20
In the morning, I drove the 911, my silver one that is high performance and, well, hard and fun can indicate the same thing at times.
I drove the silver 911 for the first time to Mercer and drove around campus for a bit. Hell, why not? They knew I was rather famous by now, and fame equates to financial rewards.
I stopped outside of the Student Union, planning on a cup of coffee, and I was overwhelmed by the men in my life.
Of course, I have men in my life, and every damn one of them is virtually a jock here at Mercer.
The athletes adopted me, remember? I am to be protected, and that means I am accepted.
And I am sure that if Carmine were not in my life, I would be inundated with requests for dates. And these guys absolutely know.
BUT this time it is “the car dude, screw the chick, did you see her wheels?”
And I kinda knew that this would happen. And I kinda needed this to happen right now. I needed to move out of the headspace I had been in, especially about men, and allow the men I do know and trust to come back into my life. Otherwise, I would regret what I became.
One of the guys bought me my coffee, although there were a lot of jokes about, “Dude, if she can afford the gas for THIS car, she can afford her own coffee.”
But everyone knew that this was in good spirits.
Why did I do this? Well, I do like being around men sometimes. I mean, really, I was a man for like 20 years before I figured out that I can own that 911 Porsche as a woman, but never as a man. And it isn't that I changed for the car, but for the freedom that the car represents.
Carl was the soccer player who bought the coffee; he got the first ride.
But I also gave a lot of rides that morning and afternoon.
And for me? I needed this. I got over the fear that all men wanted from me was sex and to grab my boobs and that I had to fear them.
Here were 20 or 30 men who wanted my bloody car, and just to be seen riding with me in that bloody car was all the thrill they needed. And that felt real. And it felt good.
When I brought the last rider back, not the last who wanted a ride, but the last that I took on a ride, Carmine was there, and she was smiling from ear to ear.
I got out and held the door when she got in and gave her the hugest kiss I could in front of the jocks, all of whom were making “appropriate” mouth noises because they all knew we were engaged and loved both of us.
But fun is fun, and that is exactly what I needed.
And the two of us drove off into the sunset.
OK, it was late afternoon, and the sky was starting to cloud up a bit.
We are in Western Pennsylvania, and this is normal for us.
But we did do more than a few loops around town and the campus so that everyone could see us together.
And then I drove to the Rho house, this time with the females instead of the males.
Well, I had to fill the tank twice that day, after I got to Mercer.
Every sister in the sorority wanted a ride, and they got one.
One of the girls wanted Carmine to drive my car, and she explained that “mine is gold, Shannon’s is silver. Mine is luxury and drivable. Shannon's is performance and is the opposite. I can not drive her car. I do not want to drive her car, and if you were in her car with me driving,
you should be scared shitless, because I would be.”
Everyone at Rho knew we had been given cars, but the reality of what level of car we had been given just sank in. Porsche 911s are the bottom end of a supercar when in a high-end package. Both of our cars met those criteria.
And of course, once the rides were over, I was starved, so we took the 911 to a local restaurant, one that the locals liked, and where we also were known. And the entire scene repeated itself.
BUT, Carmine insisted that I be allowed to eat on the house because the car filled every seat in the restaurant, and when word got out that it was a “supermodel” who owned and drove the car.
Somehow, Kelley and Sarah learned where I was and showed up and cordoned off a space for me to eat, and then we went home. And I slept the best I had since the attack a week or so before. First night, no nightmares.
The following day, I made appointments to talk to my professors about my independent studies.
For Women's Studies, it was suggested that I include all the details I was willing to share about the Florida incident, as it proved that for a trans woman, there is no status of victim.
In fact, that may be the final focus of the study: that transgender women are never seen as victims by society.
And I actually thought that was a good choice.
I definitely had the experience, and I only needed 15,000 words or thereabouts.
And the 8,000 I had written so far, well, those set the stage for the balance.
With everything being fresh, in a few days, I would have the draft done.
For the photography, we had decided on the format.
Three days, with four of us. Evonne, representing 10 years of experience, myself with a year of experience, are trying many of the intense top model adaptations.
Angel, as she was in the studio so often with me and part of the same shoots, and that is a different level of communication.
And Carmine, who is strictly commercial and product placement.
The first day, the four of us talked. The second and third days will be at Mercer Studios.
I have been avoiding that for a bit, and we will break into two teams.
The symposium would be limited to 20 photographers, and each would get one hour with each of the two teams in the Mercer facility.
The rest of the day's cohort would be allowed to view the work and listen to the talk we gave to the photographer working with us.
Now, this is all to teach the photographer to interact with the model and teach them what a model needs to hear, and to teach them to listen when a model says “no”.
Both proposals were accepted, and plans were made.
And that meant I finally got to see Mercer Studios as a finished project.
The recording studios, two of them and a practice facility, were still going in, but the upstairs, the modeling space, and the workshops were done.
We had enough space for two large studios in the old showroom.
And they were independent. One was set up for video, as in filming commercials, and the second, smaller one, was still work and limited to video work only.
The sales offices were modified for the needs of hair and make-up.
The parts department was now the wardrobe storage.
And that meant a lot of work had to be done so that climate control and dirt were tightly controlled; the area was basically lined in some spray compound to seal off the space.
The business offices were converted into the offices that the studio needed.
The small studio was being used the most right then.
Carmine was shooting all of her stuff virtually there now.
