Ex-Con Times Two

by Jay S. Wilder

  I replace my fingers with my tongue. She gladly accepts it, her own tongue invading my mouth as we both struggle to possess each other. Her legs wrap tight around my ass, pulling me closer. We groan, gasp, strain, her clawing at my back, me riding her mercilessly until our sweat mingles together just like the cries coming from our mouths and filling the room.

  “Oh…oh…shit! Adam!” she screams, her nails digging into my skin until it stings. Her muscles clamp down on me, trying to milk me dry. I cry out into her neck as my balls seize against me and empty.

  We’re both breathless, wasted. Somehow I know, even before I look at her, she’s going to tell me she regrets this. But I can’t pretend to agree. She’s a drug. Somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention, I started getting hooked.

  Chapter 17

  Anna

  “Come on, lady,” Kelly says with a wide smile. “I need something to eat if I’m going to make it through the rest of the day.” I can’t argue with her. Who would have thought watching models parade down a runway could be such hard work?

  Not only do I have to keep an eye out for anything I think would make great social media content, but I’m also meeting a lot of new people, shaking a lot of hands, having conversations with people just like me who are trying to maintain a solid social media game with their publications. I’ve picked up a lot of tips. My fingers have been flying over the surface of my tablet all day.

  Of course, this goes on while maintaining an impeccable appearance. Let’s face it, I can’t represent a fashion magazine looking like the exhausted newbie I am inside. I’ve been keeping my head above water but it’s as though others are smoothly breast stroking their way past me.

  It’s my first Fashion Week, I remind myself. It’ll get easier. I just have to do a good enough job this week to ensure there will be a next time.

  “I’m starved,” I admit to Kelly, in a low voice. I worry if I were to own up to hunger in a voice loud enough to be overheard, I’d be thrown out of the building…if not LA. I’d always managed to stay trim thanks to sports and a healthy metabolism, but some of these women made me look like a candidate for the fat farm.

  We head to a chic downtown restaurant. I get the distinct impression that people come here more to see and be seen than to eat. I remember the mistake I made on my first day, when Kelly’s salad made my burger look ridiculous.

  It’s a struggle to keep from laughing when I take my first look at the menu. While the fashion-conscious of NYC are known for living on coffee and cigarettes, at least the restaurants serve actual food. I’m surprised there’s no entry for “air and ice cubes”. If there was, I was sure they’d charge at least thirty dollars for it. “I’ll have your garden salad, lemon wedges on the side,” I murmur to the waiter. “Is there any way to get a grilled chicken breast on top of it?”

  “I’ll do what I can, miss,” the waiter replies, sounding scandalized.

  “Could we have maybe gone somewhere to get actual food?” I ask Kelly, who giggles.

  “Anna, a size zero and burgers don’t mix. You won’t be able to get your ass into any of the clothes you’re seeing this week,” she says with a shrug. “Besides, it’s LA. They don’t do greasy here.”

  I’m slightly offended. Surely she didn’t mean to insult me, did she? “I didn’t say I wanted grease,” I defend myself. “I just want a grilled chicken breast.”

  She’s oblivious, looking through her phone. “Your posts are getting tons of engagement, Anna!” she says, showing me the stats on the latest content. All of a sudden she’s bubbly again. I shake off the sour taste her remark left in my mouth, deciding to let it go. I focus on the stats, instead. She’s right, things are blowing up. Not only are our followers leaving comments, but they’re sharing. This has always been the key goal. We’ve already picked up several hundred new followers in the last four days, with our engagement growing steadily.

  “Our followers are happy to see fresh, relevant content finally,” Kelly points out. “God knows we’ve been falling short.” Under her happy words I sense a little bit of tension. I fear she might be taking it personally, the way I’ve taken over her old job with success. As much as she didn’t really want it, as overwhelmed as she was with all of the work already on her plate, nobody likes seeing a new person doing a better job than they did.

  “So what’s left?” I ask, trying to change the subject. “What do we still have on the docket?”

