SCENE NINE (IX)
“час от часу”
Pronunciation: chas at CHAsu Meaning: just keeps getting better (sarcastic)
“FROM ONE HOUR TO THE NEXT”
Set in the Atlas Park Hotel in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. You can rent a hotel room with the expectation that no one cares what you do there. That’;s true in almost every part of the civilized and uncivilized world. If you pay by the day, the month or the hour. People stay quiet. You get what you pay for, which is that quiet.
“Make another fucking dirty movie, blat, or we’ll slow kill your fucking mom,” he said. So she ended up fucking nineteen guys in a series of movies. “I’ll kill her in front of you bitch and make you eat from her fucking corpse.”
In pre-revolutionary Czarist Russia a beautiful woman of the gentry, with a powerful father and a substantial dowry even if she were so inclined, was not able to release thousands of photographs and short videos of her pretty face and enormous ripe breasts indiscriminately to potential suitors, horny aristocrats and common serfs, and petty criminals. The technology simply did not allow it in the 18th and 19th centuries. And frankly speaking then, never mind honor and propriety and the status of women; it would not have been strategic for an adventitious coupling. From a matrimonial happiness point of view, but we are not in the 19th century certainly we are not. It is the future now. Women have no dowry, they have rights! Our gentry is far harder to access but not as bound by protocol and convention.
“Sometimes I’m highly classy lass, and sometimes I take off enough of my clothes over a smile.” That’s what Dasha’s private Instamatic declares. In the City of Penza where she grew up she was a brunette, but now while in America a meticulously dyed blonde. Her name at the agency is ‘Gold Fish’.
So she sits there in her modest Brighton Beach apartment, sometimes in suites paid for by suitors in the then Atlas Park Hotel or the Waldorf Astoria, the Benjamin or the Sofitel. By the hour she has to work, and she takes a lot of pictures of herself. Thanks to technology, thanks to the future over 160,000 men, well they get these pictures immediately. Sometimes with a selfie stick, sometimes on remote, sometimes she has a professional photographer, but it’s hard to make men do things on a long enough timeline without putting them in.
She’s never depicted of course with her john’s only where they take her. It’s sophisticated art showing strangers on the internet that you’re classy and upper-middle-class and unavailable for immediate purchase, but you like things.
She has a shape that wins her many admirers. 176/57 93-61-95, serious measurements to shape her like a highly erotic, but angelic doll, one social media account is more doll and one is more tits. But the modern man, maybe all men like doll and tits in tandem. It’s hard to say whether this venture is actually sustainable, but she is getting popular. It sure beats working. As a student, a model and lover of fitness this has been a good racket so far. She’s just 24 in this life. It’s sensible but not impossible to get the kind of man who will send a 100 rose bushels across town, to you know, buy groceries and pay your rent.
It’s hard to get in her head, that’s the idea. Her smile is a perverse fake smile, it’s not a happy smile, and you have to work real hard to have a good and winning fake smile. Often thanks to technology men in London or Newyorkgrad can see her rub her enormous breasts and do strange little things with her belly, or play with a cat. She does it all from her iPhone, links it into VKontackte and Facebook via Instamatic to two accounts. And then the offers come in. Most of them are just kind of disgusting. Well at least she can afford to fly her mother here once a year.
She’s never walked a European runway, that’s for sure. What she is a student of no one could guess. Her father thinks this is beyond dishonorable, but she’s his favorite daughter. And honestly despite having big baby eyes, and a tiny, tiny waist and ‘tits for days’ as she says, truly massive breasts for a petite figure like hers, and everything is real. Well suggestively is the color she paints with. It’s gotten her an international following.
Because that is how the modern commodification of flesh works, the horizontal voyeurism, but not consumption, of designer curves and suggestiveness. On SUPE you can get more, shall we say intimate with Daria Andreavna’s form.
“You’re getting way too skinny,” Sergei Abromovich once told her, it was almost the first thing he told her and you have to be careful telling a woman like that she’s anything but perfect. “It’s totally normal” she told him,” and referred him to a website of Russian models, but honestly none were as slim as her.
Sergei supposedly works as an accountant at the Atlas Park Hotel in Midtown. Though that is dubious. He pays for her classes, her rent in the shared apartment, he pretty much pays for everything. He loves her too much to be a legitimate sponsor.
Now no one wants to believe they are exploited, or being manipulated. No one likes to be deceived, you want to get what you paid for, you want out more than you put in, this is capitalism. Exponential reward for diminishing volume of work.
“I worry that in your desire to please your clients you take on dimensions that are unhealthy. And I mean not say this so boldly, you must consider your own health and longevity above the peering eyes and thick wallet of the fans,” Dmitry Khulushin, her top sponsor wrote.
What a stupid, almost Ivoryish thing to say, she thought looking at this message from the Atlas Park Hotel. I am adored exactly how I am. In all my skinny and all my round. I will make someone send my favorite dumplings, she says. Or roses, or new victory bras for my big and beautiful, you know. Maybe Red bottoms, also a new puppy. New Years is coming, options, so many options. Hopefully a brand new life, in a brand new time and place. In a brand new life, everything could be okay. It would all be simply amazing. Should the impossible become possible, the untrue become true and the nightmare somehow transmogrify into a happy dream.
“I’ll tell you what though. Whatever they do, did, are still gonna do to me. My sisters had it much worse in the long run. Because I was eventually allowed to die. They both had to live with what our father was capable of.”
If I give in and I eventually marry Sir Dmitry the Oligarch I can move to the City and put all this, shall we call it; ugliness, behind me. He will be able to secure me. Stupid people say that money cannot ever buy happiness. But it certainly can buy one of all the main options. Thus, with many options you can get about as close to happiness as human life can get. But, when you are cold and hungry and have no green card. Both options and happiness are just abstracts. First comes security at all necessary costs.