InvitingTheDevil (4 page)

“Sorry for working you so hard, but you need to be ready for your first show in four weeks, hon.”

“I can take it.”

“Good. Go to the gym tonight and soak in the hot tub, darling. Don’t forget your clothes at the end of the day. Now that I know your shoe size, I’ll order those, too.”

I looked at the rack of clothing he pointed at. “And how do you propose I take that home?”

“Your car? I’ll help you take it down to parking.”

“I don’t have a car. I use public transport.”

“Oh, darling, how quaint. Whoever uses public transport nowadays? Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Kalem. We’ll figure something out. Now go or you’ll be late for your makeover session.”

“Low income people, like me?” I answered. My stomach growled. Didn’t these people believe in breaking for lunch?

He obviously heard it and grinned. “Poor thing. You’re starving. They’ll look after you downstairs, dear.”

I knew where the salon was. It was on the main floor just off the lobby and only for Kalem’s models. I’d often seen them come out of the salon and I’d envy their beauty, their hair, and perfect makeup and wished I could be half as gorgeous.

“Ah, here’s our newbie. Hi, Danea.” The receptionist placed a checkmark on a blocked out page with only one name on it. Mine. “Come with me. We’ll start with electrolysis.”

“Could I go and get a bite to eat first?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You came straight from the studio, right? I’ll order something in for you. My name’s Helen, by the way. You’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on, and our other staff, of course. Kalem asked for a rush on you so we have you slotted for the whole afternoon, and perhaps even part of the evening.”

“Pierre, this is Danea, Kalem’s latest acquisition.”

A tall man approached, gray hair drawn back into a ponytail, and a handsome pleasant face. His eyes twinkled when he smiled and greeted me. I guessed him to be in his late forties. “Ah, fresh clay for us to shape and mold into a work of art. Welcome, Danea. We’ll start with electrolysis.”

I hated the electrolysis. I didn’t have bushy eyebrows, so why it was necessary to tweak them was beyond me. I hated the waxing even more, especially when they waxed my pubic area. It was damned painful and extremely embarrassing to be lying there with my legs spread wide while a strange woman spread the lips, down there, and applied the wax, hovering dangerously close to my clit. Minutes later, she actually held the lips while she removed the wax. I couldn’t help but feel horny, especially when the girl pulled the skin tight around my clit. She didn’t bat an eyelid. I guess she was used to seeing come trickle down a woman’s slit. Without showing any expression, she reached for a wipe and gently dabbed between my folds.
Good God, she even waxed between my bum cheeks.

I was glad that part was over. My legs and armpits were next.

“You’re fortunate. You have very fine hair on your legs and none on your arms and face,” she told me. Her name was Jennifer, and I guess I’d have to get used to Jennifer playing with my private parts as she told me I was to do this regularly.

The mask felt pleasant on my face. While it was tightening my pores, my personal stylist, Hans, worked on my hair.

“We’re not going to cut much off, darling. You have absolutely gorgeous hair,” Hans said.

At that point, I didn’t care what they did. I just wanted to get it over and done with. I closed my eyes and didn’t open them again until he put me under the dryer.

Somewhere in between, I’d managed to eat the salad Helen brought me. I sipped my coffee and glanced at the large clock. It was after seven.

Before Hans finished my hair, Dot removed the mask and started to apply makeup. I found it rather useless because I wasn’t going anywhere. As she worked on my face, she showed me what I had to do in order to apply it myself.

“You’ll get to take home a complete makeup kit,” Dot said. “Before a show and any special occasions, we do the girls’ makeup and hair, but in between, you have to take care of it yourself.”

Hans finished my hair. The woman gazing at me from the mirror, hardly resembled Danea Fitzgerald. I couldn’t believe it was me. The transformation was phenomenal. I actually looked beautiful and was sure I could compete with any of Kalem’s gorgeous models.

I was done and eager to go home.
Do I tip them?
Before I had a chance to wonder more, Helen gave me the answer. “Kalem tips us handsomely, especially for a specialty job like this one. Remember, when you spot hair growth, you come to the salon immediately.”

“Do I need to phone for an appointment first?”

“For a touch up, no. For a complete waxing, yes. You’ll need to have that done on a regular basis. Don’t worry. Our schedule is flexible since we’re not open to the public. We only serve Kalem’s harem.”

