3. Chapter Three #2
I could feel my face warming. “Dude,” I whispered, leading out into the aisle to try to spy any of the flight attendants.
They were all in the galley at the moment.
I tipped back in then to the side to keep this conversation as private as possible.
I’d never been hit on so brazenly by a guy.
Aside from that one time Ralphie asked me to suck his dick, and that didn’t count because he was pinning me to the wall with his arm over my throat at the time.
They guy knew nothing about foreplay. There were no gays in my town I knew of other than maybe bi Ralph.
No gay bars, no gay clubs, no pride events, no nothing queer other than Kinder Graham.
If I wanted to find someone to give me head I would have to drive to Bismark which was too damn far for a BJ so it was just me, my right hand, and my imagination.
“Look, I really appreciate the offer but I cannot risk being tossed off the plane for giving some random stranger a handy.”
“We’re over the ocean. They won’t throw you into the sea,” he murmured while giving my knee a squeeze.
“No, sure, yeah, but…” I moved his hand back to his own thigh with buttery fingers. My sight met his as sun streamed in the round window to his left. “Sorry, but I have to say no but thanks for the offer.”
“Your loss.” He shoved his tiny cup of tiramisu at me then stuffed his ear buds into his ears effectively cutting any other conversation off.
Whatever. He could pout and watch Gladiator until we touched down in France.
I had food to eat, sketches to make, and a nap to take.
If I could manage to calm my ass down long enough to close my eyes.
***
Thirteen hours after I had said goodbye to my family I was standing among the hordes of departing passengers feeling more than a little lost and a whole lot exhausted.
There was a long line at ESS, another long line at passport control, and then another wait for my beaten-up suitcase at luggage pickup.
I navigated all of that using a translator app along with the kind assistance of a few more seasoned travelers.
Once I had my suitcase I followed the throngs to the arrivals hall.
This meet-and-greet area was jam-packed with loved ones and friends waving, hugging, and welcoming home weary travelers.
Several people were lined up with name cards or using their phones I spied my name on a shiny Android being held by a stunning man with skin a shade darker than mine.
His eyes lit up when he saw me pulling my suitcase with the wobbly wheel towards him.
“Kinder!” He gushed, flashing a white smile, as he reached out to lift my carry-on from my shoulder.
He was dressed casually in worn jeans, a baggy tee, and bright green Keds.
Slim, tall, he could have been a model for the show as well with his bright blue eyes and raven hair.
“Welcome to Paris. I’m Camilo Garcia, the talent wrangler for Novum, the streaming production and distribution platform that’s creating étoiles de Style.
I’ll be the one herding you and the others from one place to another, coordinating your daily schedules, script revisions, and call sheets.
I’ll also be your transit manager when we leave the school or set.
Basically I’m your go-to guy for anything.
Any questions, concerns, or problems text me.
My number will be in the welcome packet in your quad room.
” We shook hands. “You’re the last designer to arrive so this is old hat for me.
” He chuckled then motioned to a set of doors leading outdoors.
“The school is putting the contestants up in the dormitories on campus. There aren’t many rooms available so you’ll be sharing a room with another designer. I hope that’s okay?”
He had a smooth Spanish accent I found really pleasing. “Yeah, it’s fine. I share a tiny apartment with three women so splitting a room with a guy will be okay. But uhm…” I paused in front of a perfumery. Camilo stopped as well. “Just so my roommate knows ahead of time. I’m gay.”
He nodded. “Understood. IT won’t be a problem. We do not tolerate any kind of hatred or toxicity of any kind. Claude Barron himself is queer as is probably seventy percent of the cast and crew. Mickey is also gay, quite openly so back in the UK, so there will be little trouble on that front.”
“Cool,” I replied, falling in behind Camilo to exit the sprawling airport then dive into the backseat of a waiting car as the driver took my bags and placed them in the trunk.
Camilo began talking at me but the combination of jetlag mixed with my first sight of Paris up close and personal had me gaping out the side window instead of paying attention.
“Personally I think we should all be draped in chenille then taught to play the tuba.”
Tearing my tired eyes from the search for the Eiffel Tower I blinked at Camilo. “Sorry. A tuba?”
He laughed. “Looking for the Eiffel Tower?”
“Yeah, I read online you can see it from all over Paris but…” I waved a hand at the towerless view.
“Yeah, that’s not true. The city is dense and has height limits on any new buildings. They must be twelve stories or less to preserve the historic low-rise skyline. It also limits carbon emissions. But don’t despair. You’ll be seeing the tower soon enough.”
That perked my sluggish brain up. “Are we having a challenge there?”
“As if I could discuss it with you.” He teased before passing over a fat gray rulebook.
“I’m joking. I’m not high enough on the exalted list to know such things.
What I do know is you need to read over this manual this evening.
It has all the rules of the show such as how eliminations work, clothing restrictions, and of course the surrender of all electronic devices as soon as shooting begins which will be a six am tomorrow. ”
I was hoping they’d skip that part of the rules and regs.
“Sorry, yeah, it sucks but you and the others will be pretty much isolated from the outside world until after the final episode airs. There are times you’ll be allowed to touch base at home, obviously, but those calls will be supervised and heavily edited.
Your loved ones will have to read and agree to a consent form so the conversation can be legally broadcast. It’s all in the rulebook. ”
“Okay, yeah, that’s cool.” It so wasn’t but I got it. I didn’t like it but I got it.
He gave me a sad little shrug as we crept past eclectic bistros with damp umbrellas, their tables filled with diners, tiny fairy lights on awnings adding a magical aura to the narrow cobbled street.
Rough as the ride was I almost hated to exit the small historic neighborhood to move onto paved roads.
Dusk was settling on the city casting a soft bluish-purple glow over the golden streets.
Gas lights glowed. Dogs on fine leashes were trotted down busy sidewalks by women in stylish dresses and men in bohemian garb.
My head was on a swivel trying to take everything in as Camilo pointed out small cafes which served the best espresso or baked the most delicious éclairs. I wanted to visit them all.
“So is there any down time to see the city?” I asked.
“Only if chaperoned by one of the producers or your favorite wrangler” he replied.
Well that was something anyway.
We slowed to a halt outside a three story building sitting on the corner of two bustling boulevards.
The exterior was cool soft smoky stone slabs, the windows reflecting the city lights, and the front doors revolving glass that sat under a lintel with Barrons Fashion Academie chiseled into the limestone slab.
The car stopped. My heart thumped like a wild caged bird against my ribs.
“Here we are,” Camilo said, his gaze on me as I gawked at the famed entryway to one of the most famous fashion schools in the world. I was torn between weeping, grinning like a loon, or tossing my cookies. Guess it would be curry chicken I tossed…
“Here we are,” I whispered, unsure if my legs would work. “Can I just sit here for a minute?”
“Yes, of course. But only for a minute. Time now is of the essence. The next six to eight weeks of your life will be micromanaged so enjoy this last taste of leisure.”
So there I sat for a minute or two, tamping my nerves down. My entire livelihood in fashion design waited behind those silent, sweeping doors. Guess it was time to step through them.
“I’m ready now,” I announced. Whether I really was ready or not remained to be seen but as Mom says there’s no time like the present to carve out your future.