Chapter 1
I came home, after yet another disappointing evening and released a sigh of relief. That was it. I had enough and decided to take a vow, promising myself I'd never do that again.
I love going out with my best friends, but I simply didn’t believe I'd be able to survive one more date night with two happily married couples and my lonely self.
If being single at thirty-two left me no other choices for social gatherings than to be a redundant third wheel, I decided I'd be better off spending my time at home, cooking a royal dinner for myself and watching the episode I missed on my favorite TV show The Bachelorette.
I rushed to take off the designer dress I was wearing and put on my comfortable tracksuit, then paused a little in front of the mirror, before removing my makeup.
I seemed okay to me, but the looks of everyone on that date didn’t escape my eye. I knew those looks so very well. They were fierce and painful, and I hated seeing those looks, but who could blame them?
I'm drop-dead gorgeous, thirty-two, and alone. I feel sorry for myself, so why shouldn't they feel sorry for me, too?
I'm pathetic. It's the truth. I think my being single was surprising to me the most.
I was chased after by men my entire life. I was the one all girls wanted to be like, and the one boys wanted to be with. I still am, only as a young girl I may have been desirable, but my age made me seem inaccessible. And the fact is, at thirty-two, no one dares to come anywhere near me. I'm admired from afar and still single, so sometimes I can't help but wonder if looking back, it was worth it.
It all started when my mom replied to an ad in the paper. This very well-known pacifier manufacturer was looking for the next face of their campaign, and among the thousands of babies that showed up for the audition, I was chosen.
I was a little over one year old, so that experience didn’t define who I grew up to be, but being selected for that campaign most certainly changed the course of my life.
Once it aired, my mom started getting offers from more and more advertisers. I was hired for some, on others, I failed to pass the audition, but in any case, the amounts we saw from those baby modeling jobs were small.
My parents deposited all my incomes in a special savings account they opened just for me. They never dared to touch any of it, even though the chase for those jobs cost them quite a bit of time and money.
By the time I finished ruminating over how my modeling career began, I came out of the shower, collected the memory chest from my closet and sat down on the couch to sail into yet another nostalgic trip down memory lane.
The first thing awaiting me there was the clothing set I received as a payment for my participation in a girls' clothing line campaign. I was ten at the time, and that brand was the hottest thing.
I remember my mother complaining about how such a successful brand should have been able to afford to pay up with money or at least arrange for proper transportation for us, but she made sure to finish her whining with the hopes that this campaign would be the one to make all the difference.
At the end of that shooting day, I was told to choose any set of clothing from those I modeled as a payment for my hard work, and I kept that pink set in my memory box. Not because it was expensive or particularly beautiful, but because it really was the turning point of my modeling career.
That campaign led to the Lena International Model Agency contacting my mother and signing me up. From that moment on, things began to roll at a dizzying pace. I was no longer paid with dresses and shoes, and in fact, that designated savings account my parents opened for me grew and grew.
I never feared getting addicted to standing in front of the camera. Though I really liked it, I had other plans and desires for my life. Even as a young girl, I knew that a modeling career wasn’t the end of the road for me, but just a stepping stone for what was next to come. That being said, as I look back at the course of my life, I'm nothing but thankful for my parents caring enough to talk and guide me as to how to be financially smart.
They knew that fame and glory were never my dreams, yet they explained how important it was for me to keep that option available, alongside my studies, and I did. I kept that option close and approachable through high school, all the way to graduating from university and on, until now.
But somewhere around my sweet sixteen birthday, I stopped getting all worked up over seeing my face on a billboard, or maybe that's a bit of an overstatement. I admit to still being excited for a new campaign to go live, but I got all worked up by the grades I got at school that year much more than the release of my next campaign.
I placed my pink set back in my memory box and went into the kitchen.
The weather outside was warm and pleasant, but I liked to turn on the air conditioner at freezing low temperatures and then drink some hot cider in front of the window, looking out from the twenty-third floor of the luxury building I lived in.
I took a medium-size saucepan from the bottom cabinet, put slices of peeled apple and cinnamon sticks into it, and then filled it with just the right amount of water. I split two vanilla sticks in half, emptied their contents into the saucepan, lit the fire, and stirred until it came to a boil.
I can't complain. I lived a very comfortable life.
I was never interested in the glamor and fashion world but, as I looked around at my fancy apartment, located in the heart of New York City, I realized how accurate my parents were when they encouraged me to take another campaign every few months, even when I begged them to leave me alone.
When small little bubbles began to appear in the saucepan, I added a pinch of brown sugar and continued stirring with a wooden spoon.
I loved cooking so much that I would have loved doing it in abundance, but living on my own as a single woman for so long has taught me to prepare everything in small, measured quantities. I've become a master at cooking a serving for one.
About twenty minutes later, I poured the hot cider into a large glass mug and sat down in a comfortable armchair facing the balcony.
I was always very selective in the campaigns I took on. I never meant that as a "hard to get" play, but evidently, that was the perception I gave according to the representatives of the different high-end brands who did their very best to be one of my choices.
Honestly, I really wasn’t trying to be so strict. I just chose the campaigns that would both allow me to take pride in the products they were promoting, and ones that wouldn’t interfere with my normal life routine or my studies.
I only agreed to take on international campaigns after I finished high school, and even then, I made sure to schedule the photo shoots according to the software engineering program I enrolled in, and the schedule for exams at the end of each semester.
Most often, my refusal to accept a campaign offer caused the advertisers to raise their bid higher and higher. They thought I was playing them and I didn’t mind letting them think that. Sometimes, I agreed to trouble myself even in situations where it wasn’t comfortable, in an understandable intent to significantly cushion my savings account, yet against most offers, I stood strong in my decline, despite the great temptation.
I have no regrets of any kind in that regard.
As it turns out, all that extra money didn’t do me any good sitting in my bank account if I ended up sitting alone at the end of every day, drinking my homemade hot cider prepared for one.
Some of my fellow male models or other celebrity friends did reach out to me through their agents to invite me on a date but, to tell the truth, they were the last thing I wished for. I never wanted it to be all about the fame, and I didn’t find anyone who thought that was interesting, yet all the "normal" guys I met outside of the industry were more interested in taking a selfie with me, than getting to know me.