Welcome to the World, Baby Girl! (8 page)

A month later, back in New York looking at proofs, the photographer came to the Nordstrom girl’s picture, viewing it through a magnifier, and he recalled the moment. “You’re right. Look at this kid. Hell, you can’t get a bad shot of her! This kid has a goddamn golden, million-dollar face.” He turned to his assistant. “Find out who she is and how we can get in touch with her.”

“I told you,” Albert said. “When she walked in she was nothing. I slapped a little makeup on, did a little shading, and whammo.”

The photographer was still studying the picture. “Damn, I just put her in a plain black turtleneck sweater and started shooting and look—
look
at that bone structure. What is she, Swedish or something?”

“I don’t know.”

His assistant came back in with a list. “Name is Dena Nordstrom.”

“I knew it,” the photographer said, “we got us a baby Garbo here or another Ingrid Bergman. How old is this girl?”

“Fifteen.”

The photographer was disappointed. “Oh, well, I can dream, can’t I.”

Albert, who knew him well, reminded him, “Yeah, that’s all you can do if you don’t want another irate mother—or the law—after you.”

The photographer sighed elaborately. He said to his assistant, “Call Hattie over at the agency and tell her we are sending over some pictures … but tell her we get to use her first.”

Two days later, after a phone call was made to Dena’s school and Dena’s mother was finally located at work, Hattie Smith explained that she handled only the top teenage models and that she wanted to sign Dena to a five-year contract and start her to work right away. “You have quite an exceptional daughter. We think with the right representation she has a tremendous future ahead of her.”

Hattie sat back and waited to hear what she always heard from mothers, how excited they were that their little girls were going to be models. This one said only two words: “Absolutely not.”

Dena’s mother was alarmed. She had not known that Dena had been photographed.

Hattie sat up. “Excuse me?”

“Mrs. Smith, I appreciate your interest but we will have to decline your offer.”

“But we think she can be a big star. As a matter of fact, we were considering perhaps using both of you in a mother and daughter spread they are doing next month for
Family Circle
, so if you could send us a recent photograph of yourself—”

“Oh, I don’t think you understand. I do not want my daughter’s picture or mine in any magazine. I’m afraid I don’t approve. I’m sorry.”

Hattie was frustrated. “But I don’t think you understand. Your daughter is capable of making money—a
lot
of money—posing for magazines or doing commercials. You don’t disapprove of money, do you?”

There was a silence. “I work very hard for my money, Mrs. Smith, and I intend to have my daughter receive an education before we consider anything else for her future.”

Hattie was not giving up. “We have no intention of interfering with her education, all of our girls continue their education; we can schedule her shoots around school hours. We already have a shoot lined up for her at
Seventeen
magazine, possibly a cover.”

“Mrs. Smith, as I said before, I do not want my daughter photographed. I am trying to be as tactful as I possibly can, but thank you, no.” And she hung up.

Hattie said, “Damn!”

In three years, when Dena was on her own, they called back and her first professional photo shoot put her on the cover of
Seventeen
magazine. After which she was offered a college scholarship to study drama at Southern Methodist University in Dallas. Dena was pleased, but she did not stay. After her sophomore year she quit to take a job as a weather girl at a television station in Ft. Worth. She had to support herself and as much as she loved the idea of studying theater, she quickly found out television was where the money was and she was good at it from the start.

After eleven months, she began to move from station to station, almost every time to a little larger market, and, in her mind at least, working closer and closer to New York. Dena didn’t mind going from place to place; she was used to it. Her mother had moved all
over the country from the time she was four. She was willing to get as much experience as possible, no matter how many places she had to go. When she hit the network, she wanted to be ready.

She worked in Arkansas; Billings, Montana; then Oklahoma; Kentucky; back to Billings; and on to Richmond, Virginia, where she started off as a weather girl again but eventually worked up to cohost of the local morning program, doing features about art shows, horse shows, dog shows, and occasionally interviewing celebrities coming through town. When the actress Arlene Francis came to Richmond, she liked the way Dena handled the interview and mentioned it to her agents. Sandy Cooper was a young talent agent who specialized in television and was on the lookout for bright new female talent. The women’s movement was gaining momentum; he knew the networks had quietly started searching for more women to groom, because they knew it was only a matter of time before they would be obligated to hire one or two in the news departments. And Sandy wanted to get in on it from the start.

One weekend he and his wife drove to Richmond and stayed over to watch this Dena Nordstrom on the show Monday morning. He liked what he saw. Nordstrom’s beauty was certainly distinctive, but she had characteristics he knew the networks were looking for. She was smart, she was quick, she had that nice-girl-next-door quality coupled with a smile that lit up the screen. She had all this going for her but most important, she passed the ultimate test for Sandy. His wife, Bea, who was short and stout and usually hated pretty women, liked Dena. All he had to find out now was if this girl was ambitious or not. That question was answered in less than five minutes after they met, and an hour later she was signed as a client of the William Morris Agency, one of the largest and most powerful agencies in the country. Three months later Sandy found out that a local New York station was looking for a girl to replace Nancy Lamb, and whoever got the position would be a candidate for an eventual move to network. He set up an interview for Dena with Ira Wallace, head of the station’s news department.

