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I immediately pushed her hand down. “I’m good. Thank you.” Clearing my throat and blinking my vision clear, I tried to smile, but the battle was too hard.
Lights dimmed and the countdown began. “Fuck. You’re so damn beautiful up close.” Mr. Satan whispered once we got close enough. I gave a fake smile and tried not to flinch when his soft hands touched me. It’s like the moment his flesh touched mine, that hyperawareness I asked God to give me cranked up times a thousand and the emotional warfare had me tripping harder than my first time on pills.
We had to pretend we were actors and actresses. Acting like we were in love, gazing into each other’s eyes. Chill bumps covered my body again and this fool thought it was a lustful reaction to his touch. No. My spirit was screaming and crying for me to get away from this man, from these people. I did what I had learned to do, play the part. Then we switched to the shots that had me straddling his lap with our private areas touching, him holding my breasts in his hands, and my head tossed back in fake ecstasy.
“Shit.” He moaned low as tears pricked my eyes.
“Yes. Fantastic shot guys. Don’t move.” Stan yelled; flashes burning my eyes. I’m sure the shots were good. The model’s reaction was pure organic, but mine… his dick hardened under me and I was on the verge of losing my shit. I kept praying and praying, asking for strength to finish. Praying and shaking. Shaking and praying.
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop!” I yelled, and all the flashing lights ceased.
Stan looked as confused as Hillary, who stepped up on the platform looking me over. “What’s wrong?”
“Why…” Take a deep breath, Sunnie. “Why doesn’t he have a protective cup on?” My voice trembled, alerting Hillary to look him over. She gasped when she saw the very large tent in his boxers.
Proud of his manly glory on display, he feigned ignorance. “Aye, my body is just doing what it does best when it sees and feels a sexy woman.” This creeper had the nerve to wink and lick his crusty ass lips.
Stan’s wide eyes bounced back and forth. “Um, let’s take a break. Conner, wear the cup we gave you. Wardrobe change, people. Excellent job.” And just like that, my uncomfortableness was brushed aside, and all was forgotten… to them.
I ran to my dressing room and barely made it to the trash can in the corner. Chunks of my Italian salad disrespectfully erupted from my mouth as knocks rapped along my door. Over the hurls of my vomiting, I heard the uncaring voices asking if I was okay or did I needed anything. I didn’t know what I needed, but I needed to get away from here. Such fake concern. Only asking because the Me Too Movement is still on a rise with someone new getting exposed every day. The last thing they needed was a Black woman accusing one of her own of not protecting her on set.
Once my stomach decided it had enough, I took my time brushing my teeth and getting myself together to finish and go home. The voices had become faint noise and knocks concluded, making it all more startling and surprising to see Monah leaning against the door across from my room.
“Can we talk?” Ah, here it goes. The coverup chit-chat. Stepping in and making herself at home, Monah almost confused me with her fake concern. “Are you okay?”
“I am.”
Nodding, she assessed me and I assessed her. Two could play this game. Though this was my first incident while working with her, I’ve been on enough shoots to know how this went. She wanted to see if I was going to go the lawyer route and accuse her of having inappropriate models and not caring about the women. Not every woman cared about protecting another Black woman. Black Girl Magic had its limitations in Hollywood, not all but most.
“Monah.”
“Sunnie.”
Awkward laugh activated. “Listen, Monah. I know you’re only here to save face. His erection just threw me off and…”
“And it won’t be tolerated.” Hmm, that’s a first. “Conner is sexy and the shots we got were perfect, but I won’t let you continue knowing that he purposely made you uncomfortable and didn’t follow directions. Had you not worn the nude thong, or we’d given him the boxers with the slit, we’ll things could’ve gotten way out of hand and I don’t want that. I apologize. I really am sorry. You’ve worked with me since I started, and I don’t want our relationship to be tarnished because of this. So, with that being said, if you’re up to it, I’d like to finish the shoot with just you.”
My stunned ass flopped down on the plush sofa. I was really shocked. Yes, Monah has been nothing but respectful towards me, paid me well, and always made sure I had a good time on set. Most of the guys I did my shoots with never let me feel anything and wore protective covers. For a second I wondered if I overreacted because I’ve been going through this weird mid-life crisis at twenty-eight. I mean I had my breast in this man’s face. So, what if my nipples were covered. The illusion of me topless was still there, and to his knowledge, I wasn’t wearing anything to protect my coochie. Any man would react as he did but still.
A little taken aback that she was on my side, my lashes were on the verge of falling off from my blinking. “I’ll admit, Monah, that I was prepared to tell you to kiss my ass after this one, but I’m thankful that you care about my well-being.”
“Of course, Sunnie. As long as you’re on my set, it’s my job to protect you. Whenever you’re ready, come on out and we’ll finish.” Monah surprised me again with a hug.
As she walked out, Hillary walked in. My curly gray-haired friend was a beauty who liked to hide behind the camera as a personal stylist. A thick Baltimore accent matching her slim thick frame. We’ve been friends for over a decade, and I’m humbled enough to know that I wouldn’t have kept my sanity this long if it wasn’t for Hillary. We prayed together, laughed together, cried together, and we were about to go into business together. Hell, we even lived together. Outside of my sister, Hillary was my person. My soulmate in best friend form.
“Are you okay? And don’t you lie. I already told all of them out there that they could get it.” True to her word, Hillary had a reputation for being the sour patch diva. Sweet to meet, but if you mess with her or someone she loves, well, you got an enemy for life.
“I’m better now.” My shoulders relaxed. “Let’s finish this so we can get ready for tonight.”
* * *
Black will forever be my favorite color, and Hillary didn’t disappoint in making sure my outfit of the night screamed me. The chic suit blazer romper screamed sexy yet chic and sexy. A deep opening neckline with my breasts tapped to the lapels. Gold layered chains starting from my collarbone down to the middle of my breast. Tom Ford lock stiletto sandals that put the perfect deep arch in my heel. Black and gold press-on nails from my latest collection to match. An assortment of rings and bangles. Big hoop earrings and diamond studs going up the curve of my ear. Switching out of my layered bundles from earlier, Hillary teased my tresses until she got the perfect messy bun. Outside of a smokey eye and matte red lipstick, my makeup was minimal, and my scent of the night was his favorite - Dawn by Brown GirlJane.
Like any other night when Ezekiel and I crossed paths, intentionality was the theme of the night. From my hair to heels it was always for him. My scent, for him. My lipstain, for him. Though he’s never seen them, the color of my panties and matching bra, if I wore one, were for him.
It was always for him.
“I’m so glad we don’t have to wait in this line.” Hillary groaned, flipping open the visor to fix her lipstick. A total contrast to the sex ensemble she dressed me in, Hillary went vibrant and bold with a parrot yellow jumpsuit and purple platform heels. Her dyed gray hair was in a wild afro. Her eye sore of colors popped against the chocolate melanin of her skin.
