Chapter 1: Meeting

"Flip your hair, Felicia!" James said as he circled me. "Toss it nice and high and give me a -- yes! That look!" James' camera clicked rapidly, a sound I was used to hearing. A sound that, on a good day, gave me a small buzz.

I gave him my most sultry look and winked at him. The winking would never make it into a take but the before or after shot might. Winking has an effect on my face, James often told me. He thinks winking puts me in a higher mood.

I stood in a small set in James' large apartment in San Francisco. Me, Felicia Clarkson, an up and coming model-- or so my agent, Marcos, loved to tell me. Behind me sat a large green screen, and around me were several lights.

"Her hair's getting junked," Trudy called over from the wing space.

James nodded, albeit impatiently. "Take a break, Felicia."

"Thanks," I said. This was a long shoot, and despite what people out there think, it is possible to get tired modeling. I chugged some water, despite Trudy's frowning. "Sorry, thirsty."

Trudy was a fifty-year-old make-up and hair artist who worked almost exclusively with James. Over the past couple years, I'd gotten to know her very well. "You look lovely, darling," she said, "but your hair is coming undone, and I'm going to have to redo your lipstick now."

I snatched the lipstick from her. "Nope, I'll do it while you fix my hair."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed James watching us, smiling. James was a good guy. I loved doing shoots with him, and always requested him whenever my contract stated I could have preference. He wasn't really my type, though. I prefer taller men with a solid build, and James was barely taller than me and scrawny. Handsome face, yes, but that was about it. Oh, and as I mentioned, a good guy.

Marcos came over to me while Trudy went to work. I had my lips pursed and puckered, checking the lipstick job when I saw him in the mirror. "Hello, Mr. Agent, what brings you to my shoot?"

Marcos stood behind me in his perfect attire, a very well-cut Kenneth Cole suit with matching shoes. He always dressed well. I dated him for two years, so I know. Clothing perfection. Some men spend their money on cars or home electronics. Marcos liked clothes. Even his pajamas were designer. He drove an Acura, an okay one, but he was always dressed to the tee. "I was passing through and thought I'd stop in."

"B.S." Marcos never just drops in, especially for me. I'm not even close to one of his biggest clients. He stroked his black goatee. Bad news. Trudy even could tell. She made a tsking sound and kept fixing my hair.

"You didn't get Horacio's."

I closed my eyes briefly, but didn't frown. It wasn't the worst news. Horacio was a big deal editor and his layouts were always big deal layouts. I was a long shot, and I'd known it. Still, Marcos made me try every season. He cared about me and wanted me to aim high, even if I always missed. Don't get me wrong, I was a good model, and I did all right, but I wasn't "Horacio's big."

"Oh well," I said, smiling my best. "There's always next season."

"That's what I hoped you'd say," Marcos said. He patted my shoulder and gave me a wink. I used to love that wink when Marcos and I had first started dating. He's a very handsome black man with amazing taste in clothes, food, and music, but he's also very forgetful of birthdays, special occasions, and important dates with girlfriends. It's not that he didn't care about me, he just didn't care about me more than he cared about work. To Marcos, his best girl will always be his job.

"Break's over." James waited back on the set, camera in hand. Trudy did a couple of last second things with my hair, gave me a judging squint, and approved my dismissal.

"I look amazing," I told her, puckering my lips to her reflection.

Trudy blew me a kiss and gave a thumbs up.

In a matter of seconds, the camera was flashing at me, and I watched Marcos slip out of the studio and tried to act like I was the happiest, sexiest woman in the world. Because that's what Macy's bikini line needed me to be. The shoot lasted a total of three hours. I put on seven different bikinis and Trudy changed my hair once for each outfit. I had to admit, Macy's had assembled a good line this year. I saw two I definitely planned to buy and take with me to next summer camp. Ben, Dawn, and Adrienne would be drooling over me and peeling them off me. I couldn't wait.

After the shoot ended, I changed back into my street clothes and toned down the makeup and hair. I came out and gave Trudy a hand cleaning up. It wasn't normal for models to do that, but I didn't mind. I'd gotten to know Trudy so well we were basically good friends, even if we didn't hang out off set. James was cleaning and putting away his lenses. He held them like babies. I used to tease him about it, but he doesn't ruffle easily.

"Bad news today?" James called out to me as he carefully closed the last of his lens cases.

"Meh," was my response. "No big surprises."

