A Maiden Gamble
by Sydney Michelle    © Omphale Press, 2001

 

Chapter Thirteen

Sharon settled into the large wing chair by the mahogany round table in Marilyn's office. The mountain view was spectacular, bare peaks still bearing snow behind the dark green tree line. She sipped her herbal tea while waiting for Marilyn to arrive from the casino floor. She heard the door open, more the air move, looked aside to glimpse Marilyn's reflection in the window.

"How's your project doing? Will she be ready?"

"I hope so. She didn't lose too much time recovering from her little episode. She's been docile as a lamb since then. And she gets her foot up to her chin on a high kick now."

"How is she mentally? Has she accepted being made over?"

Marilyn shrugged. "You'll have to judge that for yourself. I was fooled once. I just know she not slacking. Whether or not it's because she's afraid of another whipping, I can't say."

"How's her appearance? I mean can she handle herself?"

"She's no pro, but she can handle the basics. Not bad for thirty days. You on schedule?"

Sharon shifted uneasily. "It's a bit more complicated than I thought it would be. Mainly because I'm working out of country. But I should have a reasonable number of employers lined up in another sixty days. But they want to see the merchandise, not bid blind. Can't say as I blame them."

"Are we going to have to fly them in?"

"Probably. How are your costs coming?"

"Higher than I thought. If I get out for three times my estimate, I'll be lucky. I won't get my losses back unless the contract brings a fat price."

Sharon stirred, sipped her tea, stared out the window.

"Trouble?"

"Just thinking. The clients want to see her. Flying them in would be expensive. And they really prefer privacy. Tomas suggested something, but I don't know."

"What? If it gets my money back, it might be worth a gamble."

"An auction."

"What? Screened bidder booths? They could put up here, but they're sure to run into each other. And where would you hold it?"

"On the net."

"Huh? Is there a new place on the lake I don't know about?"

"No. Over computers. Streamer video of her performing, with some bid board for feedback. Tomas said he saw breed stock sold that way when hoof and mouth restricted buyer travel. But it's bound to be expensive."

"How expensive?"

"Ten thou at least. Production chief, two cameras, lighting, gaffer, all paid enough to keep their mouths shut. Hall and equipment rental. And three months minimum high speed net hook up. And computers. And software. Plus wardrobe. And handlers. It adds up."

Marilyn sat silent, stone faced, looking out at the mountain. She sipped a weak drink, much more orange juice than alcohol, frowned. "Shit. I'm surprised you can do it for that. What about an auctioneer?"

"I've done more charity auctions than I can shake a stick at. I'll do it as part of my fee. Plus cleaning and jewelry rental, of course."

"Keep 'em to paste." Marilyn gazed back over the mountains. "You sure you can do this in ninety days?"

"Tomas knows somebody at the station. They can pull together the video production. And he knows someone from the stock auction. And he likes playing with computers. He says he can handle that end."

"Can he?"

Sharon, traced circles with her finger. "I don't know. He'll work like a Turk to get something done, and he's never shy about asking for help. He gets in over his head sometimes. But if he knows someone who did something like it, I think he can."

"Think?"

"If he's late we just push back the date. We'll know early enough."

Marilyn groaned. "And my costs keep going up. Let me think a minute." The two sat silently, side by side, watching the dot of an eagle circle and swoop over a distant canyon. "How many bidders you think you'll have?"

"Five, at least, maybe eight. Maybe more. All pre-qualified."

"You've been thinking about this awhile, haven't you?"

"Just the last few days. After talking to some of Tomas's contacts. Discretely. Maids are cheap down South."

"I get your drift. She better be able to entertain, then."

"Uh-huh. And look good doing it. Can she?"

"She will, or die trying. I can find someone here who can train her to sing a little, and maybe act like a lady. That the idea?"

"Specially the later. If she's presentable as an escort, and won't make a fuss . . ."

"A mistress. A high toned party girl. A Vegas special without the mouth. You judge her progress. Suppose I agree to twelve and a half for expenses, plus and a straight six per cent commission. Share the risk?"

"Make it seven and we'll do it. If she's progressing."

"Let's take a look. Drink up."As the two women finished their drinks, the eagle dot dove below the tree line. "Something just got invited to lunch. Let's go before I change my mind."

 

§§

 

Sharon followed Marilyn down the cinder block hall to the thick steel door. She shuddered. The approach looked like a dungeon. She could not imagine what Bennie must have done to ever make the room festive enough for a banquet hall. Maybe wine racks and too much wine kept people from noticing the cold.

