Sabrina by Rasah H

Her name was Sabrina Dangerous and she was a dominatrix. At least that’s what her card said. I met her at a party thrown by my employer at the time, a fashion photographer who had traded in Vogue covers for his own private business of photographing women’s privates and posting them on the web. I’d been hired as his assistant and soon learned that along with general filing, buying groceries, and preparing party platters for get-togethers like this one I was expected to airbrush/photoshop the T&A of various women. I didn’t know what I thought of this yet

“You’ve got nice hair,” said Sabrina over a poised, about-to-be-eaten potato chip.

“Thanks,” I tried to smile. Was she scouting for dominatrix-trainees at this shindig? I hoped not. She probably just admired my blonde hair because she obviously dyed hers.

“So what do you do?” she asked me, licking chip-salt off her finger.

“Oh, I do a little modeling.” I’d just graduated from high school and had decided to take some time off brainwork to explore the world. But I soon learned I’d need a day job, which is what had brought me to assisting the photographer. The fact that he revealed to me over brunch one week into the job that he was in porn was a surprise, but in the City, things aren’t always as they seem.

“I’m a dominatrix,” Sabrina said. “But I started out modeling, too. Here, take my card – you should keep in touch, “ she slithered one manicured hand into her back pocket and fished out a pink card which read, Sabrina Dangerous, Dominatrix.

“Thanks,” I’d never met a dominatrix before and didn’t know what to say.

“Sabrina is the best,” the photographer slid up next to us. His hair was greaser than usual that night. “Hey Cher, great fruit plate.” He smiled like a goon and popped a grape into his mouth. “Sabrina, meet my personal assistant, Cher.”

Sabrina’s eyes hadn’t left me. “So you made this fruit plate? You’re adorable.” Somehow that comment made me feel 4 feet tall with pigtails. If I were a male, I guess I’d call it feeling emasculated. I don’t know what women call it.

Suddenly the Star-Spangled Banner sprung out of Sabrina’s left pocket. “Oh, here’s one of my clients now,” Lady Liberty looked down at her phone and silently read the caller ID to herself. “Excuse me a minute, “ she smiled into my eyes. “Old Monte must be tired of his wife again.”

I swallowed a grape whole.

“I don’t know why anyone bothers to get married.” Said the photographer. “Humans aren’t meant for monogamous relationships.”

I’d been in a relationship with my high school sweetheart for 4 years and liked to hope otherwise. “I’d like to think otherwise,” I said.

“Wouldn’t we all,” he popped another grape through his teeth. “I was married once. But it’s hard to find trust in a city like this, and with a profession like mine. My wife constantly accused me of sleeping with all the young models I shot with. I mean, the fashion business is flirty and the photos are sexy and the girls are beautiful, but that doesn’t mean I’m cheating. My wife was in her 40s, had a few wrinkles, was insecure. There was so much tension between us after awhile, it just couldn’t last.”

“Well, did you ever cheat on her?” I asked.

“Yes, but that’s not the point. I mean, she was constantly worried about me cheating so eventually I was like, hell, why not? I might as well prove her right and have more fun than I’m having at home. Models will do anything to get into Vogue. You’re picking quite a business to be in, Cher.”

“He’s right,” Sabrina had returned from her appointment making. “I got tired of constantly having to beg for job after job as a model. But in this line of work, the tables are turned. Hey, whatever gets you off. It’s a complicated world.”

“Do you sleep with them?” I asked.

Sabrina threw her head back in a fit of giggles. “No, dear, I’m not a prostitute….at least not for the amount of money they pay me,” her eyes were sparkling. “I just play with them. It’s S&M. I’m always the aggressor. Sometimes I whip them, or tie them to chairs. Its kinky stuff, but harmless. Its gets them off. Half the time they just want to talk, anyway. Apparently, none of these a-holes wives know how to keep their men happy. People just want to be heard.”

“Cher has a boyfriend,” the photographer piped in.

“Oh? Is he beautiful?”

“Yes,” I said. “Why?

“People seem to date their kind. You’re beautiful, so I figured he must be. He’s very lucky.”

“But tell her not to get married, Sabrina. She’s young, shake some real-world sense into this girl.”

“Let her do what she wants, Hal. People have their own paths, learn their own way.

