The Passion Agency (8 page)

“If you want my opinion, I think you are way
over-qualified for the job,” he said leading her to the large couch
in his small TV room.

There was a desk immediately behind the couch. Both
were facing the TV directly.

“I wanted to see if you agreed. I have the deciding
vote. You wouldn’t be working with me, but I thought you could be
the best candidate. What would you like to drink?” he asked.

Donna was listening. It was all making her feel low
and stupid. It was making her feel like a poor person who would
always stay poor because she never had more to give than physical
pleasures to a man with money.

All in the name of grabbing whatever table scraps
were available.

Suddenly, she shot up to her feet. The words of Paul
the bum were bouncing around in her head. The words were actually
causing her some sort of physical pain the more they did.

“I have to go,” she said abruptly. “I do appreciate
the offer and the interview but I have to go. I am also withdrawing
my name for consideration for the job. It’s not what I want to do
with myself. It’s not my dream.”

She walked out the door and into the cool night
wondering just she would get some income going.

…

Donna negotiated her way down the winding roads of
Bradley’s neighborhood toward the Pacific Coast Highway feeling a
great deal more nervous than she did after confronting Chris and
Brea in her bedroom.

The easy move and the one that would have gotten her
back in the work force would have been to sleep with the man and
get it over with. Something wouldn’t let her and she hoped it was
the same something both Paul and Peter talked about.

She flipped on the radio and began letting it scroll
on it’s own to find something to listen to. Not because she didn’t
have favorites pre-programmed but because she was too busy thinking
and trying not to crash into a car or driveway on these winding
neighborhood streets in the dark.

“Her name is Rachel Evans and the website is…” the
woman’s voice said tailing off.

The giggle of a young girl could be heard.

“Well I don’t actually have a website,” the girl said
with a squeaky voice that made Donna think she was no more than
like ten. “I have something more worthwhile. I have lots and lots
of followers and I think they are all seeing the truth. We don’t
have to buy into male fantasy beauty because reality beauty is real
beauty.”

“We gotta run Rachel,” the hostess interjected.

“It’s Beauty Lies channel on YouTube,” she said.
“That’s the only place you can find me.”

The channel slipped off. Apparently the talk radio
station signal weakened as Donna turned right onto the PCH headed
back toward Inglewood and home.

She thought for a moment about Brea and wondered how
she was making money for real. She hoped she taught her well enough
not to do anything illegal or wrong. But she wouldn’t turn away the
money if Brea brought it.

She also thought of how understatedly beautiful Brea
was never wearing cosmetics of any kind.

She would jump on the computer as soon as she got
home and take a closer look at what

Rachel Evans was doing on her video site. It would
all go down better with one of those Coors Lights.

…

“You can’t ever know how it will end up.”

Those were the words of Sergeant Michael Raburn,
United States Marine Corps as he bid farewell to his Vietnamese
Mistress, Lo Dha Ling.

She was only sixteen and clueless about things like
love. The American had professed his devotion for her. He came
often and they did adult things. She loved him she thought. He
bought her nice clothes and he brought her family food.

Then one day he was gone. The North Vietnamese were
rolling down in their direction through the tattered South
Vietnamese army.

He told her he had to go and that he had a wife and
kids back home. He told her that If she could make it to the US,
somehow, they would be together. Her family was poor city folks but
her dad was an adjunct for the government to help round up
Communist sympathizers.

The North Vietnamese and their guerillas had
informers everywhere. Everyone would be trying to get in good with
the new men in power by turning in someone. Lo's dad was a marked
man.

He sent Lo south to the coast with his great uncle
who was fleeing the city.

He would stay behind and join them later.

“I will catch up with you as soon as I get our
affairs squared away with the new government,” he promised her.
“They will be buy my property and I will take the money and we’ll
start a new life. But you need to go.”

“But why Papa?” The young girl cried. “It makes no
sense. We should all go now. Together.”

“Your mother and I will find you in California in
America,” he said without any apparent fear or doubt.

Her great Uncle was a quiet man. She thought she
could trust him. When they stopped off for her to go to the side of
the road in the trees to relieve herself, he came to her.

She was too frightened to yell or cry. Afraid that
they would leave her behind.

He did it every time they pulled off to the side.

Eventually, she learned to hold it in.

They got the coast and wasted no time. The country
was in full collapse. She hopped a small motorboat in the South
China Sea. There were thirteen of them at the beginning. When they
met up with an Indonesian freighter, 9 days later, Lo was the last
person alive. She was weak and sickly, but begging for the
opportunity to go to America.

One of the ship captains on the Indonesian commercial
ship took a liking to her. He offered her trade to an American
bound ship if she would lie down with him. When she refused, he
raped her.

She took the pain and learned to say yes until she
arrived in the US. A couple weeks later, her boat entered the LA
Ship Channel and a new life.

She was pregnant and she knew the American father was
here somewhere. He said they could be together, so she set out to
find him.

The baby was a girl and she grew up beautiful. She
did nails and hair in Westminster. She looked sort of American.
Taller than many of her Asian friends, but not overly tall. Proud
and hardworking. She learned the language pretty well. Her name was
Phong.

Phong married a man who let her move in her mother.
He was white and worked in the ship channel loading and unloading
cargo. He drank a lot. He beat her and often.

