-1-
Being on your own young is a challenge. Anyone can attest to that. It was no different for Sabha Beliveau, even at the age of nineteen and a year out of home. It was true that being the daughter of a French diplomat had it's perks. By the age of seven Sabha had seen most of the world with her father, enjoyed some of the best education that money could buy, and was fluent in six different languages by the time she entered High-school. Sabha's mother, a Persian ex-patriot from Iran, took up teaching Farsi in French schools, but soon grew weary of her new homeland. So, when the opportunity for Sabha's father to relocate to the United States as a consultant for Boeing, Sabha, Her mother, and Her brother all leaped at the chance.
It was in Seattle, Washington that Sabha completed her high-school education. Her worldly view allowed her to surpass most of her peers in scholarly pursuits as she excelled in subjects of arithmetic, geography, history, and Spanish (one of the six languages she was fluent in). Sabha was quickly accepted into the University of Washington upon graduation.
However, none of the lessons she learned as a child could ever prepare her for the harsh reality of life. Sabha's father was determined to not allow his children to end up like the "American slobs" that he so looked down on. When her brother, Jean-Pierre graduated a year before her, he was out on his own. Sabha always assumed (correctly) that she would receive the same treatment.
Within a week of her high-school graduation Sabha was moved into her new apartment. Six blocks south of the Space Needle, on the corner of Fourth Avenue and Bell Street. It was a quaint little (emphasis on little) studio apartment and had all the amenities that a young woman like Sabha could need. The best part, Sabha felt, was that it was only two blocks away from Jean-Pierre.
Growing up the two were nearly inseparable. Jean-Pierre was only a year older then Sabha. Almost to the day. Like Sabha, Jean-Pierre was fluent in six languages. He couldn't speak them as well as his sister, however his language skills were passable. Jean-Pierre also excelled in his scholarly pursuits. However, the pursuit of knowledge did not interest him. "Wasted potential" his father would say on more then one occasion. When it came time for Jean-Pierre to move out of home, he did not let the door hit his ass on the way out, so to speak.
Sabha heaved a heavy sigh and picked up her cellphone.
"I need to call Jean-Pierre." She muttered to herself as her fingers swiped through to his phone number. The phone rang. It rang only three times before the other end picked up and Jean-Pierre's voice transmitted through the speaker.
"Hey, it's me." Sabha said after Jean-Pierre's typical greeting of 'yo'.
"I know, phone's come with caller ID." Jean-Pierre teased.
"Shut up." Sabha said playfully. "I need some help..." She began. Sabha sighed again.
"How much...?" Jean-Pierre's voice trailed off.
"No, not money, you idiot. I need you to help me find a job."
"I know just the guy!" Jean-Pierre claimed. Sabha could hear Jean-Pierre handle the phone and what sounded like shuffling papers. "Here it is." he rattled off a number that Sabha quickly wrote down. "His name's Mike. He's a talent scout."
"A talent scout?" Sabha had heard of talent scout's before but never thought she was pretty enough to become a model. Her focus had always been with school and she never really noticed boys until late in her high-school years.
"Yes, silly a talent scout. I've been doing some work for him. It's easy stuff, just sit and smile really." Jean-Pierre explained.
"A-are you sure?" Sabha stammered, the thought of being in front of a camera nearly terrified her.
"Yes! I'm sure. You'll do fine!." Jean-Pierre said. Sabha wasn't convinced. "Just give him a call, Sabha, give it a shot. If you don't like it don't do it. If you do, it's some money your way." Sabha still wasn't convinced but promised to think about it anyway. Sabha unceremoniously said her farewells to Jean-Pierre and hung up.
Sabha was a long time sitting in her desk chair flipping the number between her fingers. Her thoughts drifting from one fantasy of being a model to another.
"What the hell!" Sabha said, making the clear and final decision to give the number a call. She swiped through the numbers, checking and double checking the number before pressing send.
"Hello?" An American male answered.
"Yes, Mike please." Sabha said.
"Speaking."
"Yes, Hello..." Sabha nervously stammered. She could almost hear Mike roll his eyes on the other end. "I... um... Got your number from my brother, Jean-Pierre... he said you may have some work for me."