  Kelly pulls up her schedule. Of course I know we have the Vuitton and Klein shows, plus a sort of pre-wrap party tonight before things officially end tomorrow. I just want to talk about something a little less loaded. Lately, my interactions with her have me thinking about what it must be like to navigate a minefield. Talking about the party tonight should calm things down.

  But, as it turns out, there are mines hidden here as well.

  “Maybe we can spend some time hanging out at this party, since we missed each other a few nights back,” Kelly says, tucking a strand of golden hair behind one ear. Her silver bangles sparkle in the sunlight coming through the window. Our salads have come. There is indeed a tiny bit of chicken laid across my greens. At least they tried, I tell myself. I squeeze lemon over everything before digging in. I finally understand when truly hungry, even a plate of greens is as good as a buffet.

  “Mmm, yeah, how did things go with the guy from the show? Did he ever call you?” I ask. She’d implied the next day there’d been some friskiness between them, but wouldn’t get into specifics. I had to wonder how honest she was being about him.

  She shakes her head. “It’s never anything serious for these guys, especially when it comes to Fashion Week. So many people coming to town, leaving when it’s over. They just want to get their dicks wet and move on.” I sense she’s trying to act more casual about this than she truly is. It can’t be easy, getting older but still working in the industry. Seeing younger girls all the time. She’s still beautiful, always chic. Today her designer of choice is Elie Saab. The halter top with its ruffled peplum shows off her slim figure and smooth skin. But she only has a few seasons left before she moves into MILF territory…at least, according to our youth-conscious profession.

  “How about you?” she asks, eyeing me from over the rim of her water glass.

  “How about me?”

  “How have things been going for you out here—meet anyone interesting?” I know I’m blushing. She crows with satisfaction. “See? I knew there was no way for you to leave LA without one or two love slaves.”

  The only person I cared about was the one I’d cared about before we ever stepped foot off the plane. She doesn’t know this, of course. Should I tell her? It’s been hell, keeping it to myself.

  I decide I can trust Kelly with my secret, reminding myself it’s not as if we’re a real item, or like we’ll ever be together like it again.

  “I have something to tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anybody else. I swear to god, this has to stay between us,” I say. Her ears perk up.

  “Cross my heart,” she swears, one perfectly manicured finger sketching a cross over her bare chest. She leans forward in anticipation.

  “Okay,” I say, looking around to be sure we’re not overheard. “I slept with Adam, our first night here.”

  Her face changes. She leans away, sitting with her back against the chair. “Oh.” Then she’s silent.

  “It’s not going to happen again, believe me,” I assure her. “It was just one of those things. We got carried away.”

  “I bet you did. I bet he carried you right away,” she replies with a wry smile. She looks away. “This is why you coming to LA was a bad idea,” she muses quietly.

  “What do you mean?” I ask. I hadn’t thought she’d be excited, per se, but she’d already told me all sorts of sordid stories about the crazy sex and parties she’d seen during Fashion Week over the years. This didn’t seem so bad in comparison.

  She looks back at me, a frown showing more lines in her face than I thin
k she’d be comfortable with. “I knew he was going to try something with you. I knew he would take advantage of how naïve you are, of how much you want to get ahead.”

  It’s my turn to frown. “Hang on a minute,” I say, “it wasn’t like the way you described it. He didn’t offer me anything or make it sound like I’d get special favors if I slept with him. I told him I wanna be treated the same as everybody else.”

  I’m interrupted by our waiter. “Everything all right over here, ladies?” I see Kelly eyeing him up. He’s very cute, like most of the guys around here. I know her well enough by now to know she has her eye on him.

  “Everything is just as good as it can be, thank you…Scott,” she purrs, giving him a million-dollar smile.

  He turns to me. “How about you, miss?” His voice is warmer. He touches my arm.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I reply with a tight smile. I’m still rankled by Kelly’s insinuation. My eyes swing back to her. She’s looking up at him, her smile fading. He’s not paying attention.

  When he leaves, I whisper again. “I told Adam I don’t want to get ahead through sleeping my way to the top. I want to do it on my own.”

