Chapter 1: Her First Photo Shoot

I knew something was off the moment he approached us. My daughter, Phoebe and I were at the mall, shopping for new outfits for her. I promised her that when she turned fourteen, I would take her shopping for clothes 'more suitable' for her age. I didn't realize what she had in mind when she asked me for that for her birthday. As it turned out, in her mind, more suitable meant skimpier. I'm not naïve when it comes to raising girls, but in my head, Phoebe will always be my 'little' girl.

Phoebe had chosen to wear one of her outfits that we bought for her. We weren't done shopping, but she was excited about her new clothes. She went into one of the bathrooms and put on the short little skirt she picked out. It was pink and pleated. She wore the new white button down shirt too, but instead of keeping her bra on, she opted to take it off and instead of using the buttons, she tied it in the front Daisy Duke style, causing my heart to thunder with worry, wondering what other people would think of a father who would let his daughter dress that way. Everyone was noticing her. She loved it. I felt like a creep.

So did the guy who approached us, extending a card to her. He was a smooth talker. I had to give him that, but he was my age and he was looking at her as if she were of age, which she wasn't.

"My name's Packard Daily, but my friends call me Pack," he said with a salesman's smile. "Any you my dear, are destined for stardom."

It sounded like a line to me; something that a guy would say if he wanted more than he was willing to give.

"Stardom?" Phoebe asked, her eyes alight with possibility.

Packard turned his attention to me. "How would you like your sexy daughter here to become a household name?"

Sexy? That didn't sound like an appropriate word to use about a girl just getting into high school.

"I, uh..."

"Well, of course you would. I mean, who wouldn't? Your daughter, my friend, has what it takes to be famous. I deal with girls like her all the time and I can tell she has a gift." He reached up and stroked her auburn hair with his index finger, making her smile shyly as he flipped a lock of hair from the side of her face.

"What do you mean, sir?" I asked him.

"I'm both a photographer and an agent. I can spot talent a mile away. She's got it and I'd like to offer her ... and you, my friend, a unique opportunity; an opportunity that thousands of young ladies like her would kill to have. I'd like to photograph your daughter. Put a portfolio together and get her hired to become a model."

"Daddy! That's my dream," Phoebe said. "Can I? Please?"

"Well, I don't know, hon. We don't even know this guy."

But the look in her eye melted my heart. I could see how badly she wanted to believe that this guy was selling us a bridge that actually existed. I had my doubts.

"Look. I know this sounds too good to be true. What I'm asking is harmless. You'll be there during the shoot the whole time. I wouldn't have it any other way. I'll take the pictures and if you don't like them, we ditch 'em. If you do like them, I send them out to the right people and we try to get her hired. I don't charge a dime up front, sir. I make my money from the commissions after she's hired by reputable agencies and given work."

"I guess that sounds fair enough," I said.

"Oh, daddy! Thank you, thank you!" Phoebe exclaimed.

2

"I want you to keep in mind, Phoebe, this guy may not be for real," I said to my daughter as we were on our way to meet Packard for the shoot. After the initial conversation, we exchanged information, we had his card, so we gave him our names and my number (I certainly wasn't going to allow him to have hers) and we set up an appointment.

"It's for real," Phoebe said. "Just think, daddy. I'm going to be a model. I'm going to be in magazines!"

Yeah. Maybe. I just hope they are the kind of magazines you can find at your local supermarket.

"I hope you're right, Phoebes. But I think it's wise that we prepare for the worst case scenario here."

"You're such a worry wart, daddy," she said. "Ever since mom died, you've become just like she was."

"I'm just exercising prudence," I said. "And it is my right to think like your father."

I looked over at her as we pushed our way down Leighton Avenue. We were only a few blocks from our house and turning around seemed like such a good idea right then. Phoebe was wearing yet another skimpy skirt. It was cotton and her favorite color of pink, but the most noticeable thing about it was that it was short. Too short. With her being in a sitting position, I could see the tip of her panties. I didn't mention it. I tried that already on previous occasions and every time I did, Phoebe lashed out at me. She was all I had left and the last thing I wanted to do was alienate her.

