Charlotte's Dilemma

Memphis, June 1, 2035

Charlotte banged on her daughter's apartment door. "Let me in," she shouted.

"No, mother," came Rose's reply.

"No daughter of mine will do those things and have it spread all over the Internet."

The door opened, and Charlotte dashed in, slamming the door behind her. "Don't you have any self-respect?"

"Mom, it is already done. Here is the contract. I have to do it now. And look at how much they are paying me for an hour of work."

Charlotte looked over the piece of paper. "Fifteen hundred dollars to make a fool of yourself? Is that all?"

"Mom, I need the money. I am behind on the rent, and the landlord is already moving to evict me. I have no food in the fridge."

"Come live with me," said Charlotte. "Not forever, just long enough to get your feet safely planted on the ground."

Rose laughed. "And how can I get out of this contract, pay the back rent, and move my stuff with no money?"

"I will take care of that."

"How, Mom? You don't have enough cash to pay your rent and mine. And look at the bottom of that contract under the 'kill' section. It will cost $5,000 to get me out of that contract."

Charlotte looked at the contract in shock. "I don't know, honey. When are you supposed to perform?"

"Tonight, Mom. The whole thing is already set up, including cameras. That is why the 'kill' option is so expensive. They would have to find another girl, delay the shoot, and pay the techs for the extra time."

"And how long is that?"

Rose shook her head. "I don't know, Mom. Maybe a day or two?"

"Well, you are not going, and that is that. I will stay here and block the door if I must. You are not going to a porn shoot."

"Mom, please don't interfere. I have already made the decision. I am twenty and of legal age. The contract is binding."

"What time is this supposed to happen?"

"They are sending a car and driver at eight tonight. They will be shooting at about ten o'clock for an hour, and I have to be there with time for makeup and line memorization before the shoot."

"Where is this studio?"

"It is at the penthouse of The Coop Hotel. Lots of room. I wish my apartment were that big, not this little one-bedroom, one-bath studio apartment I can't afford."

Charlotte pulled out her phone and saw that noon was approaching. "Okay, that gives me about eight hours to make them change their minds."

"Fuck you, mom. Leave it alone."

"Keep your phone on; I will call you when it is done, and then your sisters and I can work out the money issue."

Charlotte slammed the door on her way out.

When she reached The Coop Hotel, Charlotte checked her profile in the full-length mirror inside the main door. She studied her face, not wanting to show her anger to the men in the penthouse. Charlotte pulled a stray blonde hair into place, licked her finger, and wetted it to keep it there. She took in the reflection that showed an ample bust, a narrow waist, and the wide flair of her hips. Charlotte was proud of her figure. She noted the athletic, tanned legs that emerged from her mid-thigh skirt and the six-inch heels that felt so comfortable. Charlotte smiled, remembering the pain the day she first wore heels. After thirty years of constant six-inch heel use, her feet felt uncomfortable wearing sneakers or sandals. She nodded to her mirror image, knowing she would dazzle these men like she had many before them.

Charlotte thought back to her wedding day when hope glowed and the future looked bright. The reality entered her mind and she realized that with everything deteriorating over the last twelve years under the crushing tight fist of expanding poverty, beauty was a single woman's sole bargaining tool.

Charlotte took the elevator to the penthouse. She hesitated momentarily, wondering if she was doing the right thing. The room before her was massive, filled with film equipment, sitting in front of clear windows shaded with tinting material. The elegance before her was intimidating. "Fuck it," she said as she stepped into the room.

A bell sat on a small table beside the elevator entrance. Though Charlotte's arm felt cold, she grabbed and shook the bell. "Clungk, clungk." The sound of it astonished her, causing her shoulders to draw back, accenting the curve of her bust. The nipples of her breasts suddenly engorged and stood to attention, outlined against the delicate fabric of her bra and ivory-colored top. She held her breath as footsteps approached. Thoughts ran through her head in endless astonishment, envisioning the reaction of those entering the room when they saw her body ready for physical attention. Charlotte's eyes blurred, and then a man who looked to be in his forties suddenly appeared. His presence demanded attention. His six-foot-plus frame filled her eyes with an irresistible tanned face, wavy hair, and handsome features. "Yes?" he asked.

Charlotte was momentarily speechless before stammering, "Are you Mr. Charles Landley?"

