“I can see that,” Thelma said, making the point by letting her eyes roam over Amara’s body. Amara wondered if all of the women in Méchant were lesbians, or if they simply enjoyed making her feel uncomfortable. “However, you have an exotic look, and it would be smart to play into that.”
“I don’t want my picture taken and put up on the Internet where anybody can search for it.”
“Understandable, but that is non-negotiable, and only a limited amount of people will be able to see your photo. Only Méchant clients.”
“I doubt that’s true, it’s the Internet. And everything is negotiable,” Amara countered.
Amara knew she would put up with a lot of things from Philip and Vivienne, and probably Thelma, but her face being public was not one of the things she was willing to concede to.
“Very well. Follow me.”
Thelma sauntered out of the room and Amara followed. They walked up another flight of stairs and down a hall until they reached a black door. Thelma knocked twice.
“Entré,” a nauseatingly familiar voice said. Philip looked up from his desk as the women entered the room. He put down the cigar he was holding and stood up, signaling them to sit.
“Amara, great to see you again,” Philip said with a hint of amusement in his voice. His blue eyes were as wicked as the name of his company. Amara wondered how often he hung around.
Amara didn’t respond, just sat down across from him, clutching the computer on her lap.
“What brings you by here, Madame?” he asked, looking at Thelma.
“Jasmine,” Thelma emphasized as her gaze flickered to Amara momentarily. “Does not want her photo taken and put on the website.”
“Is that so?” Philip asked, leaning back in his seat.
“It is,” Amara responded.
“How do you expect to get clients if you will not show them something? These are wealthy people Amara. Wealthy men... and women... like to know what they are paying for. There is a reason they have achieved their lifestyles. They aren’t stupid.”
Amara looked away from him and focused on the black polish on her nails as she spoke. “I understand that, but I don’t want my face plastered all over the Internet.”
“I assure you it will only be your body and your eyes,” Thelma chimed.
“I know what the outfits look like, and it’s pretty obvious who’s behind them.”
Thelma sighed loudly, while Philip looked at her with amusement.
“Most of the girls wear nothing,” Philip stated, placing the cigar back in his mouth and chewing on it. His eyes bored into Amara’s as he said the words. She cringed in response.
“I won’t pose nude.”
“You will be naked at some point. You do understand that, correct?” Philip asked.
“I’m trying to avoid that as long as I possibly can.”
“You’re not a virgin. You’re not a prude. You pranced around half naked when you were a teenager, cheering at those football games.”
“I was a cheerleader. That was different.”
“Think of it the same. Pretend you’re a cheerleader. Your team is Méchant.”
Amara closed her eyes again.
“Does closing your eyes help, Amara? Does it help you feel invisible? It won’t make you disappear, you know. Not even momentarily. Keep closing them, though. Maybe your father will stop gambling and your mother will be cancer-free when you open them someday,” Philip said cruelly.
Her eyes popped opened. She narrowed them at him. “You’re still not going to get me to take naked pictures. You can throw whatever little secret you think you have on me and my family—you can make me feel shittier about this situation—but I’m not giving that to you.”
He threw his head back with a laugh. “Every little secret, she says... Oh, Amara Maloof, the secrets I have on your family are anything but little.”
She was silent as she glared at him.
“Have you spoken to your mother? Dr. Evans seems to think he can help her condition,” Philip said suddenly.
Amara clutched the computer tightly, shielding her chest with it, as if it could protect her from his evil. “Don’t talk to me about my mother or her health. Talk about my ungrateful dad all you want, but leave her out of this,” she seethed.
“We have beautiful masks as well. Chloe wears a mask in her photos,” Thelma said, interrupting them.
Philip banged his fist on the table. “Enough about the goddamn pictures! Wear a fucking bag over your head if you want! I don’t care! But you’re taking them!”
It took everything in her not to hurl the computer at his head as she stood from her chair and followed Thelma out of his office. Amara followed the woman into a room set up with different cameras on tripods. There were regular digital cameras and some bigger ones that looked like recording devices.
“What are these for?” Amara asked Thelma as she walked by one with a television flap on it.
“Movies. Some of the clients like to film themselves having sex.”
Amara’s jaw dropped. “But um... the girl has to give consent for that... right? They can’t just film for the hell of it?”
Thelma nodded. “Yes, consent must be given.”
Amara’s fingers started twitching as she gripped on to her jacket. “Written consent? Did anything... I didn’t sign anything that said that...”
Thelma stopped sorting through costumes and looked at Amara. “No. If one of your clients wants to film, he must ask you directly, and then papers will be drawn up for you to sign.”
She exhaled. “Okay.”
“Here, try these.” Thelma tossed Amara some fabric and a mask.
Amara eyed the scraps of cloth that formed a tiny thong and bra. It would barely cover anything, but it had strings hanging from it that would cover her stomach like a beaded curtain. The mask was black with big gold feathers that matched the bra, and an opening for the eyes that Amara knew would accentuate the almond shape of her eyes. She put everything on, feeling thankful for the mask since it made her feel more anonymous.
