Prologue

Manhattan Photo Studio of Wayne La Pierre

4:30 pm EST, June 16, 1985

Courtney had gotten good at not flinching when the flashbulbs went off. She also ignored the ton of makeup on her face, walking around in a freezing studio and posing with black headless mannequins. She didn't know what wearing the latest swimsuits from France or Australia had to do with the white walls and black lacquer she was posing in front of, but that was Wayne's choice, not hers. These are things she didn't question as she smiled, enough teeth to look sexy, but not too much to look happy, and strutted and posed. Courtney had even convinced Wayne to let her forgo the heels for the last few hours, a godsend since she was close to working a twelve-hour day already and Wayne seemed to want to work a few hours more.

But did Wayne have to blast Duran Duran over and over as they were working? How many times could one person listen to "The Reflex" before going insane?

Wayne said, "You're having fun, yeah. Let me see pouty. Good girl! Let me see naughty. You're a naughty little bitch, aren'tcha?" Wayne yelled, punctuating each sentence with a flash from his Nikon. He yelled in his Australian accent like he was an extra from a Road Warrior movie.

Courtney went through her poses as practiced, remembering how Momma used to be so proud of her whenever she'd entered one of the local beauty pageants. Momma used to say that with Courtney's green eyes, near-Amazonian height, and sunshine gold hair, she'd be on the cover of all the magazines. Courtney remembered how Momma had used to collect those magazines in the house and beamed when Courtney would put one of her trophies and sashes on the living room mantle, always finishing at least third in every pageant she competed in. Now, at nineteen, she was making Momma's dream come true.

Wayne always had a lot of energy later in the day, probably because after lunch, he'd had a quick snort of the Colombian nose candy to really get him going. He'd offered Courtney some once, but the Midwestern values of this girl from Peoria just were too entrenched to make her want to even try it. Courtney knew the super-thin skeleton look was what the industry was looking for, but she preferred to stay in shape by running and exercising and watching what she ate. She saw what starving yourself did to the other girls. They looked more like feral children than Greek statues.

"Five!" Wayne barked out. "I need to reload. Court, be a love and go get Cindy from the dressing room. She's next. Just don't go too far. Change into that two-piece blue and yellow number."

Courtney nodded and headed back to the dressing room. She opened the door and saw Cindy dressed in a black backless one piece with a plunging neckline, the straps tied behind her neck. Her shoulder blades stuck out like some atavistic set of wings, and her eyes were ringed with a lot of black makeup. She rubbed her nostrils and closed her mirror compact. Courtney said, "They're ready for you."

Cindy nodded and said, "Thanks, hon. How do I look?"

"You're going to knock them dead, babe. Luck." They air-kissed so they wouldn't smudge their makeup.

When Cindy left, Courtney rubbed the bridge of her nose. She hated these long days. They weren't so much exhausting as they were just boring. Pout, smile, show me those green eyes. Wayne gave a command and she jumped. And if it wasn't Wayne, it was some other self-important douche with a camera. Or a woman fitting her for a swimsuit worth more than some people's houses. She had time, so she got her purse and pulled out the letter she had just gotten from Dad. At times like these, she needed to read his down to earth words, stopping her head from filling with what he called Momma's "pretty nonsense." He'd sent a newspaper clipping from the Journal Star: "Local Girl Courtney Krieger Makes It Big, Returns for Ribbon Cutting of New Hospital." Dad owned one of the bigger Caterpillar dealerships in the area and was friends with the mayor. The mayor had asked her to come back to Peoria for the photo opportunity about two weeks ago. To Courtney, it was a great excuse to come home, spend time with her family, and maybe even get her elbows dirty helping Dad with some of the diesel engines on the construction equipment he serviced. Dad said she had a head for engines.

Courtney read her dad's plain handwriting. "We're all proud of you," the letter read.

Proud of what? Courtney thought. I'm a face, an ass, a set of boobs. She remembered how during her visit, she had gone to the local elementary school to talk about her career and one of the kids had called her a Barbie.

A Barbie.

And that's all she has been for the last two years to wide acclaim. Everyone thought she was amazing, brilliant, and dazzling. All because she looked good in an Italian dress while looking into a camera.

Courtney sighed and shrugged. Break's over, time to change. She put the letter back in the envelope and flipped the clipping over, hoping to see if maybe something else was happening back home. All she saw was an ad for the local Army Recruitment Office.

"Be All That You Can Be," the ad said in big letters. Underneath was a black-and-white picture of two people, a man and a woman, in dress uniform saluting. "See the world. Learn a trade. Serve your country."

Courtney raised an eyebrow. "Hmm," she said quietly. Tomorrow was her day off. Wasn't there a recruiting office in Times Square?