The Valentine

Chapter Three.

Sleep was not my companion that night. I tossed and turned, haunted by a thousand different thoughts. I eventually eased into the shallow end of my subconscious and waited for dawn. I was surprisingly energized when my feet hit the floor. If I was running on pour adrenaline, it showed no signs of waning.

After a quick shower, I changed. I still hadn't developed an appetite, but I ate a quick toasted bagel anyway, headed out the door and caught the bus. My heart kept pace with traffic and I arrived with plenty of time to spare.

Should I just walk in, I thought as I stood outside the side door. I couldn't remember if I'd been given any specific instructions. Were we meeting inside, outside? As I stood there I smelled something foul, ash, from a cigarette. I turned and saw a woman wearing thick rose tinted glasses eyeing me curiously.

Her hair was cut short, the tips dyed purple. She wore a loose white blouse and tailored black pants. Was it the professional photographer Mrs. Flair had hired? It seemed like a safe bet.

Should I introduce myself, but introduce myself as what? The lingerie model? Did she know? Had Mrs. Flair brought her up to speed?

She took another drag of her cigarette and spoke. "Bon après-midi."

I had no idea what she had just said, so I continued to stand there and smile at her.

There was a loud clank as the door swung open. Mrs. Flair poked her head out, saw us both and grinned.

"Exactly who I was looking for. We're all set up and ready to go when you are."

I smiled and nodded, unable to find the right words to say. I followed her into warehouse. It felt strange to be there on a Saturday. It was eerily quiet, like a tomb. The metal scaffolding towered above us, packed with stock. In the dim lighting they almost looked like coffins.

I knew every box, every package, having personally been responsible for stocking most of it. I followed her into the loading dock were we unloaded the stock before sorting it. She'd built a small photo shoot with two green backdrops set up in front of a large black four poster bed adorned with several throw pillows and ivory white blankets.

I had never seen the bed before, nor had any idea how she'd managed to drag it into the warehouse.

"A personal favor," she said, answering the question I hadn't asked. "It's from a personal business acquaintance of mine. I promised to give them a shout out online when we launched the new line. They were more than happy to oblige."

"It's impressive," I said softly, trying to picture myself mounted on the bed in the lingerie I'd seen in the productions designs. How would I pose? Ass up, staring over my shoulder with pouty lips? What did I even know about modeling?

"How rude of me. I forgot to introduce you. This is Amelie, the photographer I told you about. I promise you, you're in good hands."

I looked up at Amelie, who was busying herself with one of the cameras on the tripods. She glanced up and smiled. I returned the favor.

"Well, every second counts, shall we?" Mrs. Flair asked. I nodded and I followed her, weaving through the narrow aisles until we arrived at the break room.

"Don't mind the clutter," she said as we entered. "I dug deep into my storage and pulled out the big guns. Trust me, you're about to be spoiled rotten."

The break room was small. There was a simple table with two chairs, an old refrigerator that rattled, a sink and a microwave which only functioned on high. It wasn't ideally suited to take a break in. I'd often have to wedge myself into the far corner to avoid blocking anyone's path. Still, during the colder months it was a better alternative to sitting outside on the asphalt in the dead of winter.

Mrs. Flair had wheeled in several ... I guess they were best described as tool cabinets. They were metal with several thin trays, I assumed full of make-up.

"You might want to change first, before we start." she said.

"Now?" I asked meekly.

"Yes, now. I want to avoid smearing any of the make-up once we get started. Here, you can wear this," she said picking up what looked like a white fur coat.

"I figured this would be warmer than a flimsy bath robe. Don't worry, it may look like a million bucks, but it's fake, a gift from one of the campaigns I worked on. I'll step outside for a second," she said, and handed it to me.

"I'll be right outside when you're ready, just hauler," she said, turned and left, leaving me alone with the robe.

I still couldn't gage how much of what I was feeling was excitement or fear. It shifted back and forth between the two, too often to nail down. But as I held the robe, felt the thick fake fur between my fingers, I felt the overwhelming desire to dive deeper down the rabbit hole.

I stepped out of my sneakers, pulled my shirt off and kicked off my pants. I felt the cool dry air against my naked skin, wrapped myself in the warm coat, sat down, and waited.

"All set?" Mrs. Flair asked from outside the room.

