what?”
“A foreign catalogue.”
“Which one?”
“Uh…it’s a favor for a friend,” she said vaguely.
“Who’s the photographer?”
“Uh…the photographer…”
Michel started to chuckle. “You’re a very pretty girl,” he said. “ Very pretty. However, ma chérie , there are a lot of pretty girls in New York trying to be models. A word of advice—don’t fake it—be truthful.”
“I’m always truthful,” she said, “when it works.”
He scratched his chin. “Have you done the rounds?”
“I’ve only been in New York a short time.”
“So you haven’t seen any other agents?”
To hell with truthful. “Not yet,” she lied.
“Here’s my card,” he said. “Be at my office, ten A.M. tomorrow. There might be something you’re right for.”
Brigette couldn’t wait to find Nona and thank her for the introduction. “This is, like, soo great,” she enthused, her eyes gleaming excitedly. “I’ve been trying to get an appointment with Michel Guy for ages.”
“Michel’s got a reputation as an ass grabber,” Nona warned. “He’s living with that English model—Robertson—you know, the one who’s so skinny you could slide her through a crack in a French window. Everyone knows he’s taken. It doesn’t stop him—he still hits on all the girls.”
Brigette was determined. “If he’s with Robertson, he’s hardly likely to come on to me, she’s incredible.”
“When has that stopped any man?” Nona said, tossing back her bright red hair. “So, tell me…what do you think of Zandino?”
“Major cute. Only I thought you wanted somebody who was already…y’know, established.”
“Nobody old ,” Nona said, wrinkling her nose. “They have to be under thirty. I can’t deal with anybody, like, you know, older than that. Can you?”
Brigette hadn’t really thought about it. So far, all her relationships had been with younger men.
She took another look across the room at Michel Guy. He had crinkly grayish-blond hair, a weathered tan, and faded blue eyes.
“How old do you think Michel is?” she asked.
“Forty-something. Pretty ancient.”
“Forty-something isn’t ancient.”
“Keep it business,” Nona said sternly, wagging a warning finger.
“I’m not about to sleep with him.” Brigette laughed. “Although he is attractive.”
“There’s my boss,” Nona said, on to the next subject.“Charm her. Maybe she’ll put you on the cover of MONDO .”
“You think?”
“Just kidding, but you may as well meet her.”
They headed across the room for another opportunity.
“Get on top,” Alex demanded.
“It’s enough, Alex, I’ve had enough,” Tin Lee cried, her compact, naked body slick with sweat.
Alex had been pumping away inside her for twenty minutes and to her dismay he remained ramrod hard. He’d popped two amyl nitrate capsules and was still drunk.
Tin Lee was not enjoying herself. This man was big and rough and not a gentleman in bed. She wanted out.
Alex grabbed her around the waist, hauling her on top of him. She felt herself impaled, like a thing, an object. He wasn’t treating her nicely. No foreplay. No touching. Nothing except a relentless pounding.
And yet…the truth was…she did want a role in his upcoming movie. And he was Alex Woods—a very important and famous director. And maybe…if he’d let her…she could teach him things in bed—like how to pleasure a woman—because right now, what she was going through was uncomfortable and humiliating. Wasn’t he ever going to come?
Alex shut his eyes and attempted to concentrate. The problem was that when his eyes were closed, the world took off, leaving him dizzy and confused. God, he hated drinking. Hated the effect. Hated getting up the next morning and suffering from his excesses.
His mother drove him to it every time. His fucking mother and her fucking put-downs. Why couldn’t she leave him alone?
Tin Lee moaned on top of him. Or was it more an anguished cry of
“A foreign catalogue.”
“Which one?”
“Uh…it’s a favor for a friend,” she said vaguely.
“Who’s the photographer?”
“Uh…the photographer…”
Michel started to chuckle. “You’re a very pretty girl,” he said. “ Very pretty. However, ma chérie , there are a lot of pretty girls in New York trying to be models. A word of advice—don’t fake it—be truthful.”
“I’m always truthful,” she said, “when it works.”
He scratched his chin. “Have you done the rounds?”
“I’ve only been in New York a short time.”
“So you haven’t seen any other agents?”
To hell with truthful. “Not yet,” she lied.
“Here’s my card,” he said. “Be at my office, ten A.M. tomorrow. There might be something you’re right for.”
Brigette couldn’t wait to find Nona and thank her for the introduction. “This is, like, soo great,” she enthused, her eyes gleaming excitedly. “I’ve been trying to get an appointment with Michel Guy for ages.”
“Michel’s got a reputation as an ass grabber,” Nona warned. “He’s living with that English model—Robertson—you know, the one who’s so skinny you could slide her through a crack in a French window. Everyone knows he’s taken. It doesn’t stop him—he still hits on all the girls.”
Brigette was determined. “If he’s with Robertson, he’s hardly likely to come on to me, she’s incredible.”
“When has that stopped any man?” Nona said, tossing back her bright red hair. “So, tell me…what do you think of Zandino?”
“Major cute. Only I thought you wanted somebody who was already…y’know, established.”
“Nobody old ,” Nona said, wrinkling her nose. “They have to be under thirty. I can’t deal with anybody, like, you know, older than that. Can you?”
Brigette hadn’t really thought about it. So far, all her relationships had been with younger men.
She took another look across the room at Michel Guy. He had crinkly grayish-blond hair, a weathered tan, and faded blue eyes.
“How old do you think Michel is?” she asked.
“Forty-something. Pretty ancient.”
“Forty-something isn’t ancient.”
“Keep it business,” Nona said sternly, wagging a warning finger.
“I’m not about to sleep with him.” Brigette laughed. “Although he is attractive.”
“There’s my boss,” Nona said, on to the next subject.“Charm her. Maybe she’ll put you on the cover of MONDO .”
“You think?”
“Just kidding, but you may as well meet her.”
They headed across the room for another opportunity.
“Get on top,” Alex demanded.
“It’s enough, Alex, I’ve had enough,” Tin Lee cried, her compact, naked body slick with sweat.
Alex had been pumping away inside her for twenty minutes and to her dismay he remained ramrod hard. He’d popped two amyl nitrate capsules and was still drunk.
Tin Lee was not enjoying herself. This man was big and rough and not a gentleman in bed. She wanted out.
Alex grabbed her around the waist, hauling her on top of him. She felt herself impaled, like a thing, an object. He wasn’t treating her nicely. No foreplay. No touching. Nothing except a relentless pounding.
And yet…the truth was…she did want a role in his upcoming movie. And he was Alex Woods—a very important and famous director. And maybe…if he’d let her…she could teach him things in bed—like how to pleasure a woman—because right now, what she was going through was uncomfortable and humiliating. Wasn’t he ever going to come?
Alex shut his eyes and attempted to concentrate. The problem was that when his eyes were closed, the world took off, leaving him dizzy and confused. God, he hated drinking. Hated the effect. Hated getting up the next morning and suffering from his excesses.
His mother drove him to it every time. His fucking mother and her fucking put-downs. Why couldn’t she leave him alone?
Tin Lee moaned on top of him. Or was it more an anguished cry of
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