In this excerpt from “Tough”, 17-year-old Kelly frets in Vancouver, wondering if Hugh Hefner and the Playboy editorial team will choose her as a Playmate of the Month:

The day of the editorial meeting in LA, I sat in Mum’s kitchen all afternoon. I picked up the phone before its first ring ended, and Mary O’Connor said, “Congratulations Kelly. Your centerfold has been approved.”

“Oh my God, Mary.”

“It wasn’t God who decided. Well, almost. Anyway, we’ll get in touch soon to arrange the rest of your layout shots.”

“Mary, I can’t thank you enough. I’m so excited!”

“I almost forgot. Your money. You get ten thousand when your pictorial is published, but if you want, I can give you partial payment of two thousand now, and eight grand later.”

I’d never seen $2,000 before. “I’ll take the partial payment now, thank you.”

Two days later Federal Express delivered my check, and I told everyone I’d soon move back to Los Angeles to finish my photo spread. After waiting a month, I took a waitressing job I didn’t want. Another month later, those friends happy to know a soon-to-be, real-life Playboy Playmate stopped asking when I would be in the magazine. Instead, they made snide remarks under their breath, just loud enough to hear.

Unsurprisingly, Mum got in on the action. One night when I came home late from work, she was on the couch, watching television. Mum squeezed Otrivin, a nasal spray, into one nostril. She used Otrivin for many years, not knowing she was addicted to its ephedrine. Her eyes looked glassy. “How’s that big job of yours going, Kelly?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I thought it was just temporary. You were moving to LA at any moment.” Another squeeze of Otrivin into a giant sniff.

“I am, Mum. When they call me.”

“It doesn’t look like they’re calling you.”

“What do you want me to do about it? They said they’d call.”

“Did they say that? Or did you just make that up?”

“How can you say that Mum? You know I went to LA.”

“Lots of dreamers go to LA, Kelly. And lots lie when they come back with their tails between their legs.”

“I don’t believe you! Why do you want me to fail? You’ll see.”

“I’m already seeing what I always see.” Mum sprayed her nose once again and raised the volume on the television to end the conversation.

Three months after leaving Los Angeles, I finally admitted to myself Playboy wasn’t going to call. Hef changed his mind, or found someone younger and prettier to bed. It didn’t make sense…he said I was beautiful, flirted with me, and invited me, not anyone else, for a one-on-one. That had to count for something. I thought eventually I’d be Hef’s Number 1, queen of the Mansion, but it seemed he’d forgotten I was alive. That’s why I wasn’t expecting a call one afternoon before I went to work.

“Hi Kelly, this is Micki Garcia from Playmate Promotions. We wanted to ask you something.”

OK, this is it. I’m going to be a Playmate!

“Can you sing?” asked Micki.

I said ‘yes’ without knowing if I could. No one ever told me to stop singing along with the radio, but that didn’t mean I was good. I said ‘yes’ because it was my chance to get back to the Mansion and Hef. I would have said I could juggle while skydiving to return to the Playboy lifestyle.

“Would you be interested in flying down and trying out for the Singing Playmates?” asked Micki.

“Singing Playmates? What’s that?”