If nothing else, it was clear that Phoebe was comfortable in her own skin. Maybe modeling was the perfect occupation for her. If Packard was the real deal, I wanted her to have her shot at it. I still had my doubts, but at some point, it would become clear as to whether this was real. We could always pull out. It wasn't like we were under any contractual obligations with him or anything and I had my doubts that he was the type of guy who signed anything.

It turned out that I was right. He wasn't the kind of guy to leave a paper trail.

3

I didn't know what to expect when we showed up at the address he gave us. As it turned out, the address we arrived at was for a dilapidated looking house. The front porch of the home barely looked like it could sustain the weight of a human being without caving, the grass hadn't been cut in a few weeks and weeds were growing up around the front of the house, most of them at least three feet tall.

"I think this was a mistake, hon," I said as we pulled into the driveway. "I think we should just go home and chalk this up as a mistake."

"NO!" she exclaimed. "Absolutely not. We're here and I'm doing this, daddy. Now quit being a worry wart. I want to be a model."

"Hon. This guy Packard creeps me out. What if he's some kind of child pornographer or something?"

"What? Come on, dad. You're overreacting again."

"Seriously, Phoebe. That kind of thing exists, you know. So, what if. What if that's what he is."

She sat there for a moment, finally looking at the house and the yard, giving me hope that she was seeing it the way I was.

"I want to see for myself," she said stubbornly.

"And if he tries something creepy?"

She looked at me seriously. "Do you think he will?"

I cringed. She didn't look appalled.

My thoughts drifted back to the past few days. Every time we left the house, she made it a point to wear more of her skimpy clothes. Everywhere we went, Phoebe was getting a lot of attention despite her young age. Some of the attention was weird looks from other parents, people looking at her and then looking at me with disdain in their eyes, but she also received what I perceived to be inappropriate glances from grown men. Phoebe ate it up. On one occasion, she wore a pair of booty shorts with the word 'Brat' printed on her bum. The shorts were obscenely short, the bottom of the shorts kept riding up as she walked and to my chagrin, Phoebe refused to adjust them back down to cover the bottom curve of her ass. As we stood in the checkout, a man not much younger than me walked up behind us. I didn't like how close he stood to Phoebe and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him reach up and tweak her rump. I damn near came unglued, but the fact that Phoebe smiled when he did it, kept me from blowing up.

I knew if I did blow up, it would lead to an argument between Phoebe and I. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, that girl had me wrapped around her finger.

I gave in and got out of the car. Phoebe followed my lead, getting out herself and meeting me at the front of the car. She slipped a hand around my arm and we made our way to the front door.

Packard answered the door moments after we knocked and with an eager grin, he invited us into his home.

The place was a mess. It gave me the impression of a single guy with a gambling addiction. There were beer bottles sitting on every surface near every chair in his house as if he had thrown a party the night before. The carpets didn't look like they were vacuumed in months and there was an opened pizza box with a half eaten pie sitting on the couch cushion, which was on the floor in front of the couch, instead of on the couch itself.

"Don't mind my place," he said rubbing his forehead. "Had a bit of a bash last night. I'm still recovering."

"We uh ... can reschedule if you'd like," I said, hoping to get the hell out of there.

"Nah. You're here. I'm here and this absolutely delectable young thing is here as well," he said, taking a step closer to Phoebe. He reached up and cupped her under her chin and she smiled up at him. I couldn't figure out what the hell she could be so happy about. The guy wasn't a total dog, I suppose, but to me he looked like a seventies version of a porno producer. All he needed was a leisure suit to complete the look. As it was, he wore a button down shirt with half of the buttons undone, a gold chain dangling from his neck. "I could eat you up, young lady."

