Jerri Phillips was one of those lucky ones the modeling business" finds" every year-the new shape, the new look, the new style-and gives all its attention to. In a matter of months, Jerri had gone from doing fashion shows at Bloomingdales to the cover of every influential women's magazine in the country. She was-she hated the word, but it was the only correct one-a star.

Jerri's new look wasn't new at all It was right for the time, correct for the recent fashion collections. She was tall and slim, with long shaggy chestnut brown hair, deep green eyes and firm young breasts. The days of the Twiggy look had come and gone, and breasts-not large, but well-formed, rounded and firm-were back in style. Jerri never wore a bra, and thus her hard nipples were an asset to her particular look. They were clearly visible under every sweater and blouse she wore. Her shapely legs accented her short mini skirts, and yet when she wore the maxi and midi lengths, she still looked stunning because her legs were so long.

But the modeling business, as Jerri had come to find out for herself, was not all glamour and fun. People were fiercely competitive-there was no such thing as a friend in the business-and jobs were hard to come by. Besides being attractive, Jerri had been forced to submit to the sexual advances of many an editor, designer, or agent who could help her career.

Jerri had always figured she would have to sleep around a bit to get to the top, but she didn't mind that. She liked sex as much as any healthy young girl living in New York, and many of the experiences were pleasurable.

But many of them-and the number seemed to be increasing-were not. She was almost on top now, almost the top model in the country, and still she found herself having to submit to the advances of dirty old men who controlled the business. She was tired of it, and tired of the other unfortunate aspects of the modeling world as well.