Marie Jardinière - Epilogue Pt. 01

After a week, she was back to being in a good place, especially financially. That was one of the things about escorting. You could make a lot of money fast if you were willing to allow yourself to be used in certain ways. The kinkier the fetish, the more lucrative the return for providing the service.

Feeling more secure, she looked for an escape. She needed a landing place. She knew she would need to evolve, but it would be a lot easier if she could land softly. She finally found it in Julie Holden. She knew her originally as Julie Shelton, when they were college classmates on the cheerleading team together at UC Santa Barbara, along with male cheerleader Scott.

Brandi had created social media pages under the name Marie Jardinière, a French international that was now a citizen of the United States. She'd chosen the name Marie for her favorite female in French history; Marie Antoinette. As for her surname, Jardinière was French for Gardener. She liked the connection it created. With her speaking and reading the language fluently, along with several others, the transition would be easy. It was one of the traits of her sociopathic tendencies. She was like a chameleon, able to become someone else almost without thought.

She searched Facebook, Instagram and LinkedIn, looking for a spark of inspiration. She used UCSB as her search key, thinking that was a safe environment to pull from. She couldn't go all the way back to Georgia. She'd buried Jamie Lee Brandel long ago. At least she thought she had, until Kalinda somehow unearthed her.

She was right about her search pool. Looking for familiar names from college had proven invaluable. After several hours of searching on a rare night off, she found Julie.

Julie had finished school and started a career. One that eventually crossed paths with Brad Holden, an up and coming investment banker. The symmetry made Brandi laugh. It hadn't surprised her. That was where Scott was going to build his career, and she and Scott were a known couple on campus. To everyone that looked at them, they were the perfect couple. They were known as Ken and Barbie among their friends for a reason. Julie wanted what Brandi had, so it wasn't a shock that she sought out a man in the exact same line of work so she wouldn't have to. Her ambition was to become a trophy wife. She just happened to end up doing it on the opposite coast.

Brandi kept digging. She'd honestly lost contact with Julie a couple of years after they graduated, but that was more Julie's doing. And she suddenly knew why. She would have incessantly teased her for finding a man that was apparently so similar to Scott. Every picture or profile on him said as much. He was handsome, ridiculously athletic, smart, successful... rich. That would have been hard not to spot and make fun of. And Julie wasn't the kind of person that handled needling well. Brandi actually understood.

She was actually thankful that they hadn't been in touch for such a long time. It would make the way she would attempt to reconnect with her a much easier story to sell. She wasn't sure it was going to work, mainly because she had turned out to be so wrong about her previous plan. But she had to try. It was the best recovery option she'd come up with to that point.

She'd made enough money to make the break. It took a month, but she was there. She'd made a trip to see the Mangini's, asking for help one more time. It didn't cost her a hundred thousand dollars, like paying off law enforcement officers to turn a blind eye on the Rebecca Stanton investigation. This was a bit more routine for them. But, she had to pay them twenty-five thousand to make Marie Jardinière come to life.

She needed to be a naturalized citizen. The money got her a valid California driver's license, a passport issued from France showing entry to the US in the late 2000s, a US citizen card dated in 2015, a social security card, and a financial history complete with a mid-range credit score. It took two weeks for it all to be pulled together, at which time she found herself getting high with the brothers on their premium-grade cocaine and being tag-teamed by them for two days straight. It was like a scene out of a mobster movie... which made sense more than she cared to admit.

She also left with a marker she would be forced to repay eventually. At some point, someday, she would be called out of the blue and informed that the marker was due. She'd be told where to go and what to do. She knew what would happen if she didn't. Marie Jardinière would be erased as easily as she was created. So would Brandi Gardner, permanently. She agreed to their terms, if only because she had little choice. But when asked, they did confirm that she would not be made to kill anyone. They had professionals if needed for that. She would likely find herself in bed with a very powerful, influential individual and put them in a highly compromised position. Sex and drugs would be in play, and video evidence would be taken. She couldn't take the time to worry about that future unless she moved past where she was and on to the next phase of her reincarnation, so she reluctantly agreed to their terms.