Inside, she noticed two forms kneeling at a small table. The black haired woman had her back to them, her hair gleaming in an elaborate knot on the back of her head. A blonde sat opposite her, looking in a magnifying mirror, using a powder brush. "You must blend the colors more. Don't look like clown. Even when the colors are not natural, you must produce the illusion they are. And not so much in the center. You can add, but to subtract, you must start over."

Sharon drew up behind, looked at the young woman kneeling, intently applying powder to her cheeks. Her hair was a cut in a long gamin, the locks in distinct petal curls with some height, the bang sweeping delicately across her brow. Gold tone faux pearl buttons gleamed in her ears, just under the broad guiche sweeping out below her cheekbones. Sharon paused, knowing this had to be Maria, but if she had passed her on the street she would not have recognized her.

"Mistress Sylvia? Are you done? May we borrow Maria for a bit?"

"Of course. Practice, Maria, practice. The light here is abominable, so do not overstate your makeup. And remember, . . ."

"Yes, Mistress. Blend, blend, always blend."

"Very good. Now let me look at you."

Sylvia took Maria's chin in hand, rased the head, turned it to look at the face critically. "Not bad. The lips are good. Your eye shadow is still clumsy, but better. But your hair, you must learn better to work with your hair." Sylvia turned around. "I leave her to you."

As she walked away, Sharon grasped her sleeve. "What's wrong with her hair? It looks perfect."

"Of course. I did it in the salon an hour ago. But she can barely correct her lift without destroying the line. She is all thumbs right now. If I could work with her in the salon an hour a day, perhaps." Sylvia shrugged and left.

Sharon stood over the head own Maria. In her make up smock, ankles tucked under her, hands folded in her lap, she was the picture of a demure young woman, almost Oriental except for blonde curls. Sharon glimpsed the slight swelling under her bra as the fold hung open, a second set of studs gleaming up her rims. "Maria? Do you remember me?"

Maria looked up briefly, lowered her eyes again. "You're the woman who talked with me about pictures. And you said you could get me a job. And you kissed me."

Sharon patted her hand. "Nothing wrong with your memory. I'd forgotten that 'til you mentioned it. Do you mind if we talk?"

"I do as Mistress Marilyn directs."

Sharon looked over her shoulder at Marilyn, waved her head. "I'll leave you two alone for now. I have work. You do whatever the Mistress asks, Maria. Understand?"

Maria bowed her head low, forehead almost touching the table. "Yes, Mistress. Whatever she asks."

When the door closed, Sharon bent forward. "Would you like to sit on a stool? That doesn't look very comfortable."

"Thank you, Mistress for considering me. At first it wasn't, but now I am used to it. And it helps me point my toes. Mistress Rania says that is very important to dance well."

"Do you like to dance, Maria? Do you mind being called Maria?"

"No. I mean yes, I like to dance, Mistress, and no, I do not mind. It's not my place."

This is going to be difficult. "I won't hurt you, Maria. You know that, don't you?"

"You were nice before. Mistress."

"Don't call me Mistress. Call me Sharon. Would you mind if I kissed you again?"

"You may do as you wish. Sharon."

Sharon bent across the table, kissed Maria's lips lightly, pressed, caught a lower lip. She broke away slowly, opening her eyes to see Maria with her eyes closed, mouth open slightly. "Did you like that, Maria?"

Maria's head dropped again. "It was nice. Sharon."

"It was very nice, Maria. You're very pretty you know. Your hair, especially. Do you like your hair?"

Maria nodded, caught herself. Eyes downcast, "Yes, Mistress."

"Did you like having your hair done the first time?"

Maria shook her head. "I was scared and ashamed. But it looked nice."

"And now?"

"I like it. To relax, to be alone, to see it take shape. Mistress Sylvia is very good. I'm not. And that doesn't please her. And I don't want to disappoint her. She's nice to me."

"Does having your hair done excite you? Make you want to be with someone?"

Maria shook her head. "Not so much, now. At first, when it was new, but now . . ."

"But you like having a pretty do, don't you?"

Maria nodded, looked at the hands in her lap. "Yes, Ma'am. It frightens me."

"Frightens you? How?"

"I mean I shouldn't like it so much. But I do."

"Why shouldn't you like it?"

"Well, I guess, well, I'm not a girl."

"But before, you liked to look nice, didn't you?"

"Yes. Sharon."

"So now you get to look nice a different way. And Sylvia is nice to you. And your hair does look nice, don't you think? Look in the mirror and describe your hair for me."

Maria looked puzzled, glanced at her image. "What do you mean?"