“Perfect. Now, sit in the middle of the bed,” Thelma said, pointing at the large bed adorned with red silk sheets. Amara did as she was told, sucking in her stomach as she curled her legs underneath her. Thelma began taking photos and directing Amara’s movements. She posed like a doll in some, and in others, crawled suggestively toward the camera.
2 Weeks Later
AMARA WAS BATTLING a virus that she hadn’t been able to kick for over a week. All of her projects at PB Marketing were at a standstill, which she hated. Amara was surprised to admit she enjoying her job there, handling the marketing for a new lingerie company, Tryst Lingerie. She had succeeded in getting them great advertisement opportunities. There was only one person she spoke to at PB, and that was Laura. Everybody else minded their own business and ignored her whenever she was around. She learned to take her lunch and eat it at her desk, working as much as she could to keep herself busy. So when Laura told her that she could go home early, Amara took the opportunity and flew through the door, calling her mother as soon as she stepped outside.
“Amara! I’ve been worried sick about you. I’ve called you more than a dozen times, with no answer,” her mother yelled.
“Sorry, Mom, I’ve been busy. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes. Everything’s fine. I’m back home for now. I ran into Colin at the store the other night.”
Amara bit her lip hard to keep from saying anything.
“You just left him Amara? How could you do that to him? He’s heartbroken.”
“Still?” Amara asked in a quiet breath.
“What do you mean ‘still?’ You’ve only been gone two weeks!”
Amara shrugged inwardly, but didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.
“Did you leave him for another man?” she asked.
“No, Mom. How could I leave him for another man?” she replied, even though somehow she felt it was a lie. She’d chosen Phi
lip’s offer. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered but the fact that her mother’s brain tumor was being treated.
“How many more treatments do you have?” Amara asked quickly, before her mother could speak again.
“I’m going to need a surgery.”
Amara was stunned at that news. “What?”
“I have to schedule it next week.”
“Why next week? Why didn’t you schedule it before going back home? Is it growing or something?”
“Yes. Rapidly. I’m not asking you to come back home, Amara, I know you have—“
“Have nothing! I’ll be there! I’ll take the first flight tomorrow.”
“Stop! I’ll call the doctor tomorrow and schedule it, then I’ll call you and let you know when it’s for.”
“Why haven’t you scheduled it, Mom? Money isn’t a problem, right?” Amara asked quietly, even though her stomach was in turmoil at the unfairness of her situation.
Her mother sighed into the line. Amara could picture her shaking her head, her now-short hair bobbing. The thought of her mom going through surgery again, how she’d lost her hair —made her want to throw up.
“I’m scared, Mar. I’m scared that I won’t make it this time. God’s given me so many chances. So many chances... I’m scared that this will be it for me, and I won’t make it to my beautiful daughter’s wedding. Or see my grandkids.”
“Don’t say that, Mama,” Amara said, wiping the tears that escaped her eyes.
“Amara, promise me something.”
“What?” Amara whispered.
“Promise me you’ll call Colin when you come back home.”
“Mom, I can’t.”
“Promise me, Amara.”
“I’ll call him at some point.”
Her mother let out a long breath. “God punishes us when we throw away love, Amara.”
She laughed bitterly at that. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not much of a believer these days.”
IT WAS AS if she was in the desert and couldn’t get a drink of water most days, yet she had buckets of it to quench her thirst. She was always sitting in the middle of luxury, but felt as if trapped in a beautiful prison. Her pillows were fluffed, her feet were pampered; she hadn’t had to do much else other than work in PB and answer emails from some creepers. Courtney said Amara was “living the life,” if the most she had to do each day was send a photo of her breasts covered by a bra. Those days would soon be gone, however. Amara heard Philip would be in town, and he wanted to see her. Courtney was the only one with inside information who was willing to share it, so she told Amara little tidbits every day.
“He wants me to train you,” Courtney told her as they lounged in the living room.
“What does that mean exactly?” Amara asked her, lifting her head from the armrest.
Courtney’s long, curly hair cascaded in front of her face as she filed her nails. “Oh, you know... probably just sex.”
Amara’s eyes bulged out of her face. “Sex with who? You?”
Courtney shrugged. “With Chloe. It’ll be Jasmine and Chloe, not Amara and Courtney.”
“It’s still us!” Amara said, feeling frantic.
“That is why he wants me to train you,” Courtney said, pointing at her accusingly.
“Because I don’t want to have sex with another woman?” Amara asked, bewildered.
“Because he doesn’t think you’ll have sex, period. Philip thinks you’ll try to get out of it, and he isn’t about to be embarrassed in front of any of his high rollers. Sex is a part of the game, Mara, get used to it.”
Amara closed her eyes and swallowed. “I’ve never even kissed a girl before.”
“Oh my God, that’s what you’re worried about?”
“Amongst other things.”
Courtney chuckled, shaking her head. “Sweetheart, my tongue is going to be in a lot more private places than your mouth. Get used to it before ‘the man’ comes.”
“Do you ever have sex with Philip?”
“I have,” Courtney said with a sigh. “He’s not really a one-woman kind of guy. I think that bitch ruined him for all of us.”
