that is when they both nodded their heads and looked at each other as if they had finally cracked the case. Then without taking his eyes off the photograph, Officer Sutton, who had not said anything to that point asked, “So you showed the bus driver this picture of you, is that correct, Ma’am?” He looked up from the picture and opened his eyes wide as he raised his eyebrows at me.
“No, that is not correct. I never handed over the portfolio to the bus driver. I opened it to this headshot. May I?” I asked reaching out my hands to show them which picture I was referring to.”
They handed the portfolio back to me and I showed them the picture.
“So, just for clarification, this headshot is absolutely the only picture the driver ever saw of you, is…that…correct?” Officer Michaels asked.
“Yes, that is correct,” I said, now fully aware that I was wasting my time with Officers Dumb and Dumber and beginning to wish I had never called the police for help in the first place. The redundant questions continued for over an hour. Then just as I thought we were wrapping up, Officer Michaels continued.
“Okay. So…tell us more about the Doritos,” Officer Michaels said. “That part was a little…confusing. Why were you telling the driver that you wanted to buy him Doritos? It seems like you were kinda flirting with him. Did you like this guy or something?”
I squinted my eyes at Officer Michaels trying to figure out if it was even worth continuing the conversation. Then I took a moment to collect my thoughts. I looked at them both then back at Officer Michaels and spoke as slowly and clearly as I could so as to not explode at the two of them.
“Do you see how I’m still alive right now? That I have not been raped or drugged? That I was able to get out of a terrifying situation?” I asked.
Officer Sutton began shaking his head up and down. The light bulb had gone off in his head.
“Yeah, yeah,” Officer Sutton said, as he slapped Officer Michaels in the arm and began to explain his realization to him. “The Doritos was part of her plan to outsmart him. Like, ‘hey, it’s cool. We’re cool here. Let me buy you some Doritos to show you that everything’s cool.” Then he looked over to me and asked, “Right? You were outsmarting him.”
Then I flipped both my hands upwards towards Officer Sutton and bowed my head to him, indicating that he had, in fact, “gotten it.”
Officer Michaels still looked skeptical. He stood up and began to collect his things and said, “Okay, well I need to go back to the station and get this report typed up. Ma’am we can take you with us and then you can make a phone call once you’re there. Hopefully you’ve got someone out here that can take you back into the city.”
“Oh, no that’s fine. I’d rather just have someone pick me up here,” I said, having absolutely no desire to get into a vehicle with the two of them.
“Suit yourself, kid,” Officer Michaels said as he turned and walked towards the door. Then Officer Sutton stood up and said, “All right, Ma’am. Well you have a good rest of your day.” I nodded my head at him without saying anything, until he turned around and followed Officer Michaels out.
The only people I knew who lived in New Jersey was the Lamari family, but nobody was picking up their home line, so I called Uncle Frank at his studio in the city and told him what had happened. As it turned out, I was nowhere near their house in North Haledon and Aunt Tina was at work. Uncle Frank told me to stay put and then he drove out directly to pick me up before taking me to their house. It took him two hours to get to me. I ran out of the gas station as soon as I saw his car pull into the driveway.
“Hey, Honey. Are you all right? You didn’t call your parents, did you?” Uncle Frank asked.
“No.”
“Good. This would be enough to give your mom a heart attack for sure. Listen, I spoke to Aunt Tina. She wants me to bring you back to our house. Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah, but I don’t have anything with me.”
“It’s okay, you can use the girls’ stuff. I’m sure they have extra pajamas. We should thank the people here at the gas station first though. Hold on, before we go. Let me just go in and thank them and then we’ll leave.”
As Uncle Frank and I began to walk back towards the gas station, I began to feel my body shaking. The reality of what could have happened to me had I been unable to get off that bus began to sink in. I introduced Uncle Frank to the couple from the station and we thanked them for everything. It was a relief to know that I was finally leaving after I had been stuck there for over four hours. Still, I felt tense and began to experience flashbacks from the night that Mark had held my hostage. In retrospect, it was all too much too soon after the assault, and I hadn’t healed enough to be able to deal with this day in any way other than to slip back into disassociating with myself, and everything happening around me. I could literally feel myself unraveling as I began to imagine Darian as being a whole separate entity from me, in the constant company of Mark.
Uncle Frank had a bunch of stuff piled up in his front seat, so he instructed me to sit in the back as we approached his car.
I went to pull the door handle when I imagined someone abruptly pushing me aside. It was Mark. He reached in front of me and opened the car door for Darian to get in, then jumped in after her. He sat in the middle of the back seat. He leaned back and raised his left arm, hooking it around the back of Darian’s neck and then looked towards me smiling as he patted the empty seat to the right of him.
“There’s still room for you, Dottie.” Mark said. “What’s with all the shyness?”
“Everything okay back there?” asked Uncle Frank, turning around to see why I hadn’t gotten into the car yet.
