It all happened 30-some-odd years ago.
I was sleeping when the 7:30 call came. One of my many Hollywood connections needed a bald model. I wasn’t an actor or a model, but I was bald. I still am. Even more so. I was offered $300 to be at a certain address ASAP.
I jumped out of bed, showered, dressed, and hopped in my car. Two hours later (damned Los Angeles traffic) I arrived at a beautiful Craftsman style house just north of the Miracle Mile, the home and studio of the photographer who would take our wedding photos.
Soon after my arrival, my goatee became a problem. Basically they only wanted me for my body. I get that. My head would be replaced in the final photo with another actor’s face so they wanted my whole head to be bald.
An assistant drove me to the Wilshire Boulevard Rite-Aid and bought a $90 beard trimmer. Back at the photo studio, I used it to shave off my goatee. Then they dressed me in a tuxedo.
I sat and waited for my bride-to-be’s arrival. When she showed up, she looked just as you’d imagine; short red hair close to the sides of her head and wearing a colorful, diaphanous one-piece thing with long sleeves. She looked great. They immediately whisked her into the bathroom.
When she came out she looked as she does in this picture with wedding gown, make-up and wig. I was called over and introduced to my future wife. I decided to kiss some A-list butt so after our introduction I said, “I guess it’s true what they say. Every bride is beautiful on her wedding day.”
She rolled her eyes and went, “pfft!”
At this point, some explanation is needed. The photo was intended for the opening credits of a film called “Used People.” The camera would pan old photos illustrating things that happened before the movie starts. Shirley’s character was divorced at the start of the picture. I was standing in for her ex that she never wanted to marry in the first place, thus her dyspeptic look. I like to think she was in character when she went “pfft!” and not because she was annoyed by my ass-kissery.
Shirley was taller than I thought she would be. The internet says 5’7″ and that seems right. Still the photographer put her on a box because I’m over six feet tall and the actor I was standing in for wasn’t.
The bulk of the direction from the photographer was not addressed to my bride, but to me.
“André pull your chin in.”
“Try to look fatter.”
“Scrunch your head down.”
It was tiring, but I take direction well and within thirty minutes we were done. My bride was whisked away to the bathroom once again and came out looking just as she had when she arrived, like Shirley MacLaine. I don’t recall saying goodbye to her.
That was it. I changed into my civvies and drove home. No reception, no honeymoon. Aside from my matrimonial memories, I took home $300 and the $90 beard trimmer from Rite-Aid. I used it to trim the goatee I eventually grew back.
In the end the “Used People” opening was dropped, depriving my body of its film debut.
But I still have this photo.
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