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My name is Jenna Jansen; those of you who are a little older probably remember me. I was the top model in the fashion world just a few short years ago. Of course the kids these days don't remember anyone for longer than 15 minutes but that's really a good thing.
Now a days I find myself working as fashion consultant slash cashier at my neighborhood seven eleven. I don't do much fashion consulting, it's mostly the cashiering part; not that those bratty girls today need much consulting. They seem to just throw on whatever fits the tightest and the shortest; with the more skin they show, the better. They're nothing better than whores and believe me I know about whores; that's pretty much what led me to where I am now. Don't get me wrong I still enjoy the benefits of my fame; at least once a day some balding, fifty year old geek will wander into my store and regale me with "didn't you used to be Jenna J" or some such drivel. Ooh boy, be still my heart.
So how did I manage to climb the ladder backwards, from the lofty heights of fame and fortune, to my present situation? Well I'll tell you, since you obviously want to know, but I'm gonna have to make this quick, my break is only so long after all.
First off Models and photographers should never fall in love, too many egos and creative juices in the same place is too potent a mixture to last for very long. And there's simply too much temptation on both sides. But conventional wisdom to the contrary, that's what happened. Right after my first Vogue cover my agency set me up to do a shoot for Glam Rag with the hottest photographer on the planet at that time and now, Eric Dickerson. Well he was Eric Dickerson then, now everybody knows him as Gringo.
From the first time we laid eyes on each other it was love at first sight. I don't mean he just wanted to take my pictures; it was true love, and we both fell hard. On the business side, Eric had a way of bringing out the very best of me. He shot me from angles that no other lens-man seemed to capture. Whether it was a certain expression, or just the mood he put me in when we worked together, it was just magic. And that was part of the problem, but I'll get to that later.
Of course the other parts of the relationship were equally magical, for those of you who don't have a romantic side that means the sex was incredible. I thought that I hadn't been fucked until Eric and I first did it. After that we were inseparable. After only 6 months we made it legal, and became the hottest fashion duo in the world. I was 19 when we met and Eric was 27. Marriages in the fashion or entertainment world don't generally last for very long, again it's the dueling egos thing. But there's also the fact that when you can literally have anyone you see, it's sometimes hard to say no.
For the first 9 years of our marriage, we did though, we said no to everything and anything that would try to separate us. I thought that we'd last forever and we might have if not for my stupidity.
You see at least for a woman, the fashion lifestyle doesn't last very long, there's always someone younger or hotter, or just different coming along. Seniority doesn't bring you respect it just makes you old. So in my late twenties, I was no longer the darling of the magazines and the runways, I was just another model. Eric on the other hand was still in great demand. There were some clients that he would only take if they used me as their model or spokesperson. It was his way of helping me to stretch my career out longer, but I was too wrapped up in my own hype to see it then.
The reality was that I was getting fewer and fewer jobs, and making less and less money every year. But Eric's experience and ability to get the shot and get it from a completely original perspective seemed to only get better with age and experience. That's funny isn't it, an experienced photographer gets better and better, but an experienced model is just old.
Eric had been making some noise for the last couple of years about us settling down and making some babies, but I had told him that I couldn't do that to my body while I was still young. I can't believe that I had turned down the chance for a more permanent life with the man I loved, for just my own vanity, but that's what I did; that and more. Anyway for a long time Eric was the only photographer I'd work with. He still shot other models, but did his best work with me.
Eric did 50 or 60 shoots in 2004, I did 3. The writing was on the wall for everyone but me.
Eric started making plans for us to retire and raise a family together. I told my agent to start accepting gigs from other photographers, because I thought that Eric was holding me back. Why I thought that, I still don't know today; Eric was actually holding me up not back, but my ego couldn't deal with it.
On one of those shoots with another photographer, the seeds that destroyed my world were sown. I was having trouble doing the things that the stylist and the photographer wanted. At 31 I couldn't hold some of the poses the other girls could and the shoot was a nightmare. I even heard the stylist tell the photographer not to expect too much because I was kind of long in the tooth.
Several of the people on the set heard it and laughed. I was crushed and I couldn't believe anyone would dare talk about me that way. One of the other models asked me for my autograph. That made me feel a little better, it's always good to have fans among your peers. I felt good all the way up until she told me that she had seen my first cover when she was in the 2nd grade.
While I was in my dressing room feeling sorry for myself, one of the assistants told me not to worry about those assholes because they didn't really know what true beauty was. He told me that the photographer and the crew should all bow down and worship me. He sounded so much like Eric when he said that, and I listened to him. He spent most of that afternoon feeding my ego, and my ego was hungry. The funny thing is that Eric always told me how beautiful I was, but I guess that coming from my husband it didn't seem to mean as much. This was a young fresh source of flattery and I ate it up.
I gave him a kiss on the cheek to thank him, and he turned his head and caught it on his lips. After some awkward fumbling we ended up screwing. I guess you expected me to say making love, because that's how women are supposed to talk. But that wasn't really what we did. If I was one of those jaded Hollywood types you'd expect me to say that we fucked, but that wasn't it either.
Making love implies that there is a certain amount of emotional connection, during the physical act that raises it to a higher level, and makes it special. Fucking requires far less emotion, but makes up for it by pure physical intensity. I got both of those from my husband. No, this wasn't fucking, by a long shot, and it wasn't making love either. In fact it wasn't even very good, I basically tried to use him as a living vibrator and still couldn't get off. The worst part is that unbeknownst to us we were seen.
The fashion world is a very small place, and maybe if I'd just done it the one time, Eric might've forgiven me. One of the grips, a female who'd worked with Eric a lot, and had tried to get in his pants a time or two had seen us and called Eric that same day. He'd turned her down every time she went after him because believe it or not, my husband was in love with me. He really was. He often told reporters that I was his world, and I later found out that he wasn't just bullshitting them, he really believed that.
So the news that his world, his goddess cheating on him, must've really hurt him badly. So badly that it drove him to do what he did to me.
That night after calling Eric on the phone, to remind him that, we'd be flying to a couple of other states over the next 2 weeks or so, I should have noticed something in his voice. His voice was tight, and I remember now that he sounded upset. He kept asking me if there was anything I wanted to talk about.
I just said "No" because I thought that he was trying to bring up the fucking baby thing again, and I didn't want to hear it. I now know that Eric knew then that I'd screwed Bobby and was hoping I'd come clean or try to explain it. No soap.
By then Eric already had a PI watching me to get the evidence he needed. So Bobby coming up to my room for a rematch almost immediately after I got off the phone with him was truly serendipitous for him. The affair with Bobby, if you can call it that, lasted for about 2 more days, until I finally had to tell him that he was terrible in bed. Bobby of course took it like the gentleman that he was and rode off into the sunset, or so I thought.
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