"Just tell me what you see. Is it pretty? Do you like it? Does it feel nice? Whatever you want to tell me."

"Well, it's blonde. And clean. And it's done in curls."

"Go on."

"There are bangs. They tickle a little, at first, but they're warm, and that's nice. And it shines. And it moves a little. Not much. Miss Sylvia uses a lot of spray. And she pulled some onto my cheeks. But that's sticky. And it's shorter in back, not long. I wish it were."

"Were what?" Maria paused, panicked. "It's alright, Dear. You can tell me. Were what?"

"Long. Like Miss Sylvia's."

Sharon reached across the table, took Maria's hands in hers. "Do you think Miss Sylvia is pretty? Beautiful?" Maria nodded. "And would you like to beautiful like her?" Maria nodded again. Sharon squeezed her hands warmly, not too tightly. "You will be beautiful, Maria, I just know you will be. And you will like that."

Sharon moved to the other side of the table, settled down beside Maria, wrapped an arm around her. "Now you just lay your head on my shoulder and we'll be best friends. O.K?"

"'Kay."

For thirty minutes Maria unburdened herself on a warm shoulder, How frightened she was, how much she hurt when she was beaten, how she tried so hard to please her friends, Mistresses Sylvia, and Rania, and even KiKi. And how the more she pleased them, the more frightened she became because she thought she might like being a girl too much. And how her body was changing, not just from the exercise, but becoming tender above, and she thought she might be growing tits already. And that scared her even more. And the cage, that awful cage, with it's feeder and water tubes. And how when she hadn't eaten all the food, she had been whipped again, not as hard. And she hated it when DeeDee took her, and she had to pretend she liked it, and sometimes she did, and she hated that more. And she cried.

Sharon kissed away her tears, patted her head, wiped her snuffling nose. "Now, Dear, I have something very serious to ask you. Will you tell me true?" Maria nodded, leaned against her. "I'm going to try to place you with an individual, a family. I can't promise, but I'll try very hard. But you have to try hard, too. Can you learn to take care of your face and hair, move and talk like a lady in the next two months? And learn some Spanish? And if you do, will you try very hard to behave like a lady, and please your employer?"

"Is it very important, Sharon?"

"Yes, Dear. Very important."

"I, I . . . Honestly?"

"Yes, Dear, very much. Honestly."

"I'll try very hard. I think I can. And I'll behave. Even if Mistress doesn't whip me."

Sharon, heaved a giant sigh of relief, stroked Maria's stiff curls, held her close, kissed her forehead. "That's all I ask." Marilyn will have to arrange for her to be pleasured after her hair is done. She needs positive reinforcement now she's accepted the bridle. She still has so much to learn.

"Do you mind if we have more pictures made of you? In a couple of weeks. With your hair all nicely done. And Miss Sylvia will do your makeup. And a little more curve up here. You can look very nice, sweet, maybe a little bit naughty but nice. Would you do that for me?"

"If you want me to, Sharon."

"I do, Dear." Sharon kissed her forehead again and rocked her gently, as you would comfort a child.

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

Mrs. Eaton bustled around the Ponderosa Boutique nervously atwitter. She didn't like closing the shop, even though she rarely had customers until the afternoon when a hotel guest realized she needed something, just the perfect thing, for a special dinner. But you never knew. Someone might come by, and be miffed she was closed, and not come back later. But when the owner of the hotel asked you to close up for special fittings, and hinted at sales, what could one do? Maybe if she made a sign, yes that was it, a sign that said that, "Special Fitting Session - Please come back this afternoon." Yes, that would be just the thing. Mrs. Eaton was busy with her sign, trying to decide on the best colors for the lettering, and the proper lettering, Gothic? Too hard to read; Stencil? Too cold, when Marilyn appeared at the door.

"Are you free, Meredith? Do you have customers?"

"Oh, dear me, I was just trying to make a sign for the window, so we wouldn't be disturbed. Such an awful bother."

"What do you want it to say? Not just 'Closed,' I take it."

Mrs. Eaton told her idea and before she could object, or suggest something else, Miz Costello had written it out in a slanted, slightly cursive script in red marker. She held it out, squinted a moment, then added a fine black shadow.

"There. I believe that will do. Don't you?" Her tone was friendly but the unmistakable implication was that it had better do.

"Yes. Oh, dear me, yes. Thank you. I'll just put this in the window, and draw the shade, and we'll be . . ." Mrs Eaton was astounded when Miz Costello stepped out the door before she finished.

