Ramón she was no good.
She shrugged off her fake-fur bomber jacket to reveal a white tank with a deep V-neck that couldn’t fail to draw attention to her full breasts and silky, dark-brown skin.
Fernandez let out a low whistle and Dionne felt a pang of triumph. He liked her! This was going to be a success!
‘Okay, honey, I want to see innocent,’ Fernandez commanded as Dionne tried her best to oblige, changing her body and her expressions the way Luis instructed.
Fernandez was pleased with what he saw. Yeah, she was getting more natural, more confident at playing with the camera. The girl – what was her name again? – definitely had something. And she was starting to trust him.
Luis smiled lasciviously, walking across his makeshift studio towards Dionne. He stood close to her, but she didn’t flinch. Guys invading her personal space was nothing new. Slowly, Fernandez looked her over, then his eyes caught on the gold necklace that sat just above her cleavage. He twisted it between his thumb and forefinger, his fingertips brushing her skin.
‘Nice,’ he commented.
Dionne’s gaze didn’t falter. ‘It was a present.’
‘From your boyfriend?’
‘From my parents.’
Fernandez flashed that sleazy smile again, seeming pleased with the answer. ‘Okay, take off your top.’
‘What? I—’
‘Just take it off,’ he drawled, suddenly sounding impatient.
The request was unexpected, but Dionne wasn’t ashamed of her body. Hesitating for only a second, she pulled her vest over her head. Hell, it was only like a bikini shoot, right?
Fernandez stared at her cheap white bra and raised an eyebrow.
‘As 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
