Peer Pleasure: A Novel (Zane Presents) - Softcover

Carter, Danita

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1593092512 ISBN 13: 9781593092511

Publisher: Strebor Books, 2012

Synopsis

An edgy, urban, young adult novel that has all the same elements of glamour, decadence, and wealth that made the hit television series Gossip Girl so popular and addictive.

Fashion, music, glamour—and the wealthiest teenagers in New York City—collide in an edgy multicultural coming-of-age tale filled with the decadence and drama that make Gossip Girl so addictive

The esteemed Walburton Academy on Manhattan’s Upper West Side educates some of the most elite—and most hormonal—teens in the city. Kennedy and Reagan are twin sisters who are polar opposites except for their taste in boys. They ruthlessly compete with each other for the attention of the hunky newcomer, rapper Lucas Williams. Lean and luscious Madison Reynolds, meanwhile, is a top model living under the watchful eye of her domineering grandmother, the former grande dame of the fashion world. But it’s not the photographers, agents, and designers that her grandmother has to worry about. It’s the boys at school who are the real predators, like überrich party animal Ian Reinhardt and former child star Peyton Granger. When these privileged students are thrown together under one roof, in one crazy city, anything can—and does—happen. . . .

About this title

About the Author:

Danita Carter is a former Wall Street stockbroker, fine jewelry designer, author of Peer Pleasure, and the coauthor of three previous novels. Danita splits her time between New York and Chicago and is currently working on her next novel. Visit her website at DanitaCarter.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

1

We're here at Seventh on Sixth, the seasonal industry fashion show. As you can see -- " The reporter turned slightly to her left to let the cameraman get a better angle. " -- the giant white tents are pitched high in Bryant Park where the actual shows are taking place. Inside, strutting the catwalk, is Seventh Avenue's latest sensation, Madison Reynolds. Though only sixteen, Madison has more poise than models twice her age," the entertainment reporter spoke into the camera.

There seemed to be a small village of reporters from around the globe staked out in front of Bryant Park, as well as an army of photographers inside. New York Fashion Week was a huge deal and they were there to report not only on the latest designers, but also on the fashion world's next ingénue.

The reporter continued, "Despite her mile-long legs, flawless skin, flowing red hair and emerald-green eyes, Madison would be just another wannabe model if it weren't for her grandmother, Renée Reynolds. A top model back in the days of Janice Dickinson and Beverly Johnson, Renée still has a foothold in the industry and has used her connections to get Madison through a few tightly closed doors."

The reporter was trying to fill up the time until Madison came out of the show, so she gave a little background information on Madison's ever-present grandmother. After nearly an hour, the opening of the entrance tent parted and out pranced the models.

"Madison! Madison, over here!" shouted the reporter, as she exited the tent.

"Quick! Snap her picture! Snap her picture!" the reporter instructed her photographer.

Madison stopped on the red carpet and struck a haughty pose, but before she could flash her signature smile, another photog called her name. She swiveled around on her (mucho mature) Manolos and turned, with smile in place, while the photographer clicked away.

"So, Madison, when's your next gig?" asked the inquiring reporter.

"I'll be doing the spring shows in Paris," Madison answered with a smile.

"Which houses are you modeling for this year?"

"I'll be doing the rounds as usual." Though she was a teen, Madison was a regular on the European circuit.

"What about school? Are you taking a semester off, or are you going to get a tutor?"

"I uhh..."

Before she could answer, her ever-present grandmother chimed in. "Come on, honey," she said, tugging on Madison's arm, "that's enough press for one evening."

"Renée, will you be accompanying your granddaughter to Europe?" the reporter asked, trying to prolong her time with the Reynolds women.

Renée arched her back and cleared her throat. "Of course. Let's not forget that not too long ago, I worked those same shows," she said with an air of indignation.

"How could anyone ever forget the Renée Reynolds strut? You had a walk like no other," the reporter said, stroking the older woman's obviously fragile ego. The reporter thought that if she could get next to Madison's bulldog of a grandmother, then maybe she'd get an exclusive interview with the young model. But before she could ask another question, another group of models came pouring onto the red carpet.

"Madison, are you going to meet us at the Gansevoort?" asked Danielle, a fellow model.

Madison wanted to go and hang out with the other girls, but she knew that was out of the question. There was no way her grandmother was going to let her go to the Meatpacking District and party at the trendy boutique hotel. Madison didn't want to sound like the underaged teen that she was, so she simply said, "No, I've got an early day tomorrow."

"Oh, do you have an early morning shoot?" Danielle asked.

"Nah." In model lingo, an early day usually meant a nine o'clock shoot, but for Madison it meant that she had to get up early and go to school -- high school, not college.

Madison attended Walburton Academy, one of Manhattan's premier private schools on the Upper West Side. While the schools on the East Side educated mostly blue-blooded, old-money brats, the West Side institutions were filled with a cornucopia of firstand second-generation wealth. Being a top teen model, Madison reigned supreme over her crew of four. There was her best friend and partner in shopping, Reagan. Reagan's biggest fan and admirer, former child star Peyton Granger, better known as PG, and Ian, Madison's boyfriend. Though it could be grueling at times, Madison loved her school. It was one of the few places where she could let loose and have some fun without the prying eyes of the paparazzi or her grandmother.