“Yeah,” I said as I stepped into the car and sat next to Mark. Mark tried to put his right arm around me, but I leaned away from him so that he couldn’t.
Uncle Frank started the car and we pulled out of the driveway. I was pushed as far to the right as possible in the back seat, my head pressed up against the window as I turned around to watch the gas station disappear behind us.
“All right, honey. I want you to tell me what happened. Start from the beginning,” Uncle Frank said.
“I missed the photo shoot. I just didn’t show up!” I said beginning to cry. “They’re gonna complain to Alan. Should we stop so I can call him to tell him what happened?”
“We’ll call Alan when we get home. Don’t worry, honey. He’s not gonna get mad at you. You were abducted, all right?” Uncle Frank said beginning to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “So ga’head. Tell me the whole thing. We got plenty of time. My house is over an hour away.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, it is. You’ve got Uncle Frank driving to all kinds of places today! New Jersey’s a big state, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Frank. I really appreciate you coming to get me.”
“Honey, we’re family. You got nothin’ to apologize for. You’re like one of my own daughters. That’s how I think of you, okay?”
I nodded my head “yes” and started from the beginning. I recounted the whole story just as I had done for the police.
“Goddamn bastard! Listen, from now on you don’t show anybody your modeling portfolio, all right? Unless it’s someone Alan has gotten you a gig with. That driver didn’t need to see your portfolio, honey. What business was it of his, heh? Why was he even talking to you for? You don’t need to be engaging in any conversation with a bus driver or with anybody for that matter, okay? You’re not in Kansas anymore, sweetheart. This isn’t Potsdam. Just don’t talk to anybody. Don’t make eye contact with anybody. Don’t ask for help from anybody. As soon as you ask for help, people know they can take advantage of you. Got it? Always make it look like you know what’s going on and where you’re going, all right? The only people you trust out here are Alan, me, Aunt Tina and your teachers at the school and that’s it. Capeesh? You’re understanding what I’m saying here?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Now, listen, I’m not trying to give you a hard time here or anything. I’m not saying what happened is your fault by any means. That guy needs to be removed from his job immediately. And I hope those cops do their damn jobs and make sure that happens. But you just need to be smart out here, is all I’m sayin’. And I’m not talkin’ about your dad’s kind of smart here. I’m not talkin’ book smart. I’m talkin’ street smart, like your mom.”
“She’s the one who told me to sit next to the bus driver and tell him I didn’t know where I was going.”
“All right, not like your mom. Scratch that. You gotta act like you grew up around here. That’s what I’m trying to say. But, anyway, it’s done. You got out of a bad situation. You got lucky. He didn’t touch you or anything, did he?”
“No.”
“Good!”
“I touched you though, didn’t I?” Mark whispered into my ear as he leaned into me.” Mark started laughing as he pulled some coke from his jacket pocket. Then he grabbed a Vogue magazine from the floor of the car. He carefully poured the coke into a straight line over the female model’s body.
“Anybody wanna party?” Mark said as he looked at Darian and me. Darian had fallen fast asleep and was leaning on the window to her left. “Well, she’s out,” Mark said. “Looks like it’s just me and you, Dottie.” Mark snorted the line. I turned and faced the window to my right, trying my best to get him out of my mind.
I began to think of all the messages I had been receiving from the adults in my life: my parents, the Lamaris, Alan, and all of my teachers at school. I wondered why my parents had been so worried about my walking through Harlem but had encouraged me to trust people like Mark after they had met him. I thought about the people who had hurt me versus the people who had protected me and shown me kindness during my first year in NYC. Sammy, the bouncer at the China Club. Dr. James, my OBGYN, at the clinic. Both were African American and had been the kindest people I had encountered since moving to NYC. The people I saw living in Harlem were mostly African American as well. Ricky lived there and was white, but he called white people assholes and didn’t associate himself with them. He was also gay. Mark and the bus driver were both white. Mark was from a wealthy family and was educated. The few times I had caught glimpses of the news in the city, they always highlighted violent scenes from places such as Harlem that I had never come across during my walks. But the bus driver from today wouldn’t be on the news. Why was that? If he had killed me, would he have been on the news? Were the cops going to even pursue the case, being that “nothing” had happened to me? My mind was spinning as it tried to make sense of the world, as it tried to categorize people, skin color, race, violence and safety. Then it occurred to me that most of the people who told the news were white. White men. White men told the news and decided who got arrested. That seemed like a lot of power to me. Perhaps our society was simply a machine created, built, and maintained by white men in order to protect their power, authority, and ability to take whatever, or whoever, they wanted. The thought echoed loudly in my head as my eyelids became heavy. And before long, I too had fallen fast asleep to the hum of the motor as Mark sat next to me, wide awake, flipping through the pages of the magazine.
A couple of hours later, I woke up to the sound of Uncle Frank’s voice.
“All right, honey. We’re here,” said Uncle Frank, waking me up once we reached his house.
