Dealing Flesh (7 page)

Hot Shot:
I am beyond excited about this portfolio shoot.

Miss Vanity:
Tell me about it.

I keep staring at more of the pictures on the walls of the people Jordan previously photographed.

“Ah, there you are,” he says, hurrying around the corner, giving me a bright sweet smile. His delightful aura conjoined with the calmness in his voice instantly breaks the ice. I like him, although not in a “being on my radar” kind of a way, or at least, I don’t think so. In addition, I am well aware this is a business relationship.

“Why don’t you get started on your make up, while I get the lighting and the backdrop arranged? Holler if you need help, okay?” His dark, kind eyes feel nurturing.

I put on the first outfit and moments later the shoot begins. Two hours, and six different looks and hairstyles into it, we relocate to the back room of the studio to finish off with the topless segment. Jordan locks the front door to prevent patrons from interrupting.

“Let me touch up your make-up, darling.” I greedily immerse myself in the gentle paw of his hands.

Romy:
Awwww. How I miss this
.

Miss Vanity:
Knock it off, will ya’? It would defeat the purpose.

Click, click, click…the continuous sound of the shutter lens gives me a feeling of lightheadedness. Ninety minutes into the session, Jordan proposes taking the last few photographs with wet hair to create somewhat of a dreamy effect.

I head into the bathroom, splash my mane with water, and wrap the silky smooth cream-colored long scarf around my waist. Bare breasted, I sit down at the mark. Sweet fragrance and a sizzling silence of eroticism surround us. Letting a couple of moist strands of hair dangle in front of my eyes, I bend my body into an agreeable pose. Hot Shot has me slightly part my glossy lips so the white of my teeth can poke through.

Hot Shot:
I’ve seen the lingerie models do that. I know it will make men find me even more seductive.

Doubt Cloud:
That may be true, but I’m positive it will leave this photographer cold. Mind you, he sees the most beautiful dressed
or undressed
people in front of his camera all the time. You are too small a fish for him
.

Romy (boastful):
Picture him as my boyfriend
.

Doubt Cloud:
Don’t be ridiculous
.

Starlight:
If he was, he could make me a star by taking the most amazing pictures of me whenever I so please.

Hot Shot:
I am going to prove to you I can compete with the super models. Out of my way
.

Instantly, I strike my poses in an even more daring fashion. But then…

“That’s a wrap. I’m out of film,” Jordan announces. “You did great.”

“Really? Which segment did you like most?”

“There’s a whole bunch that looked fantastic through the lens. You’re gonna be pleased.” I see the lights of the studio lamps nicely reflect on his shiny black hair. “It was fun working with you. Looks like you have done this before, haven’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” I answer with pride in my voice.

I feel much closer to him now that we spent this much time together. Disappointed that he is not giving me any indication of wanting to get physical, I pull the silk wrap over my breast to depart for the dressing room. As I am about to get off the futon sofa bed, Jordan flops down next to me.

Lustania:
What the…?

Hot Shot:
I knew it. No one can resist a hottie like me. Nooo one.

Our eyes lock. Sparks fly. Instantly, I know I am going to spend a whole lot longer on this mattress than initially anticipated. In smooth rhythm our bodies rid each other of the built up tension of the previous hours. Going wild under his tender, weathered hands, the next sixty minutes appear as merely a lightning flash. I leave feeling vital and refreshed. Still, the
Big O
remains a mystery.

Two weeks later, I’m totally flabbergasted glancing at the developed photos from the session at Jordan’s.

Hot Shot:
Fascinating. I look mouthwateringly sexy.

Miss Vanity:
It’s imperative that potential love interests get an idea about my versatility early on.

Further enjoying the thrill of the congenial results of my work, I rush out and have several of the best pictures enlarged to poster size. Once behind glass frames, they instantly go up on the walls of my studio apartment. And so, no matter where I turn from now on, a sufficient dose of ME, in color, black and white, large or small, is never far from my view. And on the days that the daunting voice that tries to convince me that I’m a nobody won’t let up, I merely take in an eyeful of the proof in front of me, and
voila
, I believe in my significance for at least a little while again.

