The Frenchman's Bride

by Imani King

  In the cover shot, Blaine was smoking a cigarette with lipstick smears on his cheek, standing behind the car and unknowingly staging himself for the camera. Less photogenic shots were included inside, along with the article proper.

  A female palm with fingers outstretched, barely visible from behind the window tint.

  Sophia, laughing and trying to cover her face, her foot flirtatiously kicked out.

  Blaine, clutching at his dropped trousers and furiously shoving a hand towards the camera.

  Some people have all the fun.

  I wondered why he had staged a photo for the front cover, as I set the tabloid back down on the stack, but this was just par for the course for Blaine Winguard. His image was almost a cultivated parody of billionaire culture; constantly rocked by scandals that would dethrone lesser men, but with just the right sense of humor to always come out of top. Intentionally or not, the stunts he pulled gained national attention, but that attention was seemingly a complete afterthought to him.

  Celebrity caricature. Sexual liberator. Wild philanthropist. Blaine Winguard was a lot of things, but what was clear was that he was always going to be a wild card; impossible to predict, and sweeping anyone in his presence up for a ride.

  Well, this was a nice distraction and all…but he has his life, and I have mine, I thought to myself as I checked my time. It was still another ten minutes before my surprise interview, and the nervousness was finally starting to creep back into my head.

  The cute, warm receptionist smiled pleasantly at me again as I smoothed my miniskirt, suppressing another troubling wave of nervousness. Get your shit together, Sierra, I quietly thought to myself as I returned the polite gesture. No time to be anxious anymore…you’ll either get it, or you won’t.

  But I knew that I had every right to be on edge. It’s not everyday that a veritable golden ticket shows up out of the blue in your freaking junk mail. Instead of an invitation to a borderline magical chocolate factory, mine was a little more practical: a surprise job offer. Not just any job offer, either. This was a shot at interning for the most respected news station in four states.

  Even with a recent valedictorian Bachelor’s Degree in Journalism from Pennsylvania State, I’d expected to have to claw my way up local media before getting the chance to just deliver mail to this building, let alone intern for them. Clearly, they had someone at the university to give a nod towards upcoming journalists who showed demonstrable promise.

  I wasn’t about to argue with my good fortune.

  While I waited for the interview, I quickly removed and unfolded the sheet of paper that could radically change everything for me. Smoothing it over my thigh, I glanced around suspiciously before reading it for the thousandth time:

  Dear Sierra Simmons,

  We would like to inform you with great pride that you have been selected as a pre-qualified candidate for placement in the PBN (Philadelphia Broadcasting Network) internship program. For over twenty years, PBN has been tirelessly dedicated to pushing the envelope on the forefront of reporting, by leveraging the latest in technology to produce high quality, breaking news segments and more. Our award winning, critically acclaimed content is consistently seen by an average of five million viewers per night, and we regularly create engaging external media for our partners in surrounding states and national television.

  To express your interest in this valuable position, please report to 1211 Cabbot Boulevard on Tuesday, April 27th at 7 o’clock AM to interview with one of our esteemed workplace coordinators. Come prepared to supply two (2) forms of government-issued identification and fill out the appropriate paperwork pertaining to this role.

  If you are unable to reach this appointment, please reach our front desk through the enclosed telephone number so that we may move a more qualified candidate into your interview slot.

  Thanks,

  Kenneth van Camp

  PBN, Executive Senior Producer

  My confidence renewed, I folded the letter and slipped it back into my purse. Even if things somehow didn’t work out here, the doors that this opportunity could open for me would put me straight on the goddamn map. Working for these people basically guaranteed a career – it would be my tenacity and talent that decided how quickly I’d rise in the future.

  The sound of a doorknob turning nearby drew my attention. An old, weathered face with perfectly bleached teeth stepped out from the nearby office, his sparkling eyes quickly falling upon me. He extended a hand – despite his age, his grip was firm, powerful, and oozed of effortless confidence.

  “Ah, you must be Miss Simmons. Won’t you come in?”

  As I followed him into a large but modestly decorated office, I spotted the name on the door – Kenneth van Camp. So, this old guy is my mysterious benefactor…?

  Kenneth indicated a seat with a wave of his hand; I casually but professionally sat myself down as he passed around and leaned on the edge of his desk.

  “Miss Simmons…my name is Kenneth van Camp, and I’m one of the people arguably in charge of this station. You can call me Kenneth…”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” I replied, maintaining composure and professionalism as best I could. This man had the power to make or break me, and we both knew it.

  Kenneth went silent for a moment, looking me over before taking a moment to pull a folder from one of the desk’s drawers. I watched as he donned a pair of reading glasses and flipped through the pages.

  “I’m going to level with you, Miss Simmons. I’ve seen your curriculum and your grades, but academic prowess isn’t enough to be recommended personally by the Dean of Students into this internship program.”

  He paused for effect, tapping the folder against his hand and letting his words sink in before continuing.