I opened my eyes and let out a big yawn. I looked around. Darian and Mark were gone. I had the whole back seat to myself now. As soon as I saw Aunt Tina standing in her doorway, I could tell that she had been worried about me.
“Oh my God, honey! Get in here,” Aunt Tina began yelling as I got out of the car. “Listen, I hope it’s okay. I had Uncle Frank bring you back here instead of your apartment, ‘cause I just needed to know that you’re all right! Oh my God, I’m going out of my mind worrying! So, you called the cops, right?” she asked, squeezing my body in a tight hug.
“Yeah. It’s all taken care of. I’m fine.”
“Are they gonna arrest that bozo? What did they say? Someone like that shouldn’t be operating public transportation! Oh my god!”
“I know, right? I said the same thing to the cops! I don’t know what they’re gonna do. I’m just glad it’s over.”
“Yeah. Well, you did all the right things, right? I mean, you’re still alive!” she said, walking us both into the house and towards the kitchen. “Are you gonna tell your mom? I don’t know what we should do!” Aunt Tina said, looking over at Uncle Frank.
“Honey, it’s your choice if you wanna tell your parents or not,” said Uncle Frank. “But if you tell them, they’re gonna go nuts, especially your mom. She can’t handle this kinda stuff. For now, let’s just call your agent and tell him what happened so he can let the catalog people know. Maybe we can get them to reschedule.”
Then the phone rang so Aunt Tina ran inside to answer it, with Uncle Frank and I following close behind.
“Pat! Hi!” Aunt Tina said, opening her eyes and mouth wide in horror as she looked at me for directions. It was my mother. I put my hand out to get the phone from my Aunt as she continued to talk to my mom.
“No, everything’s fine! No, nothing’s the matter. What are you talking about, Pat? Calm down. She’s here. Yes, your daughter is here with us right now.”
I put my hands over my face, dreading what was coming next.
“Here, honey. Your mom wants to talk to you. She’s been calling your apartment trying to reach you,” said Aunt Tina as she handed me the phone.
I grabbed the phone as I quickly tried to come up with a way to cover up what had happened.
“Hi Mom. No, everything is fine. I just got lost so Uncle Frank had to pick me up.”
“What do you mean you got lost?” my mom asked, her voice full of doubt.
“I didn’t get off at the right stop, so I had to call Uncle Frank to come get me.”
“So, what happened with the shoot?” my mom asked, her voice growing louder.
“I didn’t make it,” I replied.
“You didn’t make it? You’re kidding me, right?”
“No. I was just about to call Alan when you called.”
“Jesus Christ! Why the hell didn’t you ask the bus driver for help like I told you to!” my mom yelled into the phone, causing me to pull the receiver away from my ear.
“Don’t worry, Pat! She got a call back for a swimsuit catalog this week!” Aunt Tina yelled out from across the room loud enough for my mom to hear. “There’s gonna be other jobs!” she added, hoping to appease her.
I looked back at Aunt Tina and began mouthing “no” to her as I shook my head back and forth.
“You didn’t get the call back?” Aunt Tina asked me quietly.
“What call back?” my mom asked. “You got a call back for a swimsuit catalog?” she asked again into the phone, slightly appeased.
“Yeah, but I don’t know if I wanna go. I don’t think the modeling thing is for me, Mom,” I said trying to assert myself on the issue for the first time.
“It better damn well be for you young lady! Your father and I aren’t dishing out all this money for you to just play around and have fun, you know! You damn well better ffffucking go to that call back!” My mother had started using the word “fuck” a lot in recent months, but even with some practice she continued to linger on the “f” sound as if always initially trying to decide whether or not she should let the word out in its entirety. “There are better things we could be doing with our money! I mean, give me a ffffucking break! This is ridiculous! First you decide you hate musical theater and that you want to drop out of school, and now you’re telling me you don’t want to model? This is really unbelievable you know that? You’re going to the swimsuit call back, end of story!” my mom said, continuing to yell into the phone.
“Tell her you gotta call your agent and that you’ll call her back later,” Aunt Tina whispered to me to help me get my mom off the phone.
“I gotta go, Mom. Let me call Alan. I’ll call you back later,” I said, hanging up on her before she could say anything back.
“Honey, I’m sorry,” Aunt Tina said. “I thought your mom knew about the call back. You don’t wanna model anymore? Why not? I thought this was what you wanted.”
“No, I don’t like it. I just wanna act,” I said.
“Yeah, but you’re not allowed to get acting gigs until you’re through with school, right?”
I nodded my head yes.
“Why don’t you start working at the studio with Uncle Frank? Right honey?” Aunt Tina asked, looking at Uncle Frank. “You could teach Darian how to develop pictures.”
“I’ve developed pictures before! I took photography in high school,” I said eagerly to both of them.
“Really?” asked Uncle Frank. “You never told me that. All right, well let’s have you start developing head shots for me then. You can start this week. And if you’re interested, you can assist me with commercial filming as those come in too. How does that sound?”