“Cute. So I’m a member of his harem now.”

Helen laughed. “Stay on his good side and you’ll be fine. Sheldon arranged for the company limo to drive you home with your new wardrobe. The limo should be waiting for you.”

The neighborhood I lived in wasn’t sleazy, but neither was it upscale New York. I felt weird as it pulled up in front of my old apartment building. I had a sense of not belonging there anymore. Overnight, I was moving up in the world.

“I’ll have to make several trips, Miss,” the chauffeur said, his arms laden with clothing.

“Sorry, there’s no elevator. I’m on the second floor. I can carry some.”

“Absolutely not.”

I was glad my apartment was on the second floor. If the poor man would have had to go all the way to the sixth, he might have allowed me to carry some of the bags at least.

He had to make eight trips. I offered him a coffee, but he declined politely, touched his cap and bid me a good night.

I looked at the massive amount of clothing, boxes filled with shoes, purses and other accessories strewn throughout my living and dining room. I definitely needed to look for a larger apartment, if not for myself, at least one so I’d have room for my suddenly huge wardrobe.

I should have been hungry, but I wasn’t. I automatically started to make coffee then changed my mind. I poured a glass of red wine instead and went to my bedroom to stand before the mirror. Though I was only wearing the tights and top I’d put on that morning, I felt glamorous and sophisticated. I admired my long hair hanging loose in shimmering golden waves. Hans had only trimmed the ends, styled it, and highlighted. It made a huge difference. My hair was normally a sandy blonde. It looked almost platinum. The makeup brought out the contours of my face, the eye makeup made my eyes look bigger and accenting their color. He’d delicately shaped my eyebrows. As I stood admiring the new me, my confidence slowly built within me.

I sipped the last of my wine just as the buzzer announced a visitor. I knew it was Shannon. I pushed the button to let her in the front door downstairs and went to my door to wait for her.

She came bounding up the stairs, two treads at a time and stopped suddenly when she saw me standing in the open doorway.

“My God, girlfriend. Is that really you?”

“I think it is.”

“You look absolutely fabulous!”

“Thanks. Come inside before the neighbors start complaining.”

I refilled my glass and poured a glass of wine for Shannon. “It still feels surreal.”

“What’s all this?”

“Clothes. He wants me dressed in his designs at all times, except for modeling lessons. I have to wear tights and a top for that. Tomorrow will be a full day in the studio. I probably won’t get a chance to wear any of them until I’ve had my crash course in modeling.”

Shannon made room on the couch and sat. “Tell me everything, from when you got there this morning until now.”

I sat cross-legged on the floor close to her and while sipping my wine told her about my day. I left out the part where Kalem told me to strip, how he’d examined my body, and slapped me on the butt.

“I’m so jealous,” Shannon said. “How much progress have you made with the man of your dreams?”

I didn’t meet her eyes. “None. I’m not even sure I want to get involved with him now. Sure, he’s a hunk, but it’s not good to get involved with one’s boss.”

“You’re hedging around something. Tell me the truth? You’ve really got the hots for him now, right?”

“No more than before.” Another lie. Just thinking about him made me ache with a fiery lust and a longing I couldn’t quite place. “Shannon, I think it could be dangerous to get involved with him.” Now I was voicing some of my deep down fear of involvement with Kalem.

“Dangerous how?”

“It could lead to a broken heart. I don’t see him as the serious type. Women are toys to him.”

“What makes you think that?”

“My gut.”

“Hell, woman. Ride the rollercoaster while it lasts. Just don’t allow yourself to fall in love with him.”

“He’s not interested in me that way.”

“So you say.”

How could I tell her that him feeling my body all over was not sexual, but had to do with his art, his designs. And that he’d humiliated me by smacking me soundly on my ass.
Humiliated? Is that what I call it now? Did I really feel humiliated?
I had to be honest with myself. I’d rather enjoyed the sudden smack, the sensations, the reaction it caused within me, and real deep down, I almost wished he’d smacked me again, and again.

“Have you phoned your mother yet?”

“No. I want to finish my training first and be more established before I do.”

“Why? You signed a contract for a year. Is there a trial period?”

