All she had left was $1600, and she still needed pictures. No actress was going anywhere in this town without pictures to give to agents.
Shelley had woefully underestimated how much reserve she needed when she dumped Penn law school to move to Los Angeles to try her hand at acting. Especially since the only person in her family to still be speaking to her was her aunt.
""Shelley, anyone can see you're miserable here," Leigh had said that Sunday when she and Shelley has discussed her plan. "When I moved this far inland I never understood how much I'd miss the ocean, either. But I don't think I got quite so upset about it as you have, honey." Leigh had adopted Philadelphia as her hometown long ago, and seemed happy, although she missed her late husband, an author who had been the first to urge Shelley to keep at her writing.
Law school was interesting, all consuming, competitive, exciting - and not at all what Shelley wanted to do with her life. She wanted, more than anything else, to make her living as a writer. She had developed an odd friendship with a man she met on the Internet, who started out as a sexy chat friend, and developed, miracle of miracles, into another aspiring writer. They shared and critiqued each other's work. And sexy chats. Shelley was saving herself for marriage, which Mark seemed to understand, but their online roleplaying sizzled. At least it did for Shelley. She didn't know about Mark.
But Shelley had kept her developing plan from even Mark. As far as he knew, she was sitting on her sofa with her head in a law book in Philadelphia, not hauling boxes up two flights of steps to a dinky North Hollywood apartment. She'd kept the same email address, but she hadn't breathed a word of her runaway plan. He was so much older than she, and much wiser, and he would probably have advised her to stay put.
To make ends meet in Philadelphia, Shelley waitressed, worked as a telemarketing fundraiser for a big university, and did some minor modeling and acting. She'd managed to put some money away and if she was very frugal and tossed in her graduation money, she thought she could make the move for about $5,000. So she saved.
Now, she finally sat, sweaty and exhausted and with her muscles cramping from the effort, on a box in a sunny walk up in a small stucco apartment building on a quiet side street of North Hollywood. The rent was less than she had imagined, more than she had hoped, and she suspected it was so because the afternoon sun was brutal. The apartment received the full blast. Too bad she couldn't see the ocean, but she sure could feel the heat of the setting sun.
Her aunt had promised to intercede with her formidable parents. "Look, honey, your father did some stupid stuff when we were growing up. He wasn't always the knight in shining armor he is now. And Martine wasn't an angel, either. Your parents will calm down sooner than you think. Leave them to me."
So Shelley had finished her first term at Penn, making very sure her grades were good, experiencing her first - and last - horrible snowy Philadelphia winter, and lit out for LA. She naively assumed she would support herself by acting and waitressing while she tried to make it as a writer. She'd exercised the old Saab, found that it liked to cruise at 90, babied it, engaged the clutch in to coast down long straight-aways to save gas, learned to keep the tach in the green zone for the best gas mileage, and arrived in LA.
"Here I am. Sunny southern California. I don't know a soul. I don't know my way around. I don't have a job. And it feels great!" Shelley dived happily backward onto her bed, her arms spread eagled, and listened to all the new sounds around her. She had never heard the sound of traffic until she moved to Philadelphia. Now the LA traffic sounded different. She would have to think about that one. All her senses were on high alert, attuned, as writers do, to every nuance, every difference, in her experiences.
***************
Shelley balanced her checkbook again. Correction: she tried to balance it. As many times as her father had patiently tried to show her what to do, she never came up with the same number twice. She usually just gave up and believed whatever number the online banking screen told her. "They're the professionals, not me. I'll believe them" she shrugged on more than one occasion. Sixteen hundred bucks remained of the $5,000 she'd calculated she'd need for her first six months. Six weeks had passed.
Now she stood on the searing pavement, checking the address of the photographer against the strip of paper in her hand. Another aspiring actress-waitress had scribbled the name of a photographer who had a rep for helping out young actresses with discounts.
"Anitra Collins - Art Photography, Acting and Modeling Comps, Fashion and Commercial Photography" read the small oval sign on the door. Shelley shaded her eyes to peek through the glass. Inside she saw a small waiting area and a door, which she assumed led to the studio. She pulled open the glass door and stepped inside.
No one was in the waiting area, but Shelley could hear two voices - both female - coming from what she assumed was the studio. She sat to wait, her simple blue summer dress demure and sexy at the same time. She'd lugged a bag with changes of clothes for her photo shoot. No telling what she'd be asked to wear.
After about 15 minutes, two women emerged from the studio. The taller one, a stunning black woman with two cameras around her neck, the other a shorter blonde "cheerleader type." Shelley had already been told she had too serious a look for cheerleader roles. It was just as well.
"Thanks so much, Anitra, I think the pictures will be great," said the "cheerleader."
The taller woman bent to kiss the smaller woman and caressed her cheek. "Wow, they must be friends," Shelley thought.
"I'll call you in about a week, Mandie. Your proofs should be done by then," Anitra Collins said.
The two younger girls smiled at each other as the "cheerleader" exited the building. Anitra Collins extended her hand to Shelley. "You must be Shelley Martin, my 5 p.m. client," Collins said, as her eyes swept the younger girl's figure appraisingly.
"Yes, I think maybe Suzie Thomas may have told you about me? I need an acting comp done," Shelley explained.
"Oh, yes, I spoke with Suzie about you...I am happy to do what I can, always, for young actresses just starting out. I was one once, too, you know."
"You were an actress?" Shelley asked.
"It was a long time ago, dear, and it never really went very far. That's why I like photography. On my side of the lens, age doesn't matter," laughed the black woman, whose skin was the color of milk chocolate. She must be mixed race, Shelley mused, because her hair was straight and lustrous. She estimated the woman's age at - or near - 30.
Glorious, sexy and very professional head shots lined the waiting area of the photography studio, but Shelley didn't recognize anyone in particular, although it was obvious the shots were professional, not family-type photos. She followed Anitra to the studio, where she was somewhat surprised to see a different variety of photos lining the walls. These were much more sexually explicit photos: girls topless and nude, men reclining with erections, or standing to flex their muscles. Shelley looked startled, and she knew it.
Anitra Collins laughed at Shelley's face. "Well, you don't expect me to display these out in the lobby, do you?" she laughed.
"Um, well, no, I guess not," Shelley said, slightly uncomfortable. But hey, this was Hollywood. She was sure she would see worse, eventually.
They began with a series of tests shots with Shelley wearing the dress she had on and the simple makeup she always wore. She perched on a stool, moved this way and that, clipped her hair up, let her hair fall, left profile, right profile, tight head shot, full body shot. Then Anitra told Shelley to put her hands on the stool behind her, take a deep breath and throw her head back. Shelley did as she was told, but it seemed to her that her breasts were more prominently displayed in the shots than her face.
A few clothing changes - a skintight lycra strapless dress, a short skirt and midriff-baring shirt, and a couple of bikinis, one demure, one very hot - and Shelley discovered she was having a good time. She began to relax with Anitra, too, as the photographer told her how to pose and hold her head. They began to banter, a sexy teasing banter, that Anitra said was designed to let Shelley relax and allow her personality to show in the photos.
When she donned the tight lycra dress, she felt she could barely breathe, but Anitra told her she looked "hot, honey, very hot" and shot a lot of film of her. Behind the lens, she asked Shelley to pull the front of the dress down a bit, so Shelley's cleavage would show more. After a series of shots of this, Anitra casually walked over the Shelley and rubbed the backs of her fingers over Shelley's nipples.
"Anitra, what are you doing?" an astonished Shelley said, covering herself with her arms in embarrassment.