“Great! I would totally love that!”
“Well, all you had to do was say so! You gotta let me know what you’re interested in, honey. Or else, I don’t know. So, come in this week and we’ll get ya started. Is dinner ready yet, Hon?” Uncle Frank asked Aunt Tina, beginning to sound tired.
“Yup! Tia, Maria! Darian, go get the girls. It’s time to eat.”
After dinner, I called Alan and told him what had happened. He was glad to hear I was safe and listened to what I had to say. I explained that I no longer wanted to model and that the swimsuit callback would be my final modeling audition. And then out of nowhere, Alan asked me if I knew how to type. I had taken typing classes in high school. So, he offered me a clerical job that would cover the days I wasn’t working for Frank. It’s funny how things sort of fall into place when you let the universe know what it is that you want and don’t want. But although I was excited about working in Frank’s studio, I couldn’t help but ruminate over the upcoming swimsuit call back.
Now that my mother was aware of the call back, I would have to show up to it at the very least. I just couldn’t see a way around that. The call back was scheduled for that coming Wednesday morning and I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d handle it. The thing was, there was no way in hell that I’d take off my clothes for anybody and stand there half naked while some guy decided whether or not to put me in a stupid catalog, that I was certain of. It would be completely humiliating. And I wasn’t exactly comfortable around men given everything I had been through. I would have to think of something, but tonight wasn’t the night to figure it out. The day had been traumatizing enough. For now, I would allow myself to enjoy the relief that came with spending time with a family who cared about me as much as my own and was able to express it in a way that made me feel loved.
After dinner, Tia, Maria and I walked into the game room on the main level of their house. The game room was situated across from the kitchen and you had to walk through it in order to get to the room I had boarded in the summer before. I would be sleeping there on this night as well. The game room had a large pool table in the middle of it and several vintage pinball machines lined up against the walls of its perimeters. I had first fallen in love with those same pinball machines as a toddler visiting the Lamaris with my family in the early 1970s. My mom would pick me up, holding me suspended over the machines so that I could pretend to “play” them. Not long after, my father would always come over and ask, “Do you want to see the lights?” and then he would play for real, until he could get the ball to shoot into the 100 point slot just to watch me squeal and bounce in delight at the spectacle he had somehow magically created.
I sat there that night for the next two hours playing that same game and missing my dad like crazy. I wished I could tell him everything that had happened to me, but I didn’t want him to worry. And worse than that, he would tell my mother and I was afraid she would make me feel stupid, like everything had been my fault. Around midnight, Uncle Frank walked in and reminded the girls and me to get some sleep. The girls left and I spent the rest of the night playing the pinball machines alone.
Uncle Frank drove me back to the city Saturday morning after breakfast and dropped me off at my apartment. Although I knew my body needed rest, I felt too anxious to fall asleep, so I rolled a joint and took a few hits, as I had begun doing each night to help me relax. If I didn’t smoke, I didn’t sleep. It was that simple. So smoking pot had become a part of my evening routine.
I had been up all night at the Lamaris unable to sleep the evening before, so I was happy to finally be home with easy access to pot again. I locked the door, hung up my army jacket, kicked off my Chucks, and threw my modeling portfolio on the floor next to my futon. As I smoked and tried to let all my anxiety fall away, the fear began to take over. What if the bus driver was somehow able to locate me being that I had paid for the ticket with my credit card? I realized it was far-fetched, but I was feeling anxious and unsafe. I pulled the shades shut on the windows above my futon. I got out of bed, went to the bathroom then checked the lock on the front door one more time on my way back to the futon. This time, I slipped the chain lock on as well. Although Ella and I had a rule to not use the chain lock if one of us was out, I was now too scared to fall asleep without it locked. I stood there next to the door for a good five minutes slipping the lock on and off and considered moving a piece of furniture in front of the door as an extra precaution. “Stop acting crazy,” I said to myself. “Just slip the fucking lock on and go to sleep.” I slipped the lock back on one last time before turning around to walk back towards my bed and then out of nowhere there was Mark. His body was elevated and hovering over the futon with Darian lying directly under him on the mattress. His body began to descend on her. Then he wrapped his hands around her neck and began to choke her. I ran towards them and jumped on top of them both, tackling Mark to the ground.
“Stay the fuck off her, you stupid piece of shit!” I screamed as I climbed on top of him and began to choke him with my own hands.
Mark began to laugh as he looked up at me and added, “Dottie, you can’t kill me. I live in your head. I’m not even here.”
But it didn’t stop me from trying. I squeezed my hands as tightly around his neck as I could, throwing his head repeatedly onto the floor, just as he had done to me close to a year ago. I watched him struggle until his face turned blue. I loved watching him suffer.
“I’m not afraid to kill you!” I threatened. “I’m not afraid! Die! Die you fucking asshole!” I screamed, as hatred pumped through my veins with a vengeance.
