"I'm so impressed," Jessica gushes, lifting her no-fat sugar-free decaf latte into the air as a makeshift toast. "Francie was completely right, you have all the stuff."
"Stuff for what?" Despite Jess's high position as a DeMitrio top model, I can't help feeling comfortable and friendly towards her already. Without her three-hour makeup job and windswept blond waves, she looks almost natural and down-to-earth, though still exceedingly beautiful. And she likes me. My heart jumps in nervousness as I wait for her answer.
Jess smiles nonchalantly. "This shoot is a big job," she explains, "And there's going to be competition. If we want to help Francie make it to the top, we've gotta go where only the best and the fittest of models ever get to go."
"Which is where? Venice?"
She laughs playfully. "No, Locki. DeMitrio signed a contract with Playboy the other day. And she wants two great models--namely, us--to do all her shoots. It'll be a skyrocket to your career, babe!"
"Playboy?" I blink. "You mean..."
In response, Jess reaches into her designer purse and pulled out a small scrapbook of magazine cutouts. They are all women, nude or tantalizingly underdressed, posing tastefully in the most erotic positions--straddling a stone wall, perched atop a Mercedes, sprawled across a bathtub. "Do you know how much money these girls MAKE?" Jessica is grinning. "We'll be famous!"
Jeff won't like it, but I'm starting to.