  “You have no field experience. No published articles. I’m sure you understand my confusion. I’m supposed to offer you a paid position interning for Pennsylvania Broadcasting… Our highest entry level position we can offer. Perhaps you could explain this to me… Why is the Dean of Students for Penn State so interested in getting you a position here?” He gave me a light, playful wink.

  “I…. I don’t know what to say,” I replied, confusion welling up inside me. What was Kenneth trying to imply? I barely knew the Dean of Students. Why in the hell would he go out of his way to recommend me for this internship?

  “You don’t have to say anything, Miss Simmons. I’m not asking you to reveal your methods. I’m admiring them. When I hire a journalist, I’m not looking for excuses. I’m interested in someone who can get things done. You’re going to be perfect…”

  Now I was even more confused. I hadn’t done anything. I didn’t cheat my way into this interview. I worked hard. Maybe my department head talked to the Dean… Maybe he knew I would be good for the position. I tried to rationalize things even as I spoke.

  “Perfect for what?” I asked,

  “I have a very special assignment for you.”

  “And what kind of assignment would that be?” I asked, my entire body on edge.

  “I don’t need an intern, Miss Simmons. I need a journalist. We’ve been working on a story for quite some time. Are you familiar with the Discreet Companions website?” Kenneth asked, suddenly piquing my curiosity. “We suspect that they might be preying on young women such as yourself. Think that might be something you’d be interested in?”

  “Tell me more,” I answered impartially.

  “Heh. Good answer,” the old producer chuckled. “A true reporter’s answer. I knew I was right about you. But anyway, about this assignment…”

  Kenneth scratched at the small scuff of gray hair on his chin as he continued. “These people do their research. I can’t send any of my reporters in. The community administrators do extensive background checks on anyone who approaches them, and even my more novice reporters would be sniffed out in a heartbeat. I need someone on the inside, someone with a face that won’t be recognized and a name that can’t be traced to a rep
orting background… Someone who’s never been on the payroll… I need someone like you.”

  “That sounds like a bit more than an internship.”

  Kenneth leaned back in his chair, his eyes watching me curiously. “You’re right. In fact, you’ll decline the internship offer before you walk out of this office.”

  “Sir… Being a reporter is my dream,” I replied quietly.

  “You can live that dream. I can’t hire you until the story is completed, but I can offer you twenty dollars an hour for the duration of your investigation out of our petty cash fund. Get through this story and I’ll move you up to a full salaried position on my investigative team. Eighty-five thousand a year, plus benefits. You can skip the bullshit. I don’t need you running around getting people coffee. I’m putting you right in the thick of it. Bust a story like this wide open and we’re talking awards and instant recognition. You interested?”

  “I’m interested,” I answered truthfully. “But you’ve gotta give me more than this. What exactly am I getting myself into here? What kind of activities do you think they do?”

  Kenneth grinned. “Discreet Companions is a website that sets young, open-minded women up with older gentlemen who have more money that they could ever spend. They operate here in Philadelphia. It sells itself as an upscale ‘Sugar Daddy’ type website, but we have reason to think that it might be a prostitution ring. If they’re coercing impressionable young women into sex – pimping them out to these old, rich buggers – then there’s a story there.”

  “And how am I supposed to get the story…?”

  “That’s the easy part, Miss Simmons. You’re beautiful and young and paying for college. You’re exactly the kind of girl they are looking for. Join their site. Pose as a young hopeful. Entice some rich bastards to meet with you. See if you can snag anything juicy on these people. I want to know who’s using this site. Politicians, businessmen, I want names. Report back to me, every few days… And before you ask, here.”

  He pulled something from the desk and leaned forward. I looked down to see the small pile of money he’d just pushed in my direction. His joviality was gone, with only a stern look on his face. “Your first month, paid in advance… Miss Simmons, are you in?”

  I took a deep sigh. I’d already started considering how big a break this would be – investigating and overthrowing an online prostitution ring was a serious opportunity that any seasoned reporter would jump on in a heartbeat. As a first big break for a young, recent college graduate, this opportunity could jettison me into serious critical respect in the field.

  There was only one question left in my mind… Could I really do this?

  I’d need to take a look at their site, however much of it I could access. I suspected that only members could see past the first page. This meant that I needed to prepare – come up with a backstory, add a little flirtatiousness in the way I spoke. My thoughts trailed to an old high school friend who had broken into the boudoir photography business…I might have to give her a call.

  My gaze hardened, and I extended my hand.

  “You have yourself a deal.”

  “Good,” he replied, his stern face breaking into a sly smile. “Here is some information to bring you up to speed,” he said, throwing a small binder on top of the money. “I expect fast results, Miss Simmons. It’s only a matter of time before the Dean of Students at Penn State finds out I didn’t accept you as an intern. There will be questions, and I can only deflect them for so long. If anyone connects you to this place, it will spoil the entire investigation… Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I answered, my voice filled with equal parts excitement and disbelief. “I understand.”

