by K. M. Liss
Miche had been very pleased about that one difference between human and vampire males. Daily shaving had always been such a chore back in his human days. Vampire hair did grow, but so very slowly and facial hair only needed shaving once a year, if that. Fingernails, naturally long and pointed, and so very hard, were the same, growing minimally over time. In general, the body cells of a vampire always remained robust and neither grew nor died, thus the innate feelings of immortality. But there was something different about vampire DNA and keratin which enabled hair and nail growth. Why that was no one knew, as needless to say, little research had been done.
He chuckled at the thought of the other physical surprises he'd had since he'd been turned. No pubic hair. That had been a real shock. It had simply vanished. He was now quite bald, down there, and smooth as silk... All vampires were like that, with the females looking quite appealing. He smiled broadly at that mental image for a moment.
He'd never visited the inner caverns within the Refugio in all his years there, and had never taken much notice of the vampires and their sexual activities, although he had heard it all going on, day and night. But on his return to Rome, he'd stayed in Fro's old cell for a few nights until he made his decision to leave Italy. He'd had to fight the females off. He couldn't believe their forward attitude. Every time he turned 'round there was another one in some stage of nakedness in front of him. But he didn't want them. Those dirty little whores. There was only one he wanted. But he couldn't have her. She was taken and happy with her choice. He hoped he'd find another love, here in Paris, one he liked and desired as much as Sevi. His heart still ached so badly when he thought of her. She would always occupy a place deep inside his heart. Always.
It began to rain heavily, and he stood and leaped back over to the other tower where his belongings and sleeping area were housed. He went inside and sat on the pile of cardboard that served as his bed and which he'd covered with a blanket. He pulled out his book, The Lord of the Rings. One of those recommended to him by Severina. He'd stolen it from a second hand book stall in a street market the day before yesterday. It was written in English, and although he struggled with it at first, it was becoming easier to understand now that he had persevered for a couple of days.
This would be his last day of lazy relaxation. Tomorrow he would begin his search for work. He would start early and knock on every modelling agency's door in Paris until someone let him in. He had good clothes, good manners, and spoke a little French and passable English. He would surely not find it a difficult task.
* * *
Miche sat on the bench in a despondent mood. He hung his head and rubbed his face with his hands as he tried to think of what to do next. He had visited four agencies and had been unsuccessful so far. He had no portfolio, no references, and no experience. Apparently that was the kiss of death, one receptionist had told him, out of pity. There were many good looking men and women who never got a chance because they were novices and unprepared, as he was.
He looked at his list. Two more to go. He would try a different tack this time. Honesty was out of the question from now on.
He arrived at “Parfait”, a premier agency that specialized in male models. He pushed open the door, walked inside, and confidently approached the pretty blonde receptionist at her desk.
“Good day, I wish to sign at your agency,” he announced confidently in English.
“Une seconde...” the receptionist replied and pressed a button on her keyboard.
“Merci,” he replied politely, realising she probably didn't speak English very well.
“Asseoir s'il vous plait,” she said, motioning at the chairs behind him. She then had a brief conversation with someone in French.
He sat as requested and a minute later the door swung open and out strode an extremely beautiful tall blonde in a cloud of delicious perfume, sheathed in a gorgeous tight black dress. She held out her hand and took his in her iron grip, shaking firmly. He stood in greeting.
“Monsieur, how do you do? I am Mercedes Benoit, this is my agency. Cassandra, my receptionist does not speak English very well, I am afraid. How may I help you?”
“Pleased to meet you Mademoiselle Benoit. I want to work in Paris, I am wondering if it is possible to sign with you?”
She laughed sweetly at his impertinence which made him smile.
“Just like that?”
“Why not?”
“Show me your portfolio.”
“I have left it in Italy,” he lied.
“That is most unfortunate. As it is almost the equivalent of a passport, for a model. So, where have you worked?”
“Many places.”
