Showcase

by P. Roper

  Table Of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21 Nate

  Chapter 22 Deliah

  Chapter 23 Nate

  Chapter 24 Deliah

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue Noelle

  Note From The Author

  Showcase

  Copyright © 2021 P. Roper

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  Printed by Amazon.

  First Printing, 2021

  Edited by Pamela Roper & Dalia Hernandez

  Cover by Dalia Hernandez

  Dedication

  For the all the dreamers hiding in the wings,

  waiting for someone to just believe in them.

  For C, my lifetime love & my biggest fan.

  For C, forever my girl & my motivation.

  For S, my best friend & my partner in crime.

  For L & A, who I didn’t know I desperately needed in my life and never fail to bolster my confidence.

  Synopsis

  My life was anything but ordinary. Being wrapped in taboo secrecy meant being lonely, even in a crowded room.

  That was my world. Until I met him. He swooped in, knocking everything I knew off its axis and rearranging things in the most charmed fashion.

  But I’ve come to realize that even a dramatic shift in scenery doesn’t change the people around me. It only alters their methods of scrutiny and has the power to open me up to bigger, more startling realities.

  However, I guess it’s a good thing that my knight in shining armour plucked me from my tower. Had he not, I may not have known the ugliness of his world. But I also would never have learned what it felt like when my soul caught fire.

  ** This book contains mature content, not suitable for young readers, included but not limited to strong language, dark themes, and sexual scenes that may be triggers to some readers.**

  Showcase

  Official Playlist

  Diamonds - Rihanna

  Strange Love – Halsey

  Demons - Imagine Dragons

  Pretty Girl - Maggie Lindeman

  Honeybee - The Head and The Heart

  Let Me Go - Cassadee Pope

  Speechless - Dan + Shay

  No One - Alicia Keys

  Girls Like You - Maroon 5

  End Game - Taylor Swift

  Consequences - Camilla Cabello

  What Have I Done – Dermot Kennedy

  Sweet Little Lies - bulow

  Say Something - A Great Big World & Christina Aguilera

  Lie To Me - 5 Seconds of Summer

  hate u love u - Olivia O'Brien

  Fix You - Coldplay

  Breakeven - The Script

  Piece of You - Shawn Mendes

  The Killing Kind - Marianas Trench

  Rock Bottom - Hailee Steinfeld

  Lights Down Low - MAX

  Never Seen Anything - The Script

  What A Time - Julia Michaels ft Niall Horan

  Music is a critical part of writing for so many; myself included. The playlist that I listened to while I wrote Showcase is longer than this one, but held each of these songs. And these were the ones that made the cut, that felt like they fit here, in Deliah and Nathaniel’s story.

  Prologue

  It started out as an innocuous notion. What harm could it bring? But then I found myself, two years later, still in the game. I had intended for it to just be a one-time deal. I was young, attractive, and in a shit ton of student debt. It would be a fast way to pay off the loans. I had the tools and no job prospects yet, so why not? Then, lying naked among scattered silk sheets waiting for the photographer to change batteries and lights, a fellow model mentioned another gig; one that paid infinitely better than nude editorial shoots. Later, donned in robes, we exchanged information and three days later she sent a message. All it held was an address and the following instructions:

  *WEAR BLACK LACE BOYSHORTS AND BLACK HEELS*

  FALSE LASHES BOLD EYE MAKEUP & RED LIPSTICK A

  MUST. HAIR DONE LIKE FOR A DATE. MEET ME AT THE

  SIDE OF THE BUILDING AT 6PM. WE’LL GET YOU ALL

  SET UP. FRIDAY NIGHT. DON’T MISS THIS.

  The entire message was in caps. Anyway, I did as instructed. Bold, dark makeup and big lashes that made my eyes look like actual coal embedded emeralds. Red lipstick, with a spare shade tucked unto my clutch. My long chestnut hair, spun in loose curls down my back and the required “wardrobe” was tucked under a braless black slip dress. Shaking my head, I paused before rounding the corner of the building where I was to meet her. Was I really doing this? But my pause was only momentary as I heard laughter from around the corner. I could do this. It was essentially like being living art, right? What could go wrong? Turning that fateful corner, my new friend screeched. “Deeeeeeee! You came! I’m so excited,” she exclaimed in true of-course-she-used-to-be-a-cheerleader form.

  “I did,” was my reply, with a tilt of my head and a trained smile gracing my face. “Through here,” I asked, gesturing to the black door behind her. Her enthusiastic nod followed, so I headed through the heavy door while she attempted to spout off introductions behind me. The thing was, I didn’t like names. It’s why my call name was simply ‘D’. Anonymity made these things dramatically less awkward and complicated.

