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© 2013 by Melody Carlson
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ISBN-13: 978-1-60006-953-6
Cover photo by Shutterstock Images LLC, Supri Suharjoto
Published in association with the literary agency of Sara A. Fortenberry
Some of the anecdotal illustrations in this book are true to life and are included with the permission of the persons involved. All other illustrations are composites of real situations, and any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.
All Scripture quotations in this publication are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version® (NIV®). Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
Carlson, Melody.
Enticed : a dangerous connection / Melody Carlson.
pages cm. — (Secrets; [bk. 6])
“Th1nk.”
Summary: Praying for her own rags-to-riches story, impoverished sixteen-year-old Simi Fremont goes online to launch a modeling career but is soon caught in a dangerous web of slavery and human trafficking.
ISBN 978-1-60006-953-6 (pbk.)
[1. Models (Persons) — Fiction. 2. Human trafficking — Fiction. 3. Slavery — Fiction. 4. Christian life — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.C216637Ent 2013
[Fic]--dc23
2012046584
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 / 17 16 15 14 13
OTHER NOVELS BY MELODY CARLSON
SECRETS Series
Damaged
Deceived
Forgotten
Shattered
Trapped
TRUECOLORS Series
Bitter Rose
Blade Silver
Bright Purple
Burnt Orange
Dark Blue
Deep Green
Faded Denim
Fool’s Gold
Harsh Pink
Moon White
Pitch Black
Torch Red
… [CHAPTER 1]………………
I wasn’t always pretty. And a lot of the time I don’t think I’m the least bit good-looking. That’s because I still see myself as a too-tall, geeky misfit with an ugly unibrow and wild black hair. But then my appearance has changed this summer — dramatically. Having my mom’s friend Trista work over my eyebrows did wonders, but I also found the right products for my hair. Consequently I’ve noticed that people look at me differently, and I even get random compliments.
Not from my peers, of course. Other than my best friend, Michelle, it seems like girls from school would rather sneer at me or make fun of my secondhand clothes. But occasionally an adult will make a nice comment.
Like yesterday when an elderly neighbor stopped me in the stairwell as I was going up to our apartment. “Well, look at you, Simi.” Mrs. Norbert adjusted her glasses as she stared me up and down. “Why, you have grown into a beautiful young woman.”
“Thanks!” I smiled brightly as I wrapped my beach towel a bit more snugly over my damp swimsuit. I’d just taken a cool-off dip in the apartment complex’s tiny swimming pool.
“How old are you now?” She switched her shopping bag to the other hand, still studying me.
“I just turned sixteen last month,” I said proudly.
“Is that all?” She pulled a set of keys from her pocket. “I thought you were older.”
“Maybe because I’m tall.”
Still eyeing me, she nodded with a thoughtful expression. “You know … you could probably take up modeling, if you had any interest in that sort of thing. You’ve got the right height for runway modeling.”
I laughed, remembering the models I’ve watched on reality shows. “It sounds fun, but I doubt I’d be any good at it. I’m pretty much a klutz.”
“But you can learn these things. You can learn to be graceful. Did you know I was a model when I was just a little older than you?” She stood straighter now, smoothing out her shoulder-length silver hair. “Of course, that was back in the sixties, but if I do say so myself, I was something.” She chuckled. “When I think back to those days … oh my … what fun I had.”
Suddenly I saw this old woman in a whole new light. “Really? You were a professional model?”
She sighed with a faraway look. “Oh yes. I still have my portfolio.”
“What’s in a portfolio?”
“Mostly just photographs,” she explained as she trudged up the next flight of stairs.
Keeping pace with her slow steps, I started to pepper her with questions. And she told me about how models would carry things called “tear sheets” as well as some black-and-white photos. She paused on the third floor, where we both live. “The portfolio would include a résumé as well as head shots and hand shots and even foot shots. Of course, there were also swimsuit shots and fashion shots. They needed to see the photos to decide if a model was right for a particular photo shoot.” Mrs. Norbert walked down the corridor to her apartment and I stayed with her. “We girls would deliver these things to the ad agency or freelance photographer, and if we were lucky, we’d get a callback, which meant we’d probably gotten the job.” She smiled. “It was really quite exciting.”
“Is that how models get work these days?” I was still standing by her door, which is four doors down from the apartment Mom and I share. “And do they get paid very much? And do you really think I could learn to do something like that? And get paid for it too?”
“You’re just full of questions, aren’t you?” She laughed as she turned the key in the lock and opened her door. “Well, maybe you should come by and talk to me about this sometime.” She went inside and set her shopping bag on a table by the door.
“Yes,” I said eagerly, still standing outside her door like a stray dog that had followed her home. “I’d like that. Mom keeps telling me I need to find some other ways to make my own money. And I’ve been doing some babysitting, mostly on the weekends, but modeling sounds a lot more interesting.”
“Oh yes.” She nodded. “It most certainly is. And I suspect it’s much more lucrative than babysitting.”
