Read Online Underneath It All by Traci Elisabeth Lords - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Traci Elisabeth Lords
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saw him checking out my cleavage. I was sure I'd get the job.
Instead, I got asked out.
That afternoon we headed to Hollywood for the modeling interview and my spirits were down. I was scared no one was going to like me. What if I wasn't pretty enough? Roger had taken me shopping for a new outfit and made a big deal of telling me how beautiful I looked. But I wasn't convinced. I was really nervous so we stopped for a cocktail. He held my hand, made me laugh, told me how special I was, that I just needed to believe in myself, and that he'd be there every step of the way. He told me it didn't matter that he and my mom had split, he was still my step dad and he loved me.
And in that moment I loved him too.
As we walked down the corridor, a girl with the biggest hair I'd ever seen walked by, making me feel even more self-conscious about my flat, flipped Farrah Fawcett hairdo. Roger seemed to sense my insecurity and squeezed my shoulder in support as he led me toward the office. I could hear a man with a Southern accent talking on a phone. "She gets paid double for a DP and she chooses the guys." A DP? I'd learned in film study that meant a director of photography, but I wondered why she needed more guys.
Nearly a year later, on the set of a porn movie, I was horrified to find out a DP was not a director of photography in the porn world. It was slang for a double penetration scene. This particular sex act involved one woman and two men. Both men entered her at the same time, one vaginally and the other anally. Did people really do that?! Didn't it hurt? I'd never do that, I vowed.
High school girls just didn't have anal sex.
We stood in the doorway waiting for the man to finish his phone call. I was transfixed by the row of eleven-by-fourteen-inch glossy photographs lining the walls on both sides of his desk. He was small, thin, and weaselly, with a skinny mustache. His hair looked greasy and was slicked straight back. Standing up, he flashed a big smile for me, and I couldn't help but stare at the silver tooth peeking out of the corner of his mouth. I looked at his feet to find a gleaming pair of cowboy boots staring back at me. He caught me checking him out and laughed, offering us a seat. He commented on how hot it was in the Valley and how much he looked forward to moving into his new office in Beverly Hills. Excusing himself briefly, he came back with a bottle of champagne. He poured us a glass, raised his, looked right at me, and said, "Forgive my manners, miss. My name is Tim North and I'm gonna make you a star. Sir, your daughter is a looker."
I was flushed with excitement. He was going to make a call right then and there and get some pictures of me taken. He pointed to a sign on the wall that explained the fees, saying he'd always try to get me as much money as possible but all he'd ever take was a flat fee of forty dollars—period.
I went to the bathroom to catch my breath. I felt drunk and high on life. On my way back, I heard them talking about taking Polaroids and saw Mr. North hand Roger what looked like a lot of money. Roger saw me watching and said we were all set. He had the address of the photo shoot and Jim advanced us some cash for expenses. All we had to do now was take some topless photos of me in the back room.
What!!! You mean now? Right now?
I lost my breath, panicking at the thought of being photographed nude.
Roger laughed and handed me a fashion magazine with beautiful black-and-white nude photographs in it. I felt my cheeks go hot, blushing a deep red at the sight of nudes. "It's fashion, Kristie," Tim North said. "If you're really serious about modeling you're going to have to get used to doing nudity." I looked at Roger skeptically, but he just smiled back and nodded in agreement with North.
Was I being immature about this? Is this the way the modeling world worked? Was I blowing my chance to be one of those high-society ladies I used to see lunching on the university lawn near Granny's
Instead, I got asked out.
That afternoon we headed to Hollywood for the modeling interview and my spirits were down. I was scared no one was going to like me. What if I wasn't pretty enough? Roger had taken me shopping for a new outfit and made a big deal of telling me how beautiful I looked. But I wasn't convinced. I was really nervous so we stopped for a cocktail. He held my hand, made me laugh, told me how special I was, that I just needed to believe in myself, and that he'd be there every step of the way. He told me it didn't matter that he and my mom had split, he was still my step dad and he loved me.
And in that moment I loved him too.
As we walked down the corridor, a girl with the biggest hair I'd ever seen walked by, making me feel even more self-conscious about my flat, flipped Farrah Fawcett hairdo. Roger seemed to sense my insecurity and squeezed my shoulder in support as he led me toward the office. I could hear a man with a Southern accent talking on a phone. "She gets paid double for a DP and she chooses the guys." A DP? I'd learned in film study that meant a director of photography, but I wondered why she needed more guys.
Nearly a year later, on the set of a porn movie, I was horrified to find out a DP was not a director of photography in the porn world. It was slang for a double penetration scene. This particular sex act involved one woman and two men. Both men entered her at the same time, one vaginally and the other anally. Did people really do that?! Didn't it hurt? I'd never do that, I vowed.
High school girls just didn't have anal sex.
We stood in the doorway waiting for the man to finish his phone call. I was transfixed by the row of eleven-by-fourteen-inch glossy photographs lining the walls on both sides of his desk. He was small, thin, and weaselly, with a skinny mustache. His hair looked greasy and was slicked straight back. Standing up, he flashed a big smile for me, and I couldn't help but stare at the silver tooth peeking out of the corner of his mouth. I looked at his feet to find a gleaming pair of cowboy boots staring back at me. He caught me checking him out and laughed, offering us a seat. He commented on how hot it was in the Valley and how much he looked forward to moving into his new office in Beverly Hills. Excusing himself briefly, he came back with a bottle of champagne. He poured us a glass, raised his, looked right at me, and said, "Forgive my manners, miss. My name is Tim North and I'm gonna make you a star. Sir, your daughter is a looker."
I was flushed with excitement. He was going to make a call right then and there and get some pictures of me taken. He pointed to a sign on the wall that explained the fees, saying he'd always try to get me as much money as possible but all he'd ever take was a flat fee of forty dollars—period.
I went to the bathroom to catch my breath. I felt drunk and high on life. On my way back, I heard them talking about taking Polaroids and saw Mr. North hand Roger what looked like a lot of money. Roger saw me watching and said we were all set. He had the address of the photo shoot and Jim advanced us some cash for expenses. All we had to do now was take some topless photos of me in the back room.
What!!! You mean now? Right now?
I lost my breath, panicking at the thought of being photographed nude.
Roger laughed and handed me a fashion magazine with beautiful black-and-white nude photographs in it. I felt my cheeks go hot, blushing a deep red at the sight of nudes. "It's fashion, Kristie," Tim North said. "If you're really serious about modeling you're going to have to get used to doing nudity." I looked at Roger skeptically, but he just smiled back and nodded in agreement with North.
Was I being immature about this? Is this the way the modeling world worked? Was I blowing my chance to be one of those high-society ladies I used to see lunching on the university lawn near Granny's
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