Mother Always Said...

First I should disclaim while writing this in my journal I called myself Veruka.  I still couldn't believe that this was my truth and as long as it was happening to "Veruka" then it wasn't happening to me.  You shall see why in the future blogs...

THE SECOND DATE                                                                                     

When transitioning from the world of the voyeur to the exhibitionist, it is a choice.  It is deliberate and accepting objectification is crucial.  This covers all aspects of your life.  It is coming to the realization that although you may have a level of depth to your soul, your voice is now on mute.  There are simply two choices.  To live in color or to live in black and white.  I tap danced on grey for quite some time until I got it.  When I chose to surrender is when I chose to truly live.

There is a common misconception with modeling.  The sensationalism that we were born as glamazons, we always have a date, and virtually everything we say has no merit.  True that most of us are not formally educated.  But the majority of us have been walking runways in some of the world’s most coveted museums.  Mona Lisa?  Manolo Blahniks?  Yes, these worlds do collide.  Show season should be a season amongst itself.  It is the time of year that commingling the worlds of the financial giants and the open forum to debate this year’s perfect bone structure meet.  I guess at the end of the day, no matter the tax bracket you live in, everyone just wants something beautiful.

When you hear the stories of the overnight rise of a supermodel that was discovered in an airport it has usually been edited.  It is not that easy.  Is anything?  When traveling and working as a model it is a constant conditioning of poise and etiquette.  It is a constant debate over what is acceptable.  Grooming happens naturally as you are thrust in to different cultures.  Living as a commodity becomes priceless. 

The phone rang and I checked the caller ID and it read Cohen Financial Group.  It was Derek.  I know it is so cliché but didn’t we just meet for drinks the night before?  Wasn’t there some 3-day rule for calling?  I wasn’t sure what to expect when I answered because I must admit that it was the strangest first date I have ever been on.  I am putting my foot down, the question and answer portion of this is over.

“Hello?”

“Oriana, good afternoon, it’s Derek Cohen.” (As if I have been out with so many other Derek’s in the last week)

“Hi Derek, how are you?”

He said, “Well thank you.  It was so nice to meet you last night.  Would you be available for dinner sometime next week?”

Hmmmm, I thought. I was curious if he did have some hidden spunk that I didn’t see the day before.  And it wasn’t exactly the worst date I have been on.  I rather enjoyed myself actually.  So “yes” I responded. 

“Great.  How’s Wednesday?” Derek asks.

“Lovely.  Contrary to popular belief I am a meat and potatoes girl and yes, I actually eat”.

“Looking forward to finding the perfect brontosaurus burger for you.”

There it is again.  The dry wit.  Was Derek trying to flirt with me?

I immediately called Laney.  Sometimes I wonder how I trekked around the world solo for most of my life but now could not commit to anything without over analyzing it with Laney.   She always had the ability to keep me soft. 

“Laney, he called.” I said.

“Who called?  Does HE have a name?” she responded.

“Derek.  Derek Cohen called.  He wants to have dinner on Wednesday.”

Laney immediately responded, “Where?  Let me guess, he’s taking you to Europe from dinner?”

I laughed but did pause to think about it.  That would be amazing wouldn’t it?  Actually, not really.  It sounds better than what the jet lag would feel like.  And mother always said, “Travel with a clean face.  Make up and recycled air is a recipe for rough skin and big bags under your eyes.  And bags are bags, nobody cares if they are Gucci.”

“Laney, I love that you are the eternal optimist but I think he was thinking more on the steakhouse scale.  You know, something local, something boutique, something Chicago.”

“O” she said, “When are you going to just let go and go with the flow?  This could be your Romeo.”

“Yes, he very well could be.  But remember…  Ebbing is what makes things flow.”  I retorted.  I don’t know what keeps me so disconnected and unable to believe in that fairytale.  I wondered if it was because my youth was so short lived?  Trust was a big thing for me.  I had grown up in an environment where my roommates were my competition.  We laughed together, we struggled together, we truly loved each other but we still slept with one eye open amongst eachother.  It was like being raised as veal and constantly questioning who is off to the slaughterhouse next?

“And besides, “ I said, “mother always taught me that there is no such thing as free lunch.”

“Blah, blah blah… So more importantly, what shoes are you going to wear?”  That’s the thing about Laney.  She can always add some levity to situations.

All things in life have a trade.  Some trade stock tips, some trade power, some trade beauty secrets.  It’s all relative.  And more often than not, some people trade their souls.

 

When Derek was climbing up his corporate ladder he was sure to cross every “T” and dot every “I”.  He did everything to cement his financial security. He developed teams to analyze other teams to make certain that his future was fool proof.  His every move was calculated and with every zero that was added to his worth doors were flying open.  Helen, his wife of 12 years, was suddenly not good enough.  Sure she was a good mother.  And of course she was there before the riches came.  But was she beautiful?  They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  And I say “ is their eyesight 20/20?” 

Helen had always struggled with her weight.  Although she said she would love to lose about 30 lbs. she honestly needed to drop about 60.  She was insecure about how she looked and she thought MAC make up was the answer.  Although blending her eye shadow was a constant miss, Helen had a very individual look in her eyes.  It was sharp.  It was lonely and there was a sense of fear.  And honestly, I wondered how bad it could have been for her?  It wasn’t until Derek and I began spending more time together that the truth started to unravel. 

Looking back at the beginning of “us” is kind of like looking at a Renoir painting.  There are classic moments with traditional elements but you cannot decide if you love it or hate it.  It’s back to black and white versus color. 

*Oriana