I got hired at a modeling agency; things got weird
It was three months into the school year, and I was already unravelling. The combination of admin being on my ass and my illiterate students caused icy bitterness to replace the blood in my veins. My wife, Wren, saw the stress slowly replacing my skin and suggested we take a day to go to the beach. Of course, I protested; I still had thirty worksheets to grade. She refused to take no for an answer, and before I knew it, we were at the beach in matching sage green bikinis.
I sat on my tattered beach chair while Wren tanned on a towel next to me. "Close your laptop," she said, "it'll overheat."
"I have to answer these emails," I replied as my fingers danced across my keyboard. I hit send and immediately opened my next unread message.
After catching my daughter reading an inappropriate book, I investigated the complete list of books you assigned your students. I am APPALLED at the blasphemous and borderline pornographic books you've suggested to your students. I will be contacting the administration about this to ensure you suffer the fullest consequences.
Sincerely,
Emma's mother.
I closed my laptop with a deep sigh.
"That bad?" Wren asked as she sat up and took off her tortoise-shell sunglasses.
"It's actually my fault for thinking The Picture of Dorian Gray was a suitable book for seventeen-year-olds." I scoffed.
"I thought this state loved the gays."
"Not anymore, it doesn't." I stood up. "I'm going to the bathroom."
Wren pointed at the calm ocean waves. "Bathroom's that way."
Before I could walk to the nearest crab-shack, a man in a three-piece suit and a briefcase approached us.
"Excuse me," he said. "I'm sorry to bother you ladies, but I couldn't help but notice how beautiful you both are."
Wren and I shared a quick look. "Thank you?" I said tentatively.
He put the palm of his hand on his chest. "My name is Howard. I run a local modeling company, and you ladies would be perfect models for our website."
"Modeling?" Wren questioned as she stood up.
"Modeling! Say, what size shoe do you ladies wear?"
"Um," I started, glancing at Wren again, trying to gauge if she was as weirded out as I was. "We both wear a seven and a half."
"PERFECT! My company could use girls like you. With compensation, obviously."
That made my ears perk up. "How much?"
"Our rates start at twelve hundred an hour, always paid in cash."
My jaw dropped. "And what would we be doing?"
"I run a website dedicated to highlighting the different aspects of beauty. We are currently focusing on legs and feet." Howard handed me a business card. "Give us a call if you're interested. We'll set up a date for us to pick you up and take you to the studio."
"You'll pick us up?"
"We send a car for all our models." With that, he walked away.
"There's no way we're doing it, right?" Wren asked.
I took out my phone to search for the website. It sounded like a twenty-year-old tech billionaire's failed AI project. "It has good reviews." I scrolled through the monochromatic interface, filled with women's arms in long latex gloves and feet in heels so high they looked like weapons. A tab for men was available, though with a significantly smaller supply. Below, the tab directing you to the about section was a password-protected 'exclusive' tab. "The website seems legit."
When we got home, I immediately called the number on the business card. A disembodied woman asked if I was buying or selling. "Selling?" I answered. "Howard approached my wife and me today."
I heard some typing on the other end of the line. "What's your address?"
As I told her, my wife looked at me from across our kitchen in utter disbelief.
More typing. "We'll send a car tomorrow at nine p.m."
She hung up before I could say anything else.
"You're not serious," Wren demanded.
"If you don't want to come with me, that's fine, but I'm not gonna pass up this opportunity."
She pressed her tongue on the inside of her cheek. "I don't like this."
"I don't like living off a teacher's salary." I took an energy drink out of the fridge to help me finish grading my class's worksheets while Wren left the kitchen with a huff of disapproval.
A black van stopped in front of our house. The back door opened, revealing two empty seats in the almost-full vehicle. "At least we aren't alone," I whispered.
After making sure I had my wallet and pepper spray, I stepped into the van.
"Fresh meat," the woman to my left said.
"Excuse me?" Wren barked at her.
I put my hand on my back to signal that maybe it wasn't the best time to get into a fight.
"You're new. Fresh. Meat."
I cleared my throat as the inside of the van began to close in. "What's your name?" I needed at least one friend there, and she was the first person to acknowledge me.
"Crystal. And you are?"
"Alice." I pointed my thumb at my partner. "Wren."
