The lovely 18-year-old woman yawns and stretches her limbs in the pre-dawn chill. She is reluctant to sacrifice her snug dream cocoon to the cold reality of another morning. She stumbles to the shower and receives the hot water as a benediction. She is preparing for another day.

Size three jeans, the tighter the better, and a low-cut shirt to show off perky 34C’s. Tall shoes from a collection of perhaps 200 pairs elevate her 5’3” frame to a lofty 5’7”. She slips from the house while her parents, younger sister, and kid brother slumber peacefully. It’s early, but she’s already late.

Simone (name changed) seems to embody the American Teenage Dream. But Simone is not as she seems. She hasn’t risen early this morning to make a timely appearance at her job, although she has one. She didn’t peel herself from the warm covers to attend an official meeting, or band practice, or even go shopping. Simone is driving herself to the seedy side of town to pick up 18 grams of high-grade cocaine. Simone is a female drug dealer.

“It’s good money, easy money. Sure there’s risk involved, but there’s risk involved in everything.” She flips her hair and checks her lipstick in the rearview mirror.

How much money would one have to make to risk spending some serious time in a state prison? Under the California Health and Safety Code 11366.8(b) anyone using a false compartment to transport controlled substances may be sent to prison for up to three years. This jumps to nine years if the substance is transported across county lines. If Simone gets caught selling a controlled substance (Level 1, the least amount) and charged with intent to sell, she can be sentenced to four years in prison under Health and Safety Code 11379(a). Simone can also be sued by her customers under Health and Safety Code 11700, the Drug Dealer Liability Act. Could the money be worth the potential downfall?

“I’ve been selling about 9 grams of coke a day, as many Vicodin as I can get, probably about 2 ounces of weed, maybe an eightball of crystal (meth). I make about two grand straight profit a week, sometimes more, sometimes less.”

That’s more than $100,000 a year. Straight, tax-free profit. And she has time to hold down a full-time job. That sounds quite appealing. But seriously, prison?

“It’s not that big a deal, and I’m really safe. Most of what I sell is in large quantities and it gets resold. I don’t deal with very many people at all and most of my friends don’t even know what I’m doing.”

What is she doing? Risking her freedom and any future she could possibly have, right? She says not. Simone deals drugs to make money for college; she dreams of moving to Phoenix and attending dermatology school.

“It’s impossible. I can’t save any money at all because I have to move out and take care of myself and there’ll be nothing left for school. I see it as working toward a goal, just the same way as college is.”

Women are becoming increasingly involved with the criminal underworld. The 1991 Bureau of Justice Statistics Special Report, “Women in Prison,” states that one-third of the women in prison in 1991 were incarcerated for drug-related offenses, compared to one-eighth in 1986.

This is a growing trend, one with serious negative implications for the women involved in it. The U.S. Department of Justice study, “Women Offenders,” claims that 18 percent of all female arrests in 1998 were for drugs and that the number of women convicted of felony drug possession increased 41 percent between 1990 and 1996.

Why are women flocking to crime? Is this the newest wave of feminism, the desire to conquer the criminal underworld? Can we blame it on consumer society and the multinational corporations that promote the consumer lifestyle? How does a woman get started in a life of crime?

Simone got her start dealing marijuana. Her boyfriend gave her some, and since she wasn’t a user, she figured the reasonable thing to do was sell it. Simone became the neighborhood weed dealer. One day a friend asked her if she could get rid of the rest of his Vicodin prescription for him. She sold them quickly and recognized a huge new market. Now she buys 500 mg Vicodin for fifty cents a pill and sells them for two dollars each. The pill man, James (name changed), had her make a cocaine delivery for him one day. The people she delivered to called her the next time they needed coke, she called James, and voila! Simone is now the neighborhood drug dealer.

The sun is barely breaking over the mountains, illuminating what promises to be a beautiful Humboldt day. Simone and I are sitting in her parked car near a local grade school, waiting for James to show up with the cocaine.

A truck pulls up. It’s not what I would expect a drug kingpin to drive, an older Ford truck. James hops in the back seat. He’s in his late twenties, wiry with a two-day growth of stubble on his jaw.

They start talking logistics and supply, quantity and quality. Can’t I somehow get in trouble just for being in the car while this is happening? Simone takes the coke and James hops out. We peel away from the curb with tires squealing.

“We have to drop off an eightball over in Old Town, then we’ll go get some breakfast,” Simone says, fumbling in her purse for her scale. “Here, weigh this out,” she instructs me, “An eightball’s three and a half grams.”

Now I am going to get in trouble. I’m really doing this. It’s scary. Oops, I dropped some! Simone laughs and tells me to brush it off my pants. Do I want to go to jail? I’m mildly terrified but I finish weighing it out.

“It’s no big deal. You’re getting all dramatic, weighing out an eightball. I do this every day. See how calm I am?” Simone says, laughing at me, but I can’t help being scared.

We stop by Simone’s legitimate job. She ducks into the restroom and I ask her co-worker, Bill, what his impressions of her are.

“Oh, she’s a nice girl,” Bill says enthusiastically. “Simone’s a hard worker. Did you know she was valedictorian back in June? That is one smart cookie!”

And one talented actress. The woman who seems so sweet working the cash register is entirely different from the underworld entrepreneur with steely eyes who cares only about her money. Flash forward one hour later when Simone and I are in a grocery store parking lot, selling narcotic muscle relaxers to a local high school student.

“I realize that you want these pills, but there is no way you’re going to get them fronted (given without payment) to you. How much money do you actually have on you?” Simone is cold when she’s annoyed.

“Twenty dollars,” the girl nearly whispers. She looks young with big shiny eyes, dewy skin and scared expression.

“Then you can have four. Here you go, now get away from me. Go!” Simone fairly throws the bag of pills out the window. I ask Simone to stop so I can talk to the girl.

Her name is Melanie (name changed), she is 15. She likes the pills because they take her away from her problems. What does she think of Simone? Simone is a ruthless bitch.

I see Simone again about a week later. Things are going not as well for this newest permutation of underworld entrepreneur. She has been fighting with one of her boyfriends (she has three). One of her new co-workers has ratted her out for selling Vicodin while she was at work, so she’s been fired.

What does she think about her future? I mean, I know she wants to be a dermatologist, but does she want children, a husband?

“No, I don’t need to get married. Why would I? Guys can be such a pain in the ass, always being so possessive and stuff. Who needs it?”

Does she think she’ll be able to give up selling drugs when the time comes to go to school?

Simone just shrugs. She doesn’t know. What she knows is that she likes having money. Money equates to power. And power is seductive.

When I met Simone through a mutual friend, I was shocked by the seeming contrast between the person she appeared to be and the activities that she engaged in.

I saw a parable in her tale, the classic story of a good girl going bad. I asked if she would be willing to let me write about her and she said sure, that should be interesting. Simone had a few stipulations for me, though. One was that I not use her actual name, as she did not want to be arrested. Another was that I completely omit mention of one particular prescription drug the authorities have been cracking down on lately.

I spent about twenty hours observing Simone. She’s always scurrying from here to there, answering the cell phone, sighing deep annoyed sighs that blow her bangs skyward. I rode in the car with enough illicit substances to land the both of us in jail until we were eligible for Social Security. I was terrified during most of the time we spent together, but I feel that I learned something.

Nothing in life is easy or free. Simone says drug money is easy money, but I don’t believe it. She works hard (I know, I’m not supposed to say that) and the drug game is no joke. People get killed every day over smaller quantities than what she deals with. It’s just the life she’s chosen.