A Case of Stolen Identity...

I was taught that if you were honest and a good person, people would treat you well. But the new American credo seems to be: if you are polite and a good person, you will be taken advantage of. Our whole economic system seems increasingly to be premised on making ordinary people jump through so many hoops to get their money, their health care, their refunds, their pensions, their retirement, or money they are owed, that eventually, they will tire and the corporations will win.
This is my crazy story.
Two months ago, my wedding photographer emailed me and said she hoped I was being paid by Color Me Mine ( a pottery franchise) to have my picture hanging in their store. I laughed and said, What are you talking about? She said my picture was hanging in a store in Glendale. I didn't know? I said it probably wasn't me. She said it definitely was. Now this is not just anyone. This is one of the best photographers I have ever known who is literally able to capture--in people she has met only once -- a soul's quintessential look. She is astounding. She has the eye. Still, I pushed her. I said were you driving by? She said no, she was walking. And it was definitely me.
When I told Jonathan he said we had to go and check it out. We drove over to Glendale. There, in the corporate headquarters of Color Me Mine was a giant blown up mural of me, with a mother, a father, and a girl. We were huge, larger than life. And it was me. I was a little blurry, the pixels had been blown up so big. I was painting a flower pot. I did not know the people--the woman the man and the girl -- and yet they looked strangely familiar. Had I seen them on the streets of LA? Did I know them from some movie? The weirdest thing was, I have only been to Color Me Mine twice in my life: once nine years ago in Santa Monica to paint a plate for my ex-fiancees sister's wedding, and once six years ago to paint a mug for my husband. So it was me, with people I did not know, painting something I had never painted. I looked, fascinated. We stopped a guy on the street to see if he thought it was me. Put your head down, like you are painting, he said. Yup. That's you. It was me. My hands, my shirt, my hair, my eyebrows. But--not my chin. It was slightly different. Like I had been photoshopped. That made me feel bad, like my chin isn't good enough. Like I had to be improved upon. It just so happened that that month the New Yorker wrote a piece on the world's best airbrushing company, secretly in demand by every major photographer. No one ever runs as they are, was the point of the story. Even the most beautiful people are enhanced. And we are not just talking airbrusing out a zit. We are talking moving arms, plumping lips, thinning thighs, rebuilding.
But strangest of all, I did feel like the people in the African tribes who say that if their picture is taken the photographer will steal their soul. It was me, but it wasn't. I was out of context, slightly off, I felt discombobulated.
I called Color Me Mine. They said it wasn't me. And made me feel like I was a predator for even wanting to know. The woman in the picture looked so much like me I began to wonder if maybe my grandfather had sired a daughter in Glendale, and she had had a daughter, who looked EXACTLY like me. My long-lost cousin/twin. If so, I wanted to find her.
They shut me down. Their CEO refused to call me back (he was at lunch at 10:30...) and their marketing director was cold and confrontational. But she said she would find the modeling release, even if she couldn't tell me anything.
My photographer coached me. She said demand the modeling release, the name, AND the name of the photographer so he can match the model with the picture. She said send a strongly worded letter. That is why people have modeling release forms. What they did was illegal.
So I sent my strongly worded letter. This morning I got a call from Tara Barnett. She said the name of the model was Nancy Lane. I asked for the photographer's name. She said she couldn't give it for privacy reasons. I said, for the privacy of the photographer? She got irritated. What did I want? They had spent enough time on this. (They hadn't spent any time.) I said I wanted the name of the photographer. I could hear someone in the background. She put me on the line with CEO. He got on the phone and said the picture was of a woman named Nancy Lane. He said they could not get the name of the photographer without going into the archives, and they would not release the name to me. Only to my lawyer, since I had threatened a lawsuit. So I said, you just remember the name of the model? But not the name of the photographer? He said yes. He said it was from memory. He said they had not gone back into the archives. The picture was from 10-11 years ago. He said he would only release the info to my lawyer. Not to me.
We got off the phone and googled Nancy Lane. Model. A porn video popped up, with a woman in a bikini caressing her breast by a pool.
But here is what is strange. It looks like me. They will not look up the picture. The CEO admits he did not look it up, he just remembers the name of the model. None of it makes sense. And it does not prove anything. People complain Americans are litigious. But they did not pay any attention to me until I mentioned the word "lawyer" in my letter. They are angry, but will only deal with a lawyer. Which is really their way of pushing one more step, to see if I will do it. So I guess I will. But I cannot believe they act so self-righteous. Even if I am wrong, why not just admit it. I am not doing this because I cruise around looking for stolen images of myself. Each thing they do and say only seems to imply their guilt. But they want it to be legal.
So I guess we will take it to the next level.
Then, on Friday as I was driving through the Valley I looked up and saw myself again! I was life-size in a Color Me Mine window in Studio City, with a beam running through the middle of my face.
I am determined to find myself, or the woman who looks just like me.
Tonight we will go and gather the evidence.