Perfect (42 page)

threatened to have me locked up unless

I start eating more. But don’t worry.

I’m okay. Everything’s under control.”

I’m not worried about you, doll.

But play the game. The last thing

we want for you is treatment. They’ll

plump you up like a little piglet.

“I’ll have to wait for summer to do

the rhinoplasty now.” And I might have to

find a different plastic surgeon. Maybe

I’ll get my boobs done at the same time.

Apparently, This Audition

Is happening in a concierge suite

at the Atlantis, one of the most upscale

hotel casinos in Reno. As Xavier parks,

he reminds me to use my attributes to our

advantage.
Like your sister. You know,

fifteen, going on thirty. Look sweet.

Talk dirty, and let him talk dirty if he feels

like it. In fact, I want you to do anything—

everything—he asks of you. Even if it makes

you uncomfortable. Are you up for that?

Uncomfortable? That’s what I am right

now. “I’m not sure exactly what you’re asking.”

Okay, here’s the deal. This gig can set us

up in a big way. It could take your career

to a whole new level. We’re talking high-

fashion runway, and not just buyers’ shows.

You’ve worked really hard to attain

the right look. But lots of girls do.

Now, you need an edge, something to

guarantee that Gilles will choose you.

I want you to be very, very nice to him.

Understand? The sacrifice is minuscule.

Oh my God. I
do
understand. “You’re

saying I should have sex with him?”

Xavier grins.
Only if he asks you to.

Look, it’s not unheard-of in this business.

Oh, I’ve heard of it, and not only

in the colorful world of modeling, but

also behind the scenes at pageants,

big and small. But I’ve never once

thought about using my body

to win a crown. Or a runway gig.

I’m Thinking About It Now

Thinking about it all the way across

the parking lot, through the big glass

doors, along the marble floors, into

the elevator. Sex in exchange for cash

makes you a whore. What does sex

in exchange for a shortcut to your dreams

make you? Is there any difference?

Then again, what about sex in exchange

for love? Some people fall in lust well

before they ever fall in love, but it isn’t

impossible for love to trail sex.

My little sister, as Xavier noticed, uses

her body to get what she wants.

Is my moral compass any truer?

Why even worry about it? This Gilles

guy might be gay for all I know, more

interested in Xavier than me. Ha.

Wonder if Xavier would give the guy

head if it meant landing the gig. He knocks,

and I can’t tell from the first glance if the guy

who comes to the door is gay or not.

Come in. Come in.
His obvious appraisal

(of me, not Xavier) makes my stomach

lurch.
You must be Kendra. Xavier, you were

so right. She is a knockout. Come in.

(If he says that again, I am so leaving.)

Let’s talk.
He slips an arm around

my waist, herds me toward a big sofa.

I glance over my shoulder at Xavier, who

gives an A-OK sign. I do not feel A-OK.

I feel halfway nauseous. And totally

set up. Gilles sits me on the sofa.
Let me

show you my new line, Teen In-Style.
He opens

a big photo album, flips through the pages.

Tell me what you think. Do you like this one?

He is very close. His leg pushes against mine.

One hand lights on my knee. The fashion

he shows me is smart.
The idea is to market

to teens who don’t have unlimited budgets,

who want clothing that makes a statement.

His hand makes a statement, starting a slow

crawl up my leg.
Teens who are innocent, yet

bold.
It reaches my inner thigh.
Girls who

want to look exactly like you.…

I could protest.
Should
protest. Xavier

should protest. But when I glance at him,

he is smiling. Fingers play at the thin strip

of fabric between my legs. And I let them.

Sean

A Thin Strip

Divides a healthy dose

of self-esteem from

a fatal overdose of conceit.

Vanity.

It’s a high-wire act

requiring exceptional balance.

Complete control.

Straddling that tightrope

invites

a bone-smashing fall,

death the preferable outcome.

Irreversible brain damage

incites

force-feeding pity parties,

everyone wondering if you sleep

in paradise or fight for

stability in a maelstrom of

insanity.

Caught In A Maelstrom

Of jealousy and anger. That’s me.

It’s a static in my brain. A crimson

lens I’m looking through, and it

all makes my head pound like meat

getting tenderized with a mallet.

Why did the bitch lead me on?

I watch her come out of her house,

walk quickly to her car. Does she

suspect I’m here? If she drives by,

she’ll know for sure. But she turns

the other way, taking the back

road toward town.
To her. She’s

going to her,
says a voice.
Follow

her.
I don’t look for the source.

No matter how many times

I’ve searched, I can’t seem to

find him. But for the past

week or two, he’s been

talking a lot. I’ve learned to

do what he says. Or my head

hurts even worse. Cara’s

little red Saab is easy to

spot. I maintain a decent

distance so she doesn’t

see my truck in her mirrors.

Yeah, but don’t let her get too

far ahead, or you’ll lose her.

I turn up the radio.
That won’t

work, idiot. I’m louder than

the music and you know it.

He was practically shouting that

time. I turn the radio back down.

Open the window. A sharp stab

of air attacks my cheek, but it feels

good. Great. My skin is fevered.

“You have to stop distracting

me,” I tell the voice. Some

people would say it’s crazy,

talking to someone you can’t see.

But mostly he’s decent company.

Cara Weaves

Through an asphalt maze. Right.

Left. Left. Into an old southwest

Reno neighborhood, where houses

are brick and river rock, with

covered porches and splintered

sidewalks. She drives slowly,

as if looking for an address.

Maybe I’m wrong. Surely she

knows where the blue-haired

girl lives.
You’re not wrong.

She pulls against the curb

a couple of blocks ahead.

I find a place to park, watch

her go to the door of a small

house. Some man answers,

steps back to let her in. A man?

She’s here to see a man?
No.