you bought. Where the hell is your taste …?’
‘Who told you you could redecorate my bedroom? Keep the hell out of there.’
No matter what Kendall did, it was never good enough.
It was her father’s domineering cruelty that finally drove her out of the house. It had always been a loveless household, and her father had paid no attention to his children, except to try to control and discipline them. One night, Kendall overheard her father saying to a visitor, ‘My daughter has a face like a horse. She’s going to need a lot of money to hook some poor sucker.’
It was the final straw. The following day, Kendall left Boston and headed for New York.
Alone in her hotel room, Kendall thought, All right. Here I am in New York. How do I become a designer? How do I break into the fashion industry? How do I get anyone even to notice me? She remembered her teacher’s advice. I’ll start as a model. That’s the way to begin.
The following morning, Kendall looked through the yellow pages, copied a list of modeling agencies, and began making the rounds. I have to be honest with them, Kendall thought. I’ll tell them that I can stay with them only temporarily, until I get started designing.
She walked into the office of the first agency on her list. A middle-aged woman behind a desk said, ‘May I help you?’
‘Yes. I want to be a model.’
‘So do I, dearie. Forget it.’
‘What?’
‘You’re too tall.’
Kendall’s jaw tightened. ‘I’d like to see whoever is in charge here.’
‘You’re looking at her. I own this joint.’
The next half a dozen stops were no more successful.
‘You’re too short.’
‘Too thin.’
‘Too fat.’
‘Too young.’
‘Too old.’
‘Wrong type.’
By the end of the week, Kendall was getting desperate. There was one more name on her list.
Paramount Models was the top modeling agency in Manhattan. There was no one at the reception desk.
A voice from one of the offices said, ‘She’ll be available next Monday. But you can have her for only one day. She’s booked solid for the next three weeks.’
Kendall walked over to the office and peered inside. A woman in a tailored suit was talking on the phone.
A woman in a tailored suit was talking on the phone.
‘Right. I’ll see what I can do.’ Roxanne Marinack replaced the receiver and looked up. ‘Sorry, we aren’t looking for your type.’
Kendall said desperately, ‘I can be any type you want me to be. I can be taller or I can be shorter. I can be younger or older, thinner –’
Roxanne held up her hand. ‘Hold it.’
‘All I want is a chance. I really need this.’
Roxanne hesitated. There was an appealing eagerness about the girl and she did have an exquisite figure. She was not beautiful, but possibly with the right make-up … ‘Have you had any experience?’
‘Yes. I’ve been wearing clothes all my life.’
Roxanne laughed. ‘All right. Let me see your portfolio.’
Kendall looked at her blankly. ‘My portfolio?’
Roxanne sighed. ‘My dear girl, no self-respecting model walks around without a portfolio. It’s your bible. It’s what your prospective clients are going to look at.’ Roxanne sighed again. ‘I want you to get two head shots – one smiling and one serious. Turn around.’
‘Right.’ Kendall began to turn.
‘Slowly.’ Roxanne studied her. ‘Not bad. I want a photo of you in a bathing suit or lingerie, whatever is the most flattering for your figure.’
‘I’ll get one of each,’ she said eagerly.
Roxanne had to smile at her earnestness. ‘All right.
You’re … er … different, but you might have a shot.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me too soon. Modeling for fashion magazines isn’t as simple as it looks. It’s a tough business.’
‘I’m ready for it.’
‘We’ll see. I’m going to take a chance on you. I’ll send you out on some go-sees.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘A go-see is where clients catch up on all the new models. There will be models from other agencies there, too. It’s kind of a cattle call.’
‘I can handle it.’
That had been the beginning. Kendall went on a dozen go-sees before a designer was interested in having her wear his clothes. She was so tense, she almost spoiled her chances by talking too much.
‘I really love your dresses, and I think they would look good on me. I mean, they would look good on any woman, of course. They’re wonderful! But I think they’ll look especially good on me.’ She was so nervous that she was stammering.
The designer nodded sympathetically. ‘This is your first job, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He had smiled. ‘All right. I’ll try you. What did you say your name was?’
‘Kendall Stanford.’ She wondered if he would make the connection between her and the Stanfords, but of course, there was no reason for him to.
Roxanne had been right. Modeling was a tough business. Kendall had to learn to accept constant rejection, go-sees that led nowhere, and weeks without work. When she did work, she was in make-up at six A.M., finished a shoot, went on to the next, and often didn’t get through until after midnight.
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