"Uh, yes, but most call me Charley."

"Well, Mr. Landley, I am Rose's mother."

A broad smile appeared, and a meaty hand reached towards her. "Glad to meet you. I didn't catch your name?"

"Uh, Charlotte. Yes, Charlotte," she replied, hesitant and transfixed.

"Welcome, Charlotte. I can see where Rose gets her beauty," he said, looking Charlotte up and down, his eyes lingering on her face, breasts, and legs.

"I am here on business, Mr. Landley," Charlotte said tartly, her legs barely able to hold her erect.

"Oh, business. Okay. Most mothers don't come to a temporary studio, but I am all for business."

The 'studio' was a vast suite of rooms. Charlotte looked around at the decorations, trying to find some rhyme or reason for the décor. Gold filigree, marble counters, and costly tables drew her attention more than the carpet that shouted money. A grand piano sat in an alcove with the keyboard uncovered and visible, its black and white teeth shouting for Charlotte to come forth and the polished bench inviting the curve of her suddenly heated ass.

"Shit," she thought. "A grand piano, not a baby-grand, but a grand piano. God, no wonder Rose was so impressed."

A table in the dining room reflected light off a deep polish. Her back urged her to lie down on that table, spread her legs, and arch upward, seeking a rewarding penetration unlike any Charlotte had ever thought possible.

Charlotte's mind focused on the cushioned chairs with fashionable carved wood frames set before a distant window. A matching sofa with lush curves accented the plush penthouse. Charlotte took a shaky breath. She knew she was in the presence of wealth and comfort, something Charlotte had always dreamed of but never had the chance to experience.

"Sit, please," said Charley, motioning to one of the puffy chairs.

Charlotte took a chair. She reveled in the feel of the seat cushion that hugged her ass, a lover greeting the incipient breeze flowing across a dune. Her body relished the texture of the cushions that pushed back at her, supporting her entirely so that she felt like she was on a cloud.

Charlotte almost purred, then remembered her purpose.

"Mr. Landley, I have come to ask you to let Rose out of her contract."

Charley sat on the sofa, cocked his head, and looked at Charlotte. "Rose is a spectacular find and a person based in reality. She turned twenty this month, more than old enough to enter into a contract with us."

Charlotte looked down at the gold-flecked carpet while she spoke. "I don't want her ruined. Though her age says she is legally an adult, you and I know she is not. You know that. I don't want her victimized by a, by a, hmmm, by a pornographer."

Charley sat back on the couch. He sighed to himself, then looked at Charlotte. "I am not a pornographer, Charlotte. I am a filmmaker, an artist, and a businessman. Our films involve a central theme, and they are well-received. The business has already incurred considerable costs to set up this short introductory film for Rose."

Charlotte could not stop her knees from knocking. "Yes, but it is all about sex. I read the script. It is monstrous. This nudity and sexual content are inappropriate for Rose. It would not even be suited for my other two older and more mature daughters."

"Yes, Rose told me about Rachel and Roxanne and showed me some photos. I must say, lovely lady, you gave your daughters an amazing beauty and outlook. I would be happy to film any of you."

Charlotte hesitated, remembering each of her children in stages as they grew up. "No, none of my daughters will ever be filmed this way. Even in these harsh days, when vulnerable women are objectified, my daughters will maintain their dignity. They may end up models or something, but not film whores."

Charley tapped the table next to him in a persistent rhythm. "You know that rhythm, Charlotte?"

"No," she said.

"It is 'What Power Art Thou?' by Henry Purcell. The music is part of the story of King Arthur. Its rhythm, its undeniable pace, denotes the inevitable passage of time, of missed opportunities. It is a passage we all experience that eventually robs us of our faculties and our chances to live freely and well. Time moves forward, never backward. Not unless we are as lucky as you, with your beauty still reigning over all who surround you. You are how old?"

Charlotte raised her chin. "Not that it is any concern of yours; I am forty-six. I gave birth to Rose when I was twenty-six, Rachel at twenty-three, and Roxanne at twenty. They are good girls."

"Are you planning on having more?"

Charlotte blushed. "I am afraid their father is no longer living, and I have not found any other man of his worth. He was a wonderful man, big, boisterous, and very protective where his daughters were concerned. If he were here, you would be having a very different conversation. But he is not, and it is left to me."