I continued choking him until I was awoken by a loud noise. People were trying to break into my apartment. Then I heard Ella’s voice.
“Dottie! What the fuck? Open the fucking door! I’m paying rent too, you know… Hello? Wake the fuck up!”
I crawled out of bed and stumbled over to the door to let Ella in. Four other people came in behind her. They weren’t from school. I had never seen them before. Ella quickly grabbed my arm and pulled me into the kitchen.
“Dottie, I gotta talk to you,” Ella said.
“What’s going on? Who are these people?” I asked still dazed from being awoken.
“Shhhh!” Ella said covering my mouth with her hand. “They have a shitload of coke!” Ella whispered as she began laughing uncontrollably. I could tell she was already just as baked as I was. “I’m calling up some more people ‘cause we’re about to have one hell of a party!”
I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling. “Please don’t,” I begged. “Not tonight, Ella. I didn’t sleep at all last night,” I said.
“You can sleep tomorrow,” Ella said, still laughing.
I rubbed my eyes as I watched her walk back into the other room. One of the strangers began to set up lines of coke on a mirror they had placed on the wooden trunk that my father had made me for my birthday. Ella got on her knees and they all began to take turns snorting off the trunk. I thought about the hours my father had spent working on that trunk to make it perfect for me. I felt a pang of guilt and remorse pierce my heart as I stood there watching them inhaling the coke off it.
“Dottie, c’mon! You gotta try this shit,” Ella called over to me.
I walked over to them and rolled a joint and smoked that instead. I smoked a lot of pot that night. More and more people kept showing up to the loft. People I had never seen before. I didn’t know where Ella could have possibly met any of them. Things were getting loud and out of control. I began to worry that our neighbors would call the cops, so I put on my army jacket and Chucks. I slipped my switchblade into my pocket and headed out into the city that never sleeps baked as hell. It was just past 2am and I certainly had no business walking around that stoned by myself at that hour. But part of me figured if I stayed on Broadway, that I would likely remain relatively safe. T o be honest though, the other part of me really didn’t care. Maybe somebody would kill me. That was a possibility. But I was feeling a strange combination of numb, anxious, frightened and depressed. Maybe it would be better if I just died. Then I wouldn’t have to live in fear anymore.
I walked downtown in a complete haze. The noise from the city echoed in my head, as I watched the early morning hustle unfold before me in slow motion. My feet barely touched the sidewalk as I floated through block after block, surrounded by the city lights. The crowd was young and hopeful as they walked towards cabs and down subway entrances in intimate couplings. Homeless people reached out their cups while I drifted past them, finally reaching my destination an hour later.
I hadn’t realized Times Square was my destination when I had set out on my walk earlier that evening. As I stood waiting at a red, blinking “Don’t Walk” sign on 47th street and Broadway for what seemed like an eternity, the bright light from the sign began to grow more and more powerful, until it finally became impossible to focus on. The light began to blind me, forcing me to close my eyes and tilt my head down and sideways. When I opened my eyes, a Playboy model was looking up at me from a magazine stand. My eyes surveyed across the length of the small, sidewalk vendor as I let the images of seductive women burn themselves into my brain. Playboy, Hustler, Vogue, and Cosmo. My eyes wandered beyond the magazine stand and landed on advertising images of women all around me selling cars, selling alcohol, selling themselves. The images were everywhere. They were on the storefront windows below and the billboards above. Those life-sized women hovered over all of us, in that famous vortex of tourist hell, promising sex if the perfect purchase were made. I stood there frozen on that street corner as the images began to spin around me, slowly at first, and then with great speed as if I were caught in the middle of an advertising wind tunnel. Breasts, lips, legs. Round and round they went. The wind was picking up speed as garbage began to rumble past me on the street. That was when I felt someone’s hand grab my shoulder out of nowhere. I screamed out in shock and simultaneously jumped back. Without thinking, I flipped my switchblade open in front of me, ready to kill whatever person had tried to threaten me.
“Dottie! Whoa! What the fuck?” Tommy asked, backing up away from me.
It took several moments for it to register that the person I was threatening with a knife was my friend, Tommy, from school. Tommy was in my acting cohort. He was my age, with a thin, small stature, blonde hair, and a slight Southern accent. We weren’t close but had been watching each other perform for the past 12 months in various classes and respecting each other’s talents.
“Holy shit, Dottie!” Tommy said looking into my eyes. “You’re completely baked. What the hell are you doing out here at three in the morning by yourself? Are you trying to get yourself killed or something? C’mon, let me take you back home.”
“I can’t go back there,” I said. “Ella’s having a party. There’s a lot of stuff going down. The cops are gonna end up there. I don’t wanna be there for that,” I said.
“Well, I’m not leaving you here like this. You can come back to my place and crash.”
“I’m not going home with you!” I said, sneering at his idea.
“Why not? You’d rather stand out here for the next six hours?”
