Through The Grinder

editors so angered the corrupt politicians of Tammany Hall that they zoned part of the building out of existence to create Lafayette Street. After the partial demolition, the building grew like a phoenix from its fractioned ashes, sprouting additional floors and an opulent new entrance foyer on Lafayette.

At the moment, I was standing outside that foyer, looking up at a gilded, top-hatted Puck who seemed to be laughing at the foolish mortals entering his building — men in evening suits and women in opulent gowns, all of them impatiently jamming the doorway, their limousines clogging the streets around them. The building itself, a city block large, was ablaze with light, its tall windows casting a golden glow on Houston, Lafayette, Mulberry, and Jersey Streets.

Tandi drew a letter from her tiny purse. “I think we’re supposed to go to the Jersey Street employee entrance.”

We dodged the crowd and circled the building. There was also something of a crowd at the Jersey Street entrance, which was lorded over by a portly man in a black suit, black shirt, red bowtie, and conspicuous bright red socks.

“Hi, Trevor,” Tandi warbled.

“Tandi, you made it,” the man cried. “The other girls are already inside. Go dish, girl.”

Tandi waved goodbye.

“Good luck, Fuego,” she squeaked. Then she catwalked through the door and out of sight.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, batting his eyes.

“We’re here to model,” I said.

He examined me and his eyebrow went up. “Surely not.”

“Not me, my client, Fuego.” I pushed Matteo forward like an offering.

“Not bad,” the man said appraisingly. “Where’s your contract and letter?”

“My what?”

He thrust his hand out. There was a ring on each finger, but tastefully he’d skipped his thumb.

“Your contract?”

“Brooks Newman said he would send it over by messenger but it never arrived,” I lied, impressing myself with how good I was getting at dissembling. “Brooks only saw Fuego a few days ago. Said he’d be perfect for tonight’s event.”

“So Brooks is shopping for rough trade these days?”

He looked Matteo up and down as if he were a racehorse.

“A little long in the tooth but not bad,” the man snorted. Then he folded his arms.

“But you have to have a letter to get in here, sweetie. I’ve got J. Lo in there. I can’t just let every Tom, Dick, and…Fuego in, you know.”

“Brooks did give me his card,” I said, fumbling through my wallet, praying I hadn’t thrown it away since our dinner at Coffee Shop.

“Here it is!” I thrust it into the man’s hand.

“Okay,” he relented. “But you’re lucky we have more thongs than the buns to fill them or I’d send Fuego back to the meat packing district.”

He stood aside and Matteo and I stepped forward. Then his hand shot out and stopped me.

“Where are you going, sister?”

“With my client, I — ”

“He’s modeling. You’re not.”

“But Fuego…He doesn’t speak a word of English,” I stammered. “He’s very obedient. Does whatever I tell him. But I have to tell him what to do because…well, just between you and I, Fuego is pretty but a little dense.”

The man’s round face broke into a grin.

“Oh, I love that in a man! Go on then, honey, and good luck.”

“A little dense,” Matteo hissed after we got inside.

“I also said you were pretty.”

Just then, a lean, muscular young man with no visible body hair strode by wearing a leather codpiece and a string holding it up — and nothing else.

“You’d better be pretty, if you want to compete with that.”

Matteo snorted.

“The dressing room is this way,” cried a scrawny man. He held a hair dryer and was waving us forward with it. Behind him, the room was full of nubile young bodies in various states of undress. There was no privacy, and models of both sexes were changing into their outfits together.

“This might not be so bad after all,” said Matteo, grinning.

“Break a leg. Once you’re changed, you should be able to move around freely and look for Joy. I’m going to try to find the kitchen.”

It took me ten minutes to locate the damn thing. Between banks of steel refrigerators and an expansive range, dozens of cooks in white coats were preparing trays of elaborate canapés — all vegan.

“Excuse me,” I said to a man who was checking the trays as they left the kitchen. “I’m looking for a young woman working with one of the caterers. Joy Allegro? I was supposed to meet her here.”

“Not here, upstairs,” the man replied. “We’re the Puck caterers. The private caterers are working the Skylight Room upstairs. Are you one of the wait staff?”

“Why…uh…Yes.”

Since I wasn’t dressed as a guest for a formal function, I figured it was the only answer I could give. Telling him anything else might have just gotten me thrown out — and I couldn’t risk it. Besides, the Skylight Room sounded exclusive, but posing as a waitress would certainly get me right in.

“Thank goodness!” he said. “The boss told me if one or two of the no-shows didn’t get here soon I’d have to send one of my own staff up there to fill in.”

“Well, here I am!” I chirped. This was perfect. I’d worked for a caterer part-time in Jersey, so this act was sure to be a breeze.

“Yeah, none of my girls wanted to wear the outfits.”

My blood froze. “Outfits?”

“You can change in here, but hurry,” the man said, opening a locker room. “Victoria’s Secret contributed this stuff for the event, so you’ll probably find something that fits. Let me know when you’re done and I’ll take you upstairs.”

I hesitated and I guess he saw the dread on my face. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s not underwear you’ll be wearing.”

“Thank goodness.”

“More like a flimsy nightgown kind of thing.”

Twenty-Three

I emerged from the dressing room ten minutes later wearing red mules and a silky floor-length nightgown with a low but not grossly immodest neckline. The design was a pink floral pattern with tiny red roses sewn around the neckline, and the material itself was clingy, accenting my curves. Still, it was awfully thin material and downright drafty. Okay, I admit, it looked quite elegant, and I might have loved wearing it, too, if I were at home, in my bedroom.

The chef returned. I suppressed the urge to cover myself.

“The service elevator is taking more cases of beverages upstairs. It’ll take some time, so just go through the main ballroom and use the elevator up front.”

“What? Through the main ballroom? Like this?”

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of — ”

Oh, good god.

“Besides, compared to the women out there serving drinks, you’re dressed modestly. Anyway, there are two