  She smiles at me, almost sadly. “You’re so young,” she murmurs. “So idealistic. I barely remember those days, myself.” She puts her Birkin bag over one slim shoulder, then stands. “Believe me, it won’t take long for you to grow out of this phase. I’ll be sorry to see it happen.”

  She leaves me sitting there alone. I pick at the rest of my salad, trying to put her words out of my mind. I know she’s just a little off this week. She never liked the way Adam went over her head about this trip, even though she tried to pretend to be happy that I was coming along. Now I know why she was so concerned in the first place: She was just trying to protect me.

  I’m lucky to have such a good friend, who cares about my reputation. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need to be a little more careful, a little less trusting. I don’t want to become as jaded as she is…but maybe it’s just what happens over time, when you’ve seen as much as she has.

  “Was everything okay with your friend?” the waiter asks me, coming back to the table.

  “Oh…oh, yes. She had some work to get to,” I tell him.

  “I’m sure you must be here for Fashion Week,” he tells me. “A woman dressed as beautifully as you are has to be in the industry.”

  I smile, but only to be friendly. I’m not trying to lead this guy on. “I am. In fact I have the Vuitton show in a little bit,” I say. I reach into my Chanel shoulder bag for my wallet. He stops me by putting a hand on my arm. He’s very touchy-feely, this one.

  “No need,” he says. “Your friend gave me the magazine’s account information already. You’re all settled.”

  I decide to leave before he asks if I can get him a modeling job with us.

  “I’m sorry for the way I acted in the restaurant yesterday. I was a total bitch,” Kelly says as we’re getting settled into our seats on the plane. We’re still first class, which is something I could get used to.

  The scene in the restaurant isn’t all she has to apologize for, I think. Not only did she leave me looking like a fool when she left, but she ignored me the rest of the day. I could nearly feel the cold radiating from her during the shows. She had been MIA during the party. So much for spending time together.

  But none of this is worth fighting over, especially since she seems willing to let it go. “It’s okay,” I assure her with a little hug. “I know you’re just looking out for me.”

  “That’s totally what I’m trying to do, sweetie,” she says. “I only have your best interests at heart. I sorta feel like your mentor, you know?” I nod, feeling so much better with the tension between us gone. The feeling doesn’t last for long.

  “So,” she says, “since you’ve now seen LA, do you think you’re ready to take on Miami by yourself?”

  I gulp. “Alone? I’m going to Miami Fashion Week alone?”

  She smiles. “Well, without me, anyway. I’ll be too busy recuperating from Paris.” We both laugh. She adds, “Besides, I’m hoping to score an extra few days there. I’ll call it business research or something.”

  “I won’t breathe a word,” I say with another laugh. But I can’t help the icy fear in the pit of my stomach at the idea of navigating Fashion Week without her.

  Chapter 18

  Adam

  I’m standing behind my desk, facing the wrath of one very pissed off Kelly. Plus the deer-in-headlights look of one very overwhelmed Anna.

  “What do you mean? I hope this is some sort of joke, Adam, because I’m not laughing.” Kelly’s tone is deadly. Her normally tan skin has gone as pale as her cream colored jumpsuit.

  “I’ve never been more serious,” I assure her. “I want Anna to come to Paris Fashion Week with me.”

  The sick little part of myself, the one which enjoys watching people squirm when I tell them what to do, watches intently as Kelly tries to make heads or tails out of this.

  “But…but…” she sputters, “I’ve always been the one to go to Paris! Always!”

  “I know,” I tell her calmly, “but now I think it’s time for a change. This is the entire reason behind my being here: Change. A lot of things have to change if we’re going to get this magazine back to where it ought to be.”

  She looks like she could spit nails at me. “What about my ticket? I’m already bought and paid for!”

  I shrug. “The magazine can absorb the cost.” She’s completely incensed. I can tell that she wants me to lose my temper so she can have something to hold against me. If anything she’s more unnerved by my attitude.