DeeDee and KiKi escorted Maria down the hall, each with a hand firmly gripping her upper arm. Maria wore a knee length blue shift, low heeled sandals, her hair, nails and makeup freshly done by Miss Sylvia at Benders Salon. There was no shock collar this time and DeeDee was taking no chances that Maria would sense a door to the outside and bolt.

"You're hurting me!"

"Be quiet! Behave yourself and maybe you can have ice cream before you go back downstairs."

"No she won't! I've worked too hard getting pounds off her. A moment on the lips, a month on the hips." DeeDee glanced quizzically at KiKi. "Or whatever."

The pair swept Maria past Miz Costello, shutting the shaded door behind them. "We've brought you Maria, Miz Costello's, ehr, niece." Only with the door firmly locked did they release Maria's arms and step back beside the doorway.

"I understand you have never been properly fitted for underthings, Honey." With a customer in the shop, Mrs. Eaton returned to her customary breezily brisk manner. "You just take off your shift and throw it on the chair in the corner. And your bra if you're wearing one."

Maria stood in the middle of the room, hesitating, confused. She looked frantically around for some privacy, acutely aware of the two tender bumps protruding from her torso.

"Go ahead, Maria. You haven't anything we all haven't seen before."

"That's right, Honey. No need to be shy. Although you're a late bloomer. Bad diet and lots of exercise I suppose."

Irene folded her arms and leaned back against the doorjamb, a big grin on her face. Miz Costello caught her eye. "Thank you, Irene. You can go back to the spa. I'll call you if you're needed."

"I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Maria crossed her arms, grasped the sides of the shift, raised it off her body. She struggled to clear her head without crushing her do, her breasts two small mounds, pert nipples pointing up and out. The only thing she had on was a pair of pink, full cut panties, DeeDee reached over to take the shift. Maria stood motionless, arms crossing her breasts, hands on her shoulders.

"Honey, you must be a virgin. No boy has ever played with those, has he? Never mind. Just lower your arms so I can get your base measurement." Mrs. Eaton passed a tape around Maria's ribs, raising it under her breasts, checking to be sure it was level. "Oh, big girl aren't you? Let's see, thirty-two inches plus five, you'll need a 38. There's enough play in the double snaps to fit you properly. Now the cup." The tape loosened and moved up. "Lessee. Thirty-eight. An A-Cup. Thought so. Now let's measure your straps." Mrs. Eaton measured from the top of the aureola to the bottom of the shoulder blade on each side. "A half inch difference on sixteen inches. You're almost even. Must not carry a heavy purse. Now for the orbit."

Maria flushed while her breast circumference was measured, standing stock still looking at the ceiling corner, trying to pretend this wasn't happening. She gasped when Mrs. Eaton pinched a nipple while measuring the distance between them.

"Most people don't bother with the last two. Women usually figure they'll squeeze 'em around in whatever. That's why cheap bras so often aren't comfortable. I imagine you've noticed your breasts grow and shrink during the day and depending on your time of month. Fluid loves 'em. So your cups need to allow for some expansion. Just some or they won't support. Now your's are nice and round, pert we called 'em in my day. And wide set. So you'll need a bra with a scooch bigger piece between the cups. Unless you're trying to squeeze them together for that falling out of my clothes look.

"That's why I stock a fully adjustable line. A hook and set of eyes to let it out and take it in an inch either way. Just gotta be careful not get a fold against you. That can get mighty uncomfortable. And make sure the bra straps have at least four inches, preferably five, more length than the front to back. You need a twenty-one inch strap, enough to hold but not so much as to flop around. Cross-straps add about three inches. Now let's see what we can do for you. Is that everything, Miz Costello?"

She nodded and Mrs. Eaton disappeared into the back. Maria turned around, looking beseechingly at her Mistress. Silently she pleaded for relief.

"Pay attention, Maria. Mrs. Eaton knows what she's doing. Nothing like an ill-fitting bra to make life miserable. But a fit will keep you pert and perky for a long time. No saggy, droopy teats begging for knife and silicone."

Mrs. Eaton returned, beaming, carrying an assortment of bags. "Lucky you. I don't get much call for an A-cup in your girth, Honey. Now I can order more in, you'll need a whole wardrobe, different colors, texture, strapless, straight straps, cross-straps, full cups, half cups, and of course something to enhance that cleavage for special nights out. What do you usually wear?"

Maria fumbled for an answer, having absolutely no idea what to say.

"She's been working with Irene to tone her body. And her wardrobe is very basic, very simple. You know college girls. They tend to lose the style gene for awhile. When we get her something suitable for display, we'll be back. And Irene's workouts may add a cup size. She's very determined."

