by Ed Bemand
Relationships are all about mutual benefit. We enter into them because of what we hope to gain from them, be it companionship, money, solace or satisfaction of desires.
It wasn’t about love for Svetlana. It wasn’t even about sex. It was about having a chance, a chance to escape and maybe become something better than she had been able to be so far. Where Svetlana came from there didn’t seem like there were an awful lot of opportunities available to her. Did she want to work long hours for meagre wages on a farm or in some factory? Either offered a slow, desperate struggle for subsistence against the odds. There had to be a better way for her to live. She just had to be willing to go and look for it.
She had gone to the city looking for work when she was nineteen. It was a familiar pattern and one that many of her friends had elected to follow. Her parents had accepted it as inevitable when she had told them that she was going to leave to see if she could find something better for herself away from the village where she had spent her life to date and had even helped her by giving her a small amount of money to try and get herself started. She had taken her few possessions and ridden the bus to the city, with no real idea what she would do once she got there. She hadn’t found much that was better than her home. Everything was still grimy and dingy and most of the people looked unhappy. The only major difference seemed to be the crowding.
Finding work wasn’t easy. She had finished school but had no real experience of work other than the unskilled labour she had occasionally helped with on the farm and she wasn’t entirely sure what sort of jobs she would even want to do. She was able to rent a room in a run-down and squalid boarding-house. It wasn’t nice but at least she had a bed for the nights. The days she spent walking around, asking after work in all the shops and cafes that she passed. She didn’t find anything. After a few days and with her money almost gone, she found herself knocking on the door of an agency. She wasn’t very clear on what sort of work they offered but she was passed the point of being able to be choosy. She was hungry and would soon be faced with the unpleasant decision of spending the last of her money. She had carefully made sure that she still had enough to get her home on the bus if she didn’t find anything, but to do so would have made it seem like this whole thing had been for nothing and that she had wasted the money her parents had given her.
The slightly overweight receptionist sat behind the desk in the room she found herself in eyed her suspiciously and asked if she could help her. Svetlana explained that she was looking for work and admitted when asked that she didn’t have an appointment. She was told to sit down. The receptionist muttered something into her phone, staring in Svetlana’s direction as she did so. She hung up the phone. Long moments passed, then the door to the inner office opened and a large, moist-looking man in a ragged suit entered the room. He greeted Svetlana enthusiastically, introduced himself as Mr. Bochakov and ushered her into his office. The wallpaper was garish and his desk was littered with forms and photographs of girls. There was a computer on his desk, something that Svetlana had very little experience with. They had had one in school but most of them weren’t allowed to use it.
“So, my dear, I understand that you are looking for work.”
“Yes. I’m almost out of money.”
“And times are tough, aren’t they?”
“Very much so.”
“What sort of work are you looking for?”
“I don’t know really... anything.”
He fiddled with a couple of the forms on his desk, half-heartedly attempting to neaten them into piles.
“Let me take a few of your details.” He took a blank form from a drawer, picked up a biro and started to ask her questions, taking notes of her answers as she gave them. Her full name. Her address. She listed the boarding house she was staying in and admitted it was a temporary measure. She also gave the address of her parent’s house. Details of her education. Her previous work experience, which she had to admit was rather limited. He didn’t seem particularly concerned. He queried her height and weight, guessing them with almost suspicious accuracy. The questions became more confusing, but he passed from one to the next rapidly, giving her little chance to ask about them. Did she speak any other languages? Could she cook? Did she like children? Did she have a boyfriend? She blushed at this and said no. None of the casual dalliances that she had had over the years with boys back home seemed important enough to mention. Apparently unsatisfied, he asked directly if she was a virgin. She admitted that she wasn’t. He looked like he was considering elaborating upon this but decided against it and moved on. He asked some questions about her medical history. Had she ever been pregnant? Did she have any health problems?
“It looks like you would be suitable for this position.” He concluded, looking up from the form. His gaze was critical.
“Thank you.” She was pleased but still confused. She hadn’t been told anything yet.
“Perhaps you would like to know a little more about what we do here.”
“Please.”