  Finally I take one of the nails she spits at me, using it to seal her coffin. “Don’t pretend this isn’t more about you wanting to take an entire extra week there so you could enjoy the city. Don’t tell me you didn’t expect the magazine to pay for it. Think of it this way: You’re saving us money. Thank you.”

  Now she’s really pissed, her skin going from pale to deep red. “How dare you?” she whispers venomously.

  “How dare I?” I say, my tone still cool. I look down at my deep blue suit to flick away a pretend bit of lint from the sleeve, as though none of this matters to me. Then I look back at her, waiting to see how she manages to try to talk her way out of this one.

  She turns to Anna. “Is this you? Did you tell him I was staying on after the week is over?” she asks. Anna looks petrified.

  I save her the trouble of replying. “No, Kelly, she didn’t tell me anything. Everybody knows you treat Paris Fashion Week as a personal holiday. Like you said already, you always follow the same pattern, every time. It’s getting old. You’ve gotten away with charging your vacation to the magazine for years with no one taking you to task for it. Well now, I am.”

  My voice is getting louder. I mean, how dare this woman act like the injured party? Like she’s the victim, when she’s the one who was cheating the magazine? So now I’m just as pissed as she is. But I force myself to stay calm, thinking of the potential lawsuit my father already dangled over my head because of Anna. I don’t need Kelly suing because I maligned her reputation or some ridiculous shit.

  “This isn’t supposed to be a punishment, anyway,” I say now, my voice quiet again. She’s not buying it, though. Her arms cross over her thin body. I can see she’s trembling.

  “I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but this is my final decision. Anna will go to Paris. You can go to Miami in her place. I mean, Miami Fashion Week is one of the hottest events of the year. It’s going to be killer. Let’s mix things up and get your point of view there, okay? We’ll get Anna’s in Paris.”

  “Oh, spare me,” she spits, her voice dripping sarcasm. “You can spin this all day, but we all know the real reason you’re taking her with you.” Kelly spins on her mile-high nude heels to stalk out of my office.

  I sit down with a heavy sigh, running my hand through my hair. I look over at Anna, who hasn’t moved a muscle thr
oughout our entire argument.

  “You okay?” I ask. She shakes her head.

  “I don’t want anybody to hate me, especially Kelly,” she whispers. I can’t help noticing that just like with her parents, she’s concerned about everybody else’s feelings but her own. This is why she’s so special.

  “She doesn’t hate you. She hates me. But I know I’m right. It’ll be good for you to go to Paris to deliver followers the content they deserve. Give them an insider’s look at an event most people can only dream of.” Of course, I plan to use the week as an excuse to have her all to myself. She doesn’t need to know it. “Besides, somebody needs to knock Kelly down a peg or two and remind her she’s just an assistant, not the goddamned Editor-in-Chief.”

  Something in Anna’s eyes tells me she knows my real motivation. So does Kelly, come to think of it.

  One and a half billion, I remind myself silently. I wonder why the thought suddenly came up when I looked into those blue-green eyes.

  “What do you think?” I ask her, as though I need to. I can read every emotion on her face. She’s like a kid on Christmas morning, their birthday and the Fourth of July, all wrapped into one beautiful, chic young package.

  “This is…beyond my wildest dreams,” she murmurs over the din surrounding us. We’ve just sat through the first show of the trip. I couldn’t describe a single thing we saw on the runway if a gun was put to my head. I spent most of the time watching Anna. She’s taken beautiful photos, now posting a few of them to social media. I use the opportunity to scan the room. I’m gratified to see Anna more than holding her own beside these Parisians. She reflects well on me, too.

  Of course, her appearance has a little bit to do with the closet back at our offices. I took her in there a few days before we left and allowed her to do a little shopping, making her swear on her life to return everything in good condition as soon as we get home. Her eyes had boggled, but after a few minutes of hesitation she had dived right in. Now she looks sophisticated in a slouchy black satin pantsuit by Galliano. I’m proud to see her looking just as good as, if not better than, everyone around us.