She never had a problem getting a new manicure and
pedicure job. She was beautiful, but she was nearly forty now.

This tall white guy would come in every so often. He
asked her out on many dates. (She never wore a wedding ring to
work.) His name was Chris and he used to play for the Lakers. Or so
he said.

They went out and by the second date, they were
sleeping together. It beat getting beaten. That’s how she looked at
it.

He bragged to his buddies how even though she was ten
years older than him, she looked like a supermodel.

Chapter 12--Sex Power

Brea thought very little of Chris as October turned
to November. Yes, she had a new way of seeing life after she read
her mom’s journal. Yes, she was maturing now that she was out
working not one but two jobs. Yes, she now felt like her future
could be brighter if she helped her mom find that same bright
future.

It was all different and to her it was exciting.

She was was at heart a person who enjoyed going
against the grain. If she were to get married she was sure it would
be a very low key affair. Her reasoning, she explained to Lacey in
a pot induced haze one sunny day, is that she would be keeping
other people in mind by not overdoing the self-celebration.

“Let’s face it, people have big weddings and
graduation parties and all that, for the attention and free gifts,”
she said pointedly. “That’s the heart of what motivates them. It’s
the dirty little secret of it all. No one calls bullshit because
they want to reserve the right to show off themselves with their
own wedding party. They want to make sure they can get in on the
free gifts with her own party. They will always say they do it
because they want to share their happiness with all these people.
Frame it however you want. Ass holes. I can’t stand phony
people.”

Lacey was the perfect pot buddy and she was evolving
into an actual friend to Brea. She took pleasure in Brea’s
rebellious thinking as well as her edge. She liked how Brea
questioned things.

“You are really twisted Brea,” Lacey said after
listening to her wedding rant.

“Always remember young Jedi,” Brea said with a sly
grin. “There are two motivations for why people do things. The
reason they say they are doing it and then the actual reasons.”

So it went with Brea’s job at the University. Money
was Brea’s actual reason for carrying on with the adjunct professor
at Loyola who she was hired to grade papers and do research for.
She was getting an extra $100 a week and it was most likely because
Professor Thad Bronsky loved the way she felt when he was putting
his penis in her.

He didn't talk about how the extra money was coming
out of the general research budget for his work on genetic links to
suicidal tendencies. It definitely wasn’t discussed that he was
married to a local socialite who was also a member of the school’s
Board of Regents.

He would have to dance around the paperwork when it
came time to explain the money. If he had to reach into his pocket
to make it all come together right, he would.

It was worth it. He hadn’t tapped trim this good in a
couple years. Since the last time he carried on with a grad student
(She had to have two different abortions). But he was fifty now and
his energy, appearance, and therefore his appeal, were all fading
fast.

He read the vibes Brea was giving the first few days
she was working in his office. He held eye contact a little too
long and spoke without speaking and told her he wanted her. Without
the aid of a word. She would take it all in and mention off-handed
in the next interaction that she was looking for more work because
the pay wasn’t quite like how she wanted it.

She jumped on his computer one night after he left.
It was after he told her she was brilliant “not to mention
lovely”.

Her experience being seduced willingly by Chris was
serving her well. She didn’t think Bronsky was bad looking and she
had a thing for brainy guys. She knew it was on.

He left his laptop computer on and not by accident.
It was set to a porn site with the naughty student doing her
professor in the classroom. Complete with tartan plaid skirt and
high heels. White shirt buttoned tight around the midsection. The
whole deal.

Brea knew they’d be working after hours tomorrow and
decided “What the Hell?”.

She hoped it would mean a raise and maybe an end to
starting up her vibrator every night. She was really wanting a man.
It surprised her. But she figured that as long as she didn’t walk
around acting weak and boy crazy, it wouldn’t betray who she was.
It was her preferred pose: the indifferent girl who was too mature
and intelligent to fall in love.

The next evening as night fell on the campus, Brea
snuck quietly down to the bathroom on the floor where Bronsky and
other department faculty kept an office. She threw on an outfit
almost identical to the one in the smut movie on Bronsky’s
computer. She put on a long coat that she wore just today and
walked back to the office, closing and locking the door behind
her.

She was amazed she wasn’t nervous. It all seemed
completely natural.

The Professor’s door was slightly opened.

Brea walked in and smiled with her books under her
arm and her coat bunted up to the top.

“I thought you were working late tonight?” he
asked.

Brea undid her coat revealing her lithe body in a
schoolgirl uniform. The skirt was so high, it barely reached below
her swollen vulva. She reached back with her foot and kicked his
office inner door shut.

Her milky white skin shined and he could see her
pussy with dark peach fuzz on it when she lifted her leg.

“Professor, I need to talk about my grades,” she said
with a pouty voice that made Bronsky go erect instantaneously. “But
I think I dropped something under your desk.”

He leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

“Be my guest,” he said assuredly.

She unzipped him and took his girth into her mouth
and began bobbing up and down. Each time taking him deeper into the
throat.

About to burst, he crawled under the desk and went
face first into her private area.

It was pure unbridled lust for hours. Back and forth,
every which way. Neither seemed to want it to end. He felt twenty
five again and she felt like she had the power she missed with
Chris.