This is a true story that occurred when I (F), was 28 at the time and had only been dating my man (38M) for 8 months
Tall, model thin, thick eyeliner and cherry red hair, Keesha (25 F) definitely had her demons. She liked rock concerts and whiskey and spoke with a Texas twang that was sweeter than expected. She preferred fishnets, American Spirits cigarettes and stiletto fake nails. Her eyes were piercingly beautiful green. Photographers always solicited her image and she definitely was the muse of many fashion photo shoots.
People were drawn to her. She came with an entourage that partied hard early in the morning. Noon was too early for morning coffee. She traveled all over for work and was proud to post myriad selfies with rockstars in Vegas.
It’s a false stereotype that all models are superficial. It’s a true stereotype that models don’t eat. She devoured Jung, Plath and drank Rumi and Gibran. From these authors she crafted poetry of her own philosophy.
I had known my partner and Keesha were friends for many years. I suspected at one point they had romantic encounters. He told me she was coming over for dinner one evening and he would like to make dinner for us.