Mrs. Eaton's face fell, the prospect of a substantial sale fading away. "As you wish. A basic white, a nude, a pink, a black, just to help you keep track of what should be in the laundry. Natural line, two three-quarter cup, two full cup. Lots of support in those. Nothing else?"

"She'll need some other things as well. A garter belt, just to get used to it, a girdle with garters. Some chemises and full slips. Large enough so they will still fit when she grows."

"How about a bustier? The old long line bra with firm support."

"Let's wait. I'd hate to see Irene work her out of one. What do you think, Irene?"

"How about a corset instead of a girdle? If it's firm now but can be laced down, it won't fall off like a girdle."

"True. Think of the future. Do you have corsets?"

"No, women usually go for a Merry Widow, all straps and velcro. Easy on, easier off. But I can order one in."

"That will be fine. Why don't you measure her?"

Mrs. Eaton returned to measuring, waist hips, bust to hip length. "A little short waisted, aren't we, Honey? Still losing a little puppy fat around the waist? Although you don't seem too soft for a twenty-eight waist. Small butt, too." Mrs. Eaton disappeared happily into the back to search her stock.

Maria turned to Miz Costello. "Please? Is this really necessary? A corset?"

DeeDee grinned. "Help you attain that girlish figure, Sweetie. All the better for to play with your titties." Maria blushed, the flush spreading down her neck onto her torso. "It's not like you're a virgin, Sweetie."

"Hush, Deborah. Mrs. Eaton will hear. And this is all new to her."

DeeDee glared at KiKi, but said nothing.

Mrs. Eaton came bustling out, all smiles at the renewed prospect of a decent sale. No gown, no accessories, but Miz Costello's niece? She'd be back. "You know, Honey, I keep thinking I've seen you before but I just can't place it. Oh, well, I get so many people through here, it may have been someone who looked like you. Still, I don't get many young people in here. Honeymooners, mostly."

Maria was quickly sliding smooth nylon down her body. Light blue and white were the recurring colors Miz Costello approved. Maria felt strangely protected by the hems falling below her panties, even though the slightest puff of air would have flipped it up over her waist. When she was shown how to adjust the garter belt, how to roll stockings up her legs and fasten them so the seams were straight, she was positive Mrs. Eaton would discover the additional equipment between her legs. But Mrs. Eaton's hands stayed with smoothing material over her derriere, commenting, 'None of us can see our behinds, Honey."

Before she knew it, she stood in the middle of the room, in a three-quarter cup black bra, white chemise, garter belt and seamed, dark toed nylons. Mrs. Eaton had her standing before the three-way, checking the fall of the lingerie. "Lovely, simply lovely. The bra helps define you, Honey. Get you into a corset, define that waist a little, and you'll have a lovely girlish shape the boys will die for. A long line panty with a little extra behind wouldn't hurt either. Nature sometimes needs a little help, Honey. Just don't overdo. At least you won't have caboose problems later."

Maria stared into the mirror. Fresh hair style adding height and movement, understated makeup that emphasized her eyes, and now lingerie held away from her body by small but definite breasts. Maybe not an absolute fox, but she would turn a few heads. Just a month of treatments, what would she look like when she was placed? Unconsciously she rose on her toes, turning slightly to see how her legs would look in heels. Not bad, really not bad. Who'da thought it?

"Does she have heels? I don't carry shoes."

Marilyn shook her head.

"I believe Carmen's carries some. Basic black, mostly, and white satins to dye."

"Deborah, run get a pair. Size Eight? Medium heel, large print."

"And a dress. The simple little black dress. Sleeveless with her arms, shoulder and side ties, knee length. It will show her so off nicely. No work so it showcases her jewelry. I have one. Size ten, long. Really."

"Fetch it, please."

Mrs. Eaton disappeared one more time, emerging with a shining black, knotted silk, size ten. She opened the ties for Maria to step in, then raised and tied the bodice, adjusting the waist tie so it draped consistently on each side.

Maria stood silently, hardly daring breathe. Wheat blonde waves and curls perched atop her head, a simple black sheath draped over the swell of her breasts, crimson nails, and shimmering stockings. Dressed, I am a fox. She could not take her eyes from her mirror image.

DeeDee strode back in, shoe box in hand. "Got 'em." She stopped dead, still in the silence, seeing her lover in a whole new light.

"Give them to Mrs. Eaton, Deborah. We wouldn't want her stockings to run."

Mesmerized, DeeDee handed over the box, watched intently as Maria steadied herself on Mrs. Eaton's shoulder, pointed her toe and stepped into each shoe. In a two-inch heel with a one inch base, Maria had no trouble standing. There was just enough height to add some definition to her calf.