Long pause.
"Yeah... I think I can come up with something. Ever been in front of a camera before?"
"No. Not professionally." Sabha admitted.
"That's okay, why don't you stop by this Friday and we'll see what we can do... bring a change of clothes, something sexy."
Sabha's heart punched against her chest. She began to frantically wonder if she had anything sexy enough for a job. After taking down the address Sabha ended the call and immediately began to panic. Yet, through the anxiety the young woman could feel a tinge of excitement. The allure of the unknown attracted her and soon anxiety turned to full blown glee. She ran to her closet and began rifling through her clothes.
-2-
The week came and went in a flash. It was Friday and Sabha examined her slender body in the full length mirror that she hung on the sliding doors of her closet. She chose a tight black dress, matching black pumps and accented the entire ensemble with a single pearl that hung from a silver chain around her neck. Sabha chose a set of earrings that Jean-Pierre gifted her for graduation. The silver thin strands formed a set of triangles that glittered in the light. To avoid hideous panty lines, Sabha chose a discreet lace g-string that she got from a girlfriend for her last birthday. Sabha remembered with a smile what her friend said about lace lingerie. That it wasn't proper for a grown woman not to own at least one lace g-string.
Sabha turned sideways to examine her profile. The tight black dress cut off around her mid thigh, hugging her curves. She couldn't help but notice how nice her rear looked in the fabric. The plunging neck line hugged her ample breasts, revealing deep cleavage that the pearl rested in. She examined her body further; noting the Mediterranean glow of her skin that she inherited from her mother, the straight black hair that she had up in a loose bun, and her shapely legs, from her father's side of the family. Sabha had no complaints about her body and in fact agreed that she was a classy type of beautiful, even if she didn't think it was good enough for modeling. She ran her hands down the fabric of the dress, over her breasts, down her stomach to her thighs. This was her favorite dress for very good reason. It made her feel sexy, it made her feel powerful.
Sabha smiled at herself again. Gathered up her day bag with a change of sweats a t-shirt and sneaker shoes. She tossed her phone in the bag and headed out her front door. Her pumps clacked on the floor as Sabha made her way to the elevator. The bell chimed just as she reached the sliding silver doors. She was still smiling with delight and sex appeal when she stepped into the elevator, a single other occupant already inside.
"Good afternoon." He said, as his eyes took in Sabha's shapely form.
"Afternoon." Sabha chimed through her smile. She recognized the man as her upstairs neighbor. Only ever running into him once, as she was moving in. That time she was dressed in what might as well have been a burlap sack. That time the man didn't pay much attention to her other then pleasantries. This time the man couldn't take his eyes off Sabha. Sabha could see the man in the reflection of the doors in front of her and noticed that he was busying himself with staring at her shapely rear that her tight black dress hugged.
The encounter got Sabha's heart racing. It thundered in her chest and she flushed red as she watched the reflection of the man watch her. Sabha tucked her lip under her top row of teeth. She'd never been perceived as a sex object before, this feeling was new to her. Sabha relished in it.
The elevator took years to finally reach the ground floor. With another chime, the doors slid open and Sabha flashed a winning smile over her shoulder to the man.
"Have a good day." Sabha sang.
"Uh..hm... You too." The man stuttered.
On the curbside Sabha hailed a taxi. The Yellow Cab pulled up with haste and Sabha got in. Sliding into the back seat with grace, she rattled off the address and closed her hands over her lap. The driver, a recent immigrant from Bangladesh smiled with a nod. His white mustache pointing out sideways from his face as he looked at Sabha through the rear-view mirror.
Again, Sabha could feel eyes prying on her. She glanced up to see the driver staring at her cleavage every time they pulled up to a red light, stop sign, or traffic was moving slow enough. With Seattle traffic on a Friday afternoon, it was nearly always slow enough. Sabha smiled at the man, but did nothing to cover up. She flushed a deep red at the attention she was so readily receiving.
Nearly forty-five minutes later the Yellow Cab pulled up to the address. Sabha looked out from the passenger side rear window.
