Escapades of an Erotic Spy - Part 1 A Spy is Born by Lexington Manheim

with
clothes on. I was just about to wish her a goodbye and turn toward
home when she spoke.
    "You did good…for a girl with no
experience."
    I was taken aback for two reasons. For one,
these were the first English words I'd heard the girl utter. Up
till then, I was under the impression she didn't speak my native
tongue. Yet, despite a strong French accent, she enunciated the
words with the verbal agility of someone who knew English well.
    The second reason for my reaction was
because she was telling me she was aware of my inexperience as a
model. I had tried very hard not to let on about that.
    "Who says I've got no experience?" I held a
stoic pose.
    "When you've been in the
business a while, you can tell." She had a smile of awareness that
caused me to gulp. "Don't worry," she continued with a
knowledgeable air. "He doesn't care. He's just happy to have a
black girl pose. Did he tell you you're an 'exotique'?"
    "So what?" I shifted my
weight uneasily. Was there a point to this
conversation?
    "So welcome to the club.
You are exotique because of the color of your skin. Me, I am exotique because…"
Smirking, she gestured toward her crotch, the location of that
amazing bush. "Some men find it erotic. Like a wild animal down
there. No accounting for taste, yes?"
    Within the confines of the photo studio, I
was willing to be a naughty lady. But here on a public street, I
found this kind of talk uncomfortable.
    "It was nice working with you." I was ready
to retreat.
    "Would you like to work again?"
    I hadn't expected her to say that.
    "What?"
    "If you'd like to work again, I know a
place. Not at all far from here."
    "You mean now?" I was somewhat
flabbergasted by the suggestion of going to another modeling job
right there and then.
    "Not to work today," she explained. "Just an
introduction. I know a photographer. I think he could make use of
you. And, if he can…then you make more money." She leaned in
confidentially. "The pay is better than here."
    "If it pays better there," I reasoned
suspiciously, "why are you here?"
    "I go where the work is. Sometimes it's
here. Sometimes it's there. You cannot pose for the same
photographer every day. Or even every week. Or every month. No one
wants the same girl back. They are always looking for someone new.
You're their fondest desire today. Tomorrow you're old news."
    "Monsieur Robinet invited me two days in a
row." I was proud of that.
    "But did he invite you for a third time?"
Nanette raised an eyebrow. I looked downward. "So now he is through
with you," she concluded. "If you don't find another photographer,
there is no more work. That is the nature of the business."
    "And you're here to save me from that?" I
asked, wary of her motive behind giving me such information.
    "I'm not running a charity. You are new. If
you and I go together—a team—that makes me new, too. A new team,
yes? We both work. You like working with me today?"
    "I thought you were very professional." The
response was designed to be polite yet noncommittal.
    Nanette smirked. It was the marginally
suppressed grin of someone who knows more than you think she does.
She shrugged. "It's up to you. You want to work, or no?"
    I wanted to work. I needed to work. No one
was calling me about any other employment opportunities. I agreed
to go with her to meet this other photographer.
     
     
    Pigalle:
    As Nanette had indicated, his studio was
very close—just around the corner and a couple of short blocks
down. However, despite the minor distance that separated the two
locations, we seemed to have stepped into an entirely different and
unsavory world. The street was more narrow and pockmarked.
Buildings were gray, dilapidated, and in greater disrepair. Every
shadow looked creepy. What few people we passed moved quickly and
silently along the street, never making eye contact, as though they
sensed no good could come of lingering there. I started having
second thoughts.
    Is this such a good idea? How is a
photographer