The Sex Trade

Part 5 - Juicy Shoot

"Hey Maddie," Dan says over the phone.

"Heya," I reply with my heart pounding from doing laps of Jacob's Ladder (a gnarly set of stairs frequented by those that believe a firm ass is the best way to a man's heart) underneath King's Park in the city.

"You got the contract for the shoot, Maddie."

My heart sinks.

"I can't do it this week, Dan."

There's a long pause, and I expect him to hang up for wasting his time. Dan starts talking to someone in the background. They go on for so long that I almost kill the call myself.

"Sorry, what were you saying, Madison?"

"I ... ah ... can't do the shoot for at least another week."

"That's fine. Half the reason I was calling is because we've pushed the shoot back to the 10th. How does that suit?"

"Give me a second to check my calendar," I say as I perv on a hot tanned guy that goes jogging by in spandex and a loose singlet. "Yep, I'm free."

"Good. I'll email you everything you need to know. Looking forward to seeing you there."

I bet you are. But no more sucky-sucky until I get my money and another contract in the bag.

The last of the bruising on my face disappears two days before the shoot. I'm now certain this is my big break. Juicy is an international magazine. The last girl to do a cover landed a walk at Milan Fashion Week. What's even more encouraging is she's shorter, older and far less defined in the chest than me.

I arrive for the shoot just after ten and catch Dan's eye as I walk in. He bounds over to greet me then shows me around the studio. He stands close as we idle around the stylish brick warehouse. It feels like he's guarding me, like he's being protective, which after Marty's efforts, feels kinda nice. He catches me smiling, and I feel like he's about to say something soppy.

"I need to see the production guys up in the office. I'll be back for the shoot."

Dan palms me off to a lacky called Jess before disappearing. She's sweet but means business, and we waste no time getting in front of the screen for a light check. After that, I sit in a makeup chair for an hour while another sweet but dopey girl goes to work with an array of brushes.

"Can I just say you're so pretty," she says as she stands back to assess the job she's done. "I've been doing this a long time, and you are honestly the most stunningest."

"Thanks, babes," I say, looking at myself in the mirror.

"How old are you?"

"22 and fresh as fuck," I say with a wink.

She switches her stance, looks at me sorrowfully and says, "You'll go places as long as you're willing to give them everything they want."

"And more," I add, thinking about the special attention I gave Dan.

She forces a grin as she returns to my eyeshadow. I'm really making all the right moves, aren't I? A few more high-end gigs like this, and I'll have my own styling team that travels with me.

A few minutes later, the photographer for the shoot takes me from makeup to a small dressing room at the end of a corridor. He's bald, doesn't smile, is overdressed and clearly thinks I'm just another number.

"I'm Frank," he says without bothering to ask for my name. "Can you slip into this," he asks as he points to a hideously baggy jumpsuit on the rack next to us.

"That. Are you serious?"

"Yeah, why? What's the problem?"

"Look at it," I say, swiping the gross fabric with my fingers.