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proudly. Like most locals, his skin had a bronze-to-red tone from the constant exposure to the sun.
    'Yes, it is.'
    He began to tap his pencil on the desk, his eyes darting around the sun-drenched room. 'Do you mind if I ask you a sort of personal question, ma'am?'
    'I guess so.'
    He hesitated. 'Your husband I recognized right away from the telly. Even in these sticks we get some of your important basketball games -- especially the Boston Celtics. But, ma'am, you also look a might familiar. You used to be on magazine covers or something, right?'
    'Used to be,' Laura responded, amazed at both how widespread certain publications were and how far the average person's memory stretched. Four years had passed since Laura had been on any magazine covers, with the exception of last November's Business Weekly.
    'I knew I'd seen you before. But don't worry, ma'am. I won't let on. No way I'm going to allow anyone to disturb you and Mr Baskin.'
    'Thank you.'
    A horn honked. 'That'll be your taxi. Have a good one.'
    'I'll try.' She left the lobby, greeted the driver, and sat in the backseat. The air-conditioning was at full blast, making the car almost too cold, but against the outside sun, it was a most welcome change.
    Laura settled back and watched the tropical foliage merge into a wall of green as the taxi sped toward town. Every once in a while a small building would pop out of the natural habitat but for the first ten minutes of the ride, they were only a few hidden bungalows, a post office and a grocery store. She gripped the briefcase that contained the catalogues of all the latest Svengali products. Her right leg bounced up and down restlessly.
    Laura began modeling when she was only seventeen. Her Cosmo debut was followed by Mademoiselle and Glamour covers in the same month, and then Sports Illustrated' s annual swimsuit issue made her name somewhat household. The cover photo was taken during a sunset on Australia's Gold Coast about 500 miles from Palm's Cove. In the photograph, Laura was wading knee-deep in the water, her eyes staring into the camera as she pulled back her wet hair. She wore a black, strapless one-piece that molded to her curves, her shoulders bare. It ended up being the best-selling issue Sports Illustrated ever had.
    From there, the amount of covers and layouts grew along with Laura's bank account. Sometimes she appeared on the cover of the same magazine for four or five months in a row, but unlike other models, there was never a backlash to too much exposure, never an overkill. The demand did not let up.
    It was all very odd. As a child, Laura had been fat and unattractive. Her classmates had teased her mercilessly about her weight, about her stringy hair, about her thick glasses, about her lack of make-up, about the way she dressed. They called her names and taunted her with the painful insults of cruel children. Their oral barrages never slackened or let up. In the cafeteria, in the hallways, in the schoolyard, in gym class, Laura's classmates were relentless in their savage attacks upon their defenseless victim.
    They made her childhood a living hell.
    Sometimes, a group of the really popular girls would beat her up in the woods behind the schoolyard. But physical abuse never hurt little Laura as much as the cruel words. The pain of a kick or a punch went away. The cruel words stayed with her always.
    In those days, Laura would come home from school crying to a mother who had to be the most beautiful woman in the world, a woman who could not understand why her baby was not the most well-liked girl in her class. Mary Simmons Ayars had always been unusually gorgeous, had always been popular amongst her peers. Girls had always wanted to be her friend; boys had always wanted to carry her books and maybe hold her hand.
    Laura's father, her dear, sweet father, would be heartbroken over the situation. It tore at Dr James Ayars's stomach to see his daughter spend every night crying alone in a corner of her