Miss Vanity:
It would be a crime to hide those beautiful pictures from the public eye. Can’t wait for others’ reactions.

Therefore, the first thing I do when I have a male visiting me is sit him down and have him look through my albums. I usually start it off with the one that displays the best assortment of nude pictures.

Hot Shot:
The hotter I look, the harder he falls, and verily, the longer he stays.

Precisely.

Dagger

On Sunday around 14:00
Uhr
in the afternoon, the phone rings.

“Hello,” I say with a tired tone of voice, still somewhat recuperating from last night’s disco hopping.

“
Ich bin’s…Mama
.”

I switch my ears to selective hearing mode, something I have become good at over time in order to tune out the critical parts of Mother’s voice.

“What’s up?”

“Not much. Just wanted to see how ya’ doing. What’s new with you? It must be nice to have your sister living close now, eh? Do the two of you at least hang out sometimes?”

“I visit her occasionally, and sometimes we hit the club scene together.”

“How is work? Are you still at that job?”

“Well, yeah. I bust my butt at that boring gig and still can’t make ends meet.”

“Aww, well, I could have told you that before you left Wolfsburg. Why don’t you move back home?”

“To do what, in a town with no employment opportunities? Don’t think so. I’ll be fine. Not long ago, I dated this millionaire dude who gave me money and gifts, so I’m okay for the moment. Thanks.”

“Oh, really, is he nice? Why don’t you keep him around? You know, men are all assholes. They lie, and cheat, and just can’t keep their thing in their pants. I urge you to think about your security first and foremost. Be smarter than I was. Let them take care of you.”

“Oh, no. First off, he’s too old. Secondly, he’s not my type. I can’t be with someone I don’t love.”

I politely switch the conversation.

“By the way, what did Vicki do for work before she moved out here?”

“She worked as a barmaid for a little while.”

“Oh, yeah. Where? In a night club?”

“No, in an adult bar that our friends own.”

“What do you mean by adult bar?”

“Well, they have rooms upstairs for customers who want to spend time with the women who work there.”

Feeling stabbed by an unseen dagger, I instantly recall a scenario back when I still lived with my then fiancé, Klaus.

One night, he, another couple, and I visited a club that offered a sexually explicit show on stage. I remember that customers had the chance to disappear with a woman of their choice in a private room, called a
Separét
.

“Did Vicki ever disappear in a room with anyone?”

Mother’s voice sounds irritated.

“No. I can’t remember, really. She might have on occasion, maybe?”

“So what are you gonna do next?” she quickly changes the subject. Are ya’ gonna keep that job?”

“I don’t know. But listen, I do have to go. I’ll tell Vicki you said ‘hello’, okay?”

I hang up the phone and go about my day, instantly discarding the information Mother volunteered.

~~~

I get in around six this morning, after a night of partying with Sis at
The
Spotlight
, one of the hipper clubs in town. For a few seconds, my thoughts venture to Vicki and her encounter with this fellow H earlier at the club. Too tired to wreck my brain about another thing, I hit the sack and fall asleep within minutes.

~~~

Around 15:00
Uhr
this Sunday afternoon, the phone rings. Blundering into the room like a groundhog that sees light for the first time after a long hibernation, I search for the receiver. Upon finding it, I listlessly pick it up.

“Hello?”

“
Ich bin’s
, Vic. Are you awake yet?”

“Sort of. What’s up?”

“Remember that guy H from last night?”

Oh, no. Here we go…

(Not long before Vicki moved to town, I had a run-in with this H fellow at the discotheque. It was brought to my attention then that he was bad news.)

“What about him?”

“I think I am in love. He’s super nice.”

“That guy is trouble, but I guess you make your own decisions. Just be careful, okay?”

“I can look after myself. We are actually going out to dinner tonight.”

“Okay. I have to go right now. Take care.”

Today, two weeks after Vic and I last spoke, she proudly announces that she eloped with H.

“Do you know what he does for a living?” I ask.

“Yeah. He told me.”

“Does he ask you to make money for him?”

