There Was a Little Girl: The Real Story of My Mother and Me by Brooke Shields

it fit into the overall representation of me as a talent. Mom also never had specific goals that we reached for. Basically, the criteria for whether I took a job or not was this: Did it fit into my school schedule? Was it going to be a fun and different experience? Would it pay well?
    I don’t remember it ever really being about the type of film, or caliber of people involved, or even if a particular film or project propelled me into any particular category as a performer. Mom and I never considered if any one project made sense in the context of the future of my career. She never really considered nurturing my talent or pushing me to study acting. Rather, it seemed that success was measured in property and popularity.
    Early on, it became evident that there were not many actresses who looked like I did. People kept saying that I had a unique look. As much as I was working in print, I still often didn’t fit into the all-American type that was popular in TV and film. I was frequently turned down for not looking like a freckled-face kid from a farming town. I was still “too European.”
    How weird is it that I would eventually be labeled “America’s sweetheart”? Did Mom consciously commit to changing these early impressions? I really don’t think so. I certainly wasn’t Shirley Temple, and although I had always been compared to Elizabeth Taylor, I had no National Velvet to identify me as the next “girl next door.”
    So when an acclaimed French filmmaker called me in to meet him for the lead role in his first American film, Mom thought I might have a fighting chance.
    Why not? Mom loved European films and directors and had exposed me to films by Fellini and others. She seemed to understand the level of artistry they represented, and she always said women like Catherine Deneuve, Ingrid Bergman, and Sophia Loren were the classiest and most beautiful and most talented actresses out there. I also think she wished she resembled them a bit in style and statureand looks. Personally, I thought my mom was even prettier than any of them.
    A meeting was arranged, and, thankfully, Louis Malle was not interested in an all-American look for his star. The film was to be titled Pretty Baby . It told the story of photographer E. J. Bellocq, who became famous in the early 1900s for photographing women living and working in the bordellos of the red-light district in New Orleans. In this movie, based on his real life and real stories, he falls in love with a young prostitute, Violet, who had been born and raised inside one of these houses.
    Meeting with Louis wasn’t an audition in any typical way. We didn’t work from a script. I went into an office somewhere in the middle of Manhattan and chatted with Louis Malle and the film’s producer, Polly Platt. Polly and a guy named Tony Wade were the unit production managers. Polly had been married and divorced from director Peter Bogdanovich and was currently in a relationship with Tony.
    I don’t remember too much about the “audition,” except that we spoke for quite some time. My mom was not a part of any of the conversation. She wasn’t even in the room. I have always been under the impression that Mom never wanted to be thought of as a stage mother who hovered and interfered. She wanted to be the un–stage mother who was part of the team. In actuality, Mom was much more of an emotional hoverer who affected me internally.
    However, I realize now that my mother was likely very distracted by what had happened much earlier that day. The night before, Mom had taken me and my model friend Lisanne out to a bar. Lisanne and I were very close friends and Mom always thought she was one of the most beautiful girls in the business. This particular night out, not only had we stayed out very late, but also Mom got pretty drunk. Lisanne spent the night but needed to be taken to Penn Station in themorning for a train back home. The next morning, Mom, still kind of tipsy from the previous