“What bitch?”
“Some stupid whore he’s still pining after.”
Amara smiled a little. “I’m assuming she’s a stupid whore because you want him to pine after you?”
Courtney rolled her eyes. “Not really, I hate her for other reasons. I mean, in the beginning, it was that. Not anymore. You know he can’t even function if he’s not watching other people fucking? Threesomes are his favorite to watch.”
Amara would have called her bluff, but Courtney’s blue eyes were narrowed and serious. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. Imagine thinking you’re in love with somebody and then discovering you can’t even get him off unless you’re letting someone else fuck you at the same time.”
“That sounds horrible,” Amara said.
“It was, but c’est la vie, and all that jazz.” Courtney was American, but had been living in France for a while, so she’d acquired a little bit of an accent.
“So you’ve been here for five years and have had no real relationship?” Amara asked.
“I’ve been with Méchant for five years, thankfully.”
Amara didn’t say anything, but she couldn’t ever imagine herself being thankful to be working in Méchant.
“I’ve been in Europe eleven years. Came when I was fourteen. Modeling contract.” She laughed, as if that was the most humorous thing in the world. “God, it seems like a lifetime ago. Anyway, there was this one guy... but he wanted me to quit Méchant, and I couldn’t.”
“What do you owe Philip?” Amara asked.
Amara could see Courtney’s eyes filling with tears before she closed them.
“Everything,” she whispered.
COLIN STOOD IN the darkest corner of the bar, clutching a drink in his right hand and holding a cigar with his left as he tried to shake the blonde that was vying for his attention.
"I can make you forget her," she said near his ear.
Colin inched away from her, draining the last of his alcohol before setting the glass down on. He looked at Molly. She was an attractive, successful accountant for his uncle's company. Colin struggled with what to say. He knew that at some point, the pieces of his crumbled heart would be picked up. Even so, he was aware that no matter how many Mollys he slept with, they wouldn't amount to one Amara.
Amara.
The name alone struck him with grief. She left him months ago, and he still thought about her every day. Missed her just as much as the first day. Was still as angry with her as he was the day he realized it was over between them.
Colin shrugged as he looked at Molly’s freckled face and powder-blue eyes.
"No, you can't. But you can try."
IT WAS CHILLY outside when the car picked Amara up and delivered her to Méchant. Amara went straight to her room, as usual, and checked her emails. There was a new one, from a name she hadn’t seen before. The clients who had emailed her so far, were usually just perverted old men, trying to get off in the middle of their hectic days at work, so Amara sighed and sat down in the middle of the bed, preparing for more of the same.
To: Jasmine Oliver
From: Nolan Underwood
Subject: You
I asked for an exotic beauty, and they gave me your email. I’m going to take their word on both accounts (for now). It feels weird writing this. I don’t even know where to start... my name is Nolan (as you can see from my email address). I’m in my early thirties and I’m a widow. I lost my wife earlier this year, and I’m not ready to move on just yet. God, this is so weird. I feel like I’m on a bad dating show. I don’t even know what I want. I guess company? An ear? Someone who won’t tell me that I’m a loser and need to put the past behind me? This is probably the worst client email you’ve ever gotten. Anyway, tell me about yourself.
-Nolan
Amara stared at the screen for a long time, r
eading the message over twice before clicking reply. All of her clients thus far had been pretty forward about their situations, but she hadn’t dealt with a widower. For some reason, she felt like she was treading new waters.
To: Nolan Underwood
From: Jasmine Oliver
Subject: Re: You
Hey. I guess we can both be lost together, Nolan. I’m Jasmine, and you’re only my fourth client, so I’m a little new to the game. They didn’t lie to you about the exotic part. I’m not so sure about the “beautiful” thing, but hey, I’ll take it ;). The good news is: This isn’t a dating show. You don’t really need to move on with anybody yet (or ever, if you don’t want. I’m not here to judge). The bad news is: I have no consolation to offer. I’m sure you’ve heard a million “I’m sorrys” and I’m sure they don’t make you feel better, so I’ll just stick with: I’m here for you if you need me.
About me- there’s not much to tell other than what you saw on the website. I’m 5’5, 125lbs, I have olive skin, black hair, amber eyes (you saw that in the picture though, so I don’t know why I’m explaining it). I have a job (other than this). I’m overseas, and I miss my family dearly. I don’t know what else there is to tell? What do you like to do?
XO,
Jasmine
PS. Not the worst client email ever! The worst one was a guy asking me to ship him my panties.
Amara smiled as she hit “send.” It was the first time she’d smiled while responding to an email. She closed her laptop when she heard Courtney knock on the door. Courtney always knocked with a little rhythm: knock, pause, knock, pause, knock, knock.
“Come in!” Amara shouted.
The door opened as if Courtney was going to barge in regardless of her response, and Amara just shook her head and smiled.
“Philip’s here. He wants...” Courtney took a deep breath and looked at Amara straight in the eye. “He wants me to do this today. I have a client—he’s a watcher. He always requests me and another girl. Philip wants you to be the girl.”
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