Marilyn spoke quietly. "Alright. That's enough. Think wardrobe later, after more work with Irene. If you two will take her back to her room, I have a casino to run. Add it up and send me the bill, Meredith."

Marilyn unlocked the door and left the shop. DeeDee stood beside Maria, looking into the shining face reflected in the mirror. "God, you're beautiful. Let's get you something before you go back to your room."

"Non-fattening?"

"Sugar-free, fake fat, yogurt? With a wafer cookie?"

"Chocolate?"

"Anything you want, Sweetheart. Almost anything at all. Coming, KiKi?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

Sharon settled back in the limo seat, sipping a champagne flute before picking up a chocolate covered strawberry. Ain't inconspicuous, but at least the window tint's so dark you can't see in. If it's what the client ordered.

The driver stood outside, waiting for the party to emerge from the casino motor lobby. He has ceased to be amazed or interested in his clients. Real stars went to Vegas, or they drove in for a very inconspicuous vacation. Only wannabe's ordered up a limo here unless there was an entourage where a limo was as cheap as cabs. But not for a four hour minimum from the casino and in town. So who knew, and who cared? Treat 'em all like big shots and the tips rolled in. And who knows, one day one of them might actually grab the brass ring.

He saw Deborah Daniels emerge in a black blazer and gray skirt. He'd seen her a hundred times, bossy, taken with her little authority, but it indicated someone worried about crowds, or someone with a grudge. He nodded to her, reached to open the door. No crowds, must be serious, or a high roller to impress. Deborah disappeared back inside, then reappeared with Miz Costello and a young blonde, dressed in a basic black, with sun glasses, a tennis bracelet, sparkly ear drops, and a gold pin. The driver did a double take, only because they were nothing like he expected. Bennie's widow with a kid, an imitation Holly Golightly, without the cigarette holder. Maybe she was some insider's daughter and Miz Costello was doing the tour guide bit. Maybe the Silver Palace was finally going on the block. He'd better call Bernie. The tip could be worth a hundred.

The driver swung open the door and the trio settled smoothly into the rear, Deborah last. The driver swung the door closed, being sure there were no trailing garments. Expertly he swung the limo around a turista's SUV, turning the nose onto Lakeland. He braked, buzzed the intercom. "Where to, Miz Costello?"

"Lodgepole Studio on Sierra. You know where it is?"

"Off Piedmont? Sure." A photography studio? What gives? Some insider's girl thinks she can make it in the movies? Or modeling? They get strange ideas and think Daddy can fix anything. Just about anything.

The trip was short, no trip in town took over fifteen minutes, barring accidents. And the party, including the dame picked up earlier swept up the steps, into the studio as if they owned it. Or were afraid of being seen. The driver pulled the limo into a convenient service station to wait for them to reemerge. A couple of hours, she said. Plenty of time to make a few calls.

Sharon greeted Betsy with a hug and a cheek press. "How's biz, Bets? Hit big time yet?"

"I'm still here. aren't I? Haven't seen my Teton pics gracing Big Yellow yet, have you? But hey, I'm grateful for work."

"Betsey Longfeather, you know Miz Marilyn Costello, don't you? Owner of the Silver Palace?"

"I've heard of you. Can't say our paths have crossed socially." Betsey Longfeather extended a large hand. "You're not this session's subject surely?"

Marilyn shook Betsey's hand, a strong grip and steady brown eyes under jet black hair piled in a thick coil on the top and back of her head. "No, my niece, Maria. You know young girls, always hoping they could be discovered. I told her it's a long shot, but I'll stand the freight."

"Model or performance? Models usually wants a bare version, bone structure and all that."

"She has the performance bug. Thinks she'll go to Austin. She needs pub shots, something to give them an idea for the music videos they all do now. I told her to give it a year or two, but it's a long hard road and I can't make the audience like her performance or material."

"Wise advice. Find a day job, kid. Hell, I shoot miles of film on the most spectacular landscape from impossible angles, wait for just the right light, and I can't get past the receptionist. Be a secretary, kid. They've got the real power. I'll probably do weddings and glamor spreads 'til I croak, me, the last of the Wasauamie. That ought to be worth a by-line by itself.

"Did you bring clothes. Or do you want to use my standard getups?"

"Yours. Other than what she's in now."

"Lesse. Take off the sunnies kids. Gotta see your eyes. That's basic. Hhm. Not bad. Too bad you didn't start earlier. Lose a few pounds and you could model. Still might. Not runway, but corporate's steadier. Gotta have strong legs though. Friend of mine says she feels like she's welded to her high heels. You hop up on that stool and we'll shoot you around the clock before we try any other outfits.

