Almost 5'4"

Almost 5′ 4″ (#litres_trial_promo)

A Place of My Own (Well, Almost) (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue: Stand Tall (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Suitcase (#ulink_dad24340-cd21-55a3-b769-3f119289d19b)

March 2006, Harlem, New York City

My clothes smelled awful. I hadn’t done any laundry for about six weeks. Actually, more like six months. I sat on my suitcase, using all my weight to shut it, nearly breaking the zipper in the process.

My life was inside that bag.

I had no idea where I would be sleeping later. I had a photo shoot in a few hours and if the photographer turned out to be cool he might let me stay at his place. Failing that I could call a friend and sleep on their floor.

Here I was leaving yet another apartment. I thought back over all the places I had lived in during the few short years since leaving home. Astoria, Brooklyn Heights, the college dorms on 88th and Riverside, Syracuse, those seven months in Miami. And now I was leaving Harlem behind as well.

I had precisely $23 in my pocket.

I checked my suitcase zipper one more time to make sure it was secure. It was. Something had to be.

If you took the contents of that case – three pairs of shoes, my notorious red dress, a few pairs of jeans, some scrappy tops, my journal and the many scraps of paper with names and dates scribbled on them – you pretty much had Isobella Jade.

Not forgetting the most important item of all: my modeling portfolio.

Now that I had finished packing I realized the smell hadn’t gone away. I sniffed at myself and it wasn’t pleasant. I had been wearing the same underwear for three days. I felt gross and disgusting, but there was no time for laundry and I really couldn’t afford the $4.50 anyway.

As I sat there I wondered why I was doing all this. Why I was flitting from place to place with barely enough money to eat. Did I really want to be a model this much? Was it really worth all the doubt, the rejection, the poverty, the sacrifice, the broken relationships?

Hell yeah.

Modeling was my dream and nothing was going to stop me. I would do anything to get what I wanted. I would endure all the hardships my chosen profession could throw at me.

I would even lie to my own mother.

Hello Mom (#ulink_51b8e30f-8fbd-59f1-99b9-0784e118fc93)

I was en route to the subway with my case dragging behind me when I felt the vibration of my cell phone in my coat pocket, but I ignored it. It was on vibrate for a reason; I didn’t want to talk to anyone.

It kept vibrating.

Annoyed, I looked at the digital display. Shit. It was the worst person to call at that moment. Her voice would kill me.

‘Hello, Mom…can you hear me?’

Boxes of fruit, ketchups, and empanadas lined the street, ready to be shelved at the storefronts I passed. I had to zigzag through the commotion.

‘Mom, are you there?’ I had my mother and an uncertain future in my hands, an awkward mix.

‘Yes, I’m here, Heather, how are you?’ I hated it when she said my real name, especially at this moment.

‘I’m good. I’m going to SoHo, Mom.’ She had only been to New York City once before; I don’t think she actually knew where SoHo was.

‘Oh, that sounds like fun, what else are you doing today?’ Oh great, she sounded talkative.

Answering her with the truth would be like pulling my own teeth; I hated talking to her about modeling, about myself, about my living situation. She had given me the money to get the apartment that I had just walked out on. Telling her that I’d wasted her $1500 would not go over well. Telling her the truth would ruin my day, let alone hers. It would ruin this moment.

‘I’m going to do some laundry.’ Lie. ‘And mail out some more comp cards.’ Another lie; I had no stamps. ‘It’s a nice day in the city. I might go to the…Mom, I gotta go. I’m about to get on the train!’ I lied again. The train was three blocks away.

‘I wanted to see if you were alive. It has been a couple of weeks and you haven’t called.’

She was right. I had avoided calling her for fear that she would ask about my life and I’d be forced to lie, just like I was doing now.

‘Sorry, gotta go!’

Speaking with my Mom reminded me of home. It would be so easy to walk back into the security of my old life. I felt vulnerable hearing her voice. If anything was going to make me give up it was this. I needed to be strong. I had to push away the guilt and stay focused. I consoled myself with the thought that it was often at these lowest moments that a new modeling job would appear.

Four Years Earlier (#ulink_f49af059-db55-5532-8e8d-0b4fbcd7ef45)

‘Heather, I need to talk to you.’

We had just finished Thanksgiving dinner: turkey and stuffing, Jell-O and green bean casserole. It was great to be home, to see my mom and sister. It had been a good day, too good to last.

My sister Lara followed me to my mother’s bedroom, walking proudly. She knew what was going on.

‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

Of course I said, ‘No.’

She paused, eyeing me carefully. ‘What is this then? Do you know where this came from?’

My mom whipped out the evidence. It was a photo of me posing butt naked. I was only wearing a smile and an American flag that barely covered my nipples and crotch. I looked at it in disbelief.

‘When did you do this?’

Heart racing, I recalled the face of that ugly, shaggy, scary old Santa Claus of a photographer and wondered why he would put my photo on his website. Why did I even sign that damn release? Perhaps I could persuade my mother that I had been tricked into doing it – the naïve young model exploited by the seasoned professional.

Fuck! I knew that wasn’t the truth. I had wanted to be naked that day. The photographer had given me $300 and it was my first job as a paid model. I booked it all by myself, too. After the shoot I felt beautiful and radiant. Now everything was ruined and I was back to being that ugly girl again – the one who wore hand-me-downs and glasses, the one who never fit in.

‘I don’t know,’ I mumbled quietly. I hated myself, couldn’t believe I’d been caught. ‘Mom, I just…’ There had to be a way I could explain things in a logical way without sounding like an idiot. Instead, I felt a flush of heat. I couldn’t think straight. My secret was out, loud and obnoxious. I couldn’t shut it up. Before I could think of some explanation, my sister spoke up instead.