I stood there staring at him until I finally gave in. “Fine. I’ll go with you. But don’t even think about laying a finger on me ‘cause I’ll cut your fucking dick off in a heartbeat!” I warned.
“Okay, I’ll try to remember that,” Tommy said taken aback, as he raised his eyebrows at me. “So, do you always walk around with a switch blade?”
“I do now.”
“Well, just so you know, I have four sisters. I’d never do anything to hurt a woman,” he said.
“Whadya want, a fucking medal?” I asked, completely unimpressed.
“No, I just want you to know that not all guys are dicks.”
I began laughing hard. “Oh yeah?” I asked. “So how do you explain all of this?” I said as I began spinning around with my arms extended and pointing to the advertising images of the women surrounding us. That’s all any of you ever see when you look at any of us. An object that wants to suck your fucking dicks,” I said.
“Maybe some guys,” he said.
I looked at Tommy like I knew better.
“Okay, a lot of guys, but not all of us. Certainly not me,” he said.
“Why not, are you gay?” I asked.
“No. I just have a lot of respect for women.”
“Famous last words. We’ll see how you do tonight, buddy,” I said.
“No offense, Dottie, but not everybody wants to have sex with you, all right?”
“Oh really? You don’t want to have sex with me, huh?” I asked sarcastically.
“No, actually I don’t. I mean, you’re pretty and all, but you’re not really my type.”
I looked at him like he was crazy.
“I’m pretty sure as long as I have legs, that I’m any man’s type,” I said.
“Well, to be honest with you Dottie, you kind of come off as being a high maintenance pain in the ass sometimes so…”
“High maintenance pain in the ass? Oh, excuse me!” I interrupted, dramatically waiving my hands in the air. “I’m sorry, it’s just that a bus driver tried to fucking abduct me in the middle of east bumble fuck yesterday and I haven’t quite gotten over it yet, I guess. Sorry I’m being such a difficult, high maintenance pain in the ass, but I’m having a bit of a hard time trusting anybody right now, all right?” I screamed.
“What happened to you?”
“Nothing! I don’t wanna talk about it! It’s the last thing I wanna talk about right now,” I said.
“All right.”
We walked the next couple of blocks in silence.
“Well, the train is right here,” Tommy said. “Do you want to ride it back uptown?”
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“74th and Riverside,” Tommy said.
“Nah, let’s just walk. I like to walk.”
“Okay, but it’s a long walk from here,” Tommy said as he let out a sigh.
“I don’t care,” I said. “I’d rather walk.”
Tommy went along with my decision and the two of us walked back uptown and eventually reached his loft. His place was impressive, and he lived alone.
“All right, so, you can sleep in my bed up in the loft…” Tommy began but I immediately interrupted him.
“I’m not sleeping with you in your fucking bed in your fucking loft! That’s it, I’m outta here,” I said, beginning to turn around to leave.
“No, Dottie. Jesus, just let me finish. I’ll sleep here on the couch.”
“Yeah, right. Whadya think, I was born yesterday?” I said, feeling smart.
“Oh my God, woman! Fine, you sleep on the couch. I’m sleeping in my nice, comfy bed!” Tommy began to yell as he raised his hands up at me.
“Fine…because I fucking hate lofts!” I yelled back. “I hate people who sleep in lofts. Lofts are for assholes!”
“Got it! Lofts are bad. Couches are good,” Tommy said as he pulled an extra pillow out of his closet and threw it over to me on the couch. “Night,” he said as he spun around and began heading up to his loft.
A few minutes later, he turned off the one light up there that had been illuminating his whole apartment. I desperately wanted to ask him if there was a small light I could put on downstairs, but I didn’t want to look like a big baby, so I opened up my switch blade and held it on my lap instead, ready for anything. Then after I thought he was asleep, I walked over to the bathroom and turned on the light in there, leaving the door open enough to dimly illuminate the downstairs. I stayed awake for the next several hours until the sun finally began to creep in through Tommy’s windows signaling him to climb down his loft and check in on me. I closed up my blade and put it back in my pocket, keeping my hand on it while Tommy made his way down.
“Morning. You’ve been sitting there all night? You didn’t sleep at all?” Tommy asked.
“I slept for a bit,” I lied.
“Well, I’m making some eggs. You want some?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’m gonna head back to my place now. See what the damage is.”
I walked over to the door and Tommy followed to see me out.
“Thanks for everything,” I said as Tommy unlocked his door. “I know I’m not being very nice, but I do appreciate what you did. Just so you know.”
“Sure, anytime. Are you sure you don’t want to stay for breakfast? I make some really mean eggs.”
“Yeah, I’m positive. Thanks though. See ya in class on Monday,” I said.
“See ya,” Tommy said as he watched me leave.