"All set," I replied.

She stepped back into the room, grinning like a cat.

"All right, let's get started," she said and sat down opposite me. She opened one of the storage cabinets and started riffle through it.

"Your hairs still damp, which will help. Do you mind if I tidy it up a bit?" she asked as she pulled out a small pair of red scissors.

"ah ..." I replied.

"Nothing permanent, I promise. You can always shake it out later."

I pictured the production designs again, the illustrations of the slim models and their long gorgeous hair.

"I ... I suppose," I said.

"Wonderful," she said as she grabbed a towel and placed it around my shoulders. "Prior to being an influencer, I was a hairdresser for several years. It wasn't the type of work that got me invited to red carpet events, but it paid the bills. Lean forward and close your eyes honey."

Again with "honey." Not that I really minded. This was the most time I'd shared with her since I'd started the job. My initial interview had been brief. Even then, she appeared to be pulled in several directions at once. She'd asked me a few questions, glanced down at her phone several times, and was interrupted twice by two different employees before hiring me on the spot. After that, I rarely saw her. Even with a team as small as ours, our paths rarely crossed.

"Your hair is so thick and I love the colour, is it natural?" she asked as she snipped at it with the scissors.

"Yea, I don't really know what I want to do with it, so I've just let it grow out," I said, which was true. I normally just kept it in a ponytail shoved under a baseball cap. I'd thought about cutting it, but hadn't bothered. I kind of liked it long.

"Well, I'd be lying if I didn't say I was a bit jealous. Mines just a tangled mess of loose ends and knots," she said as she continued to cut. How much was she planning on taking off?

I felt her moving around me, buzzing like a bee, before finally setting the scissors down.

"No peeking. I want to finish your make-up first, then you can see the complete picture. All right, lean your head back, but keep your eyes closed."

I obeyed and tilted my head back.

"The natural hue of your skin is flawless, so I won't need to smother it in foundation, but I'll apply a little to even it out."

I heard the sound of several different trays being opened and closed and the sound of glass bottles being placed on the wooden table. I then felt the touch of thick bristles sweeping against my cheeks like the strokes of a paint brush.

"The trick is to heighten the accents, not conceal the imperfections. It's a losing game if your goal is bury the face under a foot of foundation. That's how you end up looking like you tripped and fell forward into wet cement."

I almost laughed, but kept my composure.

She set the brush down and opened several more trays.

"The colours I've selected are ideally suited to compliment the new line. I think you'll love them. Raise your eyebrows my pet."

My pet? Again, I obeyed, and felt a smaller brush apply eye shadow.

"Perfect, just like that. You're so well behaved, has anyone ever told you that?"

Well behaved? Pet, what was she getting at?

I heard her unscrew a plastic bottle then felt a small brush tug at my eyelashes, mascara?

"By the way, have you thought of a name?"

"A name?" I whispered, confused. Why would I need a name? I had one, it was ...

"To go with your new persona, silly. The internet in its infinite wisdom has plenty of suggestions, but I thought I'd allow you to have the final say."

The thought hadn't crossed my mind. I pictured the photo again, but nothing materialized.

"Do I need to think of one now?" I asked.

"Not at all. We can always add it later. Ok, pucker up."

I squeezed my lips together and pushed them forward.

I heard her rummaging through the cabinets again.

"This is one of my favorites. Sadly, it's been discontinued, so I only use it on special occasions."

I felt her apply the lipstick. There was a slight tingling sensation, a strange warmth that radiated from it. Was I having an allergic reaction?

"Smear it together," she said.

I obeyed and pressed my lips together. My lips felt fuller, pouty.

"Give me your right hand."

I did. She cradled my hands in hers. I heard another bottle open and smelled a harsh chemical like an industrial cleaner, it was nail polish. She started to apply it to each of my nails, then moved onto my other hand.

Nail polish, how was I going to remove nail polish?

"Just hold your hands there for a second while it dries," she said and closed the bottle.

"Can I see?" I asked.

"Not yet, I still have to put on the final touch."

Final touch? I thought as I kept my hands perfectly still. What was left to do?

I heard her stand up and followed the sound of her heels as she crossed the room. She picked up something heavy and set it aside. I then heard the sound of what I'd best describe as a wooden trunk creak as it was being opened.

"Remember, no peeking," she said.

