21 Years a Londoner, the early bits
I was only 23 years old and it was only meant to be for a year.
I was working for Corbis Outline in Chelsea, a photo library that sold celebrity portraiture to magazines all over the world. The company wanted to expand their “First rights” offering directly to the UK which was in the middle of an amazing sweet spot for magazines where budgets were huge and franchises like Charlie’s Angels were simultaneously featured on 45 editions of the magazine. I would approve the placements with publicists and mags rather than deal in any paparazzi.
After a Catherine Zeta Jones picture ran without approval in M Celebs, an old Mirror supplement, I was in the firing line with Jones’ publicist. Cece Yorke was a consummate professional and very used to excuses and bullshit; but when I explained that I had completely screwed up and it was entirely on me and how sorry I was, instead of telling me off, she asked that I learn from it and never let it happen again. As she was notoriously litigious, the London office was thrilled that I had avoided escalation and huge fines; so when changes were being discussed, I was quietly offered an opportunity to move to London six weeks later. Mimi Brown, my boss at the time, told me to go, and explore and learn more than I could ever learn in Manhattan. Told me to travel as much as possible and about her first foray into France when she was about my age.
I had to let them know by 8 am the next morning. I had a passport. I had just spent two years working for Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, the original L&O, and worked in 30 Rock for NBC before landing at Corbis. I thought NY was going to be my future, but after 9/11 everything shifted a bit. My housemates were moving to different apartments and trying different jobs (one had been in the makeup department and one in wardrobe for Law & Order.) Our lease was up, and this landed in my lap. Lizzie and Abby, the best possible women to experience the tiniest Manhattan flat with.
That night I read The Accordian Crimes by Annie Proulx and called my parents and said I was moving to London. Two weeks later I was on my way to London for the weekend to meet my clients at a party at The Tate and find a flat. The client party was the night I flew in and I had bronchitis. I hid in the toilets for a lot of the night terrified and in tears. That night I met Debi Berry who was the Photo Editor of Empire and my very first British friend.
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