That afternoon, long after the party platters were cleared away and chairs were moved back into their normal places, I sat in front of a Mac, photoshopping a model’s thigh. Every one of the models went by a “nickname,” as their real identities were to be protected and the fantasy to be upheld. There was The Girl Next Door, a blond with short hair, a cute face, and natural boobs. Then there was the Latina Hottie, a woman with long black hair, sexy eyes, and fake boobs. There was the Budding Model, a girl who looked underage even though she wasn’t. Her story line was that she’d do anything to get into Vogue, and she possessed a face that could be both innocent and bad-girl at the same time. It was her thigh I was photoshopping now, hanging open on one side of a bed.

Just then, I heard the Star Spangled Banner behind me. I turned around to see Sabrina, snuffing out a cigarette in the hallway ashtray.

“Sorry to disturb you, sweetheart. Hal gave me the key. I’ll be staying here a few nights while they fumigate my apartment.” She walked up to me and leaned over my right shoulder. She smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. “Nice work, sweetie. Her thighs look really natural. You have the eye.” She smiled, and her eyes began twinkling again. They were lined with clumpy mascara and showed the beginnings of a few wrinkles at the corners.

Thanks.” I took a drink from the glass of water next to me. “But does she look like a teenager? She’s the “Budding Model,” you know, so I don’t want her to look fully developed yet.”

Sabrina swept one long manicured red nail across the screen, and leaned in close. “Cut off a little more there.” She smiled again. “You’re practically a plastic surgeon.”

I kept working as Sabrina moved around the room, shuffling through Hal’s CD collection, lighting up again and using the ashtray on the coffee table. Hal hadn’t told me she’d be staying in his guestroom. I hoped she realized this was a home “office,” and I needed to work, not just chat. I was a little afraid of where a conversation with her would go.

“Oh, that’s Hal’s ex-girlfriend.” Sabrina was obviously still peering at the computer screen from across the room. I had just started smoothing out the stretch marks on The Girl Next Door. “He thinks she’s so beautiful, but I think she’s average.”

I zoomed out for a minute, and looked into the eyes of this blonde with the boy haircut. She looked fun and rebellious, but also a little pissed off.

“Why did they break up?” I asked.

“Oh, she’s the artist type. I think she’s actually a painter now, or something, but she was modeling when Hal met her. She’s a bit flighty and unstable, doesn’t stay in one place long, likes to live “free.” And Hal really needs somebody more grounded, with an understanding of business. They had chemistry, but couldn’t relate. You know, the classic relationship of good sex, but no real hopes for the future.”

Just then, a key turned in the lock. Hal stepped in, holding an umbrella. “Its raining.” He grumbled.

I popped up and went over to help him with his things. In addition to being a workaholic, Hal was an obsessive-compulsive. He hated when umbrellas dripped on his lacquer wood floors. He hated when things were out of place. I looked over at Sabrina, hoping she hadn’t messed up his CD organization.

“We were just talking about Chrissy, Hal. Cher is cleaning her up a bit.”

Hal unloaded his briefcase and trench coat, and made his way over to the Mac.

“See why I pay her the big bucks, Sabrina? She’s an artist.” Hal brushed a rough finger over the curve of Chrissy’s hip. “By the way, Chrissy is coming into town tomorrow from South America. She’s trying to relocate to the City again, and I told her she could stay here while she looks for an apartment.”

“Oh! One great big happy family!” Sabrina squealed. She rolled her eyes at me behind Hal’s back.

“Let’s get out of Cher’s hair, Sabrina. Dinner at Anthony’s?”

“Let’s.” Sabrina snuffed out her cigarette and threw me a wink. I turned around to stare at Chrissy’s hipbone.

****************

Every night before leaving Hal’s, I did a “once-through” in his apartment. He owned some of the most expensive items I’d ever been around, but his obsessive-compulsion kept him from enjoying them. He hated, for example, to walk across his Persian rug for fear he’d ruffle and rearrange the direction of the fabric. His vases from Italy were lined up with such precision they were practically measured, 3 inches apart from the next. If one were shifted even a bit, he would notice and leap across the room to fix it. He lived in the midst of an unnatural, and unattainable perfection, as if his entire apartment had been airbrushed and photoshopped. But he couldn’t really “live” in it, and had no one to share it with. It was an isolating fantasy of what a perfect life could be if one could attain it. Much like the models on his porn site, it was too good to be true, and not real. If one of the women were real, I’m sure her flesh would jiggle with the wrong amount of intensity, and she might trip as she tried to slink toward a bed, or fall from her pose in the shower. But some people are more comfortable with fantasy, with the imagined concept of perfection, than real, imperfect life. And Hal was one of those guys.

