Chapter 4
What? Are they serious?
Nora realized that they were. The girls to her right and left complied without a single bit of protest, first stepping out of their shoes, then shimmying out of their jeans and skirts, followed by whatever tops they were wearing, until they stood in nothing but their underwear.
Though her internal sense of modesty screamed objections, Nora knew that she had no choice but to do the same, and now, if she didn’t want to get spotted. She kicked off her black Toms flats, slid out of her nondescript slim-cut jeans with quick wiggles of her hips, took off her cardigan, then pulled the men’s Hanes V-neck off and over her head. She spent a moment looking in the mirror at her slim frame clad in nothing but a black bra and sky blue boy shorts, feeling that she was too slight, that her breasts were too small, that her arms and legs were too stick-like. These were the same self-criticisms that she subjected herself to whenever she stood in front of the mirror, even in a context like this.
“And the rest!”
Nora felt a wave of hot anxiety wash over her. As she unfastened her bra and stepped out of her underwear, she was glad for the blush on her face. It would cover up the real blushing she could feel spreading across her cheeks.
As she stood completely unclothed in front of the mirror, she fought the strong urge to cross her arm in front of her breasts and put her hand over her sex, so that, at the very least, her small pink nipples and red tuft of public hair could be obscured. But she knew better, and stood as still as she could, her arms against the sides of her hips.
Another series of steps could be heard from down the line. It was a quick rapping of a few sets of feet, then stopping, then moving, and then stopping once more. As the noises grew closer, Nora could see that it was a tight cluster of women, two of the makeup girls with one woman, someone new, in between the two. Even from this far away, Nora understood that the taller woman was in an authority position. She stood with poise and grace, and the other girls surrounded and moved around her like little planets, their wide eyes scouring the taller woman’s face for her reaction to whatever she was judging.
The little procession moved then stopped, moved then stopped, until they were at the girl to the right of Nora. The girl was a slight, delicate thing, with eyes wide and innocent like Nora’s, and a body of comparable tone; though her breasts were even smaller than Nora’s, and her hips were narrow, like a boy’s.
“Christ, look at this girl,” said the tall woman in a rich voice, her words heavy with Slavic intonation. “Tiny tits, blond hair, eyes like scared deer; the Ukrainians will gobble her up like cow with steak necklace thrown into shark tank.”
A moment passed, and Nora could see that the woman was scanning the girl’s body with the keen, inspecting eyes of a salesman judging the value of merchandise.
“Put her in skimpy little red set; show off muscle tone. And tell her to up the coy routine; suits her.”
And with that, the girls raised the girl to her feet, pointed to the section of the room with the racks of clothing, and the seated girl walked with deliberate, obliging steps in that direction.
The woman then moved over to Nora, and began the same process of looking over her body, inch by inch. Now that the woman was closer, Nora could see the features of the woman’s face. She appeared to be in her late forties. Her eyes were a limpid pale blue, her nose was pointed and had a strange texture to it, almost like it were sculpted out of clay. Her mouth was a thin line painted into a glossy red, and her hair was a blond color of such vibrancy that it was like turning a corner and being blasted with a summer sun heretofore hidden behind buildings. She was dressed in slim black pants and a black, button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which exposed a tattoo of a rose that traveled up along the length of her right forearm.
Nora felt herself withering under the glare of the woman, the effort of trying to appear hypnotized beginning to wear on her. She felt a drop of sweat form near her ear before moving down her neck in erratic angles. Nora hoped the woman didn’t notice.
“My, what a pretty one, this girl,” the woman said, her features cold. “Winsome little face, slim body, but still with breasts. And that hair. Oh, and look at that little ass of hers.”
A moment passed.
“I turn to you, girls. Alla, what you think we dress this little tart up in?”
One of the blonde makeup girls at the woman’s flank stepped forward, her face nervous. “Well, Miss Serko, I think, for her, something simple,” said Alla, in an American accent, “to show off her body. Red thong, and maybe a, I think, see-through bra.”
“Hmm,” said Miss Serko. If she was impressed by this answer, she didn’t show it. “Alyona, your turn.”
“Something classic. She’s got body like a little boy, like other girl. Put her in a corset, maybe squeeze some curves out of her.”
A moment passed.
“Both stupid answers. First is stupid because this girl wholesome; you don’t put wholesome girl in whore’s get-up. Second is stupid because she does have body. Look at her. Alyona, you think any girl without your cottage-cheese ass is pile of sticks and hair.”
Both girls looked down, the one on the left pivoting her foot on the tips of her mirror-polished black heels.
Geez, some boss, Nora thought, letting a thought slip past the immense effort she was putting forth to stay still. Now that she was under the eyes of the women, she couldn’t let her eyes move a millimeter.
“This girl need something sexy, but classy. Put her in the black high-waisted panties. Black bra. Nothing see-through,” she said, pointing a finger at the first girl. “I can see that this one is going to get a high price. But you give too much away on the stage and the men aren’t wondering what they’re not seeing, no?”
The two girls nodded in eager agreement.
Stage?
“Okay, get her over there and let’s finish up with the rest of these little tarts.”
With that, the two girls moved to Nora’s flanks, placed their palms upward under her forearms, and pressed. Nora understood right away that she was being compelled to stand, so she did.
“Go to the clothing racks. Put on number… ah, shit; what is number?” said the girl with the accent.
“Forty-seven!” Miss Serko’s voice brimmed with impatience. “We do this every year, and you girls don’t even have the wardrobe memorized. You two are lucky your lords are who they are, you know.”
“Yes, Miss Serko,” the girls said, speaking at the same time.
One of the girls nudged Nora off in the direction of the racks. Nora committed the number to her memory, understanding that coming back to Miss Serko for a reminder wasn’t an option.
Once at the racks, she found the outfit. It was what Miss Serko described: A matching black bra and panty set, very simple, and with a little bit of see-through fabric running up the hip of the panties. Nora stepped into them and took her place in the line of girls that had formed at the door.
After a time, all the girls were waiting in line, all wearing some manner of lingerie. Miss Serko and the girls passed the line, giving the girls a final, hurried once-over.
“Get them out there,” said Miss Serko in a frustrated voice. “They’re starting now!”
And with that, one of the girls moved over to the door with hurried steps and swung it open. Nora couldn’t see beyond, but it seemed to lead into a long, dark hallway.
The girl at the front tapped the shoulder of the girl first in line, and the line began to move. The girls all walked at the same pace, which Nora matched. Knowing that whatever purpose she was here for was about to happen, her stomach began to tremble with anxiety, and she could feel a line of perspiration form at the top of her brow.
The hallway that they moved into was hardly lit; only a few lights casting a low, orange glow lined the length of it. They stopped at another door, this one smaller, metal; like a stage door. Nora then saw the girls split off; one moved to the front of the line, the other moved to the back. They were whispering something to the girls in line.
“Put on a wholesome act. Look sweet, but shy,” someone said to one of the girls in a low, rhythmic voice; that same hypnotic, insisting tone.
Then the door opened. The first girl went, then, after five minutes or so, the second. Then the third. Nora was next. She had no choice. She stepped through the door and was blinded by the beaming lights above the long, wooden stage.