by Dubois, Lila
Carrying her portfolio, dressed in her best retro suit complete with real stockings, Addie entered the nondescript office building in North Hollywood. While it seemed nice enough, with discreet name plaques beside doors, a security desk and potted palms in the lobby, it was in the north part of North Hollywood. It wasn’t far from here to Van Nuys, the porn capital of the world. The proximity was reawakening Addie’s fears as to what exactly this modeling job was for.
Addie spotted a bathroom and stopped to check her appearance one last time. She’d done her hair up in big rolls with Lulu’s help that morning so she looked both professional and retro. While keeping her trademark red lipstick, she’d toned down the cat-eye eyeliner, which made her brown eyes appear rounder and softer.
She checked the placement of the wide belt and then the cute little flares at the back of her jacket to make sure they hadn’t creased in the car. With five minutes to her meeting time, she struck a few test poses.
“You can do this, Addie.” She put her hand on her hip, tipped her chin and smiled. “If it’s porn just walk out and all it cost you was gas.” Flipping to the other side, she put her fingertips on her shoulders and thrust her chest out in a pose she’d seen in an old pinup calendar.
Confident in her appearance if nothing else, Addie left the bathroom and headed for Suite 1430, which said “C&C Productions” on the plaque beside the door.
She knocked softly, then opened the door. A small waiting room with six chairs was just inside. Behind a reception desk, a hallway stretched to the left and right. A bell chimed when she walked in, and Addie wasn’t surprised to see someone appear from the left hallway seconds later.
The woman was heavyset and well dressed with a sharp haircut. If wouldn’t take much for her to look frumpy, but she looked anything but, with her hand-painted silk scarf and raw-silk suit jacket. Butterflies fluttered to life in Addie’s belly—it didn’t seem likely that this woman was recruiting girls for porn, so maybe this was her chance at another big modeling job. As much as Addie loved Lulu’s, the money she made there was usually only enough to help her get by, not get ahead, and modeling income would really help.
“Adelita?”
“Please, call me Addie.”
“I’m Helen, thank you for coming in.” Helen held out her hand and they shook. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to my office.”
Behind the reception desk, right turn, down the hall and then another right into a well-appointed office. Addie perched on the edge of her chair with her portfolio on her lap, her small, hard-sided cherry clutch on top of that.
“Addie, let me first start by once again thanking you for coming in.”
“I was excited to receive your phone call.”
“That’s good to hear. The second thing I want you to know is that the other models involved in this project, who are also the writers, have agreed that you’re our missing piece.”
“I’m flattered, but I have to ask…writers?” Addie hoped she wouldn’t be expected to write anything. She hated writing.
Helen smiled. “Caught that, did you? If you do this, you’ll give those three a run for their money.” Helen stood and pulled a large book off the shelves to the left of her desk. She brought it back and placed it facedown on her blotter.
“What my company wants to produce is a book that is not only informative—hence the writing—but beautiful. It’s not an instructional book, or a guide for morons, it’s an art piece, maybe some would even call it a coffee-table book. It’s going to tell a story in both pictures and words about a world most people would never dare to be a part of.”
The fluttering in Addie’s stomach had morphed from excitement back to vague dread.
“And what is the subject of your book?” Addie asked slowly.
Their gazes met, held. “It’s BDSM.”
Addie’s breath released in a little rush and she looked own at her fingers, which were gripping her clutch bag so tightly the individual rhinestones were making impressions in the pads of her fingers.
“Do you know what that is?”
“Yes, it’s sex—porn—bondage, domination, uh, something else.”
“BDSM stands for bondage, domination, sadism and masochism.”
“Sadism?” Addie stood. She was trembling slightly, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the shock of hearing the seemingly innocuous Helen talk about sadism or raw anger that this was, as she expected, about porn. “Thank you very much for your time. I’m sorry, but I’m not the right person for your shoot. The photos you saw that made you call me were about lingerie. I’m not really into those things in the pictures. I’m certainly not into sadism.”
Addie turned on her heel and left Helen’s office. If she’d looked back, she might have seen Lane lurking just down the hall. If she’d waited in the lobby, she might have overheard the conversation between Lane and Helen.
“How much of that did you hear?” Helen asked.
“Most of it,” Lane said. “She didn’t reject BDSM altogether. She just was frightened by the sadism.”
“Who isn’t until they see it done right?” Helen shook her head. “I didn’t get to show her the book. She called the project porn, and if that’s how she thinks of it there’s no getting her on board now.”
“I don’t know.” Lane took the fetish book from Helen. “I’m going to talk to her. Don’t start looking for a different girl until I call you.”
“She has to be willing, Lane.”
Lane snorted. “I’m not Alton. I won’t scare her off. I just want to explain it to her, give her a chance to ask me some questions maybe.”
“Nothing related to BDSM itself—save that until there’s a camera around to capture her reactions.”
“Fine, no specifics, but I am going to ask her what she thinks it is. Did you catch that she said she wasn’t ‘really into those things’? That’s not a flat-out denial.”
