Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
She came up to me and the rising sun was kinda in my eyes, so I had to put a hand up to block it in order to make out her face, and when I did that, she smiled. “Can I sit down?”
The accent was… I don’t know. Fake, I think. It sounded kinda like Maart’s accent, which is sorta British. But for some reason, I didn’t believe it.
I didn’t answer her question, either, but she sat down next to me anyway. She introduced herself—Regina Chase, talent scout, blah, blah, blah. “Would you like to make some money?” Her voice was soft when she said these words.
I wasn’t desperate for money. I will never be desperate for money. I know how to live without money. But… I kinda did need some. So I started talking to her, asking questions.
I’m not stupid. I know how the world works. When some pretty stranger walks up to you on a beach just after the sun rises and she looks like she’s about to spend the day on a billionaire’s yacht and I look like I was swept overboard two weeks ago, there’s a reason for this. And that reason comes with a hidden layer of darkness lurking just beneath the surface.
I was looking for that darkness. And when she asked if I wanted to be a model, I thought I had pinned it down. It was porn. It had to be porn. Because come on. My knuckles were still bleeding, I had a black eye and a cut lip, and this woman walked up to me asking if I’d like to make some money as a model?
I almost said no because I’m never doing porn. But I decided to give it a chance. What was the worst that could happen? I’d fight my way out and run?
So fuck it, I went.
But it wasn’t porn. It really was modeling.
Aside from the photographer, there were tons of people there too—make-up people, and dressing people, and assistant people, and food and drink people. Literally dozens of people, including other models, none of whom were found on a beach that very morning. They were professionals. They didn’t need to be told what to do the way I did. The girls posed in just the right way. The one boy, he was as confident as the girls. I was stunned. The whole first impression kind of threw me off course.
And then… I dunno. I put the bathing suit on, did what they told me, and they took pictures.
When it was over, Regina gave me a whole stack of prepaid gift cards and a business card. She said I should get in touch with her next week. She would have more jobs for me and they would be paid in cash, not cards.
The gift cards totaled nearly five thousand dollars. They were from everywhere. Local restaurants and boutiques in South Beach. Amazon. Wal-Mart. Prepaid Visa. Prepaid MasterCard. Prepaid American Express. There was even one for a pet store.
It was a lot of money, but not in the ideal form. I mean, what the hell was I gonna do with a pet store gift card? So I could see that Regina’s cash offer was mean to be bait. A way to get me to come back. But it didn’t matter, I guess. It took me a while, but I finally used, or bartered, all of those gift cards.
I never went back or called Regina up looking for more modeling work.
I might’ve, maybe. But just a few days after my first experience as a high-fashion bathing suit model, I discovered the real opportunity that would change my life forever.
Miami, it turned out, had its own version of the underground fight rings like they had back in the Rio favelas.
And that’s how I bought my condo.
That first year was somewhat of a whirlwind dream. I forgot all about everything. It’s like I was living in my own little world and nothing and no one existed but me.
It was a gift, actually. The first time I had ever been alone, and on my own, and in charge of everything.
Some girls might get wild and lose themselves, but that’s not what happened to me. That first year in Miami I found myself.
And it was a relief. Such a relief. Because all growing up I was just existing, training my hardest and doing my best to live through each fight. I was so lost in Brazil. I was bored in the jungle. I liked the kids—of course I liked the kids. And Anya. She was my best friend. And Cort too, though I didn’t hang out with him much.
But life changed when we settled in that little village in the jungle. Suddenly, I was supposed to go to school, and not the kind of school we did back in the camp. That was a bit of reading, a bit of writing, and barely any math. Suddenly, school was a full-time job.