by Izzy Mason
No one had ever expected her father, William, to be a good businessman. Money just wasn’t his strong suit. He was an English teacher, the girls’ volleyball coach, and Madison’s kitchen table tutor, helping her with everything from algebra to Shakespeare. In the summer he would take Madison and her mom, Virginia, camping in the Rockies, where he knew the best mountain lakes and pristine wilderness areas in the state of Colorado. He was a loving husband and a great dad, and that was enough for Madison and Virginia. No one could understand why he’d secretly gambled away their lives.
Without a word to his wife, William embarked on a high-risk venture that turned out to be a complicated scam. Since they didn’t own their house, he’d been convinced to double mortgage Virginia’s beloved family restaurant to bring extra cash into the deal. It was one of the oldest establishments in Denver; a storied place that had been in Virginia’s family for generations. It felt like a fourth member of their family. William had been hoodwinked into believing it was a sure thing; that his ship had finally come in. But overnight, the restaurant, their retirement savings, and Madison’s college fund had vanished. And the shock went straight to his heart.
When the dust cleared, there was barely enough to cover William’s funeral and a subpar burial plot at the Goldhill Cemetery far across town. The only asset they had any hope of saving was Virginia’s restaurant, but it was still far out of their reach. The bank offered to return the title if Virginia could come up with a hundred thousand dollars in four months. She tried desperately to get a loan, but her credit had been destroyed along with William’s. Their friends and family were struggling to get by as it was, and no one had that kind of money to spare. It was inevitable. The family business that had managed to survive since World War I would die in Virginia’s hands.
Madison felt as if the world had swallowed her whole. She’d given up all hope of finishing college and came home to look after her mother. Virginia was Madison’s hero, and the strongest person she knew. And so it was all the more painful to watch her unravel. Shortly after William’s funeral, once she’d exhausted every possible source of money to save her restaurant, Virginia collapsed. Early one morning, Madison found her mother in the backyard still wearing her nightgown, her feet bare, despite the freezing temperature. She sat on the stiff, dead grass rocking back and forth, muttering nonsensically. The doctor assured Madison that her mother would likely recover, but for now she was taken to a psych ward in Aurora for treatment. And for the first time in her life, Madison found herself alone.
Even worse, there was no one waiting in the wings to save any of them.
Chapter 3
The first time Enzo suggested she come to Mexico to work at The Gentlemen’s Club, she assumed he was joking, since it was beyond incredulity. Whenever Madison looked in the mirror, all she saw was a homely introvert. Only Enzo could see past it. Even through her baggy clothes, Enzo could see the tall, svelte body, the bulge of her round breasts, the long legs. He knew that men would love her wide, blue eyes and plump lips. All she needed was a bit of a makeover.
Fortunately, in the two years Enzo had been living in Mexico City, he’d gotten to know so many people that he was only a degree of separation away from anything they needed. One of Enzo’s close friends was a Cuban ophthalmologist who was happy to squeeze Madison in without an appointment. On her second day in town, he checked her terribly myopic eyes, confirmed the prescription, and found a pack of disposable contact lenses in stock, which he gave her for next to nothing. Madison had never considered wearing contacts before; they seemed like more trouble than they were worth. But once she got the hang of putting them in, she loved being able to see without her glasses.
Next, Enzo brought her to see his friend Pati, a famous transvestite hair stylist who worked for the glitterati in the entertainment industry. Together they fussed over Madison’s hair, giving her a rinse that brought out the blondest highlights, and cutting it into a Scarlett Johansson bob.
When Enzo took her shopping, he wouldn’t let her pick out a thing.
“If you’re going to pull this off, you can’t go around dressed like a boy!” he’d hissed when she pointed to a cute tee shirt in the active wear section. Instead, he dressed her in fitted pants with an ankle flare, a sexy scoop-necked top, which accentuated her boobs, a tan leather jacket, and brown heeled boots.
“I knew there was a smoking body somewhere under there,” Enzo exclaimed when the makeover was complete.
Madison stared at herself in the mirror, dumbstruck. She was completely transformed.
“Jesus, Enzo,” she managed, the panic rising in her voice. It felt like he was stripping out her soul and turning her into a Barbie doll. She’d never envied the women whose only purpose in life was to be beautiful. They seemed empty and dull. Their very existence had a shelf life, and once they expired, there was nothing left for them in the world.