“References?”
He suddenly had a mad idea.
“I have worked with Severina and Sabato, they are world famous, you know.”
“You have? The Severina Basteri and the Sabato Accosi?”
“Indeed. I know them very well. I have stayed with them on assignment. They will vouch for me if you wish to call them?”
Hell he might as well lie for all he was worth if it got him a job.
“Your name, monsieur?”
“Michello D'Angelo, please call me Miche.”
“That is a beautiful name... Miche... Come with me, I wish to speak with you further.” He followed her as she walked ahead of him sexily, swaying along in her high heeled black boots, through a password protected door, along a corridor, and into her inner sanctum. There was something familiar about her. Her eyes and her skin tone. Everything was too perfect. He sat down opposite her and looked some more. Deep brown eyes. Luscious long blonde hair. Flawless skin. She was one of his kind.
“So brother,” she said. “What do you really want?”
“Ah, so I was right. You are of my family?” he asked for final confirmation.
“Yes... And so what?”
“I need to work. I do know Sevi and Saba. They are dear model friends of mine. I used to work in Rome, but things became somewhat, errr, 'changed' for me there. I need a new start.”
“I shall not ask for details, don't worry. What areas do you specialise in?” Her eyes travelled over his suited body slowly, obviously making her own mind up about the 'type' of model she thought he was.
“Specialise?”
“Yes... Sports wear? Foundation wear?”
“Of course... I did not understand the word 'specialise'... yes, those and others, men's cosmetics, footwear, glamour...”
“Glamour?”
“Nothing too risque. Tasteful things. I'm serious about my career.”
He was really winging it now. He had no idea about any of this.
“Let me see. Stand up and turn slowly.”
He stood and turned as instructed.
“Strip off, everything. I want to see the whole package.”
“Pardon me?”
“I said strip off. I want to see you. Skin tone, hair, muscular definition, particularly that.” She gestured at his groin.
“Right... Is this really necessary?”
“You want a job modelling underwear?”
“I do.”
“Get it all off and let me see first.”
He stripped off and stood before her.
She remained silent and stared for a long, long time, mainly just below his waistline.
“Well... I'm quite impressed,” she said finally, a little breathlessly.
“Would you like to see my back view, or is my front sufficient for you to make your decision?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Oh yes... Please turn around. Good firm buttocks are very important for foundation wear models,” she said, slowly switching her gaze up to his face. He turned and stood looking at the door for a few moments. He felt like a slab of meat in the butcher's shop.
Really, this is all so humiliating.
He turned back to face her. Her face was flushed and her eyes glowing just a little. Her eyes weren't like normal vampire eyes. They were duller, darker, and far less responsive.
“Miche, you have a stunning physique. Perfect definition everywhere, abs to die for, and a face that'll make women wet their panties with excitement. You really are something special. You're signed. I'll have your contract ready for you by 10 a.m. tomorrow. Where are you staying?”
“I have just arrived here. Nowhere yet,” he said quickly.
“Here, book yourself in at this hotel. Tell them to bill me directly, here, at the agency. We use them all the time. Ask for Gregor at the desk.” She passed him a card from her drawer. “Stay there as long as you need to, until you find some better accommodation.”
“Thank you... kindly,” he said with a splutter, looking at the hotel on the card.
Hotel du Louvre...? 5 star luxury! How perfect! The Louvre was just a ten minute stroll from Notre Dame...
She examined him closely again, her eyes running wildly all over him.
“Are you busy this evening?” she enquired with a seductive smile.
“No, are you?” He suddenly felt very hopeful about the evening ahead, very hopeful indeed.
“No. Shall we meet and discuss your modelling possibilities with 'Parfait' more informally?”
“For drinks perhaps? In my room or at the bar?”
“I shall call at your room at 9 p.m. I am always very punctual. Make sure you are ready. I don't like to be kept waiting. Not for a second.”
