Chapter Two
Kayla
"How'd it go?" Mick asked lazily from the couch.
"Don't even ask," I groaned as I set my purse down on the kitchen table of our cramped apartment with a heavy plop. "I thought you were going to pick me up after the audition. I had to take two busses to get home."
"I thought you'd be longer. Besides, you never called to tell me you were done." Mick was watching some show about monster trucks on the television and drinking a beer; he didn't even bother to turn and look at me. His shaggy, brown hair was tucked back behind his ears, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in days. He was wearing a tee-shirt with a picture of his favorite brand of beer on it and jeans that were in desperate need of being washed. I used to wish he'd clean himself up more, but I'd gotten used to it, and even grown to like the way he looked. Sort of modern-age-grunge-meets-Hollywood-beatnik.
"Check your cell phone; you'll see you have three missed calls on it." I tossed the phone at him unhappily, and it landed on the cushion beside him. He shoved it into his pocket without looking at it and patted the couch, indicating for me to sit.
"Sorry, baby. I thought it was just bill collectors calling, so I didn't even look. I really thought you'd be longer. Sit down next to me and tell me what went wrong."
He flashed me his most charming grin and even turned off the television set. As much as I wanted to be mad at him, I never could resist when he looked at me with his big, brown, puppy-dog eyes. I guess that's why we were still together after five years.
We'd met when I was just sixteen. He'd been the assistant manager at the Tasty-Freeze where I worked after school, selling fries and soft-serve ice-cream cones. He introduced himself to me as Mickey Palmetto and told me he was five years older than me to the day. I had never met anyone that shared my same birth date and was certain it was sign from the fates that we were meant to be together.
At 21, Mick seemed so sophisticated and grown up. I couldn't believe a man with his own car and apartment would be interested in a dumb, high school kid like me, but he was. He showered all his attention on me, giving me the best shifts and feeding me dollops of ice-cream off the tip of his finger when no one was looking. I'd been devastated when he was fired a few months later, thinking I'd never see him again, but it didn't keep him from finding me.
"What are you doing here?" I remember asking with a blush when he showed up out front of Polk High School in his black Camaro. It was an older model and the engine needed tuning, but it was still the hottest car I'd ever seen in real life and he looked amazing in it with the top down and his arm draped casually over the passenger seat, inviting me to join him.
"What do mean? You're my girlfriend, aren't you? I came to pick you up." Mick flashed me a sexy grin, and I instantly turned to Jell-O. No guy had ever been interested in me, let alone asked me to be his girlfriend. I was always the shy girl with the pale, blonde hair that nobody ever noticed. I didn't play sports, I wasn't involved in any clubs, and I didn't have the best grades, or even the worst. I was completely average in every way and utterly forgettable. Nobody cared about me — not even my own parents, and now here was this man wanting me to get into his Camaro and calling me his girl. I'd never been so happy.
Mick treated me like a princess. He took me out on dates and told me I was beautiful. He made me feel interesting, sexy, and alive. When we made love for the first time on my seventeenth birthday, I knew I'd found my soulmate. One day we'd be married, buy a cute, little house somewhere in the country, and raise a family together. Of course, first I had to graduate high school, but that would happen soon enough, and Mick was working hard to secure a future for us with a variety of enterprises he was working on. He didn't like working for other people and all the bullshit that came with being an employee; he was going to run his own business one day and buy me everything I ever wanted.
I truly blossomed under Mick's love and attention, and by the time I was 18, nobody would consider me forgettable. I'd learned how to style my hair and wear make-up, and he had encouraged me to wear more fashionable clothes — and he was always buying me cute little outfits.
"This skirt is too short." I used to blush when I'd unwrap one of his gifts, but he'd just stroke my cheek and smile.
"You've got great legs, baby. I want to show my girl off. Put it on for me and let me see how sexy you look."
I'd felt uncomfortable in the low-cut dresses, crop tops that showed off my belly, and short skirts that barely covered my ass, but Mick always lavished me in attention whenever I wore them for him — and so did everybody else. It was something I could never quite get used to, but I would do anything for the man I loved and it clearly made him happy.
"You're so hot, you could be a model, baby," Mick complimented me one evening. It was a warm, spring night, and we were laying on the hood of his car in the park, looking up at the stars.
"Thanks, but I don't think so," I giggled under his praise.
He pulled me into his arms and kissed my lips tenderly. "Sure you could. You don't believe me? I'll prove it to you. I got you modeling gig down in L.A."
"As in Los Angeles, California? Yeah, right." I didn't believe him. Mick was always teasing me with wild stories that weren't true.
"No, I'm serious. A buddy of mine is starting a new business selling some shit, and he needs help with the distribution and marketing. He wanted a really hot, blonde girl to pose for the packaging, and I told him I knew a great model who would work for cheap: you."
"Me? I've never modeled."
"I know, it's perfect. You can launch your modeling career without even trying, my buddy can start his business, and I get a piece of the action on both ends. This will give us the money we need to start our life together. You want to get married, right?"
"Of course, I want to get married."
"You still love me, right?" Mick was kissing me now and stroking my face in the way he knew I liked.
"Of course, I still love you."