“As I’m sure you are aware, while in this country, we have an abundance of lovely girls, such as yourself, but a scarcity of men capable of supporting them in other countries the situation is reversed.”
She nodded warily.
“Many of the men in these countries are very wealthy and hoping to find lovely girls to accompany them. They are busy men, with jobs that take up a lot of their time. This can make it hard for them to find suitable girls. We offer a service that allows these men to find suitable lovely girls.”
“And?”
“Would you be interested in being one of these girls?”
“Is that a job?”
“Certainly it is a kind of job. The man would be well paid for his job, doing big things for big money, it would be your job to look after him and deal with small, domestic matters, as a good wife should in such a situation.”
“You would want me to marry this man?”
“Exactly.”
“And leave this country?”
“Yes. This is not such a big concern, surely, are you so attached to this place that you would prefer to stay than be with a rich foreigner?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then perhaps we are wasting both our time here. If you prefer, Ivana will show you out.”
He brusquely guided her out of the office, signalling to his receptionist , Ivana, who took the lead from him and pointed her back out into the street. She was left standing there feeling confused.
She decided she had enough money left to buy a cup of tea. She sat in a cafe with it, making it last as long as she could. The air in the cafe was steamy and smelled of burned grease but at least it was much warmer than it was out in the street.
Did she want to have to leave the country and get married to some foreigner? It wasn’t what she had expected to find when she had decided to head to the city for work, but then she wasn’t really sure what she had expected. She couldn’t deny that the idea of ending up married to some rich man was appealing. It was better than most of the jobs she might end up in here. She found herself watching the waitress. She was a couple of years older than Svetlana. The perpetually steamy atmosphere had left her hair hanging in lank tendrils. She looked tired and grumpy. She probably had to work twelve hours a day here just to stay alive. Svetlana could see a couple of fat greasy men leering at the waitress as she brought them their food. Maybe being married to a rich man wouldn’t be so bad. At least then she would only have to deal with the unwanted attention of one man. She drained the last cold dregs of her tea.
Ivana the receptionist didn’t look particularly pleased to see her when she walked back into the office.
“Did you forget something?”
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Bochakov, please.”
“He is a very busy man. I wouldn’t want you to find yourself wasting his time twice in one day.” Ivana looked at Svetlana suspiciously. She found herself wondering if the job Ivana had was all that much better
than working in a cafe.
“I’m not intending to waste his time.” Svetlana sat down without waiting to be told to. Ivana sighed wearily and picked up the phone. Bochakov didn’t look particularly pleased to see her when he opened the door from his office.
“Yes?”
“I’ve thought about it and I’d like to do what you said.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“You understand, we put a lot of time and effort into our girls. I wouldn’t want to do that if you were intending to change your mind again.”
“I understand.”
He smiled warmly.
“Good girl. Come into my office and we’ll sort the details.”
The form he had completed about her was still on his desk.
“The first step is for us to set you up on our system so that you can be seen by the men. Then, when you’ve got some people interested in you we can move to the next step.”
“Ok.”
He tapped a few keys on his keyboard, then turned the monitor slightly so she could see it.
“We need to get you a page like this.”
The screen showed a few pictures of a very pretty brunette in expensive-looking clothes. In the last picture she was posed bent over holding the back of a chair, her bottom raised to the camera. She was wearing only high-heels and lingerie. Svetlana blushed.
“I thought you’d agreed that you weren’t going to waste my time?”
“I’m not, it’s just... I didn’t know what to expect.”
“You know how to attract a man, don’t you? Well, this is like that, but since they’re further away you have to try extra hard.”
“I don’t have any photos... I don’t even have any clothes like that.”
“I had guessed that. Do you have any money?”
“Not really.”
“That is unfortunate. As I’m sure you can appreciate, the setup process can be quite expensive.”
Svetlana felt deflated.
“I’m sorry... I wanted to find work here, but I’ve not been able to. I thought I might have to go back to my parents if I couldn’t find anything soon.”