There was a loud thump as something heavy hit the table beside me. I almost coughed as I breathed in the dust. Whatever it was it smelled like it had been rotting in a crypt for several centuries. I heard her open it and flip through several pages. Was it a book? Why did she need a book?

"Ah, there you are, perfect," she whispered. I heard her dig into a pocket and the pop of a small bottle being opened.

"You can put your hands down now, the nail polish has dried," she said.

I lowered my hands and rested them on my lap.

"Open your mouth and stick out your tongue."

It was an odd request, but I obeyed.

"Now it is imperative that you listen to me very carefully and follow my instructions to the letter. Do not swallow until I tell you too, do you understand?"

I nodded and waited. I felt a single drop hit the tip of my tongue. It was acidic. I felt it burn, eroding the soft tissue. I fought against every natural instinct in my body, refusing to swallow.

"Good girl," she whispered.

She turned her attention back to whatever she'd opened on the table. I heard her start to read, speaking in a dialect I didn't recognize.

"Ossia omea fay," she said softly, her voice slipping into a lower octave. "Mohia si kay, sola."

I felt gravity ease its grip on me. I drifted up, away from my chair. I grabbed hold of it and used it as an anchor.

"Dos infina bia ..."

My jaw ached, my tongue burned. A wave crashed against the fragile shores of my conscious battering the lines of communication between my body and my brain. I couldn't think, couldn't speak.

"Swallow," she commanded.

I obeyed, the strange liquid, like a corrosive toxin oozed down my throat hitting my stomach like a sucker punch.

"What ... what was that?" I chocked, straining to hold back tears.

"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. It's all part of the preparation," she said. "Now, are you ready to meet the new you?"

My excitement washed away all of my fear. "Yes please," I said.

I heard her moving again and patently waited for her next command. "Alright, you can open your eyes now."

I did, slowly. I could feel the weight of the thick mascara on my lashes. Light poured in. The world was a muddy, unfocused mess. Shapes began to materialize, large at first, then gradually gained finer detail. I saw Mrs. Flair. She was sitting in front of me, grinning widely. She was holding a large mirror. In it I saw ... my eyes welled up with tears.

"Careful, I'd hate for you to ruin all of my hard work."

"Sorry," I sputtered, trying to squash the tears with several quick blinks. My eyes were drawn back to the mirror. I felt completely disconnected from what I was seeing because what I was seeing should not be there. I'd expected to see my tired old reflection staring back at me. What I saw instead was entirely new. The space was occupied by a young girl, my age, but not ravaged by years of neglect. Her skin was pristine, with a soft glow like the embers of a fire. Her features were delicate, her lips pronounced. The make-up was fierce, dark. The lip stick was a deep shade of black with a hint of crimson. The eye shadow was metallic gray with a hint of gold. Then there was the hair ... It was the work of a true artisan. She'd taken an old ragged mob, plagued with knots and frayed ends and somehow turned it into a priceless work of art. It framed the face, hanging in spirals, every strand shimmering like silk.

"The suspense is killing me. Well, what do you think, do you like it?" she asked.

I looked over at her, my eyes continuing to well up with tears.

"I love it."

"Excellent, well, as they say, time is money. Are you ready to make your grand debut?"

I felt the ache in my stomach again, a mix of raw nerves and something else ... something new. It was the strange chemical she'd given me, what had it been? I could feel it simmering, spreading its greasy tentacles deeper into my body. It's nothing, I thought, ignore it. It was just something to help calm my nerves. I looked again into the mirror, then at Mrs. Flair.

"I'm ready," I said.

She smiled, stood up and stepped over to the make-up cabinets. There were several thin, flat boxes stacked on top of it.

"We have several outfits to go through today. So I thought we'd start with the mild ones first, then as you get more comfortable, progress to the more risque pieces. When you're ready, meet us in the loading bay," she said and picked up a small wooden black box. It was long, thin with a heavy golden lock. She turned and looked at me with a devilish grin.

"And no peeking at this one. I'm saving the best for last."

Chapter Four

My heels rang throughout the warehouse as I approached the loading bay. Every step was a calculated high risk maneuver. The stilettos were razor thin. There was no room for error. One false move and I might snap one of my ankles in half.