"Big enough for Marcos to show up, though." He waved me over to his computer. "The pictures are all here."

I stood over his shoulder while he leaned down to work the laptop. "I can't believe how fast you have them now. Computers are such a mystery to me."

James laughed. "Just spend more time looking at porn and you'll learn all you need to about computers."

"Ew!" I laughed, too, and pushed him a little. "There I am. Ta duh!"

James clicked through several pages of filled with photos of me. They looked good, but as my time in the industry racked up, I began to see what others were telling me: I didn't have "IT." Something was missing, and I couldn't put my finger on exactly what IT was, but I could certainly see it was missing. My modeling ability stood somewhere between local department store ads and a swimsuit cover. It sucked.

James must have sensed my dissatisfaction because he looked at me with a happy frown and sympathy in his eyes. "They're not bad."

"They aren't amazing though, either." I shook my head in dismay. I'd tried really hard and implemented some of the techniques my latest coach had taught me. It hadn't worked.

"Are you eating well?" James asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you have enough to eat?" he insisted.

I choked out a harsh laugh. "Shit, James, I'm not anorexic or something. Are you kidding me?"

James snorted badly and had to cover his face with the collar of his white shirt. "I wasn't implying that. I'm asking if you have enough money to pay rent, buy food, keep your bills paid down. Don't get upset. Most models can't even pay their bills without a second job. You can. That puts you in the top forty percent."

He had a point. A good one. But my sour mood stayed with me until I got home. My apartment was in a nice part of the city with a good view. Okay, a great view. But Adrienne helped with the rent. She could have paid it all, if she wanted to, and she wasn't even working full time ... yet, despite her plans to.

Adrienne.

That was a big part of my problem. She was already farther ahead than me. Most of her contracts more were worth more than mine. She didn't even have enough time to take all the offers being thrown at her. She was on the fast track. I wasn't.

I set my purse on my table just inside the door and kicked off my shoes. I had the place to myself. Adrienne was likely staying the night with Big Ben. It was just me and Whiskers, my ferret. I put on some soup and turned up the news. The headline story was about another gay parade. Every other news story in San Francisco had something to do with gay or lesbian rights. Welcome to the Rainbow City. Not a bad place to live.

I'm not the world's best cook, but I make do. Adrienne likes my cooking. While letting everything simmer, I hopped into the shower and scrubbed off my makeup and got all the crap out of my hair. Believe me, nothing beats that fresh feeling after a long shoot. I put on a robe and went back into the kitchen. The door was open.

I screamed a little, and a girl with long blonde hair jumped, too.

"Adrienne!" I yelled. "Maybe announce that you're home next time, so you don't have to give me CPR. Gosh!"

Adrienne laughed loudly. Her laugh is like music, and I've told her that. If I was a lesbian, I'd be madly in love with Adrienne Dennis. No question about it.

"Whatcha cookin', good lookin'?" she asked as she walked into the kitchen. "Yum yum." Her voice transformed into a French chef's. "Eez deez pour moi, mademoiselle? Eez yoo going to share eet with me?"

"Help yourself." My appetite had suddenly disappeared. Adrienne had just come from a shoot, too. Her hair looked perfect, her makeup dynamic. She looked exhausted, too.

"What's the matter?" Her question came as I walked from the kitchen.

"I thought you were going to school today." I didn't want to answer her question, because I'd finally figured out exactly what that was.

Adrienne followed me, taking off her earrings as she walked. "Yeah, I changed my mind. I needed the shoots. Good for my 'folio."

I rolled my eyes. She still used the new model talk. No one really calls it a "'folio." Adrienne was so new she didn't even really have the lingo down. But that didn't stop her from getting a ton of Grade B work, and pushing Grade A work faster than Ben can get a hard-on.

"My agent had two shoots for me, so I just figured, who really needs to learn biology from lecture anyway? I can always read the textbook. And it's not like I really will, but ... whatever."

I laughed, but it didn't sound like me. Adrienne heard it, too. She grabbed my arm and pulled. "What's wrong?"

I stared at her blankly, both mesmerized and angry at her beauty. Adrienne is one of those girls who surpasses "hot" and "pretty." Even beautiful isn't the right word. If I had to pick one it'd be "exquisite." Even Dawn and the other Evans girls don't quite measure up, in my opinion. I think that's why Ben originally chose Adrienne. He is, after all, a sexual being before anything else. "You must be exhausted," I told her. "Go get some soup."