"Let's do this then. Let's go to L.A. tonight, right now." Mick stopped kissing me and jumped off the hood of the car. He was suddenly really amped up. He opened the car door for me, hurrying me into the vehicle, and then started the engine before I even knew what was happening.
"Wait. We can't go to L.A. right now."
"Why not?"
"What about high school? I graduate in just one month. We can go then."
"It might be too late by then. This job can't wait. I don't want him to give it to someone else and see you lose your big break. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for you, and I'm not going to be the one to get in your way and see you lose it.
“High school is just for losers who need some kind of degree for their miserable jobs that they work 40 hours a week. You don't need that. Models make their own schedules. Models travel the world, working when they want, and doing whatever they want. That's going to be you, baby, and I'm not letting you throw away this chance.
“As your manager, I'm taking you to L.A. tonight. If we drive all night, we can be there in no time, and before you know it, you'll be a star and I'll be able to tell everybody 'See that supermodel? That’s my wife'. Let's do this. Are you with me?"
"I don't know," I hesitated. This was a big step, but he was so excited and so sure. His mania was contagious and my fears were already being drowned out by his enthusiasm. "Do you really think we can do this?"
"Of course, we can. We can do anything we want. We're a team, you and me. You'll be a famous model, and I'll be an entrepreneur and your manager. This opportunity will give us the money we need to build a life together. I can't wait to marry you, baby. You still love me like I love you, right?"
"I do." We both recognized that was the exact phrase two people uttered when reciting their wedding vows, and it made us both smile. Gazing into each other's eyes, we kissed one last time, and then Mick put the car into gear and we sped off onto the highway and into our future.
Of course, things didn't work out quite like Mick had planned. His friend's modeling job turned out to be asking me to pose in my underwear for "massage oils" he had invented and was trying to market to L.A. sex shops. I was mortified and refused the job. Mick insisted that I do it, and since it was the difference between staying in a ratty motel or sleeping in the Camaro again, I went ahead and did it, but I never put the job on my résumé.
Now, three years later, I was 21 and still struggling to make it as a model. I'd gotten a job on a flyer and done some work at a seedy convention, but that was basically it. So far, my big break hadn't come, and after all this time, I wasn't sure it ever would.
"So, what happened at the audition today, baby? Tell me everything." Mick had his arm around my shoulder and was giving me his full attention, stroking my hair and gazing into my eyes. It was impossible not to open up to him when he was like this; this was the Mick I had fallen in love with five years ago.
"There's nothing to tell, really. I have the look they want; naturally blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a friendly smile. I just don't have the experience, and all the other girls looked so much more professional than I did."
"Forget classes. That bullshit is for suckers. Why do we want to pay our hard-earned money for some asshole to tell you how to look pretty and smile?”
"There's a lot more to modeling than that. There are certain ways to enhance your figure while showing off the product that photograph better than others. I didn't even know how to pose on the bike properly. It was really embarrassing. Besides, it's my hard-earned money. You haven't had a job in months."
"I work damn hard as your manager." He was angry now, and I knew I'd crossed a line as he pulled his arm away and started shouting. "You think it's easy finding these auditions for you and getting the appointments? You'd be nothing without me. Who the hell was it that got you that catalog spread? Me. And, which one of us turned it down and lost a perfectly good thousand bucks for us?"
"I'm sorry. I know you work hard, but that photographer wanted me to do a lot more than just pose for him in a bathing suit, and I just couldn't do that."
"Well, maybe you should. Has it ever occurred to you that I'm not the one holding you back on your modeling career, that maybe it's your over-the-top moral standards? You think none of these other models are willing to take off their clothes for a photographer or give a director a little blow job on the side? Fuck, Kayla, you're such a damn prude. No wonder you can't get any jobs."
"I'm not a prude. I've been sleeping with you since I was 17, and we're still not married yet. It broke my parents’ hearts when I ran away with you to L.A. to be a model, and now I wonder if it was even worth it. Nothing's ever come of it. It's been three years I still haven't gotten my break."
"And, you won't until you loosen up and start showing some skin. The next time a director, producer, or photographer wants you to take off your top, you'd better do it, if you know what's good for you. That's when you'll start getting the jobs, when you start showing some tits and ass."
"Well, you'll be happy to know that I did that today," I said glumly. It was my biggest fear that Mick was right, that it was my own refusal to sacrifice my moral integrity that was blocking my career, and not my lack of classes or experience.
"Really?" Mick's face lit up. Somehow I had been hoping he would be jealous and want me to save myself only for him, but he wasn't like that. He'd prostitute me out if he thought he could get money for it, only I wouldn't let him.
"Yeah, my bikini top fell off right in front of everybody. It was so embarrassing; I wanted to die."
"No, baby. This is a good thing. Just wait and see. I bet you get called back, and when you do, make sure to give them all the nudity they want."
"I don't think they'll call. After my top fell off, I accidentally knocked over the motorcycle I was supposed to be posing with. I probably broke it. The only call I'll be getting will be from the legal department billing me for the damage."
"No, you'll get the job, and then you'll know I was right. Just wait and see." Mick jutted out his chin confidently.
Just then my cell phone started to ring, and we both stared at it. The caller ID said Speed Motorcycles, Inc.