Chapter 1 The Man Behind the Model

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"Listen David, this is a great opportunity, I know it isn't what you're used to, but it might jumpstart a whole new market for you, just think about it, okay?" 

My agent was giving me her big push, which means she was seeing dollar signs in front of her eyes.  Actually, that's not fair, she's been a great agent and she, along with the rest of my team have helped my career more than I could ever have imagined.  Marcie Dowd, my agent; Janice Spitzer, my publicist and Jenny Gables, my stylist were the dream team for any model and each of them claimed me as their top client and main focus since my career took off three years ago.

My name is David James and, apparently, I am the number one male model in the world right now.  At least, that's what my publicist boasts and my agent touts.  I don't even know how I got here.  It's not at all what I thought I would be doing when I was growing up.  Truth be told, I didn't know what I would be doing.  At first I thought I might become a vet, but I failed chemistry, almost failed biology and I wasn't great at math either.  All the subjects you need to excel in to get into veterinary college.  I also thought about engineering or architecture, I liked building things and working with my hands, but who am I kidding, my grades were mediocre at best.  My ever practical Dad suggested becoming a mechanic because I loved cars and as a teenager I always had an old car I was tinkering with.  But I was more interested in driving them than fixing other people's cars.  His last suggestion was to follow in his footsteps, but I definitely didn't want to do that. 

My Dad was career army.  Yeah, I was an army brat.  Lived in the Midwest, East Coast, Southeast, Northwest even a few years in Germany when I was small.  People who love to travel think it's really great, but for a kid, especially a shy kid, it was almost impossible to make friends, and being an only child, it meant spending a lot of time on my own.  When I was 14 however, my Dad was offered a prestigious training position at an army base in Michigan where we settled down and my parents have remained ever since.  So in my teen years I finally made a few close friends and our small family finally set down some roots.

When I graduated High School, it was either join the army or continue my education.  I chose school and was somehow accepted to the University of Michigan where I studied Liberal Arts and then switched to Marketing in my junior year.  In my senior year a friend of mine sent my picture to a regional modelling contest; something I never would have done in a million years.  In my mind, male models were either over-the-top posers like Zoolander or super skinny waifs with blank faces.  I was chubby and short until I was 16 when I started to grow, fast.  By the time I graduated High School I was tall and skinny, topping out at 6' 4". 

So neither of the two images of myself, short and fat and then tall and skinny ever gave me any reason to think I was anything worth looking at.  None of the girls in school looked at me twice.   I seemed to spend my entire teenage years in various "awkward" stages, so instead I hid; I was the quintessential wallflower.  When Maya showed me the letter saying I had made the cut and was invited to the competition, I laughed in her face.  Me, a model?  Yeah, so not happening.  I had filled out quite a bit since High School having gotten into a regular exercise and lifting routine with some of my friends, but in my head I was still just chubby David or geeky David or awkward David.

I somehow let her convince me to go; against my better judgement.  All I had to do was walk around in some fancy clothes, take a few pictures and there was a $5,000 first prize and $1,000 second prize.  I could certainly use the money, even though I didn't think I had a chance of winning.  Maya brought me to some fancy hair stylist who did a number on my somewhat wild, curly mop, and then she helped me pick out a few outfits to wear.  The really crazy thing?  I won.  Not only the $5,000 but a contract.  I was a senior in University and pretty soon I was getting paid decent money to get my picture taken.  In the beginning it was mostly catalog work, doing shoots in between my class schedule, but by the time I graduated I was being flown around the country and then to Europe for all sorts of high end shoots.  I was getting paid more than my friends who went straight to Monday through Friday 9 to 5 jobs, for travelling to exotic locations to get my picture taken.  I didn't get it, but I wasn't about to turn it down.

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