"You're gonna have to grow your hair out. Don't get me wrong, it's nice, but C&W likes flowing hair. You look a little like a refugee from the Lawrence Welk Show. Nice, but dated.

"Let's try the sophisticated approach. Not too much, sorta graceful, restrained, not hanging' all out. Now gimme a smile, kid, and follow me with your eyes. Follow, follow, turn the head, keep following, bigger smile now. Anybody ever tell you look like Audrey Hepburn? That's it big smile, gimme dimples. Look happy, it's just film, not bullets. Good. Now, other side."

Betsey shot the rest of the roll, head shots, medium shots, even had Maria with her head back laughing at some horribly inane pun. When she ran out of film, she stopped to change the roll and sent Maria off to pick out a fur and a cape.

"I didn't mean to ignore you, but it's best to get the kids into it before they get nervous. Soda or coffee? Pull up some of those director's chairs and take a load off."

"Water around, Betsey. So when are you gonna get hitched? You owe me a matron of honor role."

Betsey bustled in the bar fridge, producing a six pack of bottled water. "You roped the last good one, Sharon. How many you guys got now, three?"

"Only two. That's enough. Maybe another later. If you get engaged, I'll get preggie just so I can walk down the aisle a foot ahead of myself."

"Like hell you will. I get hitched and all eyes better be on me. Not my best friend, wondering if the calf's gonna drop any minute.

"But enough old home week. What do you really want with these, Miz Costello?"

"What do you mean? Just some pub shots so when she sees some friends in the business, she's not look like a rank amateur."

"Uh-huh. I get a hurry up call from an old friend, I'm doing glamor shots when nobody uses those for music intros, and you drive up in a limo stretched halfway to Vegas. Sharon's an old friend, so I don't have to know, but I don't like sheep dip."

"Let's leave it at publicity shots. What you don't know, you can't tell."

Betsey looked the older woman up and down, sipped her water bottle. "Your show, your dough. But she looks like a nice kid."

"She is. These will help her a lot."

Betsey eyed her old friend. "Hope so. The camera loves her face."

Sharon reached to touch her friend's hand. "She'll be fine. Promise."

"Miz Longfellow? How about these?" Maria stood before the lights holding a blonde mink and a black cape.

"The fur's fine, we'll drape it over your shoulder and shoot your face over it. But get some color in the cape. There's a dark cranberry, or burgundy, or whatever its called this year back there. Use that. And there's sparkly stuff from some pageants back there. Let me help so you don't overload."

Betsey slid out of her seat, paused in the dark. "Sweet kid. Hasn't a clue, does she?"

Marilyn waited for Betsey to disappear into the cloak room before turning to Sharon. "What did you tell her? Can she be trusted?"

"Just that I needed a glamor spread for a client. And Betsey would cut off her right arm before betraying a secret. I know from experience. I swear her AmIndian heritage gives her some sixth sense, though."

Marilyn settled back sipping. When Betsey brought out Maria, she set her first with the short fur, shooting her up and own, getting her to laugh at crazy stories and bad jokes. Then she began with the ruby cape, teaching her how to handle the flowing garment even as she shot her. Long shots, head back, lots of laughs, some serious, some playful expressions, then again with a small rhinestone set added to her neck.

"She's good. And she's smart. Smart enough to know when she shouldn't know. She'll do. Have to."

"Glad you approve."

"It's my neck if this blows up. I doubt the Gambling Board would approve. And that rat, Bernie, has been after the casino ever since Bennie died. So I've a right to worry."

Shudda thoughta that 'fore we got into this. "Betsey's fine. I've never seen Maria so happy. Look at her laugh. She looks so unspoiled, almost like she was seventeen, on the verge of life, when everything seems possible."

"In a way she is. On the verge of something new. What do you think, Deborah?"

There was a long silence, as Deborah fought for words. "Whatever you say, Miz Costello."

"Deborah? Jealous? After she ran away on you? Can you handle this?"

"I can handle anything." There was another long silence, broken only by Betsey's repartee and Maria's responding laughter. "It's just, I'm seeing things that weren't there before."

Marilyn sipped more water. "You been taking care of her after she gets her hair done?"

"Yes. Ma'am."

"And she takes care of you?"