“It didn’t say anywhere in either contract.” It did say in the modeling contract that disobedience could cause dismissal. Again, I couldn’t tell Shannon. She and I always shared everything. Now, I kept my mouth shut about my turbulent feelings for Kalem and his overbearing behavior. From what she’d told me about her own sexual adventures, a man had never treated her that way. Her lectures wouldn’t end and I wasn’t about to invite one now. If Kalem was interested in me, desired me, he surely would have taken advantage of me that morning.

After another glass of wine, we had fun examining all the new clothes and trying them on, until Shannon’s cell phone buzzed announcing a text message.

“It’s Mark. He’s waiting out front.”

“Oh? Doesn’t he want to come up?”

“No. He has to get up early.”

“So do I. I guess I should go to bed. Night, girlfriend.” I hugged her and closed the door behind her a few minutes later. Leaning against it for a moment, I almost hated the thought of having to cleanse my face.

I used the special wipes I found in the makeup kit. It took the makeup off easily and I was again plain Jane. Not quite. As I gazed at my face in the mirror, I noticed a difference, an air of confidence, and my eyes sparkled with life.

I crawled into bed and couldn’t help but dwell on Kalem’s hands on my body, on my nipples, on my pubic area. My fingers stole down to my clit. I pressed on the hard nub and came almost instantly.

I woke at least a dozen times through the night. Each time, I struggled out of a dream that involved Kalem in some way.

Chapter Three

When the alarm went off, I fought my way out of the last dream—or perhaps I should call it a nightmare? Kalem had horns—he was the devil and he was holding out a contract for me to sign. Damn, was that what I’d done? Had I invited the devil into my life?

I rushed my shower then made my first attempt at styling my hair. Makeup was next. I wasn’t green at putting on makeup. I used to wear some, just not as much as I was expected to now. I inspected my final handiwork and decided it would have to do. It wasn’t quite as professional, but knew I’d learn eventually. I also decided wearing makeup every single day was going to get boring. The fun in wearing it and dressing up was to show people a different side of myself. If I looked the same every day, no one would notice any difference unless I suddenly wore none, which was going to be the case on weekends when I usually just wanted to vegetate.

I doubted I’d see Kalem during the next couple of weeks unless I ran into him by accident or if he called for me, which I doubted he would. In four weeks, at the show, it would probably be the first time I’d see him again. My stomach knotted just thinking about it so I concentrated on my breakfast and coffee. I had tons of time. Starting at ten in the morning was a bonus.

I took my coffee to the balcony. Leaning on the railing, I gazed at the busy traffic below, people rushing to get to work on time or catching a bus. It was a glorious day. It was really too bad I’d have to spend it indoors. Summer didn’t last long enough and weather permitting, I liked to spend as much of it as I could outdoors—going to the park, swimming, biking, or just going for walks.

I was just about to go inside and leave for work when I saw the limo pull up.
Special treatment or does he send a limo for all his models?
I gathered my shoulder bag, stuffed the high heels into it, and just as the buzzer rang, was ready to leave.

I greeted Charlie, the chauffeur. He touched his cap. “I could have caught the bus like I usually do,” I told him.

“Orders from the boss, Miss. You are to be driven to and from work.”

I climbed into the limo. After Charlie pulled away from the curb, I asked him, “Does he do this for all the models?”

“Yes, Miss.”

I felt a pang of disappointment—no special treatment after all. It was stupid of me to have expected it. Even more dumb was to continue harboring even the slightest hope that he was interested in me beyond my sketches and modeling.
A girl can dream. I’ll just drool quietly. Not sure if I’m into the smacking part anyway or if I even really want to be involved with such a control freak.

The next weeks were grueling. Sheldon worked me hard but seemed satisfied with my progress. If I thought the weekend would be mine, I quickly learned it wasn’t. I wondered if that involved overtime and tried to remember if I’d read anything about it in the contract—as if it really mattered. My pay was so high, it allowed for extra time I put in. I didn’t dare complain. I wondered why he was rushing me for this fashion show. Was I to be the new attraction? Did it even work like that for fashion shows? Sure, some models attained fame, graced the covers of magazines, even got asked to pose for famous magazines. I wasn’t at all convinced I wanted to be that famous, and less sure I would become so. Grace the midsections of magazines? Yikes.