****************

The Girl Next Door was set to arrive at noon that morning. Hal had me make up guest room number two, though he also had me double up on the pillows and blankets in his own room. I didn’t ask questions, I just did the work. I noticed Hal smelled a little more of mouthwash and aftershave as he left for a meeting that morning, and wondered if I detected a nervousness I hadn’t seen in Hal since that time I spilled dry cereal all over his imported area-rug. Chrissy was coming, and I knew nothing of her except Sabrina’s gossip, and how much cellulite she had on her thighs.

At one fifteen, while absorbed in erasing the moustache off the Latina Hottie, I heard Hal’s doorbell chime, twice. He hated it when people “abused” his bell, so I jumped up toward the door, and swung it open without even looking through the peephole.

“Hey!” the Girl Next Door smiled at me, with a mouth full of falafel, a half-eaten pita in hand.

“Hi! You must be Chrissy. Com’mon in!” I opened the door wider and let a girl no taller than me with one too many bags, lug them into the foyer. “You can bring your things into the guest room”

I noticed Chrissy didn’t wipe her feet when she entered, a big Hal “no-no,” and she rolled her suitcase across the Persian carpet. I’d have to “redirect” the fabric before Hal got home.

“So you’re Cher? Hal told me all about you. Thanks for putting up with him. You’re an angel. Not many people can take it.” She smiled and plopped her bags down into the center of the guestroom. Then she proceeded to make her way into the office, where she sat and ate the rest of her pita at the coffee table. Hal would kill her if he saw her eating in there.

“Hal would kill me if he saw me eating in here.” she licked the rest of the tahini off her fingers. “I guess this stuff is fattening, huh? I used to be so skinny, like you, when I modeled. Do you model?”

“Yeah, a bit,” I nervously looked at a drop of tahini positioned precariously next to a stack of letters.

“Yeah, its a tough business. I did OK for awhile, but just got tired of the running around. Its nice to be able to eat falafel again too, I’ll tell you.”

“What do you do now?” I ventured. Chrissy balled up her tin foil and wiped off her hands with a paper napkin.

“I paint. I love it, I get to really express myself in a way that you don’t in modeling, you know? Everyone just wants to be heard.” Suddenly, Chrissy jumped up and peered over my shoulder. “Hey! That’s me! I haven’t seen these pictures yet.”

She looked at herself on the screen, naked and posed near a window, as if she were about to jump through it in a sexy way. I looked up at the real Chrissy, and saw that her mouth had tightened and her eyes were squinting, carefully looking at the fake Chrissy on screen.

“Oh my God. I tell you, I wish I never agreed to do this. But I needed money and it was hard to turn down all of that. Plus, Hal is an old friend.”

Chrissy sat back down, and all of the vibrancy and bounce that had come with her into the apartment suddenly disappeared. She slumped into the cushions of the love seat.

“You regret it?” I felt sorry. I felt almost as if I knew this woman well, having gone over her whole body with the computer’s mouse.

Chrissy let out a heavy, tahini-scented sigh. “A bit. I mean, I sell some of my paintings, but not enough, you know? How can you turn down that kind of money? Plus, I guess I was thinking the odds that people would actually see this was pretty slim. But have you seen all the pop-ups and advertisements Hal’s creating? Jesus, what if my dad or some ex-boyfriend or boss or something sees that? Its so vulnerable.”

Chrissy looked out the window, and her eyes glazed over. The phone rang, but I let the answering machine get it. From the other room, I could hear the breathy voice of a woman, leaving her contact information and times to call her. Probably another actress looking to audition for the phone sex part of the site, I thought. I looked at Chrissy.

After several minutes, her eyes cleared and she turned to look back at me. “One word of advice, Cher. Don’t stay in this business of modeling long. Its not the way to really be successful, and its a slippery slope. Better to go get an education and move away from all of this.”