“I shall bear that in mind. Would you like me to get dressed now?”
“Oh, how remiss of me. I was still enjoying your very fine attributes. Please do...”
He dressed slowly, as he was now completely at ease being naked in her office.
“Is that Paul Smith?” she asked, peering with narrowed eyes at his suit.
“It is and a Hugo Boss shirt.”
“You have good taste Miche. Very good taste. Classic and smart. I will look forward to seeing you later. See yourself out will you.” She leant back on her chair and popped a pen in the side of her mouth as he nodded, turned, and left her office.
“Au revoir Mademoiselle Benoit, a bientot...”
“Jesus, he's a male God....” He heard her say quietly to herself as he strode down the corridor. He beamed with victory and punched the air above his head.
Yes...!
He stood in the shower and let the hard streams of blissful hot water soak him for an age. Finally, having had his fill of the wonderful sensation of actually being clean all over, he turned off the shower and dried himself off with one of the large fluffy white towels. He had scrubbed himself to within an inch of his life using up all the little bottles of toiletries he had found in the bathroom. His hair glistened with cleanliness as he ran his fingers through it, arranging it in its usual swept back style. He dabbed a finishing touch of Hugo Boss cologne at his neck and jawline, another one of Sevi's thoughtful gifts. After tossing the towels and his dirty clothes in the laundry basket, he left the steamy bathroom. His hotel room was comfortable and smart. A deep red silky cover adorned his large bed. It was a colour he was very fond of. He had an excellent view from his window and a sizeable flat screen TV was mounted on the wall above his mini bar.
Now this is more like it. This is the life I want...
His mind wandered happily for a moment as he sat on the bed, naked. He wondered if he'd be seeing any action later. Mercedes seemed to be interested in him and he was more than interested in her. Perhaps she didn't get involved with her models on a personal level? But then again, she had offered to see him on an informal basis. It could well be his lucky night.
He played around with the remote and finally managed to turn the TV on and looked at the time. He had three hours to spare. He'd take a nap and then maybe read for a while. He turned the TV off again. His new bed was calling out to him to lie back and sleep on its perfect, nurturing surface. His eyelids felt so heavy as he sunk into the feather pillows in bliss. He hadn't had one good sleep since he'd arrived in Paris. The cardboard he had been sleeping on was not comfortable in the slightest, no matter how thickly it was piled.
He awoke suddenly to the sound of loud knocking at the door.
Oh shit no.... Have I overslept...?
“Coming, just one moment please...” he called out. He jumped off the bed and quickly pulled on a pair of black Gucci jeans and a pale grey t-shirt, both of which he knew fit him like a glove. He checked his hair. He looked good.
He opened the door to find Mercedes standing crossly with her hands on her hips.
“Hi there..." he started to say as she barged past him and into his room.
“I do not appreciate standing in the hotel corridor waiting to be let in to a room I am paying for. Don't let it happen again,” she said tersely, clearly not amused.
“Sorry, I fell asleep. And I've lost my phone,” he lied. “I haven't got an alarm.”
“Cassandra will provide you with a new phone in due course. In the meantime, place alarm calls with reception. It's a service they offer,” she said while whipping her phone out of her bag and tapping out a text in five seconds flat.
“Thank you. That is very thoughtful.”
“It is part of your contract. I supply all my models with the latest mobile phones. I have a company account. It is a tax deductible expense.”
“I see... And I do apologise profusely for keeping you waiting. I needed to get dressed.”
She laughed loudly at that. “I hardly think that was necessary.”
“I am not in the habit of answering my door naked. Would you like me to take them off again now that you're inside?” he asked with a cheeky grin.
She raised her eyebrows at his suggestive tone. “If I wish to see you undressed, I shall ask. Come along, get some shoes on, and let's make use of the hotel bar for a while. I am in the mood for some pink champagne. Oh, and put a jacket on over your t-shirt, will you.”