"Howie got a two-for-one deal with y'all," Crystal smiled. "Roommates or fruits? Or both?"
I pressed down on Wren's shoulder, keeping her from getting out of her seat. "I take it you've worked here for a while then."
She nodded. "We all have."
I looked at all the women in the back row—different ages, races, and sexes assigned at birth.
"So you like working here then?"
She shrugged. "It pays the bills. It pays for designer." She ran her fingertips across her chest, flaunting her Chanel necklace. "Can't complain."
We spent the rest of the ride in silence.
Howard greeted us as we entered the studio. "Welcome back, ladies. We have some new members joining us, so make sure to be welcoming." A short man in a black polo and khakis handed him a clipboard before walking away. "Let's see here." He put on thin-framed glasses, accentuating his beady little blue eyes. "Crystal, Daisy, and Amber, you're with Fred. Cherry and Jade, you're with George. Alice and Wren, you're with Dave." He clapped his hands and walked over to us. "Everyone to their places. Chop-chop."
Wren grabbed my hand and squeezed. "Where exactly are we going?" she asked as everyone dispersed.
Howard smiled. "Room 106! Depending on what we're shooting, you'll be either in a room or outside in the parking lot. Today we'll start simple. Follow me."
We followed him to a room with pretty standard photography equipment. Soft box lighting kits illuminated a grey leather couch that stood at the center of a white backdrop. "Dave, meet our new girls," Howard said while the photographer messed with his camera. "I'm going to check on the rest of our ladies. You kids, play nice now."
Dave looked at us with a sinister gleam in his eyes. "Nice," he laughed darkly. He crouched down to get a closer look at our legs. "You have a birthmark," he said as he poked the side of my right ankle. "Do you want us to cover it?"
"No, it's fine," I responded, not seeing the danger in such a small mark being visible.
He set his camera on the tripod and beckoned us over to the couch, where he handed us a pair of black thongs. "Put this on."
I did as directed; Wren begrudgingly followed. As a silent command, he handed us hot pink stilettos.
"Alright, let's get started. For now, just do what feels natural."
With no other direction, I crossed my legs. Blinding flashes of light erupted in the already bright room. Metallic clicks filled my ears as Dave took the photos.
"Niceeee."
As I tried a few other positions, I noticed Wren wasn't moving. I thought she just wasn't sure how to pose. "Just do what I do," I said, trying to be encouraging.
"Right, 'cause you're such an expert," she retorted.
With a sigh, I lay on my back and raised my legs so they were completely vertical, prompting Wren to do the same.
"Hold that. Don't move a fucking millimeter," he said as the camera shutter sang.
Finally, an hour had passed. Howard came back and gave us our payment—in cash as promised. "Same time tomorrow?"
The following gigs were pretty standard. After a long day of teaching and grading papers, I'd put on heels, ballet slippers, or Doc Martens and pose to show off my legs or feet, depending on the day. Sometimes we even shot close-ups of our knees. We wore fishnets or sheer tights here and there, but Howard said our viewers preferred to see as much of our skin as possible. I wasn't going to complain when we were getting free routine pedicures.
Crystal and I had begun getting close. After my first week, she invited me out for drinks after a shoot. "How's Howie treating you?" she asked before taking a sip of her Aperol spritz.
"Good," I answered. "Will that change?"
She shrugged. "How long have you and your wifey been together?"
"Five years."
"You're lucky you were recruited together. This job isn't something you can easily explain."
"It's just modeling."
"For now."
The money we were earning went to the typical bills, car payments, and student loans, leaving us enough to enjoy the quiet luxuries of a morning Starbucks coffee and brand-name groceries. Though I couldn't help but feel twinges of jealousy when Crystal would show me the new designer clothes and jewelry she bought.
I asked Howard about how Wren and I could increase our earnings, and as soon as the words left my mouth, a sinister smile spread across his face. He led us to the studio's parking lot, where our usual white backdrop was set up. "This is where we film our more exclusive content," Howard said as groups of what I had since learned were interns filled a plastic bin with a viscous red liquid.
"What's that?" I asked.
"That," Howard said, "is the blood you're going to be dipping your feet into."
"You're not serious," I exhaled with a nervous smile.
Howard smoothed the front of his blazer with his pale hands. "It's very simple. All you have to do is dip your feet inside, move around a bit- very simple. There's a huge market for it—it's over-saturated, actually. But we're the top site for a reason."
