Helpless (3 page)

             
I buck and squirm, but I must look like a stick in his arms.  All I can do is scream now.  So I go for broke.  I think I injured my throat, but I won’t stop.  Then the world goes black.

* * *

              I wake up taped to a bed again.

             
Another hospital.  Great.  This time the doc that comes in is asking me how I feel mentally, if I use drugs.  OK – a head doc, I can handle that.  I put on the charm thick and sweet.  Pump him full of how my dad is just worried about the gossip rags and his reputation and he was trying to push me into spending the day with him.  When I refused he started a Titan argument.  I am just a poor victim of an uncaring father (well, I am) and this is all a terrible and sad misunderstanding. 

             
I get the doc to call Aldo and confirm I just came off a shoot with no behavior problems and I am set for another one in a few days.  No way I keep such a tight and professional schedule if I am a drug addict.  Aldo backs me up, as always.  Bless his bleached blonde head. 

             
It works.  I keep up my charming smile and vixen walk until I am out of sight of the hospital.  Then I stomp along blowing off energy.  When I think I can calm down enough to actually give my address to a cabby, I grab one and head home.  Fuming.

             
I can play the PR game better than you, Daddy Dear.  You better watch out or I’ll find a way to ruin your precious reputation. 

             
My phone is ringing.  Aldo.  Worried about me.  I lay on the same story and Aldo swallows it too.  At least
he
makes me feel better.  He spent almost an hour on the phone telling me how great I am and that I need to stay away from Heath and he generally makes me feel like he cares for my well-being.  I need more friends like Aldo.  What a great manager.  Wait, was this all just because it is his job and he only makes money if I am making money?  I can’t care.  At least I feel a little better now.  At least Aldo reached out at the right time and said the right things.

             
A girlfriend would be nice to have about now.  But models have a hard time with that; other girls are either so jealous because they are not close to being as beautiful or talented as I am that they are just mean; or they are so intimidated to be in a model’s presence that they won’t even open up and talk like friends.  That leaves guys.  I don’t want to get real with a guy; I don’t want to share my thoughts.  So that leaves my special website and some older guy who will treat me nice and not ask any deep questions.

             
For just a moment I feel how empty that type of connection is.  But it is safe.  Safer than opening up to some guy and having him dump me for a pretty blonde that catches his eye the next day.  Like Mom says, there is always going to be someone younger and prettier coming along.  Still, my brain goes back to how nice it would be to have a normal relationship with a guy.  Equal give and take, both young and having fun.  No, too risky for me now.  But I do need someone to talk with and keep me busy and keep me from being lonely.

             
I power up the laptop.  What do I feel like asking for today?  Shopping?  No.  High class eatery?  No, not really; even though that is always nice.  I tap my pink nails against the laptop case.  A soothing
click clack
sound.  It helps me think.  Gambling!  No, not right after being in the hospital, twice.  I laugh out loud at that. 

             
Got you, Dad.  You’ll have to try harder.  Can’t lock me up in a psych ward that easy. 

             
Ok, so I need to think of something to do that won’t seem outrageous after a hospital stay…just in case the sharky reporters dig up that information.  I don’t want a reputation as a wild partier model. That type of reputation could hurt my career badly.  I don’t really care about my reputation
per se
, but if I get such baggage connected to my image, it could cause me to lose out on some jobs and
that
I do care about.  I have to rake in the cashola as fast and hard as I can while I am in my twenties.

             
The zoo. Oh, that’s perfect. That little side thought let my brain think of a fun thing to do for the day. My fingers fly over the keyboard to post that I am available to take to the London Zoo. I can spend the day looking at cute animals, having some rich guy buy me all sorts of stuffed animals and things that I will toss in the trash, and I will be surrounded by people and the bustle of life. We can end the day with still going to an expensive restaurant.

             
As always, it only takes a few minutes for a big, rich fish to bite. I am all set for the day. Even though I am incognito as far as my real name goes, I do dress up to the nines. Roberto Calvalli jeans with shots of gold sparks in the fabric hug my slim legs.  I’ve got an Italian laced and layered cream-colored top to add some feminine fluff and movement. Gotta love the sense of style the Italians have.

             
Now I look like the rich girl I am.  Off to spend the day with another rich and lonely guy. 

             
The day is better than any rehab Dad could try to get me into.  I fake laugh and play cute the whole day.  This guy, Roy, is in his early 40s and he just can’t stop staring at me, so after dinner we go back to his place for a drink. You know, never back to mine.

             
I didn’t sleep with the last two guys I went out with; sleeping with these guys is starting to feel like nothing.  Like watching TV with the sound down. But I really don’t want to go home to that quiet white apartment tonight. There is just nothing to do there.  Also Heath trying to get me committed has me stressed out.  Making me even more restless. No, I just don’t want to go home and be alone tonight.  Since this guy has been really sweet all day I figured,
What the hell?  Let’s let him get his rocks off
. 

             
He is trying to be a gentleman, not knowing how to ask if I was going to go to his bedroom with him, so I had to put the hints out there for him. I snuggle up on the couch with him. As he puts his arm around me I have to fight down an impulse to smack the arm away. Then the heat of his side starts to meld into me and I calm down and get back to snuggling. I can feel and hear his heartbeat and knowing I am snuggling up to a live human being helps me feel more alive.