"Yes, Ma'am"

"Better take care of you, too. Yours wouldn't be the first head turned by a skirt."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Betsey burned more film on the laughing Maria. She had her drop the top and turn away, making the most of what little there was by hinted views for the "arts shots." She got her into a jean skirt and jacket, "for the C&W market," then a white scoop neck blouse and jacket, "for the day job," and finally in a sparkling silver spaghetti strap gown, "for the dinner club circuit." The back was unzipped, she stood on, not in, high heels hidden under the train, the gloves were a size too large, but Maria looked radiant, laughing or serious as directed.

After the last shot, Maria walked through the curtain of light. "Did I do alright? Was I pretty enough? Do I have to do some more."

"You were beautiful, Maria. Wasn't she, Deborah?"

"She looked nice."

"They'll be fine. We'll pick some publicity shots together in about a week, when Betsey has the proofs. Now go change back into your dress. And don't forget to give Betsey her tiara back. And have a water bottle."

"Oh! Is that still on? Thank you. I'll go change." Maria disappeared through the light, holding the back of her gown together.

They sat there together in the dim light, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Both Sharon and Marilyn were conscious of DeeDee's smoldering temper, her face scowling despite her attempt to look impassive.

She's really gotten to her. Just recently, too. A few days off, maybe, with her daughter at the lodge.

I told her to watch that one. She should have rotated security.

Maria returned on Betsey's arm, clinging closer than necessary for steadiness.

"Deborah, go outside and call up the limo."

They waited just inside the door, Sharon and Betsey exchanging small talk until the limo pulled up outside. They swept back into the limo, settled into champagne and strawberries.

"We have time. Is there a place you'd like to go, Maria?"

Maria slid closer to DeeDee who slid away into the corner. She looked surprised, hurt, then thought about Marilyn's offer. "Could I, could we, drive up into the mountains for a bit? I've been inside so long."

"Your celebration for a job well done. Driver, Skyline Drive. Stop when you get to Major's Overlook. We'd like to see the view."

"Certainly, Miz Costello." Bernie was appreciative. A century for a rumor. He's always anxious to hear anything about the management of the Silver Palace.

The driver drove slowly, carefully, through the town and up the mountain ridge. Ten minutes tops at the overlook would burn the four hours to the minute. He stole an occasional glance at the camera monitor of the passenger compartment. The four were having champagne, normal and included in the rental. But he caught glimpse of the niece trying to get her arm under Daniels' only to have her pull away. Was the bird a lezzie? That's the big secret?

The limo pulled to a stop at the overlook. He sprung out, held open the door for the niece and Daniels. The others stayed in the car. He wandered discretely away, downwind, the better to catch stray comments.

"DeeDee? What's wrong? Why pull away?"

"You wanted a view, look at the view." The wind whipped around them, the ever cold wind of the mountains no little black dress could turn.

"It's nice. The air is nice. But it's cold. Warm me."

"You warmed up to Miss Betsey pretty well."

"That's it? Somebody makes me laugh, and what? Whip me again?"

"Hush. He might hear."

"Hear what? That I liked being made to think I'm attractive?"

"Get back in the car."

"She said I had ten minutes. Even if I freeze, I'm taking it. I might not get this way again."

Maria stood still, looking over the vista, the town below, the hustle of little ants, chasing golden dreams that never brought happiness, chasing fool's gold as if it were the real thing. She saw a dot rise and fall, drift on the currents, spiral, swoop, as free as the proverbial bird, as free as she was not.

"What's that?"

"Where?"

"Out there." Maria pointed at the dot, spiraling higher into the air.

DeeDee stood behind, looking out over her pointing finger. She felt cold skin, put her arms around her to shelter her. "Eagle. Looking for a meal. Got hatchlings somewhere. Like Debra Anne." She wrapped her arms tight around Maria, standing stiffly in the shelter of her embrace. She kissed Maria's curls, tasting hairspray, inhaling the faint whiff of eau d'cologne. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being angry. It's just I'm seeing something new in you, something I don't understand. And I want you . . . I don't know. I just want you."

"You can't have me by shoving me away."

"I know. Let's go back in where it's warm. Tonight you can have anything you want to eat. And I'll tell you how beautiful you are, and you'll tell me how good I am. And we'll be happy for a while."

So we'll lie to one another again. Between the layings. And she'll pretend, and I'll pretend, that everything's alright. It's only make believe, but it ain't right. "Let's go back in. Driver, we're ready."

He hustled over to open the door, took his time getting to the driver door. So that's it. She's lez, and so's Daniels. And into S&M. She's important to Costello somehow. Now who in Hell is she? All the driver knew by the time he let them out was that security and the doll weren't fighting anymore.

 

 

 

*********************************************
© 2001 by Sydney Michelle. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.