"Absolutely not." Wren angrily grabbed my wrist. "We're leaving." She started walking, but I didn't move. "We are leaving, aren't we?"
Howard smirked. "You're free to go, Alice, but it's double the pay for so little work. And it only gets better from here."
I looked at the pool of blood and only saw money signs. "Where exactly did the blood come from?" I asked as if that would make things better.
"A local butcher."
I weighed my options; I could leave penniless or shoot a simple video.
I pulled away from Wren's grasp and said, pathetically, "I'll see you at home."
Wren had stopped modeling with me despite my efforts to prove my side hustle was worth it. Instead, she took extra shifts at the coffee shop she worked at—I think mostly to avoid seeing me.
The shoots started progressively getting more intense. Tarantulas and snakes were placed under the thread of my fishnets. Hissing cockroaches roamed the expanse of my legs.
After a scene involving hundreds of acupuncture needles, Crystal and I went out for a midnight snack; one of Howard's many drivers took us to a local fast food joint.
"You're lucky we're not filming your face," Crystal said with a mouthful of fries.
"Why's that?" I asked, picking at my grilled chicken sandwich. Since Howard implied our viewers would rate my content higher if I lost a few pounds, I had been watching what I ate.
"You look terrible."
I groaned as my hands rubbed the side of my face. Deep purple eye bags started to push through the skin of my face. "I know, I know. I haven't been sleeping lately."
"Nightmares?"
"I can still feel last week's centipedes."
"You need to relax, girl. How's wifey?"
"Still not happy with me." I sighed. "Maybe she's right. We were doing fine before; maybe I should quit."
"Maybe you should."
I didn't. Not that night anyway.
Instead, I bought new swimsuits and dragged Wren to the beach. I lay in the sand with her and watched the ebb and flow of ocean waves. Sitting in new beach chairs, we drank Smirnoffs and compared seashell collections. For a moment, things felt normal.
We were walking along the shore when a football landed at our feet.
I saw one of my students jog up to me. "Sorry about that," he said. When he leaned down to pick it up, he jolted backwards, his face turning a sickening white before he sprinted away. I looked down, thinking he saw a crab or bug of sorts, but all I saw was my right ankle.
One night, as usual, I entered the studio, following Howard to the parking lot. I noticed the camera wasn't at its usual height; instead, it was much lower. "We're gonna try something new today," he said before taking a kiwi out of his pocket and unceremoniously dropping it onto the ground. With an aggressive stomp, he crushed the fruit; seeds and green flesh splattered on the pavement. "Simple enough?"
I nodded. I could see the appeal, for the ASMR, if not fetish purposes.
Dave handed me a pair of incredibly uncomfortable Louboutins and positioned me in front of the camera. An intern holding a cardboard dumped the contents at my feet.
Guinea pigs.
"Alright, let's get this show on the road," Dave said so incredibly casually. Interns stood crouched at both ends of the set to keep them from escaping.
Howard saw the confusion on my face. "Just like I showed you," he said with a dark smile.
I was absolutely stunned. "There's no way you're serious," I laughed, hoping this was all a big joke.
"Our clients pay top dollar for premium content."
"No fucking way," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
"It's a thousand for each one."
I looked at the small creatures innocently roaming around.
Six thousand.
I shook my head and kicked off my shoes. "I'm done."
"You're always welcome back if you change your mind. Just give us a call." Howard handed me another business card, this time with a different number.
As I stormed off, I swore I heard him say, "You'll be back."
Wren was ecstatic when I told her I quit.
The rest of the fall semester passed, and I had almost forgotten about the whole thing.
I was cleaning out my purse when Howard's business card fell out. I went to throw it away until I realized I had never read the back. There was a password. My eyes widened. Quickly, I pulled out my phone and searched for the company; I entered the password for the exclusive tab.
Innocent thumbnails and gruesome titles greeted me.
Frog Stomp
Roach Crush
Kitten Squish
Each video had at least a four-star rating.
I thought I was lucky for quitting when I did.
Like she does every month, Wren went to visit her mom in the next town over.
Meanwhile, I was barely getting through my lesson on Fahrenheit-451. On my lunch break, I checked my emails and saw one from my boss Linda, saying I needed to attend an urgent meeting with her at the end of the day. The rest of the day passed far too quickly.