  2

  Sierra

  * * *

  One train ride later, I walked the mile back home. Climbing up the porch steps, I let myself through the door and spotted Mama at the dining room table, wrapped in a bathrobe with the Sudoku section and a steaming cup of coffee. She barely stirred from her trance, a stern look on her face as she studied her latest puzzle.

  “How’d it go, baby?” She asked offhandedly before taking a visibly fulfilling swig from her mug. Her voice was a little dry – either she had just woken up, or she didn’t exactly expect good news.

  Both were probably true.

  “I got the job!” I exclaimed happily, and she glanced up from the paper with widening eyes. I threw my arms around her as a crooked grin splintered across her face.

  “You did? Congratulations, Babygirl!”

  “And guess what?” I teased.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s not some silly internship. They’re gonna pay me to do investigative journalism, Mama. I’m going to work on a story immediately. They paid me a month up front!”

  “Heavens alive,” my mother replied, her hand drifting towards her heart. “All of that is just – OooeeEEE, child! That is all just something else!”

  “I know, isn’t it just?” I could practically contain myself as I slipped into the kitchen, eager to pour my own cup of hot coffee. “I wasn’t sure it was legitimate…but then I went to the building and, oh Mama, it was so amazing. The senior executive producer, he’s this old guy who barely interviewed me! He just…gave me the job on the spot!”

  “I see,” my mother responded coolly from the dining room table.

  Her previous enthusiasm was clearly tapering off, and I knew why. Mama was always suspicious of good fortune. She’d lived a long life, full of ups and downs, and in her experience? Letting the good times roll set you up for a mighty big fall.

  “No, Mama, it’s not going to be like that,” I reassured her loudly from the kitchen, pouring in a packet of Stevia and a splash of skim milk. “It’s gonna be better than that! You’ll see! This is exactly what I need right now.”

  “Mhmm,” she dismissively replied. As I passed around the corner, I could see that she was already tied back up into her Sudoku.

  “Mama, with a job like this, I can finally get out onto my own two feet! I can get an apartment in Philly somewhere – maybe not the nicest place on the block, but I can start moving on with my life. I’ve done college. I’ve gotten myself an education, a proper one, too. Don’t you think I should take this opportunity while it’s here?”

  Mama sighed, setting her paper down. “It’s not that, Babygirl.” She turned to face me, with veiled sadness in her eyes. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay? You were always so stubborn, child. You’ve always thrown yourself into things, getting yourself hurt.” She took a deep breath, facing me with those coddling eyes. “I just – I don’t want to see you set up for disappointment. I’ve seen it happen to you before.”

  “I know,” I conceded quietly. “You’ve always been there for me. But I’ve worked hard for this. The Dean of Students from Penn State recommended me personally! I was so afraid that I’d have to scramble around at the bottom of the barrel for a year or two, but this is a damned good shortcut! Straight into a job at PBN! If I can get this story they’re going to make me a full time journalist with benefits and everything! I never dared dream that this could happen to me!”

  My mother quietly watched me, sipping her coffee. There was a pain in her eyes, but as soon as I looked at her she turned away, silencing it.

  “Sierra, you should celebrate tonight.”

  “You think so?”

  “Course I do,” she replied. “Tomorrow’s another day. Take today while you’ve got it. Go out with Keesha. Just don’t stay out too late, okay? Got a long week ahead…”

  I nodded happily. It was rare that she condoned me spending much time with my friends – she saw most of them as bad influences on me, always tugging me away from my schoolwork or supplying distractions.

  No matter what I said, I could never get my mother to understand that they were all focused on their grades as well – Keesha, my best friend, graduated valedictorian with me. She had already sent me a supportive text en route to the news station this morning, an
d I hadn’t taken the opportunity to update her yet.

  “But tonight’s a long way away, child,” my mother grinned. “How about you help an old woman with some chores first? Floor’s need washing, and I could use some help in the garden…”

  “Of course, Mama,” I smiled, already planning the night on the town. A day of tiresome chores or not, the morning had already placed me firmly on top of the world.

  There wasn’t a damned thing that was gonna tear me down.

  Or so I thought.

  3

  Blaine

  * * *

  Standing in my executive office above Winguard Productions, my private studio building for organizing big budget films, I absentmindedly dragged the tip of my thumb across my bottom lip. I was presently admiring the light from my window. I always enjoyed the reassuring glow of the early morning across the space, even when my mind was unfortunately preoccupied. Instead of going through the motions of trying to get any actual work done…

  My unfortunate little brush with the papers had fallen to the wayside by now. By now, it was just the latest ding in my armor, another footnote to the parade of debauchery that was my life. It didn’t bother me. The paparazzi were constantly picking up on my fuck-ups here and there. They had it out for me – and I still needed to know exactly why. Luckily, they seemingly hadn’t caught any of the really juicy stuff.

  But that lake of vipers was the least of my concerns.

  I lifted my watch again. Harold Figgs wasn’t late; I was simply impatient. But I had good reason to be – he was instructed to notify me of any “developments”, and from his latest email, it sounded like there was a hell of a development.