Got a Model in the Loft.

In the room full of clamoring moth men, I hang her out there like an unquenchable bug zapper.

She glows in apathy, texting while they flutter up to her.

After a bit of feigned flirted interest, she directs the suits to me.

And now he's gotta buy my product, or look like an asshole right in front of her.

That's the plan. And it works, every time.

No matter how powerful or exclusive a man is, my hot chick army never fails to rope them in.

In the past, I'd stress real training on the models. Learn everything about the product, so they could sell it on their own while at the trade show.

Somewhere inside me I try to respect them as real people. That these young models are more than just good looking fly traps.

Like Yvette. She was good. Hard working and friendly, too. I miss her.

Now I collect a small group of new model girls from wherever they grow them. (I think there’s a farm in LA somewhere with rows of hot chicks being watered with compliments, vegan diets and booty squats before being unleashed into the world)

I have a lineup of them in tight-fitting company shirts. All beautiful and they know it. Playing on their phone while I try to explain how and why the product works. It’s extra obvious that they don't care.
They don’t actually need real sales skill, or knowledge of the product.

Just keep it simple. They can't do much more than stand there and look good- which is all they planned on doing anyway.

Just use their hotness to attract business men, zap them. I'll sweep up the corpses and turn them into cash.

The show is a success. We’ve got plenty of new stores to fill.

--

After the show, I’ve managed to get one of the girls up to the loft. I amazed myself that I could even arrange something like that. It seemed pretty natural too. I think this one likes me!

This place is romantic. To me, it’s like another planet. Surely this LA model girl will think it’s cool too.

We’re on the roof now. Just me and her.  Downtown Los Angeles hustles and breathes far below. From way up here, it feels like we own it all.


“Wow this is really awesome,” she says, smiling at the city view. She asks for a cigarette, I hand her one, and light it for her. She smiles again, and takes a drag.

The cherry brightens between her slender fingers, and briefly warms her face with a soft glow.

“I’m glad I’m not the only secret smoker here,” she says, giggling, “Hey we should pop open that wine bottle for sure!”

She joins me at a large glass table, leaning back in a plush designer sofa, to drink the scenery. A cool breeze encourages us both.

I pop open the Moscato and pour us each a glass. Not my taste, but she wanted it, so I didn’t argue.

She takes a sip, and licks her lips with satisfaction. “Ahh, deeeelicious.”

I smile back and sip my own glass.

A kiss of wind carries some deep red hair across her face. Her skin is like the inside of a seashell. Perfectly creamy, almost polished looking. I wouldn’t have to Photoshop her anywhere.

“So, you wanna go swimming with me?” she gestures to the pool with her glass.

“S-swimming? Oh I didn’t bring a bathing suit so I—I mean yes. Yes I do.”

Smooth, Andrew. God.

“Great!” she grins. She stands up and removes her top, then her skirt. If I took pictures of her now, they’d make the cover of Victoria’s Secret.

I watch her tiptoe to the pool then slide into the water.

“Ooo this is nice.”

She looks like a scene from a movie. Am I really awake right now, here doing this?

Get it, Andrew. Now’s your chance!

I set my glass down, and shed clothes to my boxers.

She looks my average body up and down, then takes a big gulp of wine. Apparently she’s used to Zac Efron types.

But I’m a nice guy, so she likes me anyway, right?

I join her in the pool. The water’s warmer than I expected. She floats over to me with an effortless grace. The water doesn’t even ripple when she moves through it.

“You know, Andrew.”

“Yeah?”

“This is the coolest place ever, I mean isn’t it perfect? I could just stay here forever.”

“Oh really? You wouldn’t prefer a quiet cabin in the middle of the woods? There’s way more stars in the sky there.”

“Nah I like this. I’m a city girl,” she drifts up to me. We’re close now, face to face. Her breath is sweet from the wine.

 “So, how long have you lived here?” she whispers. Beckoning almost, with each syllable. I can nearly taste her.

 “I’m just here on business for a bit,” my face tells her.

“Oh, sooo... this. This isn’t yours? You don’t live here?”

“Nope. I'm just the designer, helping run things where I can.”

"What... what kind of designer?"

"The graphic designer kind. You know I make logos and stuff."

Her entire body changes, rigid now. She stands straight up, taller than me again.

“What time is it. Actually it’s getting late.”

“Like 10, and it is?”

She sloshes out of the pool, sloppily this time. The sexy soothing grace is gone entirely. She grabs a towel and covers herself quickly, then digs around in her purse for her cell phone.

I watch her act like she’s texting for a bit. Probably coming up with a plan to escape.

“Yeah I better go,” she says. She won’t even look at me.

“Uh okay? I’m sorry I- I uh?”

She hurries to the penthouse door, shivering, like she narrowly avoided something awful.

She pulls the heavy aluminum handle, goes inside, and the door closes itself gently behind her. The resulting silence mocks me.

“Goodnight,” I tell the door.

I finish the Moscato directly from the bottle, letting the jacuzzi bubbles pump into my back.

I want to go home.