She had always known that she wanted to be a designer. From the time she was a little girl, she had had a natural sense of style. Her dolls had the trendiest outfits in town. She would show off her latest creations for her mother’s approval. Her mother would hug her and say, “You’re very talented, darling. Someday you’re going to be a very important designer.”
And Kendall was sure of it.
In school, Kendall studied graphic design, structural drawing, spatial conceptions, and color coordination.
“The best way to begin,” one of her teachers had advised her, “is to become a model yourself. That way, you will meet all the top designers, and if you keep your eyes open, you will learn from them.”
When Kendall had mentioned her dream to her father, he had looked at her and said, “You? A model! You must be joking!”
When Kendall finished school, she returned to Rose Hill. Father needs me to run the house, she thought. There were a dozen servants, but no one was really in charge. Since Harry Stanford was away a good deal of the time, the staff was left to its own devices. Kendall tried to organize things. She scheduled the household activities, served as hostess for her father’s parties, and did everything she could to make him comfortable. She was longing for his approval. Instead, she suffered a barrage of criticisms.
“Who hired that damned chef? Get rid of him.…”
“I don’t like the new dishes you bought. Where the hell is your taste…?”
“Who told you you could redecorate my bedroom? Keep the hell out of there.…”
No matter what Kendall did, it was never good enough.
It was her father’s domineering cruelty that finally drove her out of the house. It had always been a loveless household, and her father had paid no attention to his children, except to try to control and discipline them. One night, Kendall overheard her father saying to a visitor, “My daughter has a face like a horse. She’s going to need a lot of money to hook some poor sucker.”
It was the final straw. The following day, Kendall left Boston and headed for New York.
Alone in her hotel room, Kendall thought. All right. Here I am in New York. How do I become a designer? How do I break into the fashion industry? How do I get anyone even to notice me? She remembered her teacher’s advice. I’ll start as a model. That’s the way to begin.
The following morning, Kendall looked through the yellow pages, copied a list of modeling agencies, and began making the rounds. I have to be honest with them, Kendall thought. I’ll tell them that I can stay with them only temporarily, until I get started designing.
She walked into the office of the first agency on her list. A middle-aged woman behind a desk said, “May I help you?”
“Yes. I want to be a model.”
“So do I, dearie. Forget it.”
“What?”
“You’re too tall.”
Kendall’s jaw tightened. “I’d like to see whoever is in charge here.”
“You’re looking at her. I own this joint.”
The next half a dozen stops were no more successful.
“You’re too short.”
“Too thin.”
“Too fat.”
“Too young.”
“Too old.”
“Wrong type.”
By the end of the week, Kendall was getting desperate. There was one more name on her list.
Paramount Models was the top modeling agency in Manhattan. There was no one at the reception desk.
A voice from one of the offices said, “She’ll be available next Monday. But you can have her for only one day. She’s booked solid for the next three weeks.”
Kendall walked over to the office and peered inside. A woman in a tailored suit was talking on the phone.
“Right. I’ll see what I can do.” Roxanne Marinack replaced the receiver and looked up. “Sorry, we aren’t looking for your type.”
Kendall said desperately, “I can be any type you want me to be. I can be taller or I can be shorter. I can be younger or older, thinner—”
Roxanne held up her hand. “Hold it.”
“All I want is a chance. I really need this.…”