Love In Her Eyes

9

New York City, 1973

Present Day

"So that's pretty much how it happened," I say, concluding my long life's story-up until this point, of course- with a shrug.

Sitting beside me was my newfound, fellow model friend, Nadine, who'd asked me how exactly I ended up here.

"Wow." She was local to the area, and her thick Brooklyn accent made the word seem long and drawn out.

"I know, I'm so thankful. Of all the places in the-"

Nadine cut me off. "No, honey. I meant wow as in you actually met and knew Jimmy Page and didn't even try to get a piece of that?" She shook her head in disbelief.

My eyebrows raised.

"What a waste!"

"Nadine, when I knew him, his girlfriend had just given birth to their daughter for crying out loud!"

This American slang was rubbing off on me.

"And guess what sweetie?" She said, not missing a beat. "They're not even together now. He probably screws a new groupie every night!"

For some reason I had an urge to defend him against her claim, but I knew in reality, she wasn't far off.

Led Zeppelin had reached a level of fame and success that was practically unheard of. The Yardbirds were almost a thing of the past, and for Jimmy, probably just a mere stepping stone on his way to the top.

Just last month, I'd heard Led Zeppelin sold out an arena in Tampa with a crowd of almost sixty thousand, which beat the record of the largest concert in America, previously set by the Beatles.

So, Nadine was probably right about Jimmy- his looks, and talent, had only increased since the Yardbird days.

"What colour are you choosing?" I asked to change the subject.

We were at a nail salon in the upper east side. Nadine's favorite one.

"Red, of course. You?"

"I'm not sure which colors my swimsuits will be.... "

I was flying out first thing in the morning to California for a beach side photoshoot. I'd done a couple swimwear sessions back home in London, but this would be my first here in the states. And California, I'm learning, is the place to go.

"I'd go with this one," Nadine said, handing me a very light, almost nude, peachy shade.

"It'll compliment that tan of yours nicely. And should work with any suit."

"Good thinking," I said, taking the polish from her.

We spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about Southern California beaches while we had our toes and finger nails pampered and painted.

That evening, by the time I got back to my little studio apartment on 26th Street, I was exhausted but knew I had to pack. You'd think by now I was used to packing, but still I dreaded it.

I undressed and tossed those clothes in the washing machine, then slipped into my favorite sweatshirt and lounge pants. I had just unzipped my suitcase to begin the imminent task, when there was a hasty knock at my door.

With a sigh, I walked to it and glanced out the peep hole.

On the other side of the door stood a remarkably attractive man dressed in business attire. His expression looked tired. The clock hanging beside the door read 5:30- So my suspicions were right. He'd just gotten off work, and now he was at my doorstep.