She sent Julie a direct message, along with a link to a file folder containing photos. Julie almost ignored the message altogether, but it said it was from UCSB Barbie, and she was in danger and on the run from Ken.

Against her better judgment, she clicked on the link. Opening the folder, the first picture popped up, and it shocked her. It was definitely Brandi, her mascara running from crying. It showed her holding a newspaper with the current date, and a handwritten sign that said she needed help. In other photos she sent, ones taken at a different time, she appeared to have been severely beaten.

Those were actually the result of a rather intense escort appointment where she'd signed up to be captured and brutally 'raped' by two men. It had been a dangerous, horrific experience. It also netted her ten grand from each of them for two hours of being used in a discreet location in the bowels of the casino hotel. Evelyn was against the booking. A bodyguard had to be procured to ensure the men didn't go beyond the parameters of what Brandi had agreed to do. He hid in the shadows and watched as she struggled to get away. And as she was literally raped. To her credit, she played the part to the hilt. It was so realistic that the bodyguard had to remind himself several times what his role was. It was supposed to be real, and she hadn't used her safe word or the hand signal that was agreed upon. The men didn't exceed their permissions... but they danced all over that thin line while using her mercilessly. At the end of the two hours, there was no mistaking that she'd been raped.

While Evelyn attended to her wounds, Brandi eschewed her advice, insisting she did not want medical treatment. If that happened, she knew that she'd be grilled about actually being sexually assaulted, and the men left behind plenty of DNA evidence. Because of the damage she'd sustained, Evelyn asked her why she would subject herself to something so brutal. So horrific.

"The money," she replied honestly.

"Surely no amount of money could be worth that, Brandi."

"Depends on how desperate you are. Besides, I've had worse done to me, Evelyn. A lot worse. Here's a tip for you... don't ever piss off the heroin dealer you owe money to by refusing him pussy. Yes, I'm cut in a few places; bruised in a lot of others. But only where I told them they could hurt me."

"Brandi, you do know you're going to have a black eye, don't you?"

"Yes. But not a broken eye socket and cheekbone. Or three busted ribs."

"My God. That happened?"

"Yes. It happened. And I'd honestly take that all again over my father molesting me every day for over a year."

"Wow."

"Wow's right. You wanna know why I'm fucked up? He's the reason. I know I'm the spawn of the devil. You're smart to steer clear of me and help me get out of your sight as soon as possible. That twenty grand I earned tonight is going to make that happen as soon as I heal up. Believe it or not, the black eye is going to help that."

She took a few pictures of the damage done, knowing she'd use them when the time came. The money went straight to the Mangini's as the final installment on top of the five grand she'd given them as a down payment to create Marie Jardinière so they would start the process right away.

She waited until she was healed up before trying to contact Julie. She still looked horrible, but Julie recognized it was definitely her old friend, reaching out.

Twenty minutes later they were talking on the phone. Brandi spun a tale of how she and Scott had tried to make it work, but that as time went on, he became increasingly violent. She inferred that he had a cocaine habit that made his moods swing drastically, and he was also using steroids to build muscle mass. She'd told her that they never married because she began to sense a darker side to him, and that it would make it easier for her to leave if they weren't officially tied together, even though they were in a common law relationship in California.

Julie asked what changed, as she'd never seen that side of Scott personally. Brandi had to be somewhat honest if she were going to move forward with any semblance of a plan. So in addition to another more graphic picture of her injuries she said Scott inflicted, she sent her a picture of him in the nude. One she'd taken when they went on vacation one time when she was still living with him in San Francisco. They'd flown to Hawaii, to a nudist resort. She allowed him to be free of his cock cage at that time, as they were very deep into the their femdom based relationship. It was the last ditch effort to salvage things... she would move to Los Angeles almost as soon as the plane landed stateside.

He was fully erect, standing on the beach. He had a huge smile, like he was proud. Julie looked at the picture and laughed.

"That has to be photoshopped."

