The lounge had several seating areas situated around a circular, stone fireplace that was centered in the room. I was relieved to see a fully stocked bar in the corner. I had a feeling I would be needing a drink or two to get me through this mysterious assignment. Before he left me to get situated, the clerk handed me a gift bag that he took from behind the bar.
“This is for you, Ms. de Champion. I believe it is from your sponsor. I will leave you now. If you require any assistance, the phone to the desk is here. My name is Jean-Claude by the way.” He pointed to one of the side tables against the wall and with a curt nod, left me to explore my new surroundings. I swear he looked familiar…
First things first, I went to the bar and poured a large tumbler of whisky. I took my drink and gift bag over to a leather lounger next to the fireplace. I unzipped my five-inch heeled booties and rubbed my throbbing, swollen feet.
I swore off high heels as I had a zillion times before and took a hefty swig of the whisky. It was smooth and velvety going down my throat. The Canadians did make a fine whisky.
Peeking into the gift bag, I pulled out a weathered, leather box. It looked and felt like rich, seasoned hide. I turned the brass clasp and pried it open.
My nose took a whiff of the faded velvet lining, it smelled like it had been closed for a hundred years, and not in a good way. I sneezed in a fit.
Was this some kind of joke?
I took another gulp of the liquid fire when the sneezes abated and looked at the contents of the box.
What took me by surprise was the camera that was housed inside. It was a bespoke, camera casing that was at least one hundred years old. On the front was stamped with what looked like a black widow spider with two ruby eyes. It looked to have been retrofitted with a digital camera within, complete with drives that could transfer pictures easily to the Every-Gram sites I knew so well.
As I checked out the features, I noticed an envelope that had been tucked under the camera. It was addressed to me. Finally, maybe I can find out who this elusive sponsor is. I tore open the envelope and took out the letter inside. It was written in an elaborate, cursive font that was a bit hard to decipher. It read:
Dear Monique,
I trust you have safely arrived if you’re reading this letter. I do hope you don’t mind the chill in the air. I’ve always found it motivational to have models work during winter. Their skinny frames are so thin, they will follow directions better to get out of the cold (*wink*).
I hope you find the camera to your satisfaction. As you can see, the casing is very old and extremely valuable. It belonged to the estate of Madame C herself. It is rumored to have been used when she started her fashion empire. It was gifted to her by one of her many admirers who teased the young designer that she was like a black widow, who sucked her men dry and went on to the next benefactor.
Mode de Veuve Noire aka Black Widow Fashion was their private, little joke.
I request that all photos of your sessions with the models be taken exclusively with this camera. I am requesting that you turn your phone over to the front desk for safe keeping until the shoot is completed. There will be four models arriving for your session. They will be bringing their clothes and accessories to be used for the shoots. The outfits have been tagged and coordinated. I am aware of your fashion reputation, but I must insist, no deviations are to be made.
A special room has been designed for your sessions with the models. The room has different set vignettes that have been carved from ice especially for your use. The room is located next door to the lounge. You may enter by the doorway next to the bar.
Please, no pictures are to be taken outside of this room.
Before you explore your set, please burn these instructions in the fire in front of you, and remember, surrender your phone to the front desk.
If you comply with these instructions, you will receive a bonus and perhaps another assignment in due time. I’m watching you…
Good evening, Monique.
GB
The last words of the letter sent chills down my spine—the thought of receiving a nice bonus was a motivation for me, but was I really being watched in this ice tomb by the elusive GB?
Thunder cracked overhead once again. The lights flickered and for a moment the only light in the room was from the fire. Shadows from the flames lined the wall by the door looking like dark ghosts. I shuddered and gulped down the remaining contents of my tumbler.
I decided to go to my locker and change into my Uggies. If I was going to have to walk back to the lobby, I sure wasn’t going in five-inch heels this go-round. I placed the letter and envelope in the flames as instructed, watching them burn with a slight hiss.
Once I’d slipped on the Uggies (boots only a mother could love but so comfy) and put the camera box into the locker, I wrapped my coat around me and headed to the lobby.
I could hear the storm more clearly as I traversed the main corridor. I followed the curves and soon made it to the front desk. Jean-Claude was there, once again absorbed in his computer screen.
He looked up when he saw me walk over. “May I assist you, Ms. de Champion?”
“I’m supposed to surrender my phone to you for safe keeping.” I pulled my lifeline from my pocket and handed it to him. “Any word on when the models are arriving?”
Thunder crashed outside once again.
“They will be arriving within the hour. I’m sure you will see them in the common area. Dinner will be served in the dining hall at eight. I think you better take one of these,” he said, handing me a flashlight, “the lights seem a bit temperamental this evening.”
I thanked him and walked back to the lounge. I poured myself another whisky and decided to explore the set room where I’d be taking pictures. I was anxious to see what kind of icy vignettes had been prepared. I opened the door by the bar and went into the darkened room.
It took my eyes a minute to adjust to the lighting. I was impressed that the lights seemed to be on some type of motion sensor—they illuminated a vignette when you got close and dimmed as you walked away. I marveled at the artistry of each of the settings.