“Isn't this suitable? Shall I change?”
“It seems you're very keen to get your clothes off, aren't you? You're fine. I find your outfit quite appealing, but jackets are required in the piano bar.”
They left the room a minute later and she tucked her arm through his in a proprietary fashion as they strolled towards the lift.
“So, Mr D'Angelo, tell me all about yourself.”
“I would much rather hear about you. You interest me.”
“Of course I do darling, of course I do.” Her laughter tinkled loudly. Then she gave him a hard glare. “But I'm the one who asks the questions Miche, not you. You'd do well to remember that.”
Right, so that's how she wants to play it. Not that I've got much choice.
They entered the piano bar, greeted by a very up-tempo style of background music, and Mercedes stopped and looked around. She chose a sofa and table a good distance away from a group of Japanese patrons currently playing cards and drinking, and they took a seat in a far corner. For a moment he admired her appearance. Her long blond hair had been set in ringlets which hung beautifully around her shoulders and her stylish black and white dress hugged her feminine curves snugly. She sidled up closely against him and crossed her legs revealing a long pale toned thigh.
A mature, but handsome grey haired waiter appeared instantly at their side.
“Good evening Guillaume, long time no see,” she said in English.
“I have been on a long holiday Mademoiselle Benoit. And what a pleasure it is to see you again! What can I provide you with for refreshment? I have a superb vintage Cabernet Sauvignon you could try,” he replied in perfect, albeit heavily accented English.
“Not tonight. A bottle of your finest pink champagne please. We are having a small business celebration.”
“You are? That is wonderful news!” He looked at Miche and back to her with a warm smile. "Then I shall provide you with the perfect pink, on the house.”
“Why, thank you Gillaumme.”
“My pleasure, mademoiselle.”
The waiter nodded respectfully and departed.
“It seems you're very well known Merce
des?” He bravely ventured to use her first name.
“Oh, I am. Now tell me... what are your plans? Is this a little pocket money for you, or do you wish to become well known yourself?”
“It is a whole new start for me. Life became difficult in Rome and I have left my old life behind. If possible, of course I would like to become well known. Perhaps even famous like my friends Severina and Sabato.”
“Why couldn't they have helped you begin again?”
“They are based in New York. I want to stay here, in Europe. I have family connections in the human world and I need to keep an eye on them. Besides, it was a sudden decision I made to leave. I haven't spoken to Sevi about it yet.”
The waiter returned with their champagne, and made a great show of placing the white drinks mats carefully and two long champagne flutes on top of them. The bottle was opened gently, with but a hiss of a pop, and he skilfully poured the frothing pink liquid into the glasses without spilling a drop.
“Voila... Enjoy!” he announced with a flourish and a sweep of his arm, placing the bottle in an ice bucket in front of them.
“Marvellous,” Mercedes purred sexily at him. “I wonder would you mind asking the pianist to play something more modern and sensual. I do not care for his current jazzy repertoire at all.”
“Certainly.” Guillaume nodded once more and left to have a word with the pianist. The pianist turned to look at them, a little red faced, and started to play a much softer melody.
“Let's drink.” She lifted her glass to his. “To you Miche, my newest asset, and one I am sure will do very, very well for me.”
“I intend to do just that,” he replied, with a sensual, bright yellow look deep into her eyes.
“Where are your lenses?” she asked.
Lenses? Whatever were they?
“I left them behind. In fact I left everything behind. I have nothing but a few clothes which I hastily gathered when I left. Sadly, I have just fifty Euros to my name,” he explained to cover his confusion.
“Well, this must have been a very hasty departure. I will provide you with a company credit card for living expenses. You should open a bank account tomorrow. I will call my bank manager and explain you lost everything in a tragic fire and have no identification. But you must acquire new contact lenses immediately. Your eyes cannot flash on the job, you know that. I can arrange to have you fitted in the agency tomorrow, so arrive fifteen minutes early.”