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Laura exited the busy tube Tottenham Court Road and made her way up the escalator to exit the station. Her portfolio case was heavy and cumbersome, and several people bumped into it as they tried to walk up the escalator on the left hand side. Laura stood in line gingerly on the right; she preferred to wait until the escalator reached the top.
Exiting the tube station, Laura dodged past commuter after commuter, intent on getting to their destination as quickly as possible. It was the one thing that she hated most about Central London - the crowds and the fast-pace of life. She spotted a man with huge black dreadlocks and a straggly beard holding a pile of magazines and shouting, “The big issue, buy the big issue now”!
That had been her once.
Laura got her A-Z of London out of her bag and stopped to check where she was going. The address on the letter she held in her hand said that the studio was just off Tottenham Court Road. Even though she had lived in London for almost three years, she still had to check sometimes as to where she was going. Two of those years had been spent on the streets, selling the big issue magazine just as that man had been doing, and trying to scrape together enough money for something to eat and drink, if she was lucky. Home had been a cardboard box and an old torn sleeping bag.
Laura had run away from home at 15 to escape the continual abuse from her older brother Stuart. Every night that she spent on the streets was a night without fear, without wondering if Stuart would pay her a visit during the night. “Don’t tell Mum and Dad, because I’ll tell them that you started this,” Stuart would say, and Laura was petrified that he would, so she kept quiet until her 15th birthday, when she just couldn’t take it any more.
Now, Laura was working in a pub as a barmaid and living in a rented student house on the outskirts of Plaistow. Secretly, Laura had always wanted to be a fashion model. She would watch the likes of Naomi Campbell and Kate Moss walk down catwalks and displaying the latest designer clothes collections, and Laura knew that was what she wanted to be. New York, Paris, Milan - it would all be hers. Stylists, hairdressers, make-up artists, personal trainers and nutritionalists - she would have one of each pandering to her every whim, making sure that she was more beautiful than Naomi and Kate put together.
At the age of 18, Laura had long blond hair, striking blue eyes and an enviable slim figure. She was also very tall, another prime requisite for being a fashion model. So when she was approached by a middle-aged black guy in a pub, who told her that she was “exactly what he was looking for” for a calendar shoot that he was producing, she didn’t hesitate in giving him her address. Hastily she created a portfolio with the help of her house-mate Richard and his digital camera, and a contact of his helped her put together some “calling cards” with her name, vital statistics and eye and hair colour on. Richard also agreed to act as her “agent” and so his name and mobile telephone number appeared on the cards.
Yes, thought Laura when she saw the results, Naomi, Kate - watch out!
In the meantime the letter of confirmation for the calendar shoot had arrived. Laura hadn’t heard of Beachside Calendars Ltd, but she was sure that they were legitimate and above-board, and now Laura stood in front of a very imposing black door just off Tottenham Court Road. This was definitely the place, she thought, so she knocked on the door.
The black man opened the door and smiled at her.
“Hi,” he said. “Come on in. I’m Michael”
Suddenly Laura had a very uneasy feeling about the whole thing.
Gingerly she stepped inside the house. Michael showed her into a room, which had a white sheet put up for a background, one single spotlight on it and a camera on a stand. A white man with long dark hair scraped back was setting up another camera next to a large screen.
“This is Andy,” said Michael. “He’ll be taking the photo’s”.
“O-okay,” said Laura. “Would you like to see my portfolio first?”
Michael leered at her, and his intense dark eyes stopped square on her chest. “No darlin’ I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said. “Did you bring some bikini’s with you?”
“Y-yes,” said Laura uncomfortably.
“Good. You can change behind the screen there darlin’” said Michael.
Laura made her way behind the screen and took her jeans and t-shirt off. Opening her bag, she took out a silver bikini that she’d borrowed from Mary, who lived in the house next door to her. She removed her bra and as she put the bikini top on, she felt Michael’s eyes glaring at her. She turned her back and fastened the top, then stepped out of her black g-string and put the bikini bottoms off. She released her hair from its ponytail band and let it fall wild around her head, then walked out from behind the screen.
“Beautiful darlin, just beautiful!” exclaimed Michael as he sat at a desk with his arms folded. “Come on then, I want you to pose for me. Look sexy, look vibrant - you’ve just been swimming, you’re hot - oh yeah, that’s it!”
Andy started snapping away with his camera while Michael directed Laura into all manner of poses, looking demure, looking sophisticated, looking sexy - she did them all. She changed into a different bikini and started the process again. As Laura was changing into a third bikini, Michael called to her from in front of the screen.
“Leave your top off this time darlin’ - I want to be able to see those gorgeous tits of yours”
Laura was speechless. Had she heard correctly?
“Excuse me?” she asked from behind the screen.
”Come on,” he coaxed, “It will be a good career move for you. All the greats have gone topless love; it’s the only way to get ahead”
Laura stood stock still for a moment. She couldn’t take her top off, it just wouldn’t be right! But then she thought of her ambition, of getting to the top as a model. Surely he’s right - they all had to start somewhere.
With a deep sigh, Laura unhooked the catch on her bikini top and walked out from behind the screen.
Michael said nothing. He took a deep gulp and Laura posed for Andy as he took photo after photo, leering at her and “accidentally” brushing past Laura’s chest to adjust the light or the white background sheet.
Michael sat at his desk observing the proceedings with a huge grin on his face. Like lambs to the slaughter, he thought as he watched the very stupid and very naďve girl as she let Andy take photo after photo in one suggestive pose after another. Calendar my ass, thought Michael, I’ll make a fortune out of these pictures love. You won’t get a penny.
When Andy had eventually finished, Laura disappeared behind the screen and changed back into her jeans and t-shirt. She was cold and wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible.
“Stay,” said Michael as she was about to leave. “Have a coffee”
“No thanks,” said Laura. “When can I expect to be paid for this?”
“As soon as the calendar comes out love, and we receive the money for the first sales”, replied Michael, as he helped Andy put his camera equipment away.
Laura glanced down at a box that was next to his very untidy desk. It was marked “the dog box (those who will do anything)” and was full of files. While Michael’s attention was on Andy’s camera equipment, Laura flicked through the file on the top of the pile.
She was horrified to find her details inside it.
* * * * * * *
Two months later, Laura had managed to put the harrowing experience behind her and concentrate on her work in the bar. Thoughts of Paris and New York were still foremost in her mind, but for now she would have to make do with dirty, stuffy old London, until she got a real lucky break.
“Hey gorgeous,” said Richard as he made his way to the bar. “How’s it going?”
“Okay,” replied Laura. “What will it be?”
“A pint of Stella, please”
Laura proceeded to pull a pint of Stella Artois lager for Richard, handed him the glass and took a ten-pound note from him. As she gave Richard his change, a group of rowdy young men were eyeing her up as they looked through a magazine, leering at her and wolf-whistling.
“Ignore them,” said Richard. Laura nodded.
One of them approached Laura as she stood behind the bar, magazine in hand.
“It is you!” he said. “I’ve won the bet!”
“What are you talking about?” replied Laura.
“This is you, isn’t it?” said the man as he opened the magazine to a double page spread. “If it isn’t, it’s a bloody good double!”
And there, on the page, was Laura - topless and superimposed on the background of a tropical beach island.
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