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Authors: Veronica Chambers
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it. No modeling career, no Brian. Then I remembered how Brian had just about flipped when he found out that Shakira was a goodwill ambassador to the UN. Maybe if this whole modeling thing didn’t work out, I could look into that. I mean, it wouldn’t be just to get Brian back. I really believe in the issues, and as the Good Humor ice-cream man in my old neighborhood in Philadelphia can attest, I’m a girl who’s just full of good humor, which is kind of like goodwill, right?
8
Bee-lieve It or Not
You know, it’s a good thing, a really good thing, that I wasn’t born a gypsy and that I don’t have to make my living telling fortunes like the girls you see with their crystal balls in little shops on Sixth Avenue. Because the truth is, I couldn’t predict the future if my life depended on it. I thought Brian loved me and wanted to be with me forever. NOT. I thought I’d totally blown my modeling audition and I’d never see or hear from Leslie Chesterfield again. NOT.
Leslie Chesterfield called me that very same night and asked me to come in the next day for another audition. I called Aunt Zo, and she said that this is what is known in show business as a “callback.” Did I ever, in my whole entire life, or at least since I started gaining weight like a polar bear getting ready for hibernation, ever think for a nanosecond that I’d be getting callbacks to be a model? NOT. NOT. And oh yeah, DOUBLE NOT.
I went back to the Chesterfield Agency the next day, and there were only three of us in the waiting room. The stick-up-her-butt receptionist was slightly less disdainful. When I was called into Leslie’s office, three other people were there—one woman, two men—sitting on chairs. Leslie and Caroline shook my hands but didn’t introduce me to the new folks. I said hello to them, but they just kind of nodded. Caroline asked me to tell my name, age, and what I did for a living. Then they asked me to walk again. I did my best Chela.
“Maybe a little less bounce,” Leslie said, not smiling. She seemed friendlier the day before. Now she sounded exactly like the kind of icy society blonde that she looked like.
So I did it again.
Then Caroline said, “Thank you, Bee.”
And it was over. So I said the only thing I could think of, which was, “Ciao.”
Aunt Zo always said even when it’s clear they’re not going to hire you, always leave the audition with a smile on your face. Sometimes that’s the only thing a conductor remembers, but it may be enough to get her to hire you for the next gig. So I smiled, said my “ciao,” then went back to Dean and DeLuca for a jumbo chocolate chip muffin.
I was sitting in the window when this cute guy stopped right in front of me. Then he made a brushing motion, and I thought, Great, some weirdo. He did it again, and I realized he was telling me I had chocolate on my face. I wiped it off with a napkin. He winked at me and kept walking. Memo to self: Next time I sit in the window seat at Dean and DeLuca be in full makeup and sipping a cup of green tea. My cell phone started to ring, and I knew who it was, Chela calling for an update. Of course, I had to dig through my giant bag to find it. I thought I was so cool, rocking a fake Louis Vuitton bag to class instead of a knapsack, but this bag is like a pond—everything sinks to the bottom and gets all scummy. Memo to self: Stop being so cheap and get one of those cute Japanese cell phone holders that clip on the shoulder strap of the bag.
“Wassup, Chela. I blew it,” I said, when I finally found the phone.
“Hello, Bee?”
It wasn’t Chela.
“This is Leslie Chesterfield. You didn’t blow it. You’ve got the job.”
I know. You totally saw this coming, right? But you have to understand. Things like this don’t happen to me.
“Bee, are you there?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Are you at Dean and DeLuca?”
“Uh, yes.”
Now I was starting to get nervous. Were they spying on me? If she mentioned the chocolate chip
8
Bee-lieve It or Not
You know, it’s a good thing, a really good thing, that I wasn’t born a gypsy and that I don’t have to make my living telling fortunes like the girls you see with their crystal balls in little shops on Sixth Avenue. Because the truth is, I couldn’t predict the future if my life depended on it. I thought Brian loved me and wanted to be with me forever. NOT. I thought I’d totally blown my modeling audition and I’d never see or hear from Leslie Chesterfield again. NOT.
Leslie Chesterfield called me that very same night and asked me to come in the next day for another audition. I called Aunt Zo, and she said that this is what is known in show business as a “callback.” Did I ever, in my whole entire life, or at least since I started gaining weight like a polar bear getting ready for hibernation, ever think for a nanosecond that I’d be getting callbacks to be a model? NOT. NOT. And oh yeah, DOUBLE NOT.
I went back to the Chesterfield Agency the next day, and there were only three of us in the waiting room. The stick-up-her-butt receptionist was slightly less disdainful. When I was called into Leslie’s office, three other people were there—one woman, two men—sitting on chairs. Leslie and Caroline shook my hands but didn’t introduce me to the new folks. I said hello to them, but they just kind of nodded. Caroline asked me to tell my name, age, and what I did for a living. Then they asked me to walk again. I did my best Chela.
“Maybe a little less bounce,” Leslie said, not smiling. She seemed friendlier the day before. Now she sounded exactly like the kind of icy society blonde that she looked like.
So I did it again.
Then Caroline said, “Thank you, Bee.”
And it was over. So I said the only thing I could think of, which was, “Ciao.”
Aunt Zo always said even when it’s clear they’re not going to hire you, always leave the audition with a smile on your face. Sometimes that’s the only thing a conductor remembers, but it may be enough to get her to hire you for the next gig. So I smiled, said my “ciao,” then went back to Dean and DeLuca for a jumbo chocolate chip muffin.
I was sitting in the window when this cute guy stopped right in front of me. Then he made a brushing motion, and I thought, Great, some weirdo. He did it again, and I realized he was telling me I had chocolate on my face. I wiped it off with a napkin. He winked at me and kept walking. Memo to self: Next time I sit in the window seat at Dean and DeLuca be in full makeup and sipping a cup of green tea. My cell phone started to ring, and I knew who it was, Chela calling for an update. Of course, I had to dig through my giant bag to find it. I thought I was so cool, rocking a fake Louis Vuitton bag to class instead of a knapsack, but this bag is like a pond—everything sinks to the bottom and gets all scummy. Memo to self: Stop being so cheap and get one of those cute Japanese cell phone holders that clip on the shoulder strap of the bag.
“Wassup, Chela. I blew it,” I said, when I finally found the phone.
“Hello, Bee?”
It wasn’t Chela.
“This is Leslie Chesterfield. You didn’t blow it. You’ve got the job.”
I know. You totally saw this coming, right? But you have to understand. Things like this don’t happen to me.
“Bee, are you there?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Are you at Dean and DeLuca?”
“Uh, yes.”
Now I was starting to get nervous. Were they spying on me? If she mentioned the chocolate chip
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