She giggled, blushing slightly and tore her gaze from him as if she couldn't stand the intensity of his gaze.

"Whaddaya say we get things rolling, eh? No sense wasting time. I mean, time is money, right?"

"Sure," Phoebe said, smiling up at him again.

"My studio is in the basement," he said, looking Phoebe up and down. He was literally licking every inch of her with his eyes, causing Phoebe to blush again and making me want to grab her arm and bolt from the scene. Once again, however, I knew that would lead to a downright battle of wills between Phoebe and I. I didn't have the energy to go through that, but I trusted that she would come to her senses on her own. Once she realized this guy's true intentions, common sense would win the day.

We followed him down to his basement and for the first time, I saw that there was some loving attention given to this part of his home. After seeing the rest of the house, I assumed the basement would be the same. It wasn't. The basement was clearly the nicest part of his home. It was where the man made his money, so I guess that made sense.

It was still a little scary, though.

His studio was divided into sections. In one section, a neatly made bed with frilly bed coverings was the prominent feature, surrounded by large lights on stands. In another section, there was a wooden chair, again with its own lighting. In yet another section, there was a couch. In the last section, there was a wardrobe stand filled with different outfits, suitable for a variety of different aged girls. Most of the outfits looked to be just as skimpy, or even skimpier than those that Phoebe had me buy for her.

"Let's start over there, sweetie," Packard said, pointing the section with the chair. "The outfit you're wearing right now will do for a start."

He pointed me to a chair where I had a good view of the shoot. He grabbed an expensive looking camera, put a new chip in it and positioned himself in front of my daughter. He got down on one knee and aimed the camera in her direction.

"Now remember. You are the sexiest girl on the planet. Let me see that. Show me how sexy you can be."

Phoebe began striking poses for him and his camera whirred to life, the sounds of snapping and buzzing, filled the room.

"That's a girl," he said. "See. You're a natural at this, baby. A hand on your hip. Toss your hair to the side." SNAP, WHIR! "Great, hon. That's it. Sexy. Very sexy."

Phoebe continued to offer him sexy stances and he continued to snap images.

"Good. Now let's step it up a little," he said, looking over at me a little nervously. "Try lifting the hem of your sexy skirt for me. Show me a little more of those gorgeous legs."

"Okay," Phoebe said a little too enthusiastically for my tastes. Immediately, she assumed another pose, stretching one leg out for him. She reached down and gripped her skirt, pulling it way too high on her thigh, lifting it enough to make it clear that she was wearing a pair of thong underwear.

SNAP, WHIR, the camera sang out several times.

"Wonderful! Beautiful!" he exclaimed.

Phoebe giggled, leaving her fingers on her skirt. She turned a little more, lifting her skirt even higher, exposing the back of her rump.

SNAP, WHIR!

"My God, you are sexy. I think that's the greatest ass I've seen in years," he said as he snapped a few more shots.

"Thank you," she said coyly.

I hated how easily he was convincing her to expose her body the way he was. It was still my hope that Phoebe would wake up and smell the coffee. It was clear to me that I was right all along. This guy was no more a professional agent than I was a brain surgeon. If he was anything, he was the type of pornographer that I suspected from the beginning, but I still knew how things would progress if I made a fuss.

But I had to try. I just had to.

"I think this is going a little too far," I said. "I'm not really comfortable with my daughter exposing her ass on film."

"Relax. Relax, dad. I understand where you're coming from, but think of Brooke Shields and the first couple of movies she did. She was young. Very young and her parents allowed her to be filmed in the nude."

"Blue Lagoon?" I asked him.

"That was her second film, but yeah. The first one was just as provocative. Trust me. This isn't a big deal and your daughter can handle it, can't you, sweetie."

"Sure," she said. "Daddy, relax. I'm having so much fun right now."

"Take her word for it, dad. Girls love to be sexy. This won't be a big deal for her unless you make it one."