“Hmmm... normally we would be unable to accommodate you in this situation. However...” He paused for effect. Svetlana watched him warily. “My brother, he owns a factory in the city. If you like, I could see if I could arrange something with him. We could agree terms where you could work for him and earn the cost of the setup. Would that be suitable?”
Svetlana had come to the city to avoid having to get a job in a factory, but under the circumstances it seemed the best offer going. She agreed to it and Mr. Bochakov explained the terms. He would arrange for her to be employed in the factory and her wages, minus the costs of board and lodging with some of the other workers, would be used to pay for the fees of the agency. She couldn’t see how she would actually get any money out of it, but at least she would have food and somewhere to sleep, which she wouldn’t be able to afford otherwise. Bochakov explained to her that she would need to work there for a minimum of six months, unless of course she was lucky enough to catch the eye of someone wealthy before that. She signed the contract he offered her. What other choice was there?
Bochakov called his brother and arranged for one of his people to come and collect her. He told her that he would contact her to make arrangements for her listing on the website. Svetlana went off to gather her meagre possessions from the boarding house. When she returned, Ivana pointed her at a chair and told her to wait for the man from the factory. She was waiting for more than an hour before a large and rather frightening looking bald man appeared. He asked if she was going to the factory. When she nodded he pointed out of the door and told her to follow him. He had a battered old truck parked outside to drive her to the factory.
She didn’t hear from Bochakov again for two weeks. In the meantime, she was left to work long hours in the oppressive confines of the factory. Her job seemed to consist entirely of gutting and scaling fish, tonnes of which were deposited at the factory every day. It was dingy and there was no way to tell what time it was other than the bells that signalled breaks or shift-changes. The job itself was messy and unpleasant. The knives they used were sharp and they were forced to work quickly so it was hard not to cut yourself. By the end of her first shift she was exhausted and felt sticky and smelly. Her hair had fish-scales in it and her clothes looked terrible.
When the bell rang for the end of the shift she wasn’t sure where to go. She looked for the man that had shown her where to work at the beginning but she couldn’t find him. Nervously she tried to speak to one of the other women there. She began to explain her situation and the other woman laughed bitterly and told her to follow her. Next door to the factory was a long, low building. The woman, who introduced herself as Ludmilla, explained that this was the bunkhouse for the workers. Quite a few people had found themselves living there as part of Bochakov’s generosity. Svetlana clarified her situation, that she was only supposed to be working to pay for her setup with the agency and Ludmilla laughed again. Apparently Svetlana wasn’t alone in this. Ludmilla pointed her towards an empty bunk close to her, and showed her where the meagre facilities for washing were. The only tap sputtered and struggled to emit water that felt perilously close to freezing. She gasped as she tried to wash under it and clean herself up a bit. It wasn’t nice but it was better that leaving the bits of fish where they were for the night. For food they had more fish in the form of bowls of thick soup doled out from a large vat, served with hunks of rough bread torn from a big loaf. Svetlana got the impression that the soup had probably been made from all the rubbish that they had discarded during the shift. It didn’t taste very nice but it was hot and it was food. It felt like a very long time since she had last had anything to eat. She finished her bowl and wiped it clean with the last of the bread. After she had eaten there wasn’t much left for her to do but sleep. Ludmilla warned her that they would be woken early to begin work the next day but she had mistakenly assumed it would at least be light when the bell would sound to wake them up and get them started on another day working in the factory.
Days went by. She seemed to be constantly surrounded by dead fish. She was starting to wonder if she would ever see the world outside of the factory and bunkhouse again when the bald man approached her while she was working. He told her to drop what she was doing and go with him. Mr. Bochakov wanted to see her. Her hands were covered in fish blood and guts. She asked if she could wash first. He shrugged and followed her to the bunkhouse. The clothes she had been wearing to work in for the last few days were stained and unpleasant and smelled horrible. She didn’t want to go to see Bochakov still wearing them. She told the man she wanted to get changed and he shrugged again but made no move to give her privacy. She changed into cleaner clothes, embarrassed by the constant scrutiny of his gaze. When she was ready, he led her to his truck and drove her to Bochakov’s office.
“How have you been settling in?”
