Wednesday, October 4, 2006
Fabio? Si, ho detto Fabio. Once-upon-a-time Emma was one of those highly specialized models that couldn’t do runway (too short), wasn’t right for print (still too short, asymmetrical features) and didn’t quite measure up for lingerie work (read: flat-chested, white girl’s rear). The gray area in between? Carefully ripped bodices and prairie skirts whilst straddling a horse and falling helplessly into Fabio’s arms. For verisimilitude, they fell in love and moved in together.
Whose life is that anyway?
That, of course, was after she and A.Z. had a brief flirtation back in the early 80’s. This dalliance, affair—call it what you will—was the reason she landed the 6-figure “marketing director” position with A.Z.’s company. Back in the day, if she coughed, he came running. Now, the tables were turned. Emma wasn’t a nubile 21 year-old and A.Z. was a self-important “husband of” that had begun to build his hip hotel empire from wifey’s Rolodex. Suddenly, he was someone.
But, Emma had a long memory— and videotapes—of the early days so she was comfortable, an office fixture that would never be updated for a younger, sleeker model. Forget contracts and professional performance: Emma soon showed me (patience, dear readers) that in the Big City, VHS tapes are the best job security of all…