Jerri was fed up with the hours, with the phone calls every hour of the day and night, fed up with the appointments and the waiting and the wasted time. She began to hate the photographers who treated her like a commodity, as if they were photographing a basket of fruit. She couldn't find anyone she could trust or talk to. Everyone was in the business for personal gain and they would stop at nothing to get ahead.

"I swear, it's gotta be worse than Hollywood!" Jerri said, sitting at the dinner table with Carol. "Today that freak Jason…"

"Who's Jason?" Carol asked, chewing a juicy piece of pork roast.

"Jason, the guy at Photo International, the one with the curly black hair and the big cock," Jerri replied.

"Oh, yeah," Carol said, still eating.

"Well, we were getting ready for a shot and he called me to the dressing room to stick some damn feather in my hair or something, and what does he do but pull his cock out and tell me to suck him off. Right there, between takes, with about twelve guys in the next room waiting for me! I was in full makeup, and he wants me to suck him off!"

"Did you?"

"Sure, what could I do? I no sooner got on my knees and took it in my lips when he came. All down my chin, on my dress! A thousand-dollar original! Cum spots on the bodice! Jesus Christ. He may be a good-looking guy, but I can't take shit like that. "Jerri took a sip of wine.

"Look," Carol said gently," I told you it's your decision. You either stay with it, hang in there, put up with the shit, suck them off when they want and have your name and picture plastered on billboards from here to California. Or you get up and get out. What's more important? Your career or your sanity? I don't think you can have both in this city."

Jerri didn't reply, but she was thinking. Carol was right, but what could she do, pack up and leave? Get up and run? Where would she go? What would her parents say? What would her brother say? What would she do with her life?