“I’m not making over your brain, sweetheart,” Enzo said, wrapping his muscular arms around her. “You can read books with contact lenses, too, you know,” he said. Then he turned her around, holding her shoulders and looking earnestly into her. eyes. “Get money for your mother, Madison. You go out there and get the money.”
Chapter 4
Madison was exhausted after a long day of being primped and prodded, but she decided to take a walk alone to clear her head. She made her way to the Condesa, her favorite neighborhood in all of Mexico City. It was only across the Parque Mexico from Enzo’s house, and she still knew the route like the back of her hand.
The city grumbled, just as it had back then. Madison always felt that walking through a city of twenty million people was like being in the middle of a concrete ocean. She could feel the expanse of it all around. Even on quiet, tree-lined streets she could hear the urban din. The sidewalk cafés were full, reminding her of the many afternoons she’d spent drinking coffee with friends, discussing literature and philosophy. It all felt far away now.
She headed for El Pendulo, which had been her favorite café during her year abroad. Madison was amazed at how much attention she drew just walking down the street. Men called out amorous things, hissing from car windows, and turning their heads to watch her pass. She’d never experienced anything like it in her life, and she wasn’t yet sure she liked it. It made her self-conscious to suddenly have so many eyes on her. She didn’t want to scratch her nose or adjust her bra strap, because she knew someone would be watching.
El Pendulo, thankfully, hadn’t changed at all. The bookstore still displayed Spanish translations of American and European new releases, art books, and classic literature. Across the bookstore, the restaurant hummed with life, and the café upstairs looked crowded. Madison browsed the books, trying to fend off the darkness that had circled her constantly since her dad died. She’d once made the mistake of letting it in, and it had wrecked her completely, ravaging her body like a flu, settling into her with a black weight that left her bedbound for days.
She sought refuge in an anthology of Spain’s Romantic poets, searching out her favorite poems to raise her spirits. When she glanced up, she noticed a tall, very handsome man staring at her from across the room. He was at least ten years older than Madison; dressed in a beautifully tailored suit. Best of all, he held a copy of Jose Saramago’s Blindness in his hands. He didn’t look Mexican. Though she’d met Mexican men who were just as tall and fair, but this man’s features looked European. When she met his gaze, he smiled. At first she looked around, certain that there was a beautiful woman standing just behind her. But there was no one there. He was smiling at her.
Madison had always found something sexy about a man with a book in his hands. It suggested complexity and refinement. Whenever she indulged in the occasional schoolgirl fantasy about finding her soul mate, she always imagined him carrying books. At night he would read aloud in bed, her head resting on his chest, the pages dog-eared from when they got too sleepy. They’d sit together in cafés reading separate books, but every n
ow and then they’d stop and tell the other about it.
When Madison looked up again, it was just in time to see the man leaving, his newly purchased book in a small brown bag tucked under his arm. Just before he stepped through the heavy glass door, he turned, his eyes searching her out one last time. This time it was Madison who was caught staring. The man gave her a demure, parting smile, and a wink that confirmed what she had been struggling to accept. She wasn’t the old Madison anymore. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
Chapter 5
The next afternoon was cool and gray, and smelled of acid rain. Enzo escorted Madison along the upscale pedestrian street in the Zona Rosa, passing sushi restaurants, patio bistros, clothing boutiques, and hip bars. Enzo had phoned ahead to arrange the audition. Madison held tight to his arm. She was so nervous, she kept forgetting to breathe until finally her lungs burned and her head began to swim. Even worse, her whole body trembled, as if there were a humming machine inside her. Enzo could feel it, too.
“I know, sweetie,” he said, patting her hand. “But you’ll be great.”
The entrance to The Gentlemen’s Club had grand white columns, and a foyer with expensive floral arrangements, and a huge crystal chandelier. Outside, two serious men in navy blue suits stood guard. Enzo led Madison to an unmarked metal door on the side of the building and knocked. Madison felt as if all of her blood had gone cold until the tips of her fingers and toes were numb. She took in a deep, deliberate breath, as a short man with a wispy moustache opened the door and gestured for Madison to come inside. Enzo gave her a kiss on the cheek and a little pat on the butt.
“I’ll be in the café across the street,” he whispered. “Now go knock ‘em dead!”