I glanced down at my damp towel and flip-flops. “I don’t suppose now is a good time to talk.”
She looked amused. “No, I don’t think so, Simi. I’m beat after a long day at Marley’s.”
“That’s right. You work at that women’s clothing store, don’t you?” I was careful not to say “that old women’s clothing store,” which is what most people my age call Marley’s Dress Shop.
“I manage Marley’s.” She kicked off her shoes. “And it’s not easy being on my feet all day, especially at my age.” She pointed at me. “But besides the fact that I’m bushed, you are not dressed appropriately, my dear. Not if we’re going to talk about fashion.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Wednesday is
my day off. Maybe you could stop by tomorrow. I do laundry and housekeeping in the morning. But if you came over, say around three, I might be able to tell you a bit about the modeling industry. At least I can tell you about what it used to be like, and I can show you my old portfolio, if I can find it. I suspect that some things don’t change all that much.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Norbert! I would absolutely love to do that. Thank you!”
“I’ll see you at three then.”
It’s for that reason that I’m dressing very carefully today. Which is a challenge since my wardrobe is mostly limited to thrift-store bargains. But I want Mrs. Norbert to take me seriously. I want her to know I’m completely sincere about wanting a career in modeling. Because who knows? She might still have some connections in the modeling industry. Maybe this is going to turn into one of those life-changing moments.
I’ve read plenty of Cinderella stories. I love the movies about girls who go from rags to riches. I’ve always longed to be one of the lucky ones — I dream of getting discovered by Hollywood or winning American Idol or the lottery or simply marrying a rich, handsome prince from some foreign country. Why shouldn’t I dream? And why shouldn’t I want to escape my impoverished little ho-hum life?
I’ve even prayed to God, asking him to help me become something special so I can help my mom. As it is, we barely scrape by most of the time. Mom works hard as a receptionist at an escrow company where everyone takes her for granted. She tries to act like we’re fine, like we’re going to make it, but I’m not stupid. I know money is tight and if she lost her job, we’d be homeless. It doesn’t help that my deadbeat dad, who abandoned us when I was five, can’t be depended on for anything — including child support.
The way I see it, we’re not much different from widows and orphans, and according to the Bible, God really cares for struggling people like us. So surely he must want to bless us. For that reason it doesn’t seem wrong to ask God for a career as a supermodel. So as I try on the third outfit, I am praying hard for that to happen. Why not?
To my relief, after my mom got home from work last night, she was surprisingly supportive of my modeling idea when I explained my new plan to her. I was all prepared for some huge resistance. Instead, she was pretty positive.
“That’s really generous of Mrs. Norbert,” she said as we shared take-out Chinese food at our kitchen table. “Although I never would’ve guessed the old girl was a model. Go figure, huh?”
“Well, it was a long time ago. Like back in the sixties. Anyway, she told me to come by at three tomorrow. I’m going to dress really nice, kind of like it’s an interview, you know? And maybe she’ll believe in me enough to want to help me find some real modeling jobs.”
Mom reached for the carton of spareribs. “At the very least, it should be good practice for you. I mean, for you to treat this meeting like an interview. But don’t get your hopes too high, Simi. Even though it’s kind of Mrs. Norbert to help you, her experience in modeling was a long, long time ago.” She laughed.
“I know Mrs. Norbert’s a little old.” I felt slightly defensive of our elderly neighbor now. “But she seems to understand fashion — and she seems to believe in me.”
Mom gave me a tired smile. “Well, I must agree with Mrs. Norbert that you’re a pretty girl. Pretty enough to be a model. Of course, I’m biased. But you’re certainly tall enough at five foot ten. And I know they like tall girls to show off clothes. Especially on the runway.”
I frowned down at the egg roll in my hand. “But I’m not exactly skinny. I wonder if I’ll have to lose weight. Maybe I should go on a diet right now.” I set the egg roll back down.
“Lose weight?” Mom frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Simi. You do not need to diet. Anyone who tells you that is perfectly crazy.”
“But models are always stick thin. I have these curves.”
“You have very nice curves.” She firmly shook her head. “Don’t even go there, young lady.”
I shrugged and picked up the piece of egg roll again, then popped it in my mouth. Hopefully Mom was right. Although I don’t think she’s ever watched any of the reality modeling shows. Most of those girls seem very, very thin. And if they’re not, they get kicked off.
“It would be nice if you could start earning money for college,” Mom said wistfully. “Although I’m sure it’s not easy to break into modeling. And it’s probably really hard work, too.”
“I’m willing to work hard. And I don’t think modeling could be any harder than babysitting the Burk twins.”
Mom laughed. “Well, don’t give up your babysitting just yet, sweetie.”