"Four inches, Jules. Four. I should have just broken it off clean. We separated instead. I moved to LA, and I started fucking other men. I was never honest with him about how dissatisfied I was in bed. I was making up for years of inadequate sex."

"I don't understand. What happened?"

"He was fine with me leaving. I didn't want to ruin him. We continued our financial arrangement because it would have hurt us both. And I'd go up to see him one week a year and sign whatever I needed to sign. We'd have sex that entire week. I did it as kind of a way to placate him. It was pity sex, really. He knew I was fucking other men. And he knew why. To be honest, he didn't seem to care. He seemed okay with it. That is until he found out that I was almost exclusively fucking black guys. Hell, what am I saying. I only fucked black guys."

"Why? I mean exclusively?"

"Why? Most of them have huge cocks. That's why."

"Isn't that a stereotype?

"A little, I guess. You still have to pay attention. But on average, they are way, way above average. At least that's been my experience. And for the most part, they're also uncomplicated. I wear a ring even though I'm technically not married. Or maybe I technically am. Who's to say how that goes. Bottom line is black guys love fucking married white pussy. It's like putting peanut butter on a dog's balls. They see a ring on a hot white chick and they can't stop trying to tap her pussy."

"God, you haven't changed a bit."

"Yes I have. I've never been scared before. That changed when he found out I fuck black men. He's got a pilot's license and his own private plane. He showed up in LA and spent a weekend beating the shit out of me. That's where those pictures came from. I went to the cops. I got a personal restraining order. But how do you restrain a man like that? He's got more money than he knows what to do with. Two cars. A jet. He can be on my doorstep any time he wants. He doesn't have to tell anyone involved in the PRO that he's flying to LA. I don't get notified that he filed a flight plan. What good is saying he has to stay five hundred feet away from me if I'll never see him coming. I lived four hundred miles away and he might as well have been next door."

"So, this is all about the fact that he's a racist."

"That's the thing. He's not. Or at least he didn't seem to be. No person of color or ethnicity that knows him would say that about him. Not one. He really didn't have a problem with me fucking other men because for some reason he was thinking they were all white. Knowing differently set him off somehow. He's triggered by the idea of a black man touching me now, let alone fucking me."

"So... just stop fucking black men."

"That statement is obviously coming from a woman who has never fucked a black man," she laughed softly.

"Well, no. I haven't."

"Then you don't have a valid opinion. Me cutting myself off from black cock? That's not happening. I'd rather he just kill me and get it over with."

"I don't understand."

"I know. Because you haven't done it. If you had, you'd realize just how ridiculously awful that take is."

"Okay. And you're right, it is your life. You should be able to do what you want with who you want. Where are you?"

"Las Vegas. It's as far as I could get without having to fill up the gas tank. I didn't want a credit card slip to show up."

"Well what have you been doing for money?"

"You don't want to know. Please don't ask me that again."

"Uhhh... okay. How can I help?"

"I need a place to stay, Jules. I'll land on my feet, I just need a place to put them for a month or so. I can't keep doing this and I can't be that close to him. When I saw you were in Florida now... well, I know he won't fly all the way across the country."

"You can't keep doing what?"

"Fine. I'm working as an escort."

"You're kidding."

"Jules, I don't think you get just how desperate I am. I got in touch with his secretary. He's frozen my assets. My half of everything is now tied up in some kind of trust fund that I can't access for about twenty years. He's trying to control me through money. I let myself become too dependent on that safety net he provided with our investments. All of my financial transactions run through his firm. If I tried to use a credit card, he'd know exactly where I am. I had to make a clean break. I smashed and dumped my phone in LA before I left, in case he was using it to track me. Then I drove here and I left my car at the airport, thinking that if anyone that finds it they'll believe it's stolen, or I took a flight. I gave an Uber driver a blowjob to bring me into the city. That's where the escort service idea came from. It's safer than hooking."

"I don't believe you. There's no way."

"I knew you'd say that. I just texted the link. Look me up. Right now. Please," she said almost desperately.

Putting her on speaker, she checked. "Jesus fucking Christ, Brandi!"

