"Dammit, I want a horse. That bee-atch Susan thinks she is the coolest for riding a horse around."
"I can't stand that rich cunt with her perfect tits."
"I'd run moonshine just so I can have the big butt of my horse fart in her face."
Delilah, 19 years old, waved her arms. Her blond, long hair was straightened and patted with gel to look thick and smooth. Now hair strands went every which way after her tantrum. She wore a red apron imprinted with "Pretzels make me happy." She stood behind a glass counter in the walkways of a mall with high sky lights and big leaf jungle plants. Her butt was big from a lack of exercise, yet shaped into nice rounds due to her young age. Her cleavage was full sized and padded up from the fat that she had put on standing behind a food stand in the mall since a year ago, when she had graduated from high school.
A dark-olive skinned man with silver-reflective sun glasses leaned forward over the counter. He had an expensive suit that made him look dusty old rather than James Bond suave. The white shirt collar between the black jacket was open without a tie. His full lips with the dark mustache opened for a moment, before he decided to speak, as if telling a secret.
"I know how you two lovely ladies could make enough money for a horse in a month."
"Fuck off, you pervert. I ain't sucking your dick." Delilah through a cheap, tiny paper napkin in the man's face.
"You misunderstand me, respectable ladies. This is a very legit business. I represent a recruitment agency for house hold help in Arab countries."
"Why would I go into a war zone?"
"I forgive your ignorance, because we need to educate the West better. The fighting has been over in years. We have many rich oil families that need house hold help. We have brought in women from Sri Lanka. They are very cheap – a dollar a day. However, they are so poor that they have never seen a toaster oven, let alone know how to operate it. So, we started recruiting Americans in minimum wage jobs. Please, I do not look down on you. I started at the bottom as well. Now look at this rich Armani suit that I am wearing."
"Delilah, this could be our big chance," screamed the blond girl next to Delilah.
"The contract is very simple. You come for a month to work with a loving family. They will treat you like family. Arab hospitality is famous. Because of the lack of entertainment like movie theatres and strict religious rules on the outside, you will probably spend the whole stay at the family's residence. In exchange for having to put up with the lifestyle limitations, you get paid three times as much as the best employer in America would pay you."
"Wow!"
"Delilah, you don't have a boyfriend. You live at your parents place. You don't have a cat to feed. You should do it!"
Delilah treaded left and right in her sneakers thinking. She bit her full lip that was painted in a candy pink. Her body was chubby. It only made her appear more cozy and friendly. She seemed like an affectionate homebody with a sexy round face. She was pretty short as well.
"Okay, how do I do it?"
The man walked around the counter, put her arms around her, and started walking her toward the mall exit. She let him keep his arm around her, because she was eager to please the man. The fabric of his suit felt soft. His walk was a bit hurried and unstable betraying the richness of the suit. From a few words of small talk it appeared that he was simply a hired recruit that like her had gotten a bundle of money. He wasn't rich or a powerful business man.
A black stretch limo waited in the red curb zone on the street going around the mall. A driver with suit, black leather gloves, and square limo hat opened the back passenger door. Delilah bowed to crawl into the limo on her knees. There was a mini bar with liquor bottles and small lights behind them. There were small mini-TVs everywhere. There was a big empty space in the center of the passenger area.
The man pulled a clip board out of a suit case.
"Here is the deal. You sign the work contract. We have a few fake letters. The letters are from a pretend family. As far as the embassy is concerned for the visa, you are going on a cultural exchange program. We prefer that you tell your parents as well that you are going on a cultural exchange. That also makes it easy for you to get a leave of absence from your employer. We got all the fake paper work for it here. Overseas, your family will provide you with everything, food, water, a bed. So, you have zero expenses. Upon your return, we pay you in cash. So, you don't have any taxes to pay. You get to keep all the money."
"I dunno. That's it. I just sign here. And, in a month, I have a horse?"
"It's that easy. Of course, you'll have to clean a few carpets and cook a few meals. They love American fair like burgers."
"I'm really good at cooking."
"I believe you. Just sign here."
"Okay."
Within two minutes, Delilah stepped out of the stretch limo. She stood on the curb in front of the familiar mall. She felt like a millions. She held the fake family exchange papers in her hand. She'd have exotic stories to tell. She'd own a horse. She'd show that bitch, how cool she really was. She'd get a boyfriend. They'd go on awesome road trips.
The day that she stood at the airport gate felt so unreal that she feared inhaling to deep could break the reality into a million pieces like a broken mirror. The airline attendant checked her papers without care, without realizing how special her first trip abroad would be. And, then she would fly across the big ocean to an entirely different continent and culture. She looked excited at the tall floor to way high ceiling windows that opened up the view to the air field.
She watched all the dressed up people with shiny luggage swishing to their terminals. She herself was wearing a pink velvet workout trainer with a zipper-hoodie sweater. White letters over her butt said JUICY in bold. Two white strings ran down from her ears to the iPod. She listened to sexy hip hop music to get into the mood. She dozed through the long plane ride enjoying the regular interruptions for pretzels, drinks, movies, blankets, and captain announcements.
Her eyes were wide open at the sight of Bahrain. All the land was in a barren yellow brown. The airport buildings were white with flat roof tops. Palms were planted in many places. Stepping off the plane was like stepping into a wall of heat. A dingy old bus drove from the plane to the terminal. First class passengers were routed to a gilded hallway. Coach passengers had to step down a barren white, dirty hallway. An enormously long line for the security and duty check stopped her. The crowd in the line consisted clearly of migrant workers. They had huge bags. Their faces looked skinny, gray, and hopeless.
A tap on her shoulder made her turn around. "Miss Delilah, please come with me." An Arab with big black sun glasses stood behind her. He was dressed in a long white traditional dress. His mustache was so huge and puffy that it almost looked like a fat whale. Yet, it was meticulously trimmed to avoid interfering with eating by hanging too low. The man took her carry on stroller out of her hand. It was funny to watch his white dress move around his legs. It kind of looked like a female dress stretches and moves, yet he was a man, walking like a man.
"I will take you past security. We have a special relationship with the chief of airport security. Can I have your passport, cell phone, and wallet."
Delilah handed it all over to the men. She watched the police officers with big black sticks. They swung the sticks around, as if they were ready to use them. A few birds flew below the ceiling. They must have gotten trapped inside. An Indian man had numerous giant plastic bags. The security guards made him unpack everything and put it individually through the scanner. They looked at the men with disdain. The line behind glared at the man with anger. The man looked fearful at his prized posessions.