I'd changed in the break room. I still wasn't sure how Mrs. Flair had guessed my correct shoe size and converted it to a ladies size. But, she had. That wasn't the type of information HR kept track of, was it?

At first I'd assumed the shoe wouldn't fit. The shiny black heel looked several sizes too small to fit my mammoth, misshapen foot. But, as I dipped my toes in, my entire foot slid in easily. It was surprisingly comfortable. The material was like warm asphalt. The lines were clean, from the open bulb of the heel to the spiked toe.

Standing had proven to be a new challenge. My entire center of gravity had shifted and I felt like I was standing on an uneven chair.

I'd wrapped myself in the thick white faux fur coat, my arms forming a tight knot around my chest.

I stepped into the loading dock bay where Mrs. Flair and the photographer were waiting.

"And our star arrives," Mrs. Flair said, turning to face me. She was holding a thin glass filled with what I assumed was ...

"Champagne?" she asked.

The butterflies in my stomach started to become agitated.

"Ah, no thank you, not right now," I replied.

"Pity, well we have plenty if you change your mind."

I looked over at the photographer, who was perched above her camera like a stone gargoyle.

"Whenever you are ready," Mrs. Flair said and took a sip.

Better to dive into the deep end then wade in the shallows, I thought, and let the coat fall. I went into what I had planned to be classic contrapposto pose. I failed spectacularly. I felt like the petrified remains of a dead animal on a back country road. My arms felt like wet noodles, my belly a bloated sack.

"I'm sorry," I said, embarrassed, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Don't be," Mrs. Flair said softly. "You look gorgeous. Did you have any trouble with the corset?"

I looked down at it. Trouble? No. A struggle? Yes.

When I'd opened the thin white box and discovered the corset inside I'd half expected to find a set of instructions.

It was jet black with a thin layer of delicate lace woven on top of a thick layer of vinyl the colour of red wine. Its delicate appearance was deceptive. Hidden underneath the lace and silk were thin iron rods, bones, like the skeletal ribcage of an animal. It was surprisingly stubborn, holding its shape no matter how much I mishandled it. There was a row of tiny hooks in the back. I undid them, wrapped the corset around my chest and started to close them one at a time.

The corset tightened, molding my body into a new shape. I felt my waist shrink, my hips widen. I looked down and saw a hint of cleavage peeking out of the tiny A cups ... impossible, I thought, the taste of the strange potion still lingering in the recesses of my mouth.

A set of garters were attached to the bottom, and swayed back and forth, their metal clasps like the jaws of a viper.

I tucked and slipped into the matching pair of black bikini thong panties, the silky materially hugging my sensitive exposed skin.

There was a pack of nylons tucked away inside the box as well. I didn't recognize a single word written on the silver card stock. It opened like a wedding invitation. The stockings inside were like thin wisps of smoke. I rolled them gently into a donut, dipped my toes in and slid them slowly up my smooth legs until the hem was at my thigh. I let the garters sink their fangs into them and bite down.

I picked up the box, something inside rattled. Had I missed something? I peered inside and saw ... was it, it was ...

... a collar.

It was made of black leather, hopefully faux. There was a metal clasp bolted to it, with an iron ring.

... a collar.

My mind dissolved into a murky fog, my thoughts drifting aimlessly like apparitions. I tried to grasp hold of them, but my fingers slipped through.

I undid the clasp, slipped it around my neck and closed it. A surge of electricity shook my body. I almost collapsed to my knees.

That's where I belong, one of my thoughts whispered to me

What? Why would I think something like that?

It was then that I noticed I was tracing the edges of the collar with my fingers.

... my collar, I thought as I wrapped the tip of my tongue around my sharp fangs

... fangs?

I don't want to keep them waiting, do I, I thought, and stood up.

Something was missing ... I looked down, past the corset that had set let concrete, past the string bikini panties, under the garters and over the rolling planes of my smooth legs through the nylon to my bare toes.

Shoes, I thought. I need a pair of shoes. I looked amongst the cardboard boxes and found one that was about the right size. I picked it up. I was about the right weight too. I opened it.

Bingo.

"Is that a no?" Mrs. Flair asked.

I snapped out of my daydream and fell back into reality. "I'm sorry, what?" I asked.

"Nothing, it's not important. I thought I'd lost you there for a second. Well then, are you ready to make some heads turn?"