Chapter 1

As a little girl, Melanie was always able to wind her father around her little finger. As a teenager she was able to cajole and tease him, and therefore get her way with him whenever it pleased her. So when she was graduated from Shreveport High School, she had no trouble convincing her father to send her to modeling school. Anything else would have been a waste of time as far as she was concerned.

In a physical sense Melanie was absolutely correct. She had the perfect figure for modeling. She was slender, with high, small-but-firm breasts which she was able to bind, if necessary, and she had boyishly flat hips, though there was obviously nothing boyish about the rest of her. Her thighs were long and slender, her knees round and smooth, her calves full without being bloated, and her ankles were neat and trim. She had small feet with high arches, too.

Facially she was a stunner. Her eyes were a piercing brown—she would have preferred blue, but one can't actually, physically change one's eye color—and her black hair was short with a sassy cut, almost like a page boy, but not quite. Her nose was short, straight, and had that sculpted look, though to be truthful it was her own nose and not the product of a plastic surgeon. Her lips were almost thin, but always looked pursed as if ready to kiss someone. Her face had a nice oval shape to it, and all the boys in high school kept trying to make a play for her.

Melanie had had one bad experience with boys when she had first started high school. There was this young hippie-type, Dave Saul, over whom she was ready to flip out, only Dave, schmuck that he was, treated her like some kind of property, and so Melanie had eventually kissed him off. From that time on, Melanie had wanted nothing to do with boys, enjoying the fact that they were crazy for her.

Finished with modeling school, Melanie was certain she was ready for the world of high fashion at the age of twenty. What was more, she was sure the fashion world was ready for her, as well. She had poise, dignity, looks, and ability. Unfortunately she quickly discovered there were about five-thousand girls in line ahead of her with the same qualities. She was just going to have to wait her turn.

Being a clever lady, Melanie went to a private studio and had a portfolio made up with pictures of her modeling every bit of clothing she owned, and quite a bit of clothing she had managed to borrow from girl friends. Now all she needed was a good agent, and she finally found an agent willing to handle her.

Marty Charles was from the same school as Melanie, but a few years older, and he had to admit his school sure turned out a winner in this girl. But he also knew she was the frosty type. Given time, Marty would be able to break her down.

Marty was just about six feet tall, and if he didn't have the body of a weight lifter, he was as close to looking like one as possible. He did all kinds of exercises three days a week, and as a result he bulged with muscles. His face was still boyish, even though he was on the wrong side of twenty-five, with large brown eyes, a straight, long nose, and a ruggedly firm jaw.

After three days of waiting following her hiring of Marty as her agent, Melanie went to his office to find out what progress he was making. The office was a small two-room affair in a mid-town building in Manhattan.

"Well," she asked, walking in unannounced, primarily because Marty had no secretary to do the announcing, "have you come up with anything worthwhile for me, yet?"

"Stay cool, Miss Lamarr ... " she had always admired Hedy Lamarr and so had chosen Lamarr as her working last name. " ... you know, finding the proper vehicle for someone like yourself isn't easy. It isn't a question of merely getting you a job. I'd have had a job for you last Friday if a mere job was what you wanted. What I want to do is get you in with the right people. You know, it's easy enough to find you seventy-five-dollar-an hour modeling jobs, but the important thing is to get it with the right people."

"Come on, Marty," she snapped impatiently. "The important thing is for me to get my feet wet, so to speak. What do you have?"

"Right now, what I have isn't right for you, honey."

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's what's known in the trade as figure-modeling."

"I thought all modeling was figure-modeling."

"You don't understand, honey," he continued. "In this case they model your figure ... with nothing on it."

"Is it for some kind of soap or cologne ad?" she asked.

"No, honey, it's for a raunchy man's magazine. Granted, the photographer who does the work also does a lot of high-class work for some of the better ads, but still ... "

"I'll take it," Melanie insisted.

"Hey, your father'll have my nuts if he ever finds out ... "

"Come on, Marty, no one's going to tell him. He never reads those kind of magazines, anyway. In fact, no one we know reads those kind of magazines. I'll take anything you have to offer, right now. If I make a strong-enough impression on the photographers, maybe they'll remember me when some of the better ads come up."

"Be careful, honey. These magazines do a lot of hardcore stuff, too."

"I can take care of myself," she assured him, taking the address from him and floating out the door.