“He is really good to me, even bought me a puppy. I really don’t mind bringing in the dough. It enables us to have a very nice life. I know he loves me. He carries me on hands.”

A thousand words sit on the tip of my tongue. But knowing the pointlessness of arguing with stubborn Sissy and hardly being able to keep my own affairs in check, I keep it zipped.

I’ve Got the Power

I am sitting in the office catching myself counting the minutes to when I can finally go on my first break. The moment the pointer on the clock hits nine, I jimmy over to the corner store and buy a bunch of candy that I wolf down on my way back to the firm. The sugar instantly lifts my spirit. But a stinging restlessness tackles me again as soon as I return to my desk, now strongly pining for lunch recess to arrive. Franz, the head of the technology department, pops into my awareness. I remember the tickly sweet feeling that surged through me at the times he flirted with me in the past. Something about his mature sophisticated nature intrigues me, although if I had met him somewhere else, I would have not spared him a glance. Now that Franz is on my mind, the boring task of filing paperwork does not look so insurmountable anymore.

Ragelina:
He’s got a
g
irlfriend, but that shouldn’t be a hindrance because men are all pussy-whipped bastards anyway.

Armed with a bunch of folders, I venture over to the other side of the complex. Sweaty palmed, I turn the doorknob of the squeaking glass door that leads into his division. He spots me within a second. I see him nod his head “hello” with beaming countenance, while he meets me half way. We exchange a few insignificant words before he offers to escort me to the elevator. As we stroll along the corridor, my anticipation for him to say something I can work with grows. He must have read my mind because out of his mouth comes, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

“That sounds neat. What time shall we meet?”

“How about eight?”

“Super.”

He insists on picking me up.

Ragelina:
If he ends up in my bed, it’s just one more piece of proof that all males are suckers, and that I definitely have got the power.

Hot Shot:
It sure is something to watch a man set aside his labels, titles, morals and values, seeing his power drain, and mine increase, especially when he goes to the length of sneaking around his woman’s back just to freak me for a few minutes.

Avengelia:
It makes this endeavor all the more worth pursuing.

Franz shows up at 20:00
Uhr
and takes me to a reputable Chinese restaurant near my house. After dinner, we mosey over to my place. Counting on his middle age experience, Fantasia swears that he is going to show me a thing or two, but he falls short on that expectation.

Hot Shot:
I can’t wait for him to leave.

“Come back to bed, and let’s cuddle for a while,” he asserts. I’m standing by the dresser, stressing about the fastest possible way of getting rid of him.

With great diplomacy, I tell him that I forgot about an engagement I needed to honor. Thankfully, he gets the message and takes off. Feeling hollow like a tomb, I perform a silent square dance around my grave inside my mind.

Abducted

I am scrubbing and mopping floors at my newly-acquired after-hour job at a law office in downtown. Frustrated, and exhausted from a full day at my secretarial job, I put the mop down and let my mind fade.

Hot Shot:
I look hideous…and have you ever seen a hottie like me clean toilets
?
I’ll never become a model if I keep this crap up.

By the time I get done cleaning, it is clear that second-best, low paying jobs are better had for other people.

Today, the recurring pain of dwindling funds drives me to pick up a newspaper. I impatiently flip through the pages. “Escorts sought,” it says in bold letters. My eyes move across it a few more times, asking myself repeatedly “What exactly do escorts do?”

Hot Shot:
It can’t be as simple as accompanying someone to a party or an event, can it? I certainly won’t sleep with a bunch of horny perverts who can’t get a woman any other way.

Disgusted, I put the paper down.

~~~

Several weeks go by. At 11
Uhr,
the phone rings at my office desk.

“Hey, Sis. I need to see you right away. Can I drop by?” I hear Vicki’s voice sounding panic-stricken.

“What’s up?”

“Ahh, it’s H. Can you safe-keep some money for me again? Pleeease?”

“I suppose so. But you got to be here within the hour.”

“See you momentarily. Thanks.”

She slams the phone down. Thirty minutes later, she sits across from me, crying. “I really need you to do this for me one more time,” she sniffles.