It was a bit on the eerie side, bedazzled skulls, icicles hanging precariously, shattered ice with ghostly faces. I wasn’t so sure these settings would sell to the money-laden snow bunnies, but as long as I turned over the photos to the mysterious BG, I didn’t really care.
I heard voices in the lounge next door and breathed a sigh of relief—I was getting kind of spooked being the only person here except for Jean-Claude.
Entering the lounge, I saw the four models sitting by the fire enjoying a glass of merlot. They stopped their chatter when I came closer. We sized each other up in a moment of silence. I blinked my eyes a couple of times.
The four models looked identical to me—long, lithe bodies; coal-black hair cut in a blunt bob; pale, pink skin; red lips; and dark, mascara-laden eyes. They were even dressed in similar outfits. White, linen shirts, black, pleated pants and strands and strands of pearls.
How was I supposed to have a VIP shoot with models who all looked the same?
The model closest to me broke the ice. “You must be Monique. Come join us. I’m Caroline. Olivia, pour our new bon ami a glass.”
I dragged a chair over next to Caroline. I shook hands with her and Olivia as she handed me my glass of wine. I then was introduced to Catherine and finally Octavia.
Thunder clapped loudly, shaking the room, and causing the girls to break into giggles. The lights flickered and then went permanently off, leaving only the flames to light our space. I took a large gulp of wine.
“You’re not scared, are you, Monique?” Octavia asked. Boom! Cackled the sky.
“No, just a bit rattled from the ice, thunder and lightning. I thought we were going to have a blizzard, not a freak, ice storm.”
“Oh, there’s a blizzard coming. Our plane was the final flight this evening. I expect we’ll be stuck here for some time,” Catherine chirped.
&n
bsp; “Where did you fly in from?”
“Why, Paris, of course. We are four of the top models in our clique. The top designers are always wanting us for their shoots and shows.”
“Really, who do you work for? I’m sorry, but I’m a bit short on details for this assignment.” The models suddenly became very quiet and stared into the fire. Caroline took a sip of her wine and turned to me.
“We don’t know who employs us. We’re sent our assignments every weekend. A courier delivers an embossed letter to us like clockwork. The pay is fantastic and we’re always given five-star treatment.” The models nodded in agreement.
“That’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, don’t you use smartphones? I would assume most models are glued to their screens looking for texts or emails for their next assignments. Do you happen to have the letter that assigned you here?”
The girls looked at me quizzically as if they didn’t understand what I was talking about. After a somewhat awkward pause, Olivia reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope and passed it to me.
The envelope and letter were addressed and written in what looked like the same elegant cursive script that my letter that came with the ancient camera had. The instructions seemed detailed and to the point. There were no mysterious initials, but the embossment was extremely familiar. It was a spider with two, red crystals placed as its eyes.
As I held the letter, the models seemed to glare at me, sending a shiver down my spine. I threw the letter back to Olivia—I didn’t want to touch it anymore. They laughed when I recoiled back in my chair. I took another gulp of wine.
“What is it, Monique? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Catherine chittered. I swirled the wine in my glass.
“Not a ghost, a spider. I’m just a little shook. I need one of my pink pills.”
“Ooh, we have red ones—would you like one?” Octavia pulled a bottle from her pant pocket. It had a crystal topper that sparkled in the firelight. The red pills looked like rubies.
“What are they?”
“Who knows? We get them every now and then when our assignment letter arrives. They make you feel like you’re floating on air. Here, take one.”
Octavia pinched a pill from the bottle and handed it to me. I looked at it in my hand, it seemed to almost glow. Before I knew it, I popped it into my mouth and swallowed it down with a drink of wine. The magic red pill kicked in immediately—I was liking this feeling, a lot.
At dinner that evening (steaks flambéed at the table slathered with rich butter) we tucked into the delicious meal with gusto.
The models had quite the appetite and had no qualms about asking for more rich sauce. I was amazed they were able to maintain their slim frames.
As the wine flowed, their giggles became louder and more frequent—annoying really. As my eyes observed them in my fuzzy oblivion, it seemed as if I were watching clones mimic each other. Their resemblance and mannerisms seemed to be identical. How was I supposed to get stellar photos with four models who could be the same girl?
“I was wondering, are you quadruplets? I mean, you gotta admit you look the same. Do any of the influencers or designers ever comment on this? How am I supposed to feature the different outfits with identical models?”
The girls looked at me and stared. Their giggling stopped and I could tell they were a tad upset with my comments. Surely I wasn’t the first person to say something to them.
“Don’t let our appearance worry you, Monique. I promise, once you start taking the pictures, our personalities will emerge. We won’t be so identical anymore.”
Their eyes focused on me, like dark lasers decimating my innards. I was starting to feel queasy. I knew that it was time to call it a night. I had a big day tomorrow, I didn’t want to let their displeasure with my comments get to me. I needed my A game intact.
“I look forward to it ladies. See you in the morning. Be ready for a busy day.”
