Move over, Veronica Lake (ie, Is that seat taken? I’m exhausted!)

The other day I went to the property management company to pay my rent. I handed my check to one of their part-time employees. Albert is a struggling photographer with his own business but does odd jobs on the side to pay the bills. As I was preparing to leave, he called out my name. When I turned around, he surprised me by asking me if he could photograph me sometime. “I find you beautiful,” he said.

The last time a stranger said something like that to me, I was 18 years old and flying to France. He was from Syria and had a name I forget, but it sounded a lot like Sirhan Sirhan. I’m 44 now, and Albert is far from exotic, but he did seem sincere. So after scanning the room carefully for lurking 18 year olds and assuring myself there weren’t any, I narrowed my eyes and gave him “the look” (the one that says, “If you have lascivious thoughts in mind, faget about it!”)

“What do you think?” He asked.

I got right to the point. “With my clothes on, of course,” I said.

He confirmed it

That settled, I asked the next obvious question. “Would I get paid?”

“A bit,” he said. He explained that every time the photo is used, I’d get a percentage.

“Think about it,” he said. “You can let me know.”

I said I would. Then I went home and looked in the mirror. The closest I’ve ever come to being photographed by someone who actually makes money with their camera is having my picture taken every year in grade school by a guy with a squeaky toy. I figured I’d practice a bit, so I styled my hair, touched up my makeup, styled my hair some more, and pretended I was Veronica Lake. Two hours and 145 crap digital pictures later to get 2 that I considered acceptable, (ie, somewhat flattering), I was done.

lake-0518

Do I look 18???

lake-1385

Am I on my way to France? Is your name Sirhan Sirhan??

I’m not likely to threaten Ms. Lake’s legacy as one of the all-time most photogenic beauties America has ever produced.  It was kind of fun, however, to vamp it up a bit, even though my sole appreciative audience consisted of, well, me. But if today’s session was any indication, I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a photographer’s model. I mean, really, a little posing goes a long way. My hair is killing me…!

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