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June 3, 2013 / Andee Frizzell

You Never Know

elevatorMy neighbour just returned from a two week trip to the five ‘Stans’ as he called it. The five ‘Stans’ consisted of Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, Afghanistan and Pakistan. Brian shared with me pictures of breathtaking scenery and the heartbreaking stories he heard about the hardships that the local people endure.

“We, (North Americans) have no idea of what it’s like to live under those conditions, how they learn to cope and how in spite of the constant threat, they learn to carry on.”

It made me think of Billy. Billy was an Israeli model I met while modelling in Paris.

She was a gorgeous brunet, with legs for days that was starting her modelling career at twenty-one. Beginning a modelling career at twenty-one is a like learning a new trade at 60, five years before you retire. But Billy had no choice in the matter. In her home country, everyone at nineteen years old,  had to serve 3 years in the Israeli army. All participants are taught full combat.

Billy and I were scheduled to shoot with the same photographer. My call time was earlier then hers and just as the make-up artist was finishing my eye-liner, Andre’s front buzzer sounded Billy’s arrival. Andre opened the studio door and headed back to light the set.

Suddenly, from out in the hall rose the loudest calamity. For anyone who has lived in Paris, you’ll know that the old buildings are equipped with turn of some by gone century, tiny, metal cages on rusted out pulley systems that act as elevators. The one in Andre’s building, at that moment sounded like a wild rhino was trapped inside and trying to bust itself to freedom.

All three of us rushed out into the hallway just as the closet sized metal contraption reached the top floor. The two tiny swinging doors flew open and the tear stained face of Billy emerged. Shaken and distraught, she pushed passed our bewildered looks and into the studio.

We turned to follow when the elevator gave an audible gasp.  One panel of the elevator door slowly pulled inward and just inches above floor level a hand reached out.

A hand? More like a claw with the fingers bent at all the wrong angles. In barely audible French, the man, that the mangled claw was attached to, started begging for an ambulance. He had multiple injuries, black eye, dislocated jaw, one broken arm, two broken wrists, all ten fingers broken and his family jewels had been kicked back up inside his torso.

Andre ushered myself and the make-up artist back into the studio where I immediately went to the dishevelled Billy in hopes to comfort her. I put my arm around her shoulders and she started to explain what had happened.

Billy, unaccustomed to the attention given to beautiful women in Latin countries (catcalling, whistling, occasional butt grab) she wasn’t the least bit suspicious when the man followed her into the elevator.

Until, he reached out and grabbed her ass. The rest of the story writes itself, all of her military hand to hand combat training kicked in and Mr Touchy Pants got a lesson in respecting personal space.

Five words, ‘Don’t Mess with the Zohan.’

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2 Comments

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  1. arcticgoddess / Jun 4 2013 10:00 am

    In my younger days, when I too, was a gorgeous super model…Ahem, I mean, once in a hotel elevator, I was asked to party in a room with a couple of business men who were nearly the age of my father. My idiot of a girlfriend thought all they wanted was to ply us with free drinks and play canasta. Needless to say, everyone was disappointed that night, because I said, “no”.

    • kay / Jun 7 2013 6:31 am

      I am no model lady. A model is just an imitation of the real thing.
      – Mae West
      A woman way ahead of her time.

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