I stood and gave a half-hearted finger wave as I left the table and headed to the bath area. The models had remained silent, I could feel their icy stares hit me in the back as I departed.
Washing up, I changed into my long johns and socks, not particularly looking forward to sleeping on a cold block of ice even if it was covered in reindeer fur.
I quickly walked back through the corridor to my room. The icy hallway seemed to be creaking and groaning. The thunder had tapered off, but I began to wonder if the lightning had somehow damaged the ice structure, framework.
When I reached my room, I closed the curtained entry once I was inside. I wrapped my sleeping bag with the quilts and zipped myself inside my puffer cocoon.
The strangeness of the day slipped away as I fell fast asleep.
The ice continued its groaning in the dark.
The next morning, I woke early and made haste to the common room to change. I was excited for the new day, my attitude propped up by the perky pink pill I popped first thing. I dressed in my trés chic yoga attire. The comfy sweatshirt and stretchy pants would allow me to move with ease to take the pictures.
I grabbed a coffee and roll and decided to venture into the icy, vignette room to get set up. I had my vintage/modern camera charged and ready to go.
To my surprise, the four models were already there, dressed in their first outfits of the day. The tensions of the evening before seemed to have melted away, perhaps assisted by the little, red pills.
“Bonjour, Monique. We are ready for you. What do you think?” Caroline called, as they walked over to me.
The snow bunny outfits were unlike anything I had seen before. The colors, patterns and use of fur (faux, of course) and gems added an over-the-top elegance to the designs that would be sure to catch the eyes of the women with too much money to spend.
Caroline dazzled in a metallic, silver, ski jumpsuit, fitted impeccably, and cinched at the waist with a gem-laden belt.
Olivia was stunning in a black turtleneck and A-line, fur, maxi skirt made from dark, rich, faux pelts—the rich colors highlighted with cherry-red, suede boots.
Catherine wore a lime-green, maxi, puffer coat that was trimmed in faux jewels along the hem that sparkled in the lights.
Octavia looked like a crème puff attired in a soft, pink, fur vest with matching hat and mittens accenting leopard-print ski pants.
Their hair and makeup were done to perfection. For the first time in a long time, I felt the spark of inspiration that had ignited my career as a fashion influencer so long ago. I felt light as a feather and soon had each of the models posing in the different set vignettes.
The evening before I thought the skulls and shards seemed a bit scary. Under the lights with the beautiful outfits, they took on more of an edgy ambiance.
The models were right—when they were on set their personalities emerged, giving them each a distinctive look.
Caroline oozed out of this world romance, Olivia slinked dark and moody, Catherine hammered rock star glam, and Octavia purred with sex appeal.
The camera seemed to have a mind of its own, clicking away at times before I knew it. I checked the pictures during breaks—whether it was me or the camera, I didn’t care.
The shots were off the charts good.
Our momentum was such that we worked through the day and long into the night until dawn the following day. The hotel staff had brought food and drink into the set room, but our frenzy was such we barely touched the tempting yummies and libations.
Excitement and beautiful clothes nourished our souls, aided by a few pops of the pink and red pills.
When we finally finished, we hugged and giggled to no end. It had been a fabulous session—one that I was sure would reignite my career and end the wretched curse.
The models air kissed my cheeks and left the set room to take a well-deserved sleep. I was too hyped on adrenaline. I wanted this feeling of success to stay with me—it was intoxicating. The world had to see the new me!
I decided to venture out of the hotel and go out on the frozen
river to capture the magnificence of the ice hotel setting. I knew I wasn’t supposed to take pictures with the camera outside of the room but surely one or two photos to capture ‘where it all happened’ would be forgiven by the mysterious GB.
The icy storm that had haunted the city had dissipated, leaving shards of sun rays breaking through the dark clouds. The air was electrifying—clean and cold and rejuvenating.
There was no one around during the early hours of dawn. I planned to take a few pictures and then collapse in ecstasy on my bed of ice.
I walked slowly out onto frozen river, careful to watch for any cracks. It seemed solid—the storm didn’t appear to have caused any melting. I kept creeping out farther and farther to get the right, panoramic shot.
The hotel’s icy skyline glistened in the early sunlight. I finally had the perfect shot, aimed, and clicked…
The first crack of the ice was imperceptible to my ears. As I shifted my weight for another shot, I heard the next crack beneath me. I looked down and froze in place.
Second by second the cracks grew, spreading out like an eerie, spider web. I felt a sharp tingle when my skin hit the water.
I screamed but no one was around to hear me. The current of the river flowed fast and furious. I was swept down river, banging on the ice above me until it no longer mattered.
Where was I? I felt nothing but seemed to be floating in the air above the river.
A man dressed in a chauffeur uniform slowly slid out to where I had fallen through the ice, picking up the ancient camera that sat, silently waiting.
He carried it to the shore where to my surprise, the vengeful aunt that had cursed my life stood next to the young teen I had assumed had died. I hovered over them, listening.
“Merci, Jean-Claude. I assume everything is in order?”
“Everything has been completed, Madame.”
Tangled Webs Page 11
