Her Bundles Of Joy

Chapter 3

Nicole’s big day had finally come. The young dancer had made sure to wake up extra early so that she wouldn’t be late. Terrence would burst with anger if he saw how set Nicole was on being punctual for this gig. For the past two weeks, he’d been all up in her business, nagging her about being on time for classes and whatever. Nicole loved teaching dance classes, but it wasn’t her real passion. Sue her if she just wasn’t motivated enough to get out of bed in the early morning to be a teacher when all she truly wanted was to be a backup dancer for stars like Brandi, or even Beyoncé someday.

She checked herself in the mirror for the umpteenth time. Nicole wanted to make sure she looked her best for this recording. The day before Nicole had received a package in the mail from Brandi’s manager. It was the outfit she was to supposed to wear for the video shoot. It wasn’t anything too fancy; high-waisted black jean shorts, dusky blue bralette, and a pair of white sneakers that probably cost more than Nicole’s rent. Even though her waist wasn’t as tiny as other women’s, she felt really good about herself in the outfit. It also highlighted her favorite part of her body: her chest.

One of Nicole’s favorite things in life was wearing a bikini and showing off her upper body. Nicole didn’t always feel confident with how she looked, especially when she saw the stretch marks on her bottom—which had appeared back when she’d gained some weight after high school—but she loved her bre*sts and thought they were beautiful. In fact, Nicole was so content with how she looked right now that she had this sudden urge to snap a picture of herself and upload it on her Instagram account, and so she did. Nicole had been working so much that she hadn’t had much time to keep her feed up-to-date. Dani always advised her to stay active on social media as it was a great way to gain visibility in the industry, but Nicole wasn’t that fond of sharing her every step online. Call her old-fashioned, but Nicole never learned to fully trust the internet like other people from her generation did; she was scared of being stalked by a creep one of these days. After adding a cheesy caption and posting the image, she stuffed her phone in her back pocket and put on a wool peacoat over the tiny outfit. She grabbed her keys and purse and left the apartment, but not before checking if she had any money in her wallet. Nicole would take the train to Manhattan and from the station she’d hail a cab to the filming location. After she’d been sent the address of the shooting location, Nicole had checked it on the map and saw that the place was at the Upper West Side, in a very expensive-looking building. She wanted to get there by taxi so she would look less poor than she would if she arrived on foot.

The pictures she’d seen online didn’t even compare to the real thing. As she stood in front of the magnificent building, Nicole wondered if she looked dumb to anyone who might be passing by. Surely she was bound to attract some dirty looks. After all, it wasn’t every day that a dark-skinned woman wearing nothing but sneakers and a peacoat that covered her outfit and didn’t even reach her mid-thighs stood astonished in front of Campbell Brothers headquarters in Manhattan. Nicole rummaged through her purse, trying to find the key card that would allow her entrance to the building. Brandi’s manager had instructed her to greet the receptionist and let her know that she’d be filming for Campbell’s new TV ad.

The receptionist was an old lady in her late fifties, perhaps. The woman wore a red skirt suit and red-trimmed glasses that were bigger than her face. She also had ginger hair and Nicole swore she’d never seen a person wearing that much red all at once. Shaking off those thoughts she approached the counter.

“Uh, good morning,” She said politely.

The old woman looked Nicole up and down before narrowing her eyes. Nicole felt uncomfortable under the woman’s scrutinizing stare. It made her want to run away from this place if this was how people were going to look at her.

“May I help you, young lady?” Even the woman’s nasal voice made Nicole’s skin crawl.

“I’m here for the video shoot? I’m one of the dancers.”

“That explains a lot…” the redhead muttered under her breath. “May I see your identification, please?” Nicole handed the woman her driver’s license and the access key card she’d been provided. “I see…well, you may take that elevator,” the woman said while pointing towards the elevator. “And tell the operator you’re going to the seventeenth floor.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Nicole smiled politely and turned around, stuffing her documents back inside her purse.

The receptionist, believing that Nicole wouldn’t be able to hear her, sighed. “God, they let anyone in these days…”

Nicole turned back around and glared at the woman.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?”

The old woman lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “I said have a nice day, miss.”

Nicole narrowed her eyes suspiciously and resumed her walk to the elevator. The operator was infinitely friendlier than the old hag that worked as a receptionist in the building. He smiled and told Nicole to have a great day before she stepped out on the 17th floor. Just like the rest of the building, this floor was a sight for sore eyes. Two of the walls were white, while the other two were completely made of glass, giving Nicole a perfect view of Central Park. She’d never been in such a tall place before and was utterly amazed at what she was seeing. The porcelain floor tines reflected the light coming from the windows and gave the floor, which was actually a huge studio, a neat and clean vibe. Nicole loved bright places and this studio certainly made her feel at ease.

All around her, she could see the crew and the filming equipment; it looked like one of those filming sites they showed in movies. Nicole squinted her eyes and tried to spot any familiar face that’d help her get around. Suddenly, a cold hand touched her arm and Nicole flinched.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t, it’s just your hand. It’s really cold.”

The short woman that stood beside her was Brandi’s manager, Jenny. She was a 30-something-year-old blonde woman with beautiful grayish eyes. She flashed Nicole a pearly white smile and shook her head.

“Oh, that. I was freezing my hands.” The woman said, in her Southern accent, as if it were the most natural thing to do. “I ain’t a young siren anymore. Gotta take care of this wrinkly skin.”

“I see…” Nicole said with a confused frown on her face. “Uh, do I need to do something before shooting? Or should I just wait?”