LITMIR.BIZ

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well?’ Dionne asked. ‘Do I really need to?’ Alarm bells were beginning to ring.

      ‘Come on, honey, I ain’t got time for this. If you want out, get out.’

      He gestured towards the door, but Dionne remained motionless.

      ‘I’m serious. I ain’t gonna kidnap you or nuthin’. If you don’t wanna do this, then get out and stop wasting my time. But if you do wanna make it big, you gotta be prepared to start gettin’ ’em out. Look at Kate Moss – she’s always naked in the Europeans. French, Italian Vogue – do you read ’em? You should do if you’re serious about this industry. And you can’t move for the titties on their pages.’

      Dionne hesitated. She remembered the precious stolen moments she’d spent poring over an ancient copy of British Vogue. The cover had shown a model giggling as she slipped a hand inside another girl’s dress, pretending to touch her breasts. Maybe it was the norm over there.

      Reaching round to her back, Dionne unhooked her bra and let it fall away. Her breasts were heavy, the large, dark nipples swaying deliciously on her superb body.

      Behind the camera, Luis Fernandez broke into a sweat. He checked three times that he had enough battery – he wasn’t going to miss getting those babies on camera – and fired off a dozen shots without a pause, as Dionne raised her arms above her head like he told her to. ‘It makes them look higher, more pert,’ Luis explained.

      More pert? thought Dionne indignantly. She was sixteen years old. How much more pert did he want?

      ‘Right, I wanna try something different,’ he barked, as he crossed the studio and dragged an ageing chaise longue into the middle of the floor. It was covered in fading red velvet, heavily worn and edged in dark wood. Dionne could tell it had been nice … once. Now it was covered in unsavoury-looking stains and leaking yellow stuffing. Dionne sat down tentatively on the edge.

      ‘How about we try a few nude shots?’ suggested Fernandez, hastily wiping his perspiring forehead. Jesus, was it hot in here, or was it just the girl? He rearranged his trousers uncomfortably. Maybe she’d let him bang her after the shoot. ‘Upmarket stuff, of course,’ he continued. ‘Nothin’ funny. That’s why I brought the couch.’

      He gestured to the dilapidated chaise longue, and Dionne looked at him doubtfully.

      ‘Look, sweetheart,’ he began, trying to sound kind. He placed a hand on her naked shoulder and Dionne flinched. ‘I know you’re only a kid, but you’ve got a great future ahead of you. I’m gonna put the word out about these shots, and I guarantee you’ll have jobs lined up like that,’ he insisted, clicking his fingers. ‘But I gotta have something to show my contacts, and the wider your portfolio, the better. They wanna see all the different things you can do – you gotta be able to project different images y’see, kid – that’s what makes you sellable.’

      Dionne nodded.

      ‘Now I’m doing you a favour here, because you’re a friend of Ramón’s and he’s an amigo of mine. I ain’t charging you nuthin’ for these pictures, but they’re gonna be your passport to the big time.’

      ‘So what’s in it for you?’ Dionne challenged him. She was poor, from a neighbourhood full of Hispanics, African Americans and a handful of Eastern European migrants, but the one language everyone talked was money.

      ‘Me? I get to help make a big star. I have faith in you, Diane, and if you get to the top, I want you to repay the favour to Luis Fernandez. I make my money from shooting the big jobs – Vogue, Women’s Wear Daily, ad campaigns, see? It means I can afford to do a favour for a friend and help out a kid with huge …’ his eyes lingered on her breasts … ‘potential.’

      Dionne took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she agreed, standing up and slipping out of her skirt to reveal a perfectly waxed pussy.

      Fernandez nearly fell over. Christ, the kid was bald! Was she really that young?

      ‘Just lie back on the couch,’ he told her, trying to keep his cool. He didn’t want to alarm the girl – he had her exactly where he wanted her. ‘Put your arms above your head, and relax … that’s it … Make like some British rich bitch. You’re born to this kind of life. Elegance, luxury, that’s what we want …’

      Dionne suppressed a giggle. It was hard to portray elegance and luxury when she was stark naked. If she’d been dripping in diamonds, it might have been different. She arched her back slightly, trying to get comfortable, and Fernandez caught his breath.

      ‘Legs a little wider, honey … that’s it …’

      Unconsciously, Dionne did what he told her, following his instructions and letting her mind wander over the scenario he had set up for her. She was the lady of the manor – rich, beautiful, glamorous … she had servants to look after her mansion, and a devastatingly handsome, successful husband who bought her everything she wanted – fast cars, trinkets from Tiffany …

      Fernandez moved slowly across the room towards her, his feet silent on the grotty carpet. ‘I’m just gonna do some close-ups,’ he said softly.

      Dionne barely heard him. There would be no more clothes from the Goodwill, no more sharing a room with three of her sisters in a grotty, roach-infested house that smelt of damp and stale bourbon. Instead she would be treated like a princess and hold grand balls in her country house, where exquisitely dressed, beautiful men and women would flock to her parties. She wanted it so badly it was almost tangible. She would be admired and in demand, she would be loved, respected, and—

      ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

      Dionne jumped up from the couch and grabbed a nearby dustsheet to cover her body. Fernandez had been kneeling at the foot of the chaise longue, pointing the camera between her legs.

      He grinned lecherously. ‘You know, you’re even more beautiful when you’re mad. And you’re the best bit of cunt Ramón’s ever sent me.’

      Dionne felt sick.

      ‘Give me that camera,’ she yelled, lunging at him.

      But Fernandez was too quick for her.

      ‘’Fraid not, cutie pie,’ he sneered. ‘I ain’t letting these go. You’re a natural, you know that? You should be a model.’

      ‘I am going to be a model,’ Dionne insisted, blinking back tears.

      Fernandez laughed loudly and Dionne pulled the sheet more tightly around her. ‘You ain’t never gonna be no supermodel, honey. The public – they don’t like black trash, see? And that ass ain’t never gonna fit into any sample sizes.’

      ‘Give me those pictures!’ Dionne screamed again, snatching furiously at the camera. But Fernandez held on to it tightly.

      ‘Get the fuck out of my house,’ he snarled, pushing his face up close towards her. Dionne could smell the stench of his breath, see his yellowed teeth.

      With a sob, she grabbed her clothes and ran down the corridor, leaving the door open behind her as she ran outside. Tears were streaming down her face as she sprinted barefoot into the street, her thick, black hair streaming out behind her. Passing cars honked their horns, amused by the spectacle of this beautiful girl running down the road with only a sheet wrapped around her, but Dionne was too upset to care.

      How could she have been so fucking stupid? She’d thought this was going to be her big break, but he was just some fucking pervert. Jesus, he had those pictures of her – God only knew what he’d taken when she wasn’t paying attention. He’d been pointing the camera right between her legs, right up …

      Dionne stopped running and collapsed into sobs. The photos would go all round Dash Ramón’s crew, she knew that. She wanted to kill him for humiliating her like this. She thought he’d been doing her a favour, but Dash Ramón was only looking out for himself, as usual. Shit, what if her daddy saw those photos?

      ‘Hey,

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