“It’s hard work, but...” she shrugged. Bochakov was smiling.
“I think we are ready to start with the process of finding you a rich man. Did you bring nice clothes with you?” He seemed unimpressed by her outfit.
“These are the only ones I have that don’t smell of fish.”
“Then we will have to see what we can come up with. You aren’t going to attract any rich men looking like that.” He stood up from his desk and opened a door that led from the back of his office into another room. This room was square, with white painted walls and a camera and lights set-up and waiting. He pointed to another door leading out from it.
“Go through there. Wash yourself properly and make yourself as pretty as you can, then come back here.” The door led to a small bathroom. There was a shower cubicle and a wider selection of toiletries than she could remember ever having seen before in one place. The water from the shower was hot. It felt good to wash her hair and body properly. She was too conscious of Bochako
v waiting outside for her to be able to relax fully but she didn’t want to rush too much. When she had finished she wrapped herself in a towel. There was a selection of cosmetics in a small cupboard over the sink. She didn’t often wear makeup but it seemed like the right time to. She didn’t want to put the same clothes on again. She opened the door a little and peeked through, holding the towel tight around her body.
“Come out, little Svetlana. There’s pretty clothes for you to try on.” He gestured to her. Reluctantly she opened the door fully and stepped back into the room. He pointed her towards a rack of women’s clothes, most of which looked to be new and unworn. “Choose well, you want to look your best.” She wasn’t sure where to begin. There were many dresses arranged in front of her.
“What should I wear?”
“Ivana!” he called. She entered the room, looking irritated. “Help her dress.” He said simply. She ran an appraising gaze over Svetlana, still clad in a towel.
“She has nice legs.” She remarked, looking at Bochakov. He shrugged and gestured towards the clothes. She stared at the clothes for longer than she had stared at Svetlana, before selecting a short black evening dress. “Wear this.” She offered it to her, then grabbed a hanger that had suitable black lingerie on it. “With these.” Svetlana took the two hangers. She looked around for somewhere to change before retreating back into the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later wearing the clothes. The panties were much smaller than she was used to and she didn’t normally favour lace accessories. Ivana had been alarmingly accurate in the size of bra that she had handed to her. It fit snugly, if with a little more energetic boost than she was used to. The dress also fit her well and was easily the most glamorous that she had ever worn. Ivana handed her a pair of black stilettos. They were a pretty good fit but the heels made her feel a little unstable. Ivana nodded grudging approval. Bochakov put a chair down in the middle of the room facing the camera.
“Sit. Now is your chance to shine, little Svetlana. You need to make me fall in love with you, so that every man who sees your photos will want you madly.” She sat down, her hands on her lap, her legs together. She found it hard to look at the camera. “Now that won’t do at all. You can’t just be a shy girl from a backwater nowhere. You need to be the most beautiful woman they have ever seen.” She blushed, uncertain what she was supposed to do. The camera flash startled her. “Look at the camera likes it’s your favourite lover and you’re desperate for him to bed you. Don’t be shy. If you pretend that you don’t know how to seduce men I won’t believe you.” She found it very embarrassing. She sort of understood what he was asking her to do, but it wasn’t easy to just act like that. An hour ago she had been surrounded by slimy dead fish, just because she was wearing a nice dress now didn’t change that. Bochakov seemed to be getting a little impatient but he continued taking photos of her. He directed her to stand and told her to take different poses. It was a bit easier when he was telling her what to do. He kept up a steady stream of patter throughout, complimenting her, cajoling her to pose a little more sexily, to pout more, to smile more. His request that she remove the dress made her pause momentarily, but he clearly wasn’t looking to discuss it. She slipped out of the dress and stood there awkwardly, her arms instinctively covering her. He tutted and she reluctantly lowered her arms. “You have beautiful breasts, little Svetlana. You shouldn’t be in such a rush to hide them. Why don’t you let your lover look at them?” The camera clicked and flashed again. “Excellent, very lovely. I’m sure that you will catch the eye of many rich men. Now, just to make sure that we get you someone very rich, slip off the bra and let them glimpse your rosy nipples.”