She can do class in the morning and shoot 6 hours in the afternoon.
Not what the buyer wants, but what the talent can afford physically and mentally to do.
And when Carmine was not using it, it was being used by the Grove City Outlet folks.
They needed this level of capacity for their advertising and work.
Grove City is a major outlet and one of the first to get high-end materials, and very often, there is no advertising attached to the clothing.
And to be honest, I was thrilled with what had been done to my building.
Understand that Mercer Studios is owned by a consortium, of which I am principal with 51 percent ownership, and I lease the building to Mercer Studios.
Carmine owns a bit, as does Angel; this gives them tax refuge from the sky-high taxes we three are liable for.
My parents have a share, and Ellen and Byron split 24 percent, so I am the controlling owner, followed by my family, and finished with input from the two principal users, Ellen and Byron.
The intention is to shoot whatever is being shipped to the US by KK Brands at Mercer.
The cost, even bringing everyone in from New York, is about half what shooting in New York would be.
And then filling the time with regional work, we are pretty much equally distant from Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and Buffalo.
And topping it all off with work from the Grove City Outlet Mall.
The regional colleges and universities also do a lot of promotional work in professional settings.
And we were pretty much booked. The issue was getting equipment delivered and convincing professionals that rural Pennsylvania really is a better place for kids than New York. And there were plenty interested.
Cleo was, or is, still there as the studio manager.
Cleo had been based in New York, but with two high school daughters, she wanted out.
And Cleo knew Ellen. So Ellen worked her magic, and we had a really good studio manager who knew what needed to be done and the right way of setting up a new studio.
Believe me, there are a lot of wrong ways to set up a studio; I get to work in some of them.
But when a studio is right, the work goes far faster.
And in this business, we bill by the minute, if not the second.
And of course, they loved the car. I was late, and Cleo’s daughters, Amy and Kim, dropped by after school.
They will be modeling, trust me on this one, fraternal twins, and both stunning.
One at a time, we took a cruise of the Mercer High School ball fields and stopped for a bit so that the girls could experience boys from a different perspective.
Both girls commented that New York boys would never have cared.
There was no basketball involved. New York is basketball-crazed because that is about all there is for the kids to do; there is not enough room for baseball, for instance.
The few fields that do exist are for the rich, not the average student.
So basketball is compact and playable. And it is everywhere. But there is also no car culture.
Cleo’s daughters had only been in Mercer for a month or so and were still getting used to this world. Wait until summer; they will see another world entirely.
But hopefully one with fewer drugs and crime. And that is why their mother took this job; Cleo damn well knows what Queens is like growing up in Queens herself. And she wanted something better for her daughters.
I have to introduce Cleo to Mom; then Mom will have two younger targets for her love than myself.
Interesting thought, actually.
Anything to keep my mother occupied. I wonder if Cleo’s daughters can be taught to ride, something to think about as summer is upon us, and Mom will be looking for something to focus her summer on. Two new female riders, mana from heaven for Mom and me. Mana from heaven. The gift of the gods.
And then I had to travel to New York.
Things have changed in New York with Ellen.
I was brought on under a development contract.
And as a development contract, I have to “pay back” the costs incurred by Ellen to get out of the contract if I weren't to stay modeling.
I achieved that before the 6 months were up, and, well, with my father, the contract I ended those six months with had been renegotiated so many times to allow for what was in reality happening in real time.
And then, about the time I headed to the UEA, I was presented with a regular modeling contract.
This one is far, far simpler. It states that Ellen has first dibs on representing me.
However, I can work for anyone I want, but she gets a cut depending on whatever.
Whatever means that there are so many levels and layers that it is my father's job, or some part of his staff’s job, actually, to keep track of the “whatever’s”.
Basically, when I am under contract to Ellen, then if I work for her, she gets the full 15 percent.
If I work for anyone else, she gets less than 15 percent.
Now, here is her incentive: my range as a top model is about 6 to 10 million a year, which means that Ellen gets $900,000 to $1,500,000 per year off of my direct contract fees.
And she gets 15 percent of residuals for however long they last.
And that can be twenty years for a supermodel.
So Ellen is going to bust her ass and her staff’s ass to keep me working as much as she can.
However, under a development contract, Ellen says, “Go here and jump.”
I “go there and jump”.
Under a modeling contract, it is Ellen saying, “Shannon, this is a really outstanding opportunity. If you do this shoot in Tahiti for this company, it should net you $2.4 million for ten days, and they cover all expenses, as for travel if you fly commercial.”
And I reply, “Ellen, the fees are good, but I don’t fly commercial, I fly private and I have a team. I want a private plane; my 8-seater does not have the range, so I want the 24-seater we used in wherever, and I want paid travel time for myself and all of the staff I am bringing. And Ellen,
I am bringing my own hair, makeup, and dressers.”
And Ellen says, “Shannon, that is not going to fly; that adds at least a million to the cost.”
And I say, “Then why should I do it?”
And Ellen says, “Shannon, let me talk to them, OK? Look, love, why don’t you drop into Studio C and do a couple of promotional shots that I need? Company GBD, whoever they are, wants to see you in these colors, and we do not have anything presently.”
And then I drop down to Studio C and do the color studies; they don’t take long, as we do not do hair and makeup.
And the colors are either simply designed blouses or even just lengths of fabric designed for this specific purpose.
These are never seen as commercial; they are color studies by designers.