“When you talk to her, make sure you explain that she’d be signing up for physical contact and some pain, but that there’s no sex, no intimacy. And show her how much we’d pay her.” Helen disappeared into her office and grabbed the modeling contract.
“Thanks.” Lane tapped the papers thoughtfully against his leg as a slow smile stretched across his mouth. “I’m going to get the girl.”
Addie hung her jacket on its padded hanger before slipping off the matching skirt. She carefully folded squares of tissue over the edges before clipping it to a hanger and putting skirt and jacket in her overflowing closet.
Wearing her bra, panties, garter and stockings, she slipped on a white silk robe painted with a stylized pinup doll on the back, a gift from an old boyfriend, and headed into the living room.
Addie’s apartment was a chaotic mix of fabric and knickknacks. She’d given up on a couch in order to make room for a craft table and sewing machines against the one wall with a window, so she dropped into the extra-large chair positioned in front of her TV. Lulu had given her the whole day off to meet with the modeling-job people.
“Modeling, my ass.” Addie picked up a vintage top from the basket beside her chair and thumbed open the little bottle of beads she’d found to match the beading on the shoulders. She’d cleaned and repaired the top, now all that was left was repairing the beadwork. When it was done she’d sell it. She could use the money…plus it was too small for her.
She was only ten beads in when there was a knock on the door. Figuring it was her neighbor, Mrs. Gardener, who liked to keep track of Addie since Mrs. Gardener’s own twenty-something grandkids were too far away for the old sweetheart to pester, Addie didn’t bother to get dressed.
She opened the door, but it wasn’t Mrs. Gardener on the other side.
A six-foot blond in a black leather jacket was leaning against the wall just outside her door.
Addie put her hand on the door, pulled it closed a little, prepared to shut it in his face if the situation went south.
“Can I help you?”
“Ade
lita?”
“Depends who’s asking. What do you want?”
He pushed away from the wall and stood in the doorway, invading her space. “I want to have a conversation with a pretty woman.”
“And I,” Addie put her finger in the center of his chest and pushed, “don’t trust pretty boys.”
Addie closed the door, but the man slid his foot between the door and the jamb. Addie jumped back, prepared to run for a phone and call 9-1-1 if he made a move she didn’t like.
He pushed the door open again and held up one hand. “I’m not coming in, I just thought you might like it if I didn’t say what I have to say through the door.”
Addie cocked her hip, felt the robe slide open a bit. “And what is it you have to say?”
The blond’s gaze had dropped to her breasts and the lacy bra that was peeking out from the widening slit in her robe.
“I’m working with C&C Productions.” He leaned against the doorjamb. A few locks of hair fell across his forehead as he tipped his head down and smiled at her. He was handsome, if a little too clean-cut for her taste. She liked her men to be tattooed retro gentlemen who could refurbish a car as well as they danced. This guy was frat-boy handsome all grown up and sexy, though if he was a porn star it was a clean-cut veneer over skanky man-whore interior.
“Oh.” Addie pulled her robe closed. “I already told the lady I wasn’t interested.”
“I’m one of the other models. I thought we could talk about it.”
“Listen, porn star, I’m not interested.
“I’m not a porn star. I’m a systems engineer.”
“You’re what?”
“A computer geek. It’s true. Here.” He fished his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a business card.
Addie took a tentative step closer and accepted the card.
Lane Therres
Systems Development
AIFO Consulting
“This is really you?” She held the card up. “Lane.”
“Yep. Lane Therres. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You’re a geek consultant.” Addie was still examining the card. Everything felt out of sync, as if she were dancing a half beat off the music. The blond—Lane—was a piece that didn’t fit with the day’s admittedly strange happenings.
He laughed lightly. “That sums it up. Maybe I should have that on the cards.”
“If this is really you, what are you doing modeling for porn? I think your geek boss will be upset.”
“I rarely interface with clients, I build systems on the back end. Plus, it’s not porn. It’s art.”
“And there’s a stack of ‘art’ pictures guys conned women into taking that end up as internet porn.”
“Can I show you something?”
“If you whip out your dick, I’m calling the cops.”
“No dick.” He looked over his shoulder. “I think.”
Addie lunged for her phone. “That’s it, alpha delta porno, I’m calling the cops.”
“Alpha what? There’s no need to call the cops.”
“The catchphrase of psycho porn stars everywhere, I’m sure. Deja.”
“Deja.” He rolled the word nicely. “That means ‘leave’, doesn’t it?”
“Very good. Buh-bye then.”
Lane ducked out of the doorway for a second and reappeared holding a book. “This is all I want to show you.” It looked like the same book Helen had tried to show her.
“Strangely, you haven’t left.”
“Weird, isn’t it? Can I come in?” He didn’t wait for her answer but stepped in, closing the door behind him. He made her happily cluttered apartment seem small.
Addie picked up a stone calavera—skull—decorated for Dia de los Muertos from the shelf at her shoulder. It easily weighed five pounds. “Do you regularly force your way into women’s apartments?”
“This is a first, actually.”
“I feel so special. It’s going to be even more special when I bash your head in.”