Dena flew in from Richmond the next week. Sandy picked her up at the hotel. Sandy wanted to walk so he would have a little time
to prepare her for Ira Wallace and warn her not to be put off by his personality. Even as far away as Richmond, Dena had already heard stories. The talent was terrified of him but she was not worried. She had rarely, if ever, met a man she could not charm. She was ready for this job, and she knew it. When they reached the right floor, Sandy gave the receptionist their names. They heard a loud, impatient voice bark back through the intercom.

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Cooper and Miss Nordstrom are here, Mr. Wallace.”

“Who?”

The receptionist repeated, “Mr. Cooper and Miss Nordstrom. They have an appointment.”

“I don’t know who the hell that is.” He clicked off.

The receptionist seemed unruffled and told them to have a seat.

Dena looked at Sandy. “Are you sure we have an appointment?” Sandy, as unconcerned as the receptionist, picked up a magazine. “Yes, he just does that to try and intimidate you.”

Dena sat down. “Well, it’s working.”

“Don’t let it bother you. He does it to everybody.”

As they sat there they could hear Ira Wallace yelling obscenities at somebody or a group of somebodies. After thirty-five minutes, he buzzed the receptionist.

“Those two yahoos still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, Christ, all right. Send them in.”

Dena stood up. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going in there. He doesn’t even know we have an appointment.”

The receptionist looked at Dena. “He knows you have an appointment. He’s just an ass. Go on in.”

Reluctantly, Dena followed Sandy down the hall. Sandy stood outside the office and knocked lightly. They could hear him on the phone, but he managed to yell, “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

Sandy motioned for Dena to go first. The room reeked of cigar smoke. She looked over and saw Wallace, a fat, bald man, who looked exactly like a big sea bass wearing a white shirt, black plastic glasses, and smoking a cigar, sitting behind a ten-foot-long desk. He
did not get up. He glanced at her for a second and continued cursing into the receiver, leaving them standing. They waited while the little man with the shiny, sweaty head continued to berate whoever he was talking to. The longer Dena remained standing and ignored, the madder she got. She could feel her face getting flushed. If there was anything Dena had inherited from her mother, it was pride, and she was not going to let this little toad humiliate her, no matter how much she wanted the job.

The second he hung up the phone, she walked right up to Ira Wallace’s desk, reached over, and forced him to shake hands. “How do you do, Mr. Wallace. I’m Dena Nordstrom. What a pleasure to meet you. No, don’t bother to get up. We will have a seat, thank you.”

Wallace looked at her as if she had just dropped in from Mars.

She sat down and smiled at him. “Now, Mr. Wallace—tell me a little about yourself. I like to really get to know people before I make any decision about accepting a job.”

He looked at Sandy Cooper, who was clearly confused, too. Wallace took the cigar out of his mouth. “What … is she kidding?”

Sandy tried to recover. “Uh, Mr. Wallace, did you by any chance get to take a look at the tapes?”

Before Wallace could answer, Dena looked at her watch and said, “Oh, darn it all. I wish I could stay. I am
so
sorry, Mr. Wallace, but unfortunately, I’m already late for another appointment.”

She stood up and walked over and shook his hand again. “It’s always so nice to meet such a charming gentleman with such lovely manners.”

She said to Sandy on the way out, “I’ll call you later.”

Both men, their mouths open, watched as she left.

As Dena waited for the elevator, she said, “That man is a pig.”

The receptionist, without looking up, said, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

After the elevator door closed and Dena was alone, she burst into tears.

Back in the office, Wallace shouted at Sandy, “What is she, nuts? You waste my time with insane people? What’s the matter with her?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wallace, I don’t know what happened. I know she wanted the job; she flew in for the meeting.”

“Are you sure she’s not just some nut case?”

“Oh, no, she’s very responsible. I don’t know what to tell you … except maybe, maybe you might have hurt her feelings or something?”

“Hurt her feelings?”

“She’s from the midwest. I think maybe she might be a little sensitive.”

“Sensitive? Well, she’ll have to get over that crap if she wants to come to work for me. I liked her tapes but I’m not putting up with any prima donna shit.”

Sandy said, “You liked her tapes?”

Wallace shrugged. “She might have potential—if she don’t go whacko on us.”

“Oh, no, she’s fine, I assure you.”

“I don’t know how smart she is—she could be just another dumb bimbo like the rest of them—but she’s got the kinda look we want. That sappy, corn-fed, fresh-off-the-farm face and … well, some sort of class. So we might be willing to try her out.”

Sandy changed gears in a hurry. “You’re absolutely right about that, Ira. That’s why I brought her to you before somebody snapped her up. Not only is she beautiful but she has a lot of experience—six local stations, but she was the most popular on-air personality in Richmond.”

“I don’t care if she was Miss America, she starts at the bottom here; she understand that?”

“Oh, yes,” said Sandy.

“A lot of hard work. We’ll give her fifty thousand a year, with a thirteen-week out clause. Ours, not hers.”

Sandy said, “Great, great. And I can tell you she’s not afraid of work. She does a great interview.”

“All right, don’t oversell.”

Sandy started to back out of the office before Wallace had a chance to change his mind.

“And tell your princess-and-the-pea client, if she can find time in her busy schedule, to get her butt back in here tomorrow morning.”