Tomorrow was Monday, which meant that my swimsuit call back was only two days after that. On my way home, I began thinking about it again. Why was I so afraid of it? Why was I so afraid of everything lately? Ever since that night with Mark, I had been stripped of my ability to interact comfortably with men. And the bus incident had only added fuel to the slow fire that was, bit by bit, engulfing my entire being, causing my anxiety to flare beyond what I, alone, could handle. The swimsuit callback had been designed, in my opinion, to make me feel small, desperate, dependent, and sexualized against my will; all the things that I had felt and experienced on the night I was assaulted.
I thought about how men never had to worry about such things. And then I had an idea. What if I were to turn the swimsuit call back completely on its head? What if I walked into that call back as a man’s equal by pretending that I was a man? I was an actress, after all. I could dress as myself, but internally play the part of a male character I would create over the next couple of days. I could pretend I was Tommy, Leo, or even Sean Calvert from high school. It didn’t even matter which one. Any of them would really do. Not that they were all the same person, but they did all possess that one out of reach quality that I would so desperately need on Wednesday. As white heterosexual men, they all embodied the type of brave, bold, brazen, self-confidence that only those who have never been victimized could possibly possess. It turned out that I was about to embrace my most challenging character yet, that of the entitled, heterosexual, white male.
By the time Wednesday morning arrived, I was experiencing the same level of anticipation and excitement I have always felt prior to giving a good performance. I wore loose-fitting slacks with an oversized sweatshirt. On top of that I wore none other than my gigantic army jacket and my black Chucks. I grabbed my portfolio and off to battle I went.
I had been paying particular attention to men in the days leading up to the call back. The way they unapologetically took up space. The way they walked through a door, sat in their chairs, ordered their food, the way they disagreed, voiced their opinions, the way they refused to do something they didn’t want to do and the way they did what they wanted to do instead. When I walked into the call back room that morning, I too was a man, unbeknownst to the 30 something year old guy sitting beside a table who thought he had a day of watching 18-year-old girls taking their clothes off for him. Yes, half hour sessions with one young girl after another from 9 to 5, taking off their clothes in hopes of having a desirable enough body to sell yet another product.
I practically stormed in the room with my portfolio in hand, walked straight up to the guy and sat down in front of him without asking if it was okay for me to do so. The guy looked up from his pictures of me and watched curiously as I spread my legs into a relaxed and comfortable position, owning my occupied space as I looked him straight in the eyes.
“I’m Dottie, your next appointment.”
“Uhhh, okay…well you look like the same girl I have a picture of, but I have the name ‘Darian’ here. Is that you?”
“Yeah,” I said without feeling the need to explain anything to him.
“All right! Well I really liked your pictures. And I see you have your portfolio with you. Okay, good. So why don’t I take a look at that as well,” he said as he reached for my portfolio.
Then he went through the book picture by picture shaking his head, complimenting me on the poses, complimenting the photography. Finally, he looked me over and the moment I had been waiting for arrived in all its glory.
“Okay. Well, let’s see what you’ve got,” he said with a smile. So, I’m going to have you strip down to your bikini. You can stand right across from me under those lights,” he said as he pointed to the spotlights I was to be judged under.
“I’m not wearing a bathing suit,” I said unapologetically, keeping my face expressionless.
The guy’s smile quickly vanished as he rolled his eyes at me and said, “Your agent was told to instruct you to come to this call back wearing a bikini. Did you not get the message?” he asked slightly frustrated.
“Oh, I got the message. I just choose not to wear one,” I said, keeping my eyebrows relaxed and my face uninterested.
The guy let out a sigh. “You do realize that this is a call back for a swimsuit spread, correct?”
“Yeah, I got that part,” I replied.
“So, what exactly am I supposed to do here?” he asked.
“Well, I suppose you could either make your decision based on my photos alone, or you could just pick another model. I don’t actually care what you do,” I said.
Now keep in mind that this was before digital photography was even a thing so digital enhancement didn’t exist either. The most a photographer could even do to enhance a picture was use a special pen to remove dark circles and lengthen eyelashes, which my photographer, Uncle Frank, had certainly done. But that was all that had been altered in my photographs. Why did the guy need to see me half-naked in person anyway?
“May I ask then, why you even bothered to come here today?” the guy asked, utterly confused by my performance. Then it occurred to me that I had not been prepared for that question in particular. I suppose any normal person who didn’t want to be a swimsuit model would simply not go to a swimsuit call back. But I was clearly not a normal person. In fact, I was a much more complicated being than that. The truth was, if I had to be one of the people sitting at that table that day, I would have much rather been him. He had all the power. And now he had caught me in my lie. So, I decided to drop the act and just start talking to him for real.
“Look, I came here today because I promised my mom I would,” I said. “She wants me to model but I don’t like modeling. It makes me feel really uncomfortable,” I said as I looked at the ceiling, rubbing one of my eyes. But I wasn’t enjoying the vulnerability, so I decided to put the spotlight back on him. “And when did you decide that this was what you wanted to do with your life? Watch 18-year-old girls take off their clothes all day,” I clarified, looking into his eyes, trying to understand more about what makes people play this game. The guy put his hands on his face and began to laugh in shock at my directness.