  “You’re Dee,” I heard asked from down the hall. Looking up, I took in a tall bespectacled man, with stark white coiffed hair.

  Smiling at him, I nodded. “I am. You are?”

  “Jameson, creative director. I’ll need you to come with me to sign some forms and get fitted. Through here.” His expression was bored, as he pointed out a white door to the left of where he stood, clipboard in hand.

  “Fitted?” I questioned.

  “Mhmm. Wait here. Bea will be with you in a moment. I have another dozen to round up and get situated. Have her buzz me when you’re ready.” The man whisked off without waiting for my response.

  The door flung open, soon after his departure and the woman known as Bea bustled in, arms filled with small black boxes. “Dee, I presume?” At my nod, she continued, “We don’t have long before the doors open so I hope you multitask well. I think I have the perfect fit for you and I’m glad your hair is down. It makes my life easier if I don’t have to work at trying to hide an earpiece.” She couldn’t be much older than I was, but this woman clearly had her job down to an art form. She set a small stack of forms and a black pen in front of me. “Read these over and sign them, while I get you set up, yeah?” And she was in motion again; finger-measuring my face and tucking hair carefully behind my ears.

  She busied herself in a flurry of “hmm”s, nods, black fabric, and tiny electronics and I began to read what seemed to be a standard talent contract. The
re were a few questionable clauses, but nothing really different from what I had seen before. And finally there was a waiver to sign, essentially stating, “Sure people can look at and potentially touch my naked body.” The girl who brought me here was right though. The money was ridiculous. Four figures a night guaranteed, plus potential bonuses. I signed the forms and the waiver in black ink (which I took as a good omen). Blue pen users were, well, monsters. The moment I put down the pen, a stiff piece of black lace was thrust in my face. “This should be perfect,” Bea insisted, going around behind me. “Ribbons,” she requested. I finally looked at what was in my hands, finding a sexy, sophisticated masquerade mask. Another layer of anonymity had me relaxing even further. I lined the mask up with my face and handed her the ribbons to secure it. Glancing at my reflection, she was right. A perfect fit, as though it had been specifically moulded to fit me.

  “As I suspected,” she nodded, as she tapped her own ear. “Where is she going,” was all she said before waving at me to follow and walking out the door. She strode down a long hallway, and pushed open a set of double doors. Following her through, my breath caught. It should have been some sort of warehouse beyond those doors, but instead we were met with a lavish room. Extravagant chandeliers and acrobatic silks hung from the ceilings, dripping with sparkle and shine. Backlit, glowing bars and plush booths were scattered around the edges of the space. And there were what I could only describe as glass cages, lining parts of the room and a stage with a pretty awesome band setup.

  “Head over to Jameson,” she said, pointing him out about halfway across the room. “Good luck, Dee.” Then turning on her heel, she was off again in a frantic flurry.

  My black pumps clicked across the polished concrete floor causing Jameson to look up from his conversation. A grin spread across his face before his eyes narrowed and he seemed to assess me. “This is you,” he stated as he opened up one of the few remaining empty glass cases. “There is a cubby under your case for your personal effects and your phone should be off at all times while you’re working.” He offered me a hand to step up into the person sized display case. “Now, your call will simply be D2. If a client puts in a request for you, or it is your turn for a break, you will be notified and then a bouncer will come, escort you out and re-lock your temporarily empty case. If you have an emergency, tap your earpiece 3 times. Otherwise, your case will be locked for your safety. Any questions?” I shook my head. “Alright then, dress off and with your bag in the cubby. Doors open in less than 5. And Dee? Be sultry, but try not to touch yourself too much.”

  I dropped the straps of my dress and the silky material pooled at my feet. Kicking the scrap of material and my clutch into the cubby I tucked it closed and I took a cursory glance down my body before righting myself. Reassured that my skin was unmarred, I returned my eye contact to Jameson with a single nod. The man shook his head and chuckled. “Girl, I have a feeling you’re going to boost the revenue here, significantly. Welcome to showcase life,” he offered with an arched brow before turning and clapping his hands. “Places!” he hollered. “Doors open in one minute! 30 seconds before cases lock. If you’re not in your case, you WILL NOT be paid tonight.” He strode toward the door as the lights dimmed. I glanced around my case, unsure what to do with my hands, only to find a glass bar across the top.

  I heard locks all over the room click as I laced my fingers around the bar. Quiet music poured into the dimly lit space and soft lights illuminated the filled cases. I took a deep breath and relaxed my face into a sort of pout before I heard them. I could discern their wealth from their voices alone. The Clients, as I would come to know them. All very wealthy and very entitled, mostly men with a handful of bold women. Every single one here to drink, network, listen to music, and spend embarrassing amounts of money. Stacks dropped on booze and bets and deals, sure. But more than all that, fortunes were spent on the showcases; to observe us privately or ask favours of us. There were few rules in this world, I would come to learn. But that night began the rest of my life.

