“Fuck yeah, sex swings, baby.” Adam thrusts his hips forward.
I roll my eyes. “Handle him, please,” I tell Delilah. She simply sighs and looks over at Adam impatiently.
I’m sure the Veda’s extracurricular activities are the reason why AA chose this house for the Halloween shoot. It’s the perfect mesh of creepy, taboo, and sexy.
A young redheaded woman wearing a black dress emerges from the front door. “Hello, everyone!” she says brightly, and then looks around in question. “Britain McCulley?”
I raise my hand. “Present.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jaime smirking at me.
“Welcome!” she holds out her hand. As she walks forward, I take it. “My name is Elizabeth and I am head of the staff at Veda Manor. We will be taking good care of you for the next two weeks. Shall I show you your rooms?”
She waits for me to nod before ushering us inside Veda Manor. The sound of our rolling suitcases is like a stampede.
Immediately, it’s like I’ve walked into another world. Although the sun is just starting to set, it feels like midnight. Shades are drawn everywhere, and the walls are all illuminated with the glow of soft, warm lanterns. They are deep crimson, bordered and finished with oak. A Victorian staircase wraps around the cylinder entryway. A massive crystal chandelier hangs from the room’s core. Of course, the whole place isn’t really spooksville. It’s not like the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland where cobwebs and dust are added for effect. Everything is spotless, all chrome, crystal, and bronze shining.
I look around at my models, their mouths agape as they stare at our surroundings.
“This is the foyer, and upstairs are your rooms. You should each have your own. I will leave you to it to explore the place by yourselves. Let me know if you have any questions.”
It’s easy for me to lug my suitcase up the stairs because I’m not a diva and I don’t over-pack, but some of the girls are having a hell of a time carrying their stuff. Hell, the guys are too. “What did y’all pack?” I cry. “Rocks?”
“Dildos,” Jessica responds. Some of the boys guffaw.
The second floor is the girls’ floor (not like it matters—everyone has seen each other naked anyway). My room is placed right in the middle of Delilah and Chloe. I know because a bronze plaque with my name engraved onto it is slid into the tag holder on the door. That’s some fancy shit right there.
Even Evan has her own room. Not like she’s going to be able to stay at the manor at all during the next two weeks. I talked to her last night, and she said that even though she’s only been in school for two weeks, she has homework up the ass and will probably to leave to go back to Cambridge right after her shoots.
Speaking of Evan…
I grab my phone from my back pocket and text her before entering my room:
You’ve gotta see the place we’re shooting/staying at. Can’t wait to see you tonight!
I tuck my phone in my pocket and open the door to my room.
I shouldn’t have expected anything less than a bedframe of polished wood and a thick, ruffled canopy. The linens are obviously new—straight out of an insanely expensive department store like Anthropologie. I’ve got to say, while it’s too girlie for my everyday tastes, vacation-Britain is saying hell yes to this bit of extravagance.
There’s a huge fireplace and mantle next to a door that must lead to the bathroom. I check out the vintage tile and the footed ceramic bathtub, realizing I share the space with Chloe. She peeks her head in from the other side, her eyes bugging. She points to the tub. “I will definitely be soaking in that all night.” She grins at me.
“Go for it,” I say as she swings back into her room.
I walk over to my bed and fling myself onto it. Ugh. I don’t understand how flying can be so exhausting when I’ve been sitting all day.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out.
Evan: I simultaneously miss you and want to murder my lab instructor. It’s a strange feeling. I can’t wait either.
I text back: Apparently the staff is supposed to wait on our every whim. Maybe I can have someone go on a vodka run.
Evan: Sounds divine. See you in a few hours.
As soon as I set my phone down, the iPad chimes. No rest for the weary.
This time, the message is from Elizabeth. Please tell your team that dinner will be ready in one hour.
I send a mass text letting everyone know, wondering if I can get a quick nap in before dinner is ready. I kick off my shoes and rest my head on my huge plush pillow, my eyes losing focus until my vision suddenly snaps back again.
I’m staring at a painting.
Not a family portrait, either, or some cute painting of a pond and ducks. Nothing that you’d normally assume would be in an old manor from the 19th century.
I hop out of bed and whip out my phone again, snapping a photo of the portrait and sending it to Evan. Here’s a taste of how nuts this place is.
The portrait is of a young woman in an elegant ball gown. Her hair is wild, and the ball gown is pulled down so that her voluptuous breasts are spilling out. She sits on a wooden chair with a dress hiked up to her hips, a man in trousers and suspenders—probably a peasants uniform at the time—with his head between her legs. The woman looks like she’s mid-orgasm.
Evan: What the actual fuck.
Me: Inorite?
Evan: I have GOT to get myself over there.
Me: Yes. STAT.
I have a really strong feeling that this isn’t going to be the weirdest picture I find in the manor.
I’ve never had a dinner in my life like the one I am having tonight.
First of all, there are name tags by everyone’s plate. I’m pretty sure the only time I’ve ever had an assigned seat was at a crappy wedding when the bride and groom wanted everyone to have no fun and forced us to sit next to total strangers.
Secondly, all of us are drinking from crystal goblets and fine china. I don’t know WHOSE crystal goblets and fine china—if they’ve been purchased for us by AA, rented from the catering company, or property of the Manor itself (the latter would be creepy). There are two turkeys, piles of rosemary potatoes, and vegetable platters. There are also skinny versions, from vegan options to gluten-free options. Catering for models must be such a pain in the ass.
We’re all sitting down and halfway through our delectable meal when Evan enters the dining hall.
The room, like it is fine tuned to dramatics, drops silent, and Evan says, “What is this? Are we at fucking Hogwarts or something?”
Suddenly, all of the awkward tension has evaporated. Some of the guys give Evan a standing ovation (including Jaime. Of course he would). And Evan smiles sweetly, strutting to my end of the table. She wears a long-sleeved, loose dress that drops to her thigh. It shimmers black and red in the light of the candles.
She takes a seat next to me, and I mutter, “You just had to make an entrance, didn’t you?”
“Duh,” she replies. “Ok, I’m about to eat a horse. Point me to the vegan shit.”
Half-way through dinner, one of the staff members hands everyone at the table a schedule for tomorrow. The AA assistants are taking a red-eye tonight and will be in Boston tomorrow morning, and that’s when we’ll start to shoot. Even though I’m completely capable of photographing without them, but whatever.