Just then, Sabrina walked through the door. “Hi girls! Chrissy, long time, no see!”

Chrissy stood up quickly and gave Sabrina a stiff hug. All of the vulnerable Chrissy from the moment before disappeared, and she seemed to pose and act for Sabrina as if she were at a shoot where they were supposed to be friends.

“So, darling, Hal and I want to take you out to dinner tonight!! Both our businesses have been going pretty well, so it’ll be our treat.” She winked at Chrissy, and then at me, before rushing Chrissy out of my office in a flurry. “Let’s find you something hot to wear!” I could hear Sabrina laughing her way down the hall.

************

The next few days, I didn’t see much of Sabrina, Chrissy, or Hal. They were out all the time, at vague “business meetings” and “lunches.” I continued to file, sort, airbrush, and clean. I noticed that as the days went on, Chrissy’s room got cleaner, and Hal seemed to be going through his towels at a more rapid speed than usual.

When Saturday arrived, Sabrina packed up her things and moved back to her apartment. The fumigation was complete, and no living thing could exist there now, except for Sabrina. She hugged me before she left, her long nails, forever red, digging into my back. It hurt, but I figured, maybe this was some S&M thing. She whispered into my ear again to keep in touch, then pinched my cheek. Again, I felt immediately shrunken to 4 feet 11 with pigtails.

Chrissy followed her a few days later. Hal seemed particularly depressed, which resulted in him being even more obsessive-compulsive. He yelled at me for not keeping the icons on my desktop in alphabetical order. I put away the extra towels, and cleaned up both guestrooms. Things went back to “normal,” just more days of photoshopping naked bodies and sorting the mail.

“Cher, we’re having an audition tomorrow for the phone sex actresses. Could you put out a fruit plate?” Hal asked on his way out the door Tuesday morning.

“Sure, Hal. And cheese and crackers?”

Hal paused. “Sure, they’re not on screen, we can give them fattening stuff.” With that, he sighed and gathered his coat and suitcase.

“So, did Chrissy find a place?” I had hardly seen any of them since Chrissy’s arrival, and quick departure, and didn’t know what had happened.

Hal set his suitcase back down, and turned to face me. “Well, she’s actually staying with Sabrina for awhile. She’s still looking for an apartment, but I doubt she’ll ever find one. She wants something big enough to paint in, but cheap enough to live off just the money from the shoot. And she refuses to look outside of the City. I don’t know how that girl expects to survive with her head in the clouds.”

Hal said goodbye, and left for the day. I never told Hal that Chrissy came back later that afternoon, to pick up some things she had left behind and to say goodbye to me. With eyes as glazed as that day she looked out Hal’s office window, she told me that she would be living with Sabrina for awhile. She was even considering apprenticing under Sabrina, to become a dominatrix. At this, Chrissy looked toward my computer screen, where her left breast had been magnified while I was trying to remove a freckle. She then turned to look at me, a bit of a spark in her eye. “Sabrina makes good money,” she said.

A week later I left Hal, just as Chrissy and Sabrina had. I took Chrissy’s advice, and looked into schools. I soon broke up with my boyfriend, our lives heading in different directions, hoping what Hal had said about monogamy and long-term commitment wasn’t true.

Six months passed, and I found myself in Hal’s neighborhood again, on my way uptown to class. I decided to swing by his block, just to look at the old apartment. When I rounded the corner, I saw police car after police car. The area was roped off, but from where I stood I could see Hal, in a fit, talking with one of the officers. I later heard that someone had climbed up onto the roof of the building and had jumped through his skylight. They had stolen all his expensive jewelry and artifacts, wads of stashed money, had smashed up his computer, and taken rolls of film from his shoot, and important business information. I could just imagine Hal’s reaction upon coming home to more than just a few rug hairs out of place, but an apartment totally rifled through and looted.

I recently looked up Hal’s URL online, and found that it had been discontinued. I also googled Sabrina Dangerous, and found her business had expanded, most markedly with the addition of Chrissy Sunshine, the Girl Next Door Type, offering bondage and light torture.

(Header Photo Credit: Rebecca Wachtel)

Rasah H is a NYC-roaming poet and observer, of both the inner and outer life. She is passionate about the pen on the page, words on tongues, stories told over coffee and those written on the faces of people walking by.