Kiss and Tell (7 page)

ROBERTO HERRERA IN OTTAWA - WHAT A GREAT KISSER!

On the pill now; no more mistakes, except I was still incredibly naïve. My new doctor, the one I’d turned to for help, came on to me and we started an affair. That was wrong on so many levels. I mean, honestly, what were all these guys thinking? An 18-year-old girl, and all they could think about was getting off—and one of them a doctor! I look back at those days and wonder at what point does abuse start? When are you being used as opposed to using someone? It’s always been a very blurry line for me. Am I driving the car, or is the car driving me?

THIS PHOTO WAS TAKEN FOR
PLAYBOY
BY RICHARD FEGELY. I MISS HIM - HE TOOK MOST OF MY PHOTOS FOR
PLAYBOY
AND WAS THE PHOTOGRAPHER SCOUTING IN TORONTO WHEN I ASKED MY AGENT TO TEST.

Chapter Four

Playmate for Life

I
was angry that, even though this was the seventies, the man who had gotten me pregnant wasn’t even sympathetic. My Dutch boy was soon gone; he ran off with some other window dresser. His new boyfriend was not an attractive man. I was so damn insulted. Not only did he leave me for a guy…but a really ugly guy! I used to see them around town once in awhile after we split, and it always just burned me up. But I felt stronger, and it was time for me to find my own place and make a go of it on my own.

Ottawa was a much more diverse community than the smaller towns I was used to. It had a big Lebanese population, and with my new strength intact, I started working for a Lebanese family at a little coffee shop during the daytime. I was the best waitress you’ve ever seen. Without pilfering, I made plenty of money by just raking in tips. I wasn’t afraid to work hard, and I was fast. The owner’s son and cook, Eddie, who managed the coffee shop, fell madly in love with me. He really liked my work ethic, plus I was a pretty girl, making money for his shop like you wouldn’t believe. He couldn’t believe his good luck. He was crazy about me. We laughed about everything and were together all the time. He cooked; I served. We played house.

EDDIE, MY LOVE, BEFORE HE CHEATED WITH THE WAITRESSES AT SHANNON’S BAR.

As I was going about my work there I met another Lebanese man who owned a modeling agency. He asked me if I would like to enter the Miss Ottawa pageant, which was preliminary to the Miss Canada competition. I said, “Well, I don’t know…,” and he said, “Come on, let’s do it!” Soon enough, he talked me into it.

I was barely 18 years old. I had quit school and left home with a gay guy. Obviously, to qualify for the Miss Ottawa pageant you were supposed to be a graduate of some high school, somewhere! So I lied again, and no one checked. There were no computers back then; it was easy to get away with. And what was my talent? Well, I decided I would sing. I’d never had any training or a particularly musical background, apart from choir in school and listening to my mother’s beautiful voice. I just got up there on stage and sang. The judges liked me, and I won the Miss Ottawa crown. I was headed for Miss Canada.

THE MISS CANADA PAGEANT 1978. THEY CUT AND PERMED MY HAIR DAYS BEFORE THE BROADCAST. I WAS SICK ABOUT IT!

FISHING IN KEY WEST. I WENT THERE WITH MY CUBAN BOYFRIEND ROBERTO. OUR GUIDE HOLDS UP THE BARRACUDA I CAUGHT.

By winning the pageant, I gained a certain amount of celebrity in Ottawa and started modeling, locally at first. So my boss/ boyfriend Eddie opened a bar in my name. I was now part-owner of a bar called Shannon’s. I started bartending and learned to make every drink imaginable. I don’t even know what kinds of drinks are popular now, but back then I was good. I would pour and shake and mix it up, the girls would pick up the drinks and sell them, and we’d do great business.

Eddie and I lasted a good while. He was quite a character. He used to buy hot jewelry for me all the time from shady characters in trench coats who hung out at the club. To look at him, you wouldn’t think he could get all the girls, but he had a way about him. I was great friends with one of the waitresses, Dagmar from Germany, until I found out she was fooling around with him. It was time to get out of there. I had started to get a few additional little modeling jobs here and there in Montreal and Toronto, and I was thinking of moving to a bigger city permanently. For the moment, I stayed in my little attic apartment, where I used to hit my head on the slanted stone ceiling.

I was seeing a Cuban guy off and on who had a graphic design business. Roberto taught me to make dulce de leche. I haven’t made it since, but I’ve thought of him and wondered if he ever made up with his wife. He was separated and tortured, and I was comforting.

My move finally came when I met a new guy who used to come into Shannon’s all the time. He was a Canadian Football League linebacker from the South—Alabama, maybe? Ronnie Fox was his name, and he was a humongous black guy with a great body and a fab sense of humor. He was traded to Toronto, and when he left, I went with him. (Another man; another bigger city. Why was it I could never go anywhere by myself?)

It was an exciting move for me. Toronto was—and is—Canada’s most cosmopolitan city. Sensing something big was going to happen for me there, I called my father and told him about the move. He was happy for me and glad that I was a little closer to him geographically. I mentioned that it would be easier for me to visit him, and told Dad about my modeling gigs and about Ron. He told me that he’d found love again, too. His caregiver was now his girlfriend, and he seemed in good spirits; I was happy to know he wasn’t alone.

MY FOOTBALL PLAYER, RONNIE FOX.

Through my Ottawa agency I landed a modeling agent in Toronto. I had appeared in some Canadian publications and some big department store ads (The Hudson Bay Co., Fairweather, and—at last—Sears), but I was still waitressing to supplement my income. It was tough to get by in Toronto on modeling alone. By this time I had been slinging beer for six years, and I was sick of it. Toronto was not a hot spot where I could make a lot of money as a model. I was living with Ron and working, but I craved money, advancement, and opportunity. Ron lent me his van while he was at football practice to go on auditions, and I soon got used to rejection—a talent that would come in handy in Hollywood.

EARLY MODELING.

EARLY MODELING HEAD SHOT.

When I heard a
Playboy
photographer was coming to town I asked to be tested. Another girl at my agency was trying out, and I wanted to as well. The other girl wound up appearing on the cover. I also knew of another girl from Montreal whose photograph had been in
Playboy.
She had a very exotic look and was able to continue a fairly successful modeling career afterward. I realize now that I didn’t meet the criterion for a high-fashion print model: I was okay-looking but didn’t really jump off the page. I didn’t have that
oomph,
but I modeled a little, waitressed a lot, and got by.

I tested three separate times for
Playboy.
At this point in time—the early eighties—Hugh Hefner was still very hands-on with the magazine, and he reviewed every set of test shots himself. He turned down my pictures more than once. Two thumbs down, twice in a row. It was always something: too this, too that… One criticism was that I was too skinny. Skinny was my natural state; I never had to diet. My whole family was tall and thin.

By the third time around I had gotten to know the
Playboy
photographer, Richard Fegely. He said, “Shannon, we’re getting you in. I don’t care how long it takes.” We were determined that I would get into
Playboy.
I started eating more, got a little more voluptuous-looking, and on the third time I hit the jackpot; I was chosen for
Playboy.
I was Miss November 1981. And you know what? It’s the ugliest layout I have ever seen. The girls in
Playboy
always looked so sexy, and I looked young and innocent, like the girl next door. The glamour part of me certainly didn’t kick in until long after I moved to L.A. and learned a few tricks of the trade.