I cringe to think of the bratty two-and-a-half-year-olds I watch during the weekends. Leo and Lacy are more than just a handful; they are spoiled rotten. But their mom, Trista, is my mom’s best friend, and I’ve committed to watching the twins on the weekends for the entire summer since their day care is only open on weekdays. But I learned early on that babysitting these two is no easy feat. Modeling would have to be easier.
As I try on my fifth outfit, I’m imagining informing Trista that she’ll have to find someone else to watch her two adorable rug rats because I have found work modeling. What a day that will be! I finally decide on a pair of dark-gray skinny jeans, a silky sleeveless black top I sneaked from Mom’s closet, and a pair of red high-heeled shoes I got for $5.99 at Payless last winter but never wore. The shoes make me more than six feet tall, which would normally make me feel ridiculously gigantic. But today I am imagining myself strutting down the runway with other tall models. I can see myself in designer originals as I move gracefully in the spotlight with all eyes on me. I can hear their applause and feel their admiration. It is fabulous!
As I work on my long dark hair and apply some makeup, trying to make everything look as perfect as possible, I imagine my smiling face on the cover of a slick glossy fashion magazine. Naturally, the photographer would airbrush the zit that’s threatening to erupt on my chin right now. But for now I conceal it with my CoverGirl makeup and hope Mrs. Norbert won’t notice the raised bump.
I’m just finishing up when my phone chimes and, of course, it’s Michelle. “Are you all ready for your big appointment?” she asks. I can hear the slightly sarcastic edge to her voice, but that’s Michelle. Even though she’s fiercely loyal to me, she is skeptical about almost everything.
“I think so.” I describe my outfit, and she insists I should send a photo to her.
“Just in case you missed something.”
So I hold my phone out and, striking a pose, I take a shot and send it.
“I think that top is all wrong,” she tells me after she’s had a chance to check it out. “Makes you look too old.”
“I don’t think that matters. Mrs. Norbert thought I was older than sixteen and it seemed like that was a good thing.”
“I guess that’s up to you. If you want to look like that …”
I scrutinize my image in the mirror. “Well, I like it. I’m not changing a thing.”
“Do you honestly think Mrs. Norbert can help you find a real modeling job?” Her voice is dripping in doubt now. I can’t tell if she’s really this cynical or if she’s simply jealous.
“She was a professional model. She might know people.”
“But she’s so old, Simi. I’ll bet everyone she knows is retired or dead by now.”
Once again, I defend Mrs. Norbert, but even as I do, I realize Michelle is probably right. “So are you saying you don’t think I can do this? Are you trying to shoot down my dream even before I have a chance to get started?”
“No … I’m just being realistic. And because I’m your friend, I don’t want to see you disappointed or hurt.”
“But what if this works? What if I really do make the right connections and get hired and make money and eventually get famous? Would you even be happy for me?”
There’s a long pause now, and I’m reminded that Michelle isn’t exactly what I’d call model material. For starters,
she’s only five foot two. Besides that, she’s addicted to fast food, which has taken its toll on her weight. But she does have a pretty face. And her long curly auburn hair is very nice. If Michelle gave up fast food and shed some pounds, she might even have a future in fashion. Not that I plan to mention this to her. I value her as my best friend too much to go there.
“Yeah, sure, I’d be happy for you,” she finally says. “But if you become famous, you’d probably drop me as your friend.”
“I would not. You know I’m not like that.”
“Okay then, good luck with your big appointment with old Mrs. Norbert.” She chuckles like she’s still not taking me seriously. “Let me know how it goes. Okay?”
“Yeah.” I look at the clock in the kitchen. “It’s almost three. I should probably head that way. I don’t want to be late.”
After I hang up, I wonder at her question. Does she really think I’d dump her as a friend just because I got rich and famous? I think of the times we’ve watched each other’s backs while the mean girls used us for target practice. Not just with words either — although the painful sting of insults lasts longer than bruises and scratches.
But Michelle has always been there for me, and there is no way I would abandon her just because I landed a cool modeling career. If anything, it would help us both to hold our heads higher next fall when school starts. Maybe we wouldn’t get picked on so much. Just one more reason for God to make my dreams come true!
I feel nervous and excited as I walk the four doors down. And the clicking of my high heels echoes in the hallway, sounding almost like someone else’s footsteps. Or maybe I am someone else. Or becoming someone else. I can only hope.
I’m nearly to Mrs. Norbert’s door when my heel catches on a crack in the floor and I nearly fall flat on my face. Catching my balance against the rough stucco wall, I manage to get back on my feet. I take in a deep breath, steadying myself, and smooth out my hair.
I am still just me. Simi Fremont. A desperate sixteen-year-old hoping for her big lucky break.
… [CHAPTER 2]………………
“Come in, come in,” Mrs. Norbert gushes as she opens the door. She has on a pair of white capri pants and a pale pink shirt. “Why, don’t you look pretty. And very sophisticated, too.” She tilts her head to one side, studying me carefully. “I really do think you might have what it takes, Simi.”
Enticed:A Dangerous Connection (Secrets) Page 1