Charley nodded. "No doubt, but the outcome would be the same. This is a business, and Rose entered into a business contract that we are unwilling to relinquish. Not because we won't but because we cannot. The promos are already in motion around the world. We have no choice but to continue."

Charlotte stared at Charley. "Surely, you can see how this will affect her future. You can find another to act out your little fantasy."

"On the contrary, Charlotte," said Charley. "The story is written for Rose. It is an exploration of sexuality by an innocent girl old enough to discover her nugget, that part of her that completes her, but blocked from the discovery by the objectification of men."

"No, no, no, no, no," shouted Charlotte, pounding on the chair's arm with each word. "There is nothing in this script about sexual exploration. What does it call for? Oh, yeah, a tit fuck, is that what you call it? And a facial, whatever that is."

"A facial is when the male performer shoots his semen onto the female performer's face. And a tit fuck, well, that should be self-explanatory."

Charlotte's entire body shook. Anger and frustration drove rampant through her. She tapped her feet on the carpet. Her hands wrung the wood frame of the chair. Charlotte shook her head at what she heard. "No. That is not for Rose."

Charley sighed, "There is nothing you can do about it. I cannot release her. The investors have approved her for the role, and the cinematographer and director are excited about Rose." Charley moved forward in his chair. "Look, Charlotte, this is a story that needs telling. Rose understands it; she can see the world that Trumponomics has created. Rose is astute. The story of women's value has undeniable importance. She wants to be a part of it."

Charlotte yelled, "No. I will not allow it." She forced herself to calm her mind. "I, I, I understand the necessity of the story. I have lived through the diminishing of women and know the tale firsthand. But I cannot allow my child to become less than she is before her possibilities come into sight." Charlotte looked into Charley's eyes. "There must be something you can do."

"No, nothing really." Charley paused and shook his head. "No, not even that."

"What?" asked Charlotte. "You had a thought. I saw it in your eyes. You had a mother. You knew a mother's love, a mother's hope. What were you thinking? Is there an alternative?"

Charley turned his head away. He whispered, "Perhaps you could find another performer to take up the role, but ladies like Rose are hard to find."

Charlotte jerked out of the chair. "You are a monster. You prey on innocent girls like Rose to make money by plying them with visions of a bright future when you are destroying them," she screamed.

Charley sat calmly on the sofa, looking at Charlotte with a calculating eye. Charlotte saw him start at her feet and work his way up her legs to her hips, waist, bust, and finally, her face.

"Stop that," she shouted.

"Stop what?" he asked.

"Stop looking at me like I was a prize cow or something. I am not for sale."

Charley smiled, "In this economic climate, we are all for sale, Charlotte. Some of us, those who perform well, can demand the price of the sale. Some work their lives away in menial jobs to support a mediocre existence, then there are those, like Rose, who are shooting stars streaking across the night sky."

"Yeah, to their destruction when they hit the ground if they ever reach it."

"You said you read the script. Did you read the contract?"

Charlotte stood straight, squared her shoulders, and said, "Yes, and fifteen hundred dollars is not enough to mark Rose for life."

"Did you read the entire contract?"

Charlotte saw herself standing in six-inch heels on deep sandy soil. "Uh, no, I got the gist of the filthy thing, then tossed it away."

"If you had read the whole thing, you would know that the contract is for nine films. Only the first film gets Rose fifteen hundred dollars. After that, each film raises the amount by another five hundred dollars. In the final film, she gets five thousand for her performance. Each performance takes about a day to shoot. In the end, Rose gets twenty-six thousand for nine work days."

"Definitely not enough for destroying her future," said Charlotte, leaning over Charley threateningly.

"Then there are the two conventions: Exxxotica and the Adult Entertainment Expo. If Rose generates enough interest, and I think she will, she can get anywhere from one hundred to one thousand dollars for each autographed photo. The performers most in demand sign nearly a thousand autographs at these conventions."

Charlotte stood back and looked Charley in the eye. "You mean Rose could make from one hundred thousand to a million at these conventions?"

"Yes. That is if Rose performs well. I write the scripts. I have for years now. I am telling you that her storyline will catch the attention of billions of people worldwide watching explicit films."