“Well…all right!” the guy said shaking his head in disbelief. “So, uh, I guess since the next model doesn’t get here for another 20 minutes that we’re just going to have a little chat then?” he asked.
“I don’t care, I’ll leave if you want,” I replied. “I’m done here anyway. I can tell my mom I came,” I said, beginning to gather my things.
“No, that’s okay,” the guy said. “Uh, this is actually the most refreshing conversation I’ve ever had with a model. Although, I guess I can’t officially call you a model anymore now that you’re an ex-model. Can we call you an ex-model?” he asked giving me a little smile.
“Sure,” I said smiling back.
“All right ex-model. When did I decide? Let’s see. I had just graduated from NYU. A buddy of mine had heard about this gig and, yeah, it sounded like a dream come true, right? I mean, why not? I was a 24-year-old guy. The money was good. New York is expensive. The work was easy. So, I interviewed and got the job. And then like anything, it just became comfortable.”
“What’s the first job you remember ever wanting in your life?” I asked.
“Like from when I was a kid?” he asked, his shoulders softening into a more relaxed position.
“Yeah, the first one,” I responded.
The guy puffed out his cheeks and let out a slow steady stream of breath as he leaned back in his chair. “My uncle owned a dairy farm in Pennsylvania. My dad used to take me up there every summer. I loved that place. Being outside. I thought maybe someday I’d have some type of farm. Not dairy though. Maybe vegetables, fruits…stuff I could plant. I like gardening. Growing stuff. Can’t really do that in the city though.”
The guy looked sad as he reminisced. Perhaps he was feeling vulnerable too when he shifted the focus back on me and asked, “What about you? If you’re not interested in being a model, what are you interested in being?”
“I don’t know yet. I think I want to go to college. I’d like to study people – I really like studying people. That’s the part of acting that I really enjoy. I love understanding what makes people behave the way they do and make the choices they make.”
“Ah ha! So, you’re studying me. I get it,” he said smiling. “Well,” he continued, “college is a game like anything else so just know that going into it. Learn the game and play it to win it. That’s how you’ll succeed. Once you start thinking something is more than just a game, that’s when you get into trouble and get overwhelmed.”
I wondered if that was what had happened to the guy. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t pursued his dream.
“And where are you thinking about going to college?”
“I’ll probably move back to my hometown and go there.”
“Where’s your hometown?”
“Potsdam, NY.”
“Is that where you were born?”
“No. I was born somewhere in New Jersey.”
“Like, where in New Jersey? You don’t know?”
“Does it really matter? It was New Jersey,” I replied sarcastically.
“You’re funny. Do you know that?” the guy responded as he started to laugh.
I heard the door behind me open. The next model had arrived. She walked in, hesitating a bit, and took a seat in the waiting area.
“Before you leave though, I do have to ask you one question about this picture of you in the bikini,” the guy said. Then he pulled out his copy of the picture and asked, “How in the hell were you able to hold this position long enough for the photographer to take this picture? I mean, what is this?” he asked as he held up the photo to me. “It looks like you’re in mid-air, just floating around in a bikini. Was it some type of photography trick or something?”
“No, I was just squatting on a white cube in front of a white background while the photographer shot the pictures,” I said.
“Well, God, how long did you have to hold this position for? I mean, that would take some real physical strength, but your face is totally relaxed. You made this pose look really easy. Uh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say here. I just…when I saw this picture, I…I couldn’t figure it out.”
I shrugged my shoulders then added, “I guess I’m stronger than I look.”
I stood up and gathered my belongings. I began walking towards the young model and noticed her face was full of desperation. It was easy to tell how badly she wanted the gig as I approached her. She wouldn’t even make eye contact with me because she wrongly assumed that I was her competition. I began to feel sorry for her as I reached for the door. Then the guy called out to me, “Good luck changing the world, Dottie!” To an outsider, his comment might have seemed encouraging enough, but any New Yorker could recognize that hint of sarcasm in it as if to say he didn’t believe I was truly capable of really changing anything. “Good luck yourself!” I hollered back with that same, faithless tone. Then I passed the model and wished her luck as well. She looked at me quickly and then looked away without saying anything back. I still remember her, the distrust in her eyes. The competitive look on her face. We were two young women being pitted against each other through a system of oppression set up and perpetuated by men to win a competition that I had already rejected unbeknownst to her. I had completely risen above it in my own, weird way and had just tasted the empowerment that comes with that type of rejection for the first time. I felt incredibly strong. I wanted to tell her about it. Perhaps if she had held her gaze longer, I would have let her in on my secret. “You don’t have to do this shit,” I would have said. “You’re worth so much more.” But I just walked past her instead. I continued through that door, finally feeling like I had gotten a small piece of myself back that had been stolen by another.