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The Stranger
The camera flashes went off in her eyes, but as usual, Victoria maintained a fixed expressionless face as she walked down the catwalk in the revealing lingerie she was modeling. She didn't mind that it revealed her nipples and was ever so slightly revealing in the panties area, what she minded were those damn camera flashes. She reached the end of the catwalk, and hands on hips, she shifted her balance from one foot to the other for all the audience to see. The stage director had told her to make sure she stood exactly on that spot so that the fan would blow her long hair backwards, creating a stunning effect with the lights beaming on her body and face.
She was at the peak of her career, no other model commanded the kind of fees she did, or garnered as much attention from the press. Her slender body was plastered all over the tabloid newspapers daily, with rumors of her having a relationship with some celebrity or other. But the sad thing was, most of those men quite simply bored her. She had, had only two dreams during her childhood. One was to be a model, and the other was to be with a man who truly knew how to treat her; not pander to her and give her everything she wanted at that moment, but a real man that knew how to achieve a fine balance between kindness and cruelty, while being able to satisfy her secret desires that she never spoke of. Model friends of hers in the industry had asked her exactly how any man would be able to satisfy her desires if he didn't know what they were in the first place, to which she had simply replied,
“The right man will instinctively know what I desire, and if he doesn't, he'll be able to force the answer out of me.”
Her statement had led to raised eyebrows in the dressing room, but quite a few of the girls would privately tell her they wished they could find the same thing. But up until that point in her life, she'd never found such a man; most men almost quite literally drooled over her, and would go through the usual motions of dinner, flowers, and compliments that she really didn't need. Even some of the ones that seemed like good prospects at first, would soon fall under her spell, and as they did, she'd quickly lose any desire for them that she once may have had.
Victoria walked back off the stage, and then returned with the other girls for the final curtain call. When it was all done, and the cheers had subsided, she changed into her normal clothes and donned her baseball cap that she always wore so she could hide her face by hanging her head down if she didn't want to be recognized in public. Saying goodbye to Cindy - her long time model friend - she went outside onto the wet London streets and hailed a taxi to take her back to the Grosvenor hotel on Buckingham Palace Road where she was staying. Across the road she noticed a long black limousine, parked parallel to her. She just caught a glimpse of the window rolling upwards, and made out the shadowy figure of a man inside. Thinking nothing of it, she got into the black taxi as it did a U-turn and pulled-up in front of her.
“Where to miss?” Asked the middle aged and slightly podgy cab driver.
“The Grosvenor.” She replied, trying not to let the driver catch a full view of her face in the rear-view mirror, but it was too late,
“Ere! Ain't you that there famous model?” He suddenly said in his thick Cockney accent, turning around to get a good look at her.
Victoria tried to stifle a sigh, and simply allowed the sound of it to form into her answer “Yeah. I am.”
Surprisingly to her, the driver seemed satisfied enough, and silently went on driving. It was quite a different reaction to what she'd get in her hometown of New York. Once cab drivers recognized her, they'd then make sure to talk to her for the next forty minutes non-stop. But the English were different. They were classy like that, fame didn't seem to impress them as much. She guessed it was something to do with the well known 'English reserve'. The taxi pulled up at the hotel and Victoria made sure to tip the driver as a thanks for not asking her all the same questions she usually got asked. A doorman walked over to car and opened the taxi door for her; and with an umbrella shielded her from the now pelting London night rain, as he walked her into the hotel.
Arriving in her room, Victoria took off her baseball cap and let her long hair flow downwards as she sat down and closed her eyes, for a brief moment. Traveling around the world seemed glamorous, but in fact it could be very lonely. In two days time she would have to up-and-leave again for Milan. But for now, all she wanted to do was to relax and be out of the public eye.
Her Blackberry rang, it was Richard, her long time agent. It was rather late at night and Victoria wondered what could be that urgent that he couldn't call in the morning; picking it up, she heard Richards somewhat thick New York accent crackle over the line,
“Hey Vicky!” He began, he had always called her Vicky, even though she had told him countless times she hated it, “..Here's the deal, there's a private show you've been booked for, just outside of London, some kind of blue-blood limey has arranged it all.”
Victoria asked him how many models had been booked for the event and was shocked to find out it was only her. Asking Richard for more details, he told her that all she needed to know was that firstly, there would be a limousine to pick her up at 4pm the next day, and secondly, that she'd be paid fifty thousand dollars for just one private one hour show,
“Fifty thousand dollars!” Exclaimed Victoria, “Who would pay fifty thousand dollars for a private show?”
She heard Richard on the other end get impatient; he didn't really care why, he only cared he would be getting fifteen percent of it;
“I have no idea. A representative of his made all the arrangements. Anyway, I've gotta' go, I have a call on the other line.”
And with that, Richard hung up, leaving Victoria to wonder how an hours work could net her fifty thousand. What kind of show was it exactly, she asked herself. She'd done some endorsement work before, but nothing had ever made her that kind of money in such a short space of time. Taking a shower, she continued to be intrigued by the prospect, but if she admitted it to herself, she was also slightly nervous. Putting it out of her mind, she lay down on the double bed and quickly fell asleep on the Egyptian cotton sheets.
…
After spending the morning and part of the afternoon shopping, Victoria waited for a call to her room to tell her that the limousine had arrived. It wasn't long before the reception staff called up and she left with some trepidation, closing the door behind her. In the sumptuous lobby was a chauffeur, dressed all in black wearing a peak cap who recognized her instantly, and motioned for her to follow him. Victoria tried to speak to him. But he only smiled and replied to her in French, a language she didn't understand at all, apart from the word 'Bonjour', which wasn't exactly going to help her in finding out what all of this whole escapade was all about.