"Actually, that's where Brandi ends. If he somehow finds that site, he'll waste his time looking for me in Vegas. Once I'm gone I'll deactivate it. The only reason I haven't now is I don't have anywhere to go yet. For now I have to keep working to survive."

"What do you mean by that's where you end?"

"That'll be the last trace of the old me. I had to sign up with the service using a valid ID. The only one I had at the time was my driver's license."

"They make you use your real first name?"

"Well, no. I just wasn't thinking very straight. I was desperate. I needed money. So I signed up like I was applying for a credit card. It never occurred to me to use an alias. And wouldn't you know I got a reputation pretty quickly with the service. I've been in such high demand I can't afford to change it now."

"Well I can believe that. You're more gorgeous than ever. You've actually somehow gotten hotter."

"Thanks, but I really don't feel it at the moment."

"I understand. You're in a bad place in you life right now."

"I'm trying to move on. That's what I was trying to tell you. That life is over. My name Marie Jardinière now, Jules. Please get that into your mind; commit it to memory. I'm originally from France. I'll send you the dossier I've created, but I'm already on Instagram and Facebook under that name, although they're set on private now. I only used them to help me find someone to help me, which lead me to you. At least I hope you'll help. I know it's a lot to ask. I've got all the official credentials to prove I exist. I'm actually a naturalized citizen."

"How the fuck..."

"I'm not saying any more. I've had to do a lot of things I'm very not proud of. But I did them so I can be free from him. If you really have to ask how, then the answer is that I'm a survivor. I did what I needed to do. I'm also damn smart. "

"I remember. Top of the class."

"I know I'm going to get through this. I just need a little help, Jules. Please."

"When can you come out?"

"When will you let me? That's the question. I've saved up enough money for a ticket anywhere in the lower forty-eight states. I just don't know where I'm going."

"You're coming to Florida. I'm here for you. Take the next flight you can get."

"Oh my God! Thank you! I'll be on it. It leaves in three hours. There's a layover in Dallas."

"Got a flight number for the one into Miami?"

"Not yet, but I will. I'll text it to you. I love you Julie! I'll never be able to repay you for this."

"You don't have to. I love you too. Just be safe. I'll pick you up at the airport."

"See you tonight."

"Okay. See you tonight ... Marie," she laughed.

The six week stay with the Holdens was eye opening for all involved. Julie and Marie connected... reconnected, amazingly. They bonded all over again. Julie even kept her secret from her husband Brad. Not that she was on the run from Scott. He needed to know why Marie was really there. But she didn't tell him her real name, or that she wasn't really from France.

The first couple of days were odd for Julie, mainly because she knew Brandi was pretending to be Marie. By the third day, she was Marie. There were no cracks in the armor. Not a single slip up or error in syntax, in either her heavily accented English, or her occassional use of French around them. She had quite believably transformed herself another person.

Brad's eyes were tormented by how gorgeous their new houseguest was. Her hair, with the blue highlights, was oddly erotic. So was the fact that nearly everything she wore was incredibly revealing. Julie had actually questioned her wardrobe, as it was pretty risque. Marie privately confided that any of her initial discretionary income earned in Las Vegas had to be spent on the life she was living at the time. She'd been escorting for two months. Her clothing reflected the job. She was on such a hurry to leave Los Angeles her wardrobe was limited. She didn't take much with her. Snd now that she'd been wearing the uniform of a sex worker that long, she could only imagine that Marie being a free spirit from another country would dress in a similar fashion, so she fully embraced it.

She also embraced the culture of a woman raised in France. Lots of wine. Lots of French cuisine, which she'd always loved anyway. And lots of cursing in her new native language when something was too Americanized for her liking.

Julie had taken three years of French to Brandi's two in college, but she couldn't speak it nearly as well. She knew Brandi had learned Spanish in high school and spoke it fluently when they'd first met, and when she finished French her sophomore year after having mastered it, she went straight into Japanese her last two years. Julie didn't know her friend had taught herself Italian the first two years she was away from Scott, but it wouldn't have surprised her.