With a pit in her stomach, Madison followed the little man down a clean, tiled hallway and up a back staircase to a large room he called the camarino. There were rows of lockers toward the back. A vanity counter ran along the width of each end of the room, with long mirrors and plush stools tucked beneath.
“Do you have a tanga?” the little man asked Madison.
She crinkled her brow. There were few Spanish words she didn’t know, and this was definitely one of them. “What’s a tanga?”
“A thong,” answered a flat, nasally voice in English from somewhere behind her.
Madison turned to find a middle-aged woman with a bouffant hairdo and a gaudy mask of makeup sitting in an elevated, glass-encased kiosk in the middle of the room. Festooned around the windows were velvety dresses, fake rhinestone chokers, and a rainbow assortment of thongs.
The woman gazed out with a sour face, lids heavy under fake lashes. Her eyebrows were wide, arcing pencil marks that gave her a look of surprised disgust.
“If not, I sell you one for a hundred pesos.”
“That’s Beba,” the short man explained. “She’s the house mother.”
Madison gave Beba a sheepish smile. “I don’t have a tanga.”
Beba didn’t smile back. Instead she took down the thong of her choice, stepped through the door, and tossed it at Madison.
“One hundred pesos.”
The little man told Madison to take off everything except the thong, and to wait there. Madison stared at him. She looked back at Beba, who’d returned to the kiosk and was shuffling through a mound of paperwork. This was really happening. She was down the rabbit hole. Convinced this whole scheme was a bad idea from the start, Madison turned toward the exit, ready to flee. Then an image flashed in her mind: her mother curled up on the frozen lawn, out of her mind. Madison closed her eyes and took a breath. I can do this, she told herself. I have to do this.
As soon as the little man left, Madison self-consciously disrobed under Beba’s relentless glare. She tried to move slowly and confidently, as if she’d done it a hundred times, carefully folding her clothes and placing them in a little stack on a love seat. She slipped on the thong, realizing with horror that her pubic hair grew well outside the bikini line. This was one detail Enzo had forgotten. Embarrassed, Madison sat down on the love seat and crossed her legs.
She waited for a long time. The room was drafty, which made her all the more aware that she was practically naked. Occasionally, a glamorous looking woman would wander in to freshen up her makeup, or get a piece of gum from her locker. A pale young man with orange-dyed hair arrived with a makeup box, and set up at the end of one of the mirrored counters. One woman rolled into work late. She was beautiful and dark-skinned, with strange wide eyes. She settled onto the stool next to the man. Both of them stared at Madison in the mirror.
Madison had never been naked in front of strangers before, and she couldn’t help feeling that she was having one of those childhood dreams where she’d forgotten to get dressed before going to school. But she tried not to let it show. She leaned into the sofa cushions, constantly crossing and uncrossing her legs. She studied her fingernails and tried to look bored. Occasionally, she even forced a yawn. But she found it was hard to look nonchalant while wearing nothing but a red thong.
Finally, a very poised, middle-aged man whisked into the room. He had dark, receding hair, and wore an expensive suit. Her first instinct was to cover her breasts, but she stopped herself. He approached her with his hand extended, so she stood up.
“Simon,” he said, shaking her hand as if they were in a corporate boardroom. “Manager of operations.”
“Madison.” She felt her cheeks burning. Be confident, she told herself. Confident, confident, confident.
Simon nodded brusquely and took several steps back. He looked Madison up and down. “Turn around,” he commanded.
She turned in a perky little circle, holding her arms out like a bird. He walked around her, studying her body as if it were a used car he was thinking of buying. With another quick nod, he strode out of the room. Madison stood there blinking, unsure of what had just happened.
“Put your clothes on, madre,” Beba’s disdainful voice piped in from the kiosk.
Madison quickly pulled on her clothes right over the uncomfortable thong, desperate to be covered again. Just as she was pulling on her shirt, the short man returned.
“Simon said you looked good. Come at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. You’ll need at least three dresses. Elegant. Nothing trashy. Be ready to go onto the floor by two thirty.
He turned and bustled toward the door, then remembered something and stopped.
“Oh,” he called across the room. “And he said you need to shave.”
There were titters from the woman and the makeup guy, and Madison went scarlet.
“Do you have a bag?” Beba asked, stepping out of her kiosk with a small black purse dangling from her hand. “One hundred fifty pesos for this.”
“A bag?” Madison asked, dazed.
Beba rolled her eyes. “For the plata, madre,” she said. “For the money.”
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