"Are you sure you don't want to go? 'Cuz we gonna party like rock stars." Danielle laughed and slapped her friend a high-five, ready to get the night started.

Madison quickly looked at her grandmother, who had a scowl plastered across her face. Obviously she wasn't happy with this verbal exchange.

"Yeah, I'm sure. You guys have fun. I'll hang out with you at the next gig," Madison said, trying to sound like an adult instead of a curfew-reddened teenager.

"Alright. See ya when I see ya," Danielle said, then waved her hand and got into a waiting limo with her entourage.

Madison threw her hand up and said good-bye as she followed her grandmother to their car. She couldn't wait until she was old enough to party without a chaperone. The way her grandmother watched her so closely, Madison felt like a specimen underneath a microscope.

"We're going to take my granddaughter home first," Renée instructed her driver once they were settled in the back of her sleek black-on-black Jaguar XJ8.

The driver nodded without saying a word, and took off up Sixth Avenue. Madison lived with her parents and little brother on Sixty-eighth and Central Park West, in a renovated, pre-war, three-bedroom coop. Her mother -- who didn't inherit the leggy model body -- was a housewife, and her father was an investment banker for Morgan Stanley. Her parents rarely attended the fashion shows, since her dad was at client dinners most nights and her mother was devoted to Madison's baby brother, Henry. So the job of overseer naturally went to her grandmother.

"You did a good job tonight, honey," Renée said.

"Thanks."

"Except..."

Oh here it comes, Madison thought. Her grandmother's compliments were usually followed by detailed criticism.

"...when you turn at the end of the runway, pause a little longer so that the photographer can get a chance to snap your picture. Tonight, you turned too fast, and even if he did take a shot, I'm sure he only got the back of your head."

"Okay," was all that Madison said. She was used to the instruction, and let it go in one ear and out the other. She knew that her grandmother had good intentions, but at times she really wasn't in the mood for the critique.

Luckily for Madison, her Sidekick vibrated inside her Dooney bag before the rhetoric continued. She dug into the oversized duffel and fished out her metallic silver connection to the world. She flipped open the screen and saw that she had a text from Reagan. She punched a few keys and read the message:

i got sme grt nws!

Madison quickly typed a short reply on the mini keyboard:

cant tlk. wcyl

She pressed send, closed the phone, and put it back in her bag. From the corner of her eye, Madison could see her grandmother looking over at her. The last thing she needed was for her grandmother to try and decode one of her texts. If her grandmother had seen the message, she'd be full of questions like the freaking Gestapo. First off, she'd want to know who the message was from, and second she'd want to know what "wcyl" stood for. Madison smiled slightly when she realized that even if her grandmother had seen the message, she'd never guess that "wcyl" meant "will call you later." Now that she thought about it, texting was a totally safe mode of communication in front of mostly any adult, since they were oblivious to the encrypted language of texting.

"Who was that calling you so late?"

Here comes the interrogation, Madison thought. "It wasn't a call, Nancy." Renée had insisted that her grandchildren call her Nancy, a derivate of Nana. In her mind, she was too young to be called Grandma, and Nana was more befitting of a booty-knitting, cookie-baking grandmother, which she certainly was not. And when Madison called her Nancy at industry functions, she felt like a hip, older aunt, instead of a relic.

"You know what I mean." She pinned Madison with one of her "don't be a smarty pants" looks.

"That was Reagan reminding me that we have a field trip tomorrow," she lied. It wasn't exactly a lie since their class was scheduled to attend a Broadway matinee.

"Oh," Renée said, satisfied with the answer. She knew that she was being overprotective at times, but didn't want her granddaughter to grow up too fast. Modeling was a cutthroat business, a business where young girls were used and abused on a regular basis. And it was her responsibility to make sure that Madison didn't get involved with alcohol, drugs or grown men looking for a ripe young virgin.

Before the interrogation could continue, the car was pulling up in front of Madison's building. She was glad to escape the prying eyes of her grandmother, and couldn't wait to be alone in her room, so that she could answer Reagan's text freely.

"Good night, Nancy." Madison pecked her grandmother on the cheek. "Thanks for dropping me off."

"Anytime, my darling." She gave Madison a tight hug. "Now get some rest, and I'll talk to you soon."

"I will, and thanks for coming with me tonight." Even though Madison resented her grandmother's presence at times, a part of her was actually glad that she was there to run interference with the groupies that she didn't want to be bothered with.

"Hey, Sam," Madison greeted the doorman once she was inside the building.

"Good evening, Miss. Another late night, I see."

"Yeah, I was modeling in a fashion show tonight."

"I don't know where you get the energy, ...

About this edition

• Publisher: Strebor Books
• Publication date: 2012
• ISBN 10: 1593092512
• ISBN 13: 9781593092511
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• Number of pages: 288