             
For every little move he makes, I have to engage and snuggle or do it back to keep him moving forward.  I am starting to rethink this, I don’t want to have to be all alert and in tune to what this guy is thinking or wanting when we are having sex.  I want him to do all the work.  I just want to relax and feel good.  Feel a connection with another person.  Feel like part of the human race.  So, just when I am about to get up and go, Roy stands up and actually takes my hand and pulls me to my feet.

             
Finally.  He leads me down the hall to his boring bedroom.  I can’t even remember the stupid moves he is trying, I am just glad to drop my clothes and get into bed.  I guess I am not acting too romantic, but at this stage of a ‘date’, guys don’t care about that anyway.

             
He climbs in after me and I lie back, I hope I feel some excitement this time.  Roy sure does.  When his lips cover my neck, all I feel is a trace of wet left on my neck.  I use all my willpower to not wipe it away.  I tell myself to relax.  I force my tense muscles to go limp.  That works.  For now.

             
I feel his weight press down on top of me.  Here is where I should wrap my legs around him, so I do.  But my breathing is not coming faster.  I don’t feel any warm and happy feelings.  Other than a heavy weight on my chest, I am pretty much just feeling like I want to push off heavy covers and get out of bed.  I feel this guy pressing into me, then I actually feel him push into me; I should be sighing in pleasure.  Instead all I feel is pressure, nothing good or bad.  Just like someone taking my wrist and pulling me away from a mud puddle. 

             
Shit.  This is just going to be another one of those nights.  People say they like this sex thing.  I wish I could tap into what they are getting from this.  I’m just annoyed at the pushing, heaving, and having sweat dripped on me.  Maybe they are lying about liking sex.  They aren’t really good friends of mine, just other models I talk to, or the information comes to me in things I read or watch in movies.  Maybe it is a cruel joke on me to make me think this should be something I like other than a way to get presents and find a guy who will support me so I can save even more money. 

             
Roy’s done.  I wiggle a little; guys seem to respond to that.  Then I roll over and reach out to my purse.  My fingers curl around a flat tin box and I work out a little blue pill.  I swallow it without him noticing.  This should get me to sleep in fifteen minutes.  I know I could never get there if I tried without a little help.  Believe me; I’ve tried it for years. 

* * *

              Grabbing my coffee on the way home the next morning, I see a lovely wad of money that has just appeared in my bag as I reach in to pay the cashier.  That was sweet.  I think I’ll leave Roy some very nice feedback on the website.

             
I’m in a good mood.  I have to pack and get ready for my shoot, I’m flying out this afternoon for Costa Rica to do some athletic shots with zip lines and ocean canoes and stuff like that.  A new line of way-too-expensive cargo shorts and multi-buttoned safari-type shirts. 

             
I’m always in a good mood when I set out on a new job.  Aldo always sets me up with the best room in the hotel, I always meet new guys who chat me up and follow me around. Mooning over me like puppy dogs. That’s a big ego boost. Helps me to remember how beautiful I am. Makes me feel powerful. There is always a bustling of activities and a movement of people. I feel like I am right in the middle of the lives of all these people. 

             
Time to go make some more money.

The photo shoot goes well, as always.  Aldo is gushing about how great this one is – the clothing line is in negotiations with him to make me their spokesperson.  They loved me so much they called him before I had even checked out of the hotel.  Aldo called me right away, I was just checking my bags at the airport.  I always pick up when I see it is Aldo calling, especially when I am in public.  It’s nice to talk and look busy while I am waiting for my plane.  Usually I am just sitting, waiting.  Now I get to think like a business mogul and plan my career strategy.

             
We hash over the pros and cons of a gig like the one being offered.  Nothing is settled because I refuse to sign an exclusive deal with them, but I also don’t refuse outright.  Aldo is not mad, he knows the calls for me are flooding in, he doesn’t have to look for the next job for me, he has to screen them and turn them down.  But why go exclusive with a medium sized company when that big deal with a global company like Lancôme may be just around the corner?  I’d love to do gigs in Paris and all over France constantly.  Although, I really don’t like the language.  Maybe I should set my sights on Milan; I do like Italian fashion and Italian men.  

             
I laugh.  I plan to type that into my profile the next time I log into my sugar daddy site. Maybe a strong, dark, handsome Italian man is just what I need to really wake me up in the bedroom. Most of these lonely guys are office types; pasty, pale and thin. Maybe what I need is a more manly man.  My own lumberjack.  I laugh more, but I won’t type that in, I can’t see a lumberjack having much to talk about and certainly not enough money to keep me happy.  A guy like that probably has never even heard of Versace.  

             
I say good bye to Costa Rica.  That was a nice one.  Not only the crew, but tourists surrounded me the whole time I was there.  Dinner under the flaming torches was always crowded.  I danced away the nights until I collapsed each night in my posh hotel room. 

             
I feel a little light grey cloud start to form around me as I fly back to Heathrow Airport.  I wonder if it is London that I can’t stand.  I reach for my boosters because I don’t want lose the upbeat attitude I had in Costa Rica.  The cloud disappears.

             
I’m back and tanned from a week in Costa Rica!   I have been slathering on the moisturizer to keep my skin from looking like leather when I turn 30.  Normally I go for the spray tan and use tons of sun block.  But even the water proof stuff washes or rubs off after hours in the sand and water.  So I worry a little about my skin.  Maybe I should have put more block on, I should have made the crew stop every hour and reapply. 
              I spend the night checking my face, legs, arms, belly and back.  I have a different product for each part of me.  Mother taught me about the different skin parts needing slightly different things; it was a lesson I learned well.  So I try to undo the damage that was done with my special moisturizers.

             
I actually go to bed tired.