“With a sparkly skull? There’s some irony in there.”
Addie narrowed her eyes. “You’re making it hard to hate you.”
“I was socially inept until college, so thank you, it’s good to know the years of hard work learning to talk to women have paid off.”
“I’m still going to hit you. I’ll try to avoid your pretty-boy face.”
“The fact that I’m holding a conversation with a woman whose robe has come undone is even more amazing.”
Shit. Addie looked down and Lane jumped across the room, snatching the skull from her. Her robe was still in place, though it had slipped to one side, exposing her left breast in its leopard-and-cream lace bra. She pulled it in place and sighed. Lane was tossing the skull in the air and grinning.
“You’re in. I’m unarmed. What do you want?”
“Just to talk, and to show you this.” He held up the book.
“Fine, we’ll talk. Put down my skull.”
He set the jeweled piece on a table behind him. He looked around her living room, having the raised brow reaction most people did when they saw she had more sewing supplies than furniture.
“Have a seat,” Addie said. She curled into her armchair, tucking her robe securely under her legs so it wouldn’t slip, and motioned to the matching ottoman.
Lane sat then jumped up. “Fuck!” He picked up the beaded top she’d been working on. The needle was sticking up out of the fabric and had, predictably, found its way into his ass.
Addie’s lips twitched. “Pain in your ass?”
“Funny.” He set the sewing aside and swept his hand across the ottoman before sitting. “Maybe we should start over.” He held out his hand. “I’m Lane Therres.”
“Addie Sanchez.” His handshake was firm and very warm.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Addie. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“You mean fucking me, and it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to be part of your little porn.”
“I wouldn’t do porn either. I’m a normal guy. Well, sort of. The project Helen wants you for isn’t porn.”
“Then what is it?” Addie asked, exasperated.
“It’s probably easier to show you.” He held out the book. “This is the last project C&C did. It’s an informational book of sorts. It’s got stories, explanations and most importantly, photos.”
Addie flipped open the book.
Foot Fetish—The Sole of Devotion.
“This is a book about foot fetishes?”
“Yes. Don’t freak out, just turn the page.”
She raised a brow. “Do I look like the kind of woman who freaks out?”
“Fair point.”
Addie flipped the glossy page and skimmed the first few lines of text. It talked about the history of foot fetishism, the beauty of the fetish, the variations that were possible. “This makes it sound like the only way to show someone you love them is to,” she skimmed the page, “lick their shoes.”
“That’s how some people feel.”
She skipped the next pages of text, stopping when she got to the first photo. It was a full-page black-and-white image of a woman’s calf and foot. A glossy, black high heel dangled from her toes.
The next image was the same woman’s foot, but now a man was kissing it. In the next photo he licked the side of the shoe. Another flip and the man was licking the sole of her bare foot.
The images were beautiful, well lit and composed, yet clearly sexual.
It wasn’t porn.
“This is all it is, pictures of men licking chicks’ feet?”
“Well, no, it gets more explicit than that.”
Lane reached over to flip the pages, his fingers brushing hers as he did. They both looked up, gazes holding for a moment. His eyes were blue, and more intense than his laid-back manner would have suggested.
Addie looked away first.
Sliding his thumb between the thick pages, he opened it near the back. The toe of a
woman’s glossy purple boot was balanced on the tensed swell of a man’s ass. The spiked heel of the boot pressed into his balls.
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
“Men like this?” Addie knew a little about foot fetish from pop culture, but this was something entirely different.
“Some do.”
“Do you?”
“No, not my thing.”
“And BDSM is?” She couldn’t imagine this easygoing guy as some sort of sexual dominant.
“Yes.”
“Sadism? Is this sadism?” She pointed to the about-to-be-impaled balls.
“Some would say it was. In this case it’s all part of the foot fetish.”
Addie slapped the book closed, shoved it into Lane’s lap and stood. “That’s fine and I hope he’s happy living with one cojone, but I don’t know anything about this freaky sex stuff.”
“Nothing?” Lane raised one eyebrow and half smiled. “No one knows nothing about it.”
“Letting a boyfriend tie me up isn’t the same as that. And I’m not into sadism.”
“You just admitted you don’t even know what it means.”
“Exactly. You all saw those pictures and thought I was some little thing who liked getting told what to do.” Addie put her hand on her hip and met Lane’s gaze. This time she refused to look away. “I’m no submissive.”
Lane set the book down in the chair she’d vacated. “Can we back up a second? First, will you agree that this isn’t porn?”
“Fine. It’s not porn. The photographs are beautiful.”
“Good. Would you like to know why Helen called you, when she knew—she did check—that you weren’t active in the BDSM scene?”
“Yes, I would.”
Lane stretched out one leg, propped an elbow on the other. “The BDSM project is going to follow one woman, beautiful and sexy of course, as she’s introduced to BDSM and all its variations and ways to play.
“Helen called you because you aren’t a professional and because you don’t know much about it. The photographer will capture your reactions as you’re introduced to each new experience.”
What he was describing sounded strangely beautiful. It was a trap.
