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"If you're that short of cash," Margaret said, "why not do some part
time modeling. I have a photographer friend who pays good money. He's
always looking for new models." "I couldn't do that," Sandy said, looking
aghast at her best friend's suggestion. "What would Dan say? You know how
jealous he is. Just the thought of another man looking at me would set him
off." Margaret shrugged. "What the eye doesn't see, dear," she said.
"He's working in Germany so how will he know? I certainly won't tell him."
"I couldn't take that chance," Sandy shook her head, her long red curls
tumbling around her pretty face. "He'd hit the roof; probably divorce me
or something. Besides, I haven't got the looks or figure for modeling."
"Are you kidding?" Margaret asked, a sarcastic note to her voice. "I'd
give my right arm to look like you. Most women would. You're a
twenty-year-old with the face of an angel. You're tall, slim; you've got a
lovely firm bust and a nicely shaped bottom. All your curves are in the
right places. Believe me, you've got what it takes. You could earn
yourself a small fortune in no time." Sandy blushed. She was shy, modest,
relatively naïve, and not used to frank appraisals or compliments even from
her best friend. She made more coffee for Margaret, quiet, thoughtful for
a while. Placing a fresh cup on the kitchen table, she said, "How much
does your friend pay?" "Ah-ha," Margaret smiled. "Not such a bad idea
after all, eh?" Sandy grinned. "I'm just curious that's all. I'd never
actually do it." "No, of course you wouldn't," Margaret said, with obvious
disbelief, a slight smile playing around the corners of her painted lips.
She sipped her coffee, lit another cigarette. She tossed back her mane of
black hair, exhaled a cloud of aromatic smoke and said, "The need for money
can sometimes be an overwhelming persuader, Sandy, so don't try to kid an
old kidder. For fashion work, the rates are anything from twenty to forty
pounds per hour depending on experience and demand. But there's rarely a
vacancy in that line. Paul requires nude work right now and you're talking
serious money. I know he pays a minimum of a hundred and fifty per
session. More for the adult stuff." Sandy looked astonished. "Wow, that's
a lot of money." Margaret nodded. "Just for taking your clothes off." "I
couldn't do it," Sandy blushed. "Not in front of a stranger anyway." "Of
course you could," Margaret said, flatly. "I did." "You?" Sandy was
surprised. "You never told me." "You never asked. I've been doing it
quite a while. My figure's not as good as yours, but for my age, I get
by." Sandy giggled. "God, Margaret. You're only twenty-six and there's
absolutely nothing wrong with your figure." "Twenty-six is old by modeling
standards darling. Things are beginning to droop a bit and I'm getting
thick around the hips. You, on the other hand, could easily pass for
sixteen, seventeen. That's what they want these days, young, innocent
looking girls with svelte bodies." "I couldn't pose nude, though," Sandy
said, "not for any amount of money." "You undress for your doctor don't
you?" Sandy frowned. "That's different altogether." "It's no different at
all," Margaret tutted. "The doctor's a professional. So is Paul. He
doesn't see you in a sexual light when you're undressed. All he sees is a
model; a woman doing a job." "Nevertheless," Sandy said, "Dan's the only
man who's seen me without clothes. I could never allow a complete stranger
to photograph me naked no matter how much money he's willing to pay. I'd
be too embarrassed for a start." "You could begin by doing lingerie or some
glamour first," Margaret suggested. "What, pose in my underwear you mean?"
"Yes. Or a bikini," Margaret smiled broadly. "That wouldn't be so bad as
being stark naked would it? You don't mind prancing around the beach in a
bikini do you?" "Well, no, but..." Sandy broke off. She blinked, averted
her emerald green eyes from her friend's enquiring expression. She dropped
her gaze coyly to the tabletop and her empty coffee cup. "I don't know,"
she said, thoughtfully. "Maybe. Maybe not." Margaret stubbed out her
cigarette in the silver ashtray. "Well, I'm only trying to help," she
said. "At least think about it. Once you're used to Paul and the camera,
maybe later you could work up to showing off a little bit more. Whatever,
it would still be good money."

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