"Good afternoon, Alice," greeted Linda. "You know Emma's mother, I assume."
I turned to the woman sitting in the grey office chair. "Yes, of course." I gave a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "We've spoken many times." I sat in the chair next to her and looked back at Linda. "What's this about?"
"Can you explain the reading list you gave your students?"
Fuck my life, I thought. "Yes, ma'am. This year, my students have an AP exam in which they write an essay based on a book of their choosing. I gave a list of college-level books for them to choose from."
"Can you list some of these books, please?"
"There's 1984, Invisible Man, The Picture of Dorian Gray—"
"That one," interrupted Emma's mother. "That's the one my daughter was reading. I looked into it, and it was HIGHLY inappropriate."
I cleared my throat. "Your child is in a college-level class, and therefore she'll be exposed to more mature literature. If you have an issue with that particular book, Emma has plenty more to choose from."
"Exactly my point. The books you have suggested are PORNOGRAPHIC, like that, Lo-Lolita one."
I clenched my fists as Linda started speaking. "What exactly is the issue?"
"The book is LITERALLY about pedophilia. It's absolutely ridiculous."
"Alice, is this true?"
I swallowed the lump beginning to form in my throat. There was no way for me to win this."The book follows an adult character who has an inappropriate attraction to children, which the book in no way glamorizes or encourages." I blinked away the tears beginning to form. "It's on the official reading list for AP Literature."
Linda sighed. "Regardless, you've gotten many complaints from parents these past few years, especially regarding the GSA club you run. Now, I defended you in the past, but we've had too many parents share concern about your influence on our students. I will, unfortunately, have to terminate your contract effective immediately. Please have your room cleared before you leave.
The rest of the day was a blur. One moment I was in Linda’s office, and the next I was on my couch crying. I called Wren hundreds of times, only to be continuously left on voicemail. I thought the day couldn't get any worse until I got a call from her mother. As soon as I accepted the call, I was met with uncontrollable sobbing. My heart immediately started racing."What's wrong?"
"Where-where are you?" her mom sobbed.
"Home. Why? What's wrong? Is Wren with you?"
"She's in the hospital."
My blood ran cold. I felt my face turn white. "What?"
"Get down here as soon as you can."
Inside the sterile hospital room, I saw something that looked like my wife. Except she never slept on her back. Needles and tubes were shoved throughout her entire body. Her brown skin was abnormally pale. Not sun-kissed with gorgeous tan lines. She didn't even smell like herself.
Her mom and doctor explained what happened.
A hit-and-run.
Not sure when or if she'll wake up.
The cost.
God, the bills.
We had money saved, but it was nowhere near enough to cover the extent of her injuries. For what I put her through, I owed her the best care I could buy.
I excused myself to the hallway and rummaged through my purse until I found it. I called the number and was greeted by Howard's voice. "I knew you'd be back."
"Six thousand isn't enough, Howard."
"I'm nothing if not accommodating."
Dave handed me a pair of chunky black combat boots and led me to the man tied up on the ground. Patches of grey hair grew on his otherwise bald head. Liver spots created constellations on his aged face. His clothes had a layer of dirt and reeked of cigarettes. His screaming was muffled by the duct tape covering his mouth.
"I believe fifty thousand is a more than suitable offer," Howard said.
"Seventy-five thousand," I demanded.
His eyes widened; an almost proud look spread across his face. "Deal. Now, just like we discussed."
Dave started the camera.
I rubbed the front of my boot over the side of the man's face until I reached his temple. I lifted my right foot and, with no hesitation, dropped it down. The man grunted with each impact; blood spurted onto the asphalt and the top of my leg. I looked down to see shattered pieces of teeth that shot out of his mouth. His skull caved in with wet cracks that made my stomach turn. With each stomp, my foot got closer to the ground until I finally stepped into a pool of pure flesh and brain matter.
Once the camera turned off, I collapsed, dry heaving as sweat dripped down the sides of my face.
I felt Howard approaching me, and without even looking at him, I knew he was smiling. He dropped the cash in front of me. "Well done. I'm sure Wren will be thankful."
I took the money and stood up. With nothing left of my humanity, I asked, "Same time tomorrow?"