"No," Charlotte said, slashing her hand through the air. She turned away and said, "No amount of money can buy her privacy. No, I won't have it." Her fudge-brown eyes glinted amber for a second, then returned to their natural color. Charlotte folded her arms under her breasts and glared at Charley as he raised his phone and clicked a photo of her. Stupefied by his action, Charlotte paused before she reached out her hand and demanded, "Give me that."

"No, I don't think so. That is a perfect picture for investors to see your anger over this issue." He got up and stepped toward the bedroom door. "Give me a few moments, and I will see what I can work out."

Charley stepped through the door and closed it, leaving her alone. Charlotte sat and looked around. She noticed the studio cameras standing in the next room, their horrid snouts pointing in every direction. The sound booms hovered in the air overhead. Pieces of Charley's phone conversation came through the door. Charlotte heard, "Really? No, there is no need. I suppose a deal can be reached, and, yeah, I would have to rewrite, but we could still shoot tonight."

After a moment of silence, Charley came through the door. "Got a deal for you," he said.

Charlotte stood up, expecting him to demand she undress and fuck him on the spot. "I haven't been with anyone for six years. Not since Fred died."

"Not that kind of deal," said Charley.

"Oh." Charlotte dropped her eyes. "If I am not good enough."

"Stop," said Charley. "We can make a deal. The contract still stands, but you must find a substitute for Rose. One with exceptional beauty that matches that of your daughter."

"I, I, I don't know anyone like that."

"Sure you do. You have two other daughters."

Charlotte glared at him. "Nope. None of my daughters."

"Okay. Took a shot. There is one in town that will work. She is expensive, though. She is a high-priced escort who has never been filmed. She goes by the name of Fabiola. She would be acceptable, but, as I said, Fabiola is expensive, and you would have to cover the added cost."

Charlotte saw a spark of hope. "How expensive?" she asked.

"Last I heard, she demanded two thousand an hour with a five-hour minimum."

"My gosh," said Charlotte. "That's ten thousand dollars."

"Yeah, a bit spendy, but it gets Rose out of her contract."

"I can't afford that," said Charlotte.

"We must have someone like her or Rose or one of your other daughters. It must be someone beautiful who can pull off the illusion of innocence."

Charlotte turned and walked toward the windows, then turned back to Charley. "Maybe if I talked with this Fabiola, explain the situation. Maybe she will do it for the two thousand? I could handle that. I don't know how, but I think I could swing it."

"Great," said Charley. He grabbed a piece of paper from his desk and wrote on it. "Here is her address and phone number. Speak with her. If she says no, then Rose must perform tonight."

"Is there any other way?" asked Charlotte, tears welling in her eyes.

"There is one other way the investors agreed to. You can perform in Rose's place. They saw your pic and will accept you to star in the film. But I told them you would not do that for any amount. Besides, I would have to rewrite the scene and create another theme for which you're perfect."

"Me? What would I be perfect for? I am just a mother."

"Yes, a mother performing to keep her daughter out of the industry. Rose would have to be present, sitting a little distance away from the action, watching her mother perform for her. It would be marvelous. I could even use your makeup time to show how these films are created and then show you performing admirably and then say how disgusting it all is and your anger, and.... Well, we won't be doing that anyway, so talk with Fabiola. Give her a sad tale; she is a goddess, so you never know how she might react."

Charley ushered Charlotte to the elevator. She entered, turned, smashed her hand on the first-floor button, and glared at Charley as the door closed.

At her car, Charlotte turned back and looked at the hotel's façade and the dark monitor screens that lined the space between the hotel and its expansive lawn along the street. She wondered what it would be like to live there, do business there, and twist other people's lives just because she could.

Charlotte shook her head, got into her car, and found Fabiola's location on the Navigator system. She called Fabiola's number and spoke to a male-sounding person who advised Charlotte that Charley had already communicated the issue and that Fabiola was willing to talk with her. Charlotte nodded, clicked off the phone, and drove the two miles to another high-rise.

As instructed, Charlotte used the elevator to reach the penthouse. The elevator opened onto the living area of the suite. Charlotte looked through the elevator door at the minimalist décor for a few seconds before stepping into the open space. Windows walled the room. There did not appear to be any walls dividing the suite except for a half-wall dividing an area Charlotte assumed to hold a bedroom and bath. Charlotte approached a window and looked at the city's skyline. There were other buildings of equal height or higher around the suite. Charlotte looked down and got a sinking feeling in her stomach before her eyes finally reached the streets below.