This is one for the books …
Shortly after signing with Ford Models, I moved into what we called the Models Apartment. Whenever in New York for work, I was afforded the benefit of sharing a fourth-floor walk up in Tribeca with the teenie-bopper models who currently called it home. Yes that’s right: A forty-three year old Southern woman sharing an apartment with a group of egomaniacal girls young enough to be my daughters.
One evening, after a long day of flying by the seat of my pants, in and out of subways (mass transit, like a true New Yorker), three “go sees,” one request, a stop by Ford, and—of course—a little shopping (duh!), I dragged myself up the stairs to our apartment and fumbled for my keys at the door.
Inside, I found I was the first to arrive.
Okay, what could I do for dinner? Certainly didn’t expect a meal from the girls. Unless you count a stick of celery or, on a special occasion, a carrot.
I was thrilled to see someone had left fresh parsley out on the counter. Perfect! I’d been meaning to whip up some of my good ole spaghetti sauce anyway … I’d even bought the ingredients a few days before up the road at Dag Foods.
Oh, wouldn’t the girls be thrilled to come home to a plate of hot spaghetti! Just the thing to show I’m a team player and to bring my roomies and me a bit closer!
I decided to wait until they got home to eat, so I went in my room to unwind. A while later, I heard them coming up the stairs, talking a mile a minute.
I greeted them at the door. “Hey girls!” (flash Ford model smile) “Guess what! I made us some spaghetti!”
“That’s awesome, Lee Ann,” they said to me. Then, looking around the kitchen, they asked, “But where’s the pot?”
“The pot? You mean the one I used for the sauce? It’s right here.”
You have got to be kidding me!
Well, if I’d expected them to be pleased with my efforts, I was deeply mistaken.
I just stood there with my jaw hanging. What else could I do? Me, three pot-smoking models, and a spaghetti sauce that could light up Times Square!
The next morning I called Patty at Ford …
And moved. 😦
The Bipolar Experience – LeeAnn Jefferies