"Is that a country band?"
He doesn't chuckle this time; he laughs. A full deep-throttle laugh that makes my stomach swoop.
"Oh boy. Let me try that again. Hmm…"
I wonder if he's tapping his chin right now.
I wonder how he's sitting.
I wonder what he's wearing.
I wonder what the hell he looks like. At least finding out what he looked like twenty years ago might help a bit with that.
"A popular look back then was tall, lean, and athletic. Think swimmer physique rather than bodybuilder bulk. It was all-American preppy with sharp jawlines, high cheekbones, and either clean-shaven or very light stubble."
I blink a few times. "You looked like that?"
"I did."
I hear him shuffling. Maybe he's changing how he's sitting? The wooden floor isn't exactly comfortable. I wonder why he hasn’t grabbed a chair. In a sign of solidarity, I get off the leather lounge and sit on the ground facing the door.
"I encountered photographers, agents, men, usually older men, who wielded a lot of power and influence in the industry. They were willing to help me grow my career…for a price."
"Oh."
"I think you can guess where this is heading."
I clench my fists. "I think so, yeah."
A few beats pass before he speaks again. "I was never forced to have sex with anyone. But there was definitely an expectation for me to do things in exchange for career advancement. Which I did. And which I felt horrible about."
He sighs heavily. "People have two choices when faced with something bad: they can deal with it, or they can numb themselves. I was young and ill-equipped to deal with what I was experiencing, so I started drinking and doing drugs. It was fun and games for a while…until it wasn't. One night, I was with a photographer in his hotel room. The most powerful photographer in the industry at that time. He kept asking me to do something I wasn't comfortable with."
I hug my knees, somehow knowing to brace myself for something dark to come.
"He said watersports were a major fetish for him, and he wanted to piss on me. I kept saying no and, somehow, managed to finish having sex and getting him off without having to do that. I thought that was it, I'd dodged a bullet and was in the clear. He got most of what he wanted, and I'd scored a hot jeans campaign. I got up and started getting dressed when he snuck up behind me, shoved me so hard I fell to the ground, and started urinating all over me."
"Oh my god."
"It was the worst moment of my life. Truly rock bottom. I must've blocked parts of that night from my subconscious because, for the life of me, I can't remember getting out of there. Or how I got back to my apartment. All I remember is sitting under the shower once I was safely back home, bawling my eyes out."
I don't even know what to say.
"That was a turning point for me. I quit modeling. I got sober. And with the contacts I'd made and the money I'd saved, I was able to put a downpayment on a small bungalow in LA, and I secured two silent investors in this place."
"Wow, Kip. I'm so glad you were able to rebuild your life the way you have."
"Me, too. It wasn't easy, but I'm one of the lucky ones. I know a lot of models—male and female—who have been through so much worse than what I went through. My sobriety has been an on-off journey. I'm fully sober now, not California sober like I tried to be. Some people can make that work, but I'm not one of them. I love what I do for a living. I own my own home, and last year, I paid out my investors, so this store is all mine, too. No one can ever take anything away from me."
"Wow," I say again because I am in awe of this man.
He called me strong and brave, buthe'sthe strong and brave one for not only getting out of that horrible situation, but creating a great new life for himself.
My brows pinch in a frown. "I'm sorry I called you sexy."
"Excuse me?"
"Before. I called you sexy. After what you've told me, I feel bad. I didn't mean to objectify you. I take it back."