  Chapter 1

  “You ready for this?” It was my first night in the new venue. I had been in Europe for two weeks.

  I laughed, “Is anyone ever REALLY ready for this?”

  “Well, no. But honey, I had to ask. Here’s your earpiece and assignment. See Greta, with the red hair, to get your placement.” With a wink, Aric (the Amsterdam version of Jameson) was off.

  I scanned the crowd for Greta. Finally spotting her, I knew I only had a short time before the event tonight began. This venue was even more expensive looking than the ones I’d been at back home. The layout was different too. A massive tiered stage sat, backing into one corner. It easily took up a quarter of the space. Across from it was a row of raised glass cases, a bar spanning the length of the room in front of them. Delicate nets and silver silks hung from the ceilings everywhere, even over the stage. Standing tables and plush booths commanded the rest of the space, with cages (not cases) scattered about the room. And finally, staircases around the perimeter, lead upstairs, to where all the private rooms were.

  Clicking across the floor, I called out, “Greta?”

  Looking up at me, squinting through her perfectly round glasses, she spoke. “You Dee? Small, that’s good. Wait here?” With a nod, she was off at a dash, a flurry of perfectly spiralled red hair and peasant skirt, billowing behind her. Her English was charmingly broken, with a thick Dutch inflection. It wouldn’t take me long to learn that tiny Greta was a force to be reckoned with.

  I stood there, taking in the space, waiting for her to return. The air was a lot more charged here than at any other showcase I’d worked previously. But this is what most would consider the big leagues. I’d heard that clients would come and drop a million in a night on various bequests. Jameson had given me Aric’s contact information, before I left New York, and told me that I would be well taken care of here.

  People almost never asked me how exactly I found myself in Amsterdam and there was no one back stateside to wonder where I went. See, the rules surrounding the lifestyle are vastly different. In the US, some of it can be considered illegal, but not overseas. My venue getting unceremoniously shuttered was originally my excuse for relocating. But I had also always wanted to see the world. I mean, who doesn’t to one extent or another? So, when the opportunity arose, I jumped. I was already subletting month to month in New York so nothing had tied me there. I filed the required paperwork, packed up my 3 suitcases of belongings, and bought a plane ticket. I booked myself into a hotel near the address of the new venue for a week and set out to make some sort of life in a new city.

  Aric was the first call I made from my hotel room. He came to collect me and took me to get all the essentials I would need immediately in this new city. A phone, food, some new clothes and registering a safety deposit box topped the list. Because when you’re paid large sums of cash, a person needs an in between.

  “Dee, come with me?” Greta startled me out of my daze and nodding, I followed her.

  I was ushered around the venue. Stopping first at what looks like a luxury locker room, she explained, “Your bags can go in here, envelopes deposited into your kist after hours, nightly. Lock will be secure, if you choose to return in the mornings to collect monies for banks.” Down the hall, she pointed out several single stall bathrooms before coming to what looked like a small nightclub. “After hours, many stay. Socialize. Night working is not easy for connections. This,” she gestured around the space, “can help. If you choose.”

  I glanced around, taking in the black walls covered in fluorescent graffiti. The space held speakers and a bar, but was mostly just an open room. I heard heels click on the floor behind me and turned to see Greta moving on. I scurried after her and almost collided with her back when she stopped abruptly back at the entrance to the event space.

  “Tonight, you’re new. I’m putting you in a net, to observe. Next show, you’ll be in a case. You need to have regular requests to gradua
te to a cage. Clear?”

  “Yes,” was all I could get out before she was moving forward again.

  After tours of both the prop and wardrobe rooms, Greta left me to explore the private floor. But not without strict instructions to meet her, case ready, at the stage in twenty minutes. Poking my head into each room, I noticed just how different each was. Some were dark, cloaked in drama. While, others dripped with sparkle. But the one thing they all were was luxe. No expense had been spared.

  I snaked my way through corridors, dropping my bag and slip dress in a locker, before heading back toward the stage. My heels clicking on the floor alerted Greta to my presence.

  “Did you acquaint yourself?” she questions.

  “As well as I could. Where do you have me tonight?” I was squirming to get myself situated. I had never been in a venue with netting, so I wasn't sure how it would work. I was hoping for some time before the lights went out and the doors opened.

  Greta snapped her fingers and one of the nets over the stage lowered. I couldn’t tell if they were hydraulic or on pulleys, but they were definitely controlled from behind the scenes. “Here,” she said, handing me a small device. “Your ears. Push twice to alert that you need something. Up you go. Try to reposition hourly. Now, if you’ve been briefed otherwise,” she paused and raised an eyebrow in question.