By Martha Smilgis
June 26, 1978 12:00 PM

I prefer to concentrate on one relationship,” confides towering Texas model Jerry Hall, 21. “When I’m really in love, I’m faithful.” That, presumably, is good news for Rolling Stone Mick Jagger, 33, Jerry’s main event for more than a year. “Mick is gone over Jerry,” says a friend. “He’s never had a ‘thing’ that lasted so long.”

Except, that is, for one “thing”—the one involving Bianca, his angry wife of seven years, and their 6-year-old daughter, Jade. Bianca filed for divorce last month in London, and Mick, already edgy about the terms of a settlement, has been pleading for a moratorium. “She still listens to him,” reports a mutual pal, “and Mick is shrewd. He doesn’t let anyone know how much money he has.” But even if the Jaggers get back together, says another friend, “they would be fighting again in two months. Mick is very close with Jerry. Love or whatever, it’s real.”

Understandably, Hall isn’t talking—at least not about her favorite singer. Though they met two years ago (when she was the fiancée and roommate of another British rocker, Bryan Ferry), only recently have they gone semipublic. In New York they sometimes share a two-bedroom suite at the Pierre or the Carlyle, helicopter to soccer games in New Jersey, and disco—but generally not at Studio 54, which is Bianca’s turf. Last month, with Mick preparing for a U.S. tour and Bianca in L.A. promoting her yet-to-materialize movie career, Jerry babysat Jade in Woodstock, N.Y. Mick, meanwhile, dropped in on Jerry’s widowed mother in Texas. “He seems like a nice young man, but he made fun of my accent,” reported Marjorie Hall, 53, who resents the notion that Jerry broke up his marriage. “Scandal publications made her seem like a Jezebel, but she’s a good Christian girl and I’m proud of her. I don’t know if they are planning on getting married someday, but she enjoys being with him, and of course the publicity isn’t really bad for her career.”

Jerry’s career is her other satisfaction. With 40 fashion covers to her credit, she commands fees of $1,000 a day. She’s also done TV spots for Dr Pepper and Metropolitan Life. “If I’m not working,” says Hall, “I think I get ugly.” Observes British Vogue photographer Willie Christie: “She’s got one of those faces that if you look at it in a bad light without makeup, she’s ugly as sin. It’s a horsey face. But in a good light, she looks better than anyone.”

A savvy businesswoman, Jerry is building a house for her mother on a 200-acre ranch in Lone Oak, Texas. “But I wouldn’t live in Texas myself,” she says. “The men are always drinking, while their women go around brokenhearted.” To Jerry, her own income means never having to say she’s sorry. “In the past, some models would marry guys who could keep them in the same style,” she explains. “But if you take money from someone, you never enjoy it. If you have your own money, no one can buy you. Personal gifts are okay. I give men nice presents like they give me nice presents.” A toss of her waist-length blond mane reveals a pair of diamond earrings—from Mick.

The youngest (with her twin) of five girls, Jerry was raised in Mesquite, a Dallas suburb. Her father, a chicken farmer turned truck driver, died last year. His widow, a medical records consultant, raised her brood on positive thinking and Frederick’s of Hollywood. Weed-thin, with size-nine feet, Jerry was nicknamed “Tall Hall.” “Everyone laughed when I wore my sister’s falsies,” she recalls. “But later I was the first Cosmo nipple cover.”

At 14, Jerry was selling cones at the local Dairy Queen. The next year a minor auto accident brought her a nose job and $800 in insurance money—enough for a ticket to Paris. Putting up at a Saint-Tropez youth hostel, she was discovered by Claude Haddad (now her Paris agent) while sunning topless on the beach. Soon she moved in—platonically—with fashion illustrator Antonio Lopez, who taught her how to pose and dab on makeup. “For a while I was into the sleazy nightlife of Paris,” she says. “I’m tired of gay men now, but then it was interesting.” After spotting her on the cover of Italian Vogue, Bryan Ferry asked her to pose for an album cover. She did (“I charged a lot”), then moved in with him until she absentmindedly lost his engagement ring. “At parties now, the oldest, richest men always make a play for me,” she says. “They offer me things. I laugh.” Still, the attention is welcome. “I never had a boyfriend when I was young,” she sighs. “I spent so long being icky.”

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