The old sources of auditions like Variety were gone. Everything was on the Internet, why I was glad to have picked up that used computer and had a good Wi-Fi connection. I signed up for the obvious, CooledIn.com and OutDeed.com. And then, searched for "talent agencies NYC" and picked up some more sites where I could enter my profile. All while Rory played on and I told him at the end of each song which ones I thought he should take with him for the morning rush hour at the subway station in the next block.

To say we made love that night would be an understatement but when the first light peeked through the big windows we had already eaten and were on our way to the subway station to catch the crowds coming and going.

There was somebody doing magic tricks with a crowd around him at one end of the station, but the other end was free, so we set up a stand for Rory's sheet music And he began to play and sing while I, in a very short red skirt and some black open mesh stockings I had for modeling and a simple spaghetti strap pink 7top without any bra to give a little jiggle as I played the tambourine as best I could to match Rory's playing and singing.

It worked. Men came over first to watch me, luring them like I was jigging for fish, and some female companions followed. While attracted to me, some stayed for the music and hurriedly dropped a dollar or two in the hat placed strategically so the men doing the dropping would bend down and look up my stockings and maybe get a glimpse of my black thong. Maybe not. Some even listened to the music before rushing off on the next subway.

About 9 am, a four-member band appeared and started to get livid as they approached. The lead guy carrying a guitar case put it down, kicked the fedora causing change to roll out on the floor and yelled loudly at Rory, "What are you doing at our spot!" There was blood in his eye and he had three others coming to back him up.

Rory stopped playing and backed up holding his hands up as if to push the guy away. "Okay, okay! We'll go. Just let us pick up our things and you can have this spot."

I helped him pick up the $24 from the hat and we vacated the place. Going up the stairs, Rory muttered, "What's wrong with me… I should've told you… I've seen them playing here before."

"That's okay. Maybe we can find a spot where there is good traffic where we can park as long as we get permission from the police so we aren't shagged off the street or jailed." I chuckled to break the tension and he joined me to shake the edge off of what had just happened.

With only one computer, we spent the rest of that day alternately signing into our various websites and trying to learn how to navigate them to get the best for the money that some of them charged if we were going to stay there longer than the trial period, sometimes only a day.

Cooking in was fun because we both participated. What little we had bought at high prices would last only a couple of days, but the idea of cooking and eating together was very romantic while we made plans, joked and just had fun being with one another.

After a day of job hunting and a healthy, home-cooked meal, we watched the sunset through our big windows and then, discovered movies that we could stream for free with our Wi-Fi connection on the Internet. Huddled together in front of the small screen was very romantic and comforting.

And then, we heard the news. A virus that come out of China that they called Corona had arrived by plane to New York and there were a few cases in local hospitals. When I heard, watching our small screen news, that only 1.5% of those contracting the disease were dying and they were generally older people with some pre-existing health condition, I stopped worrying and told Rory that we had nothing to worry about.

But then, the virus started to spread through the city like wildfire with the mayor and the governor telling us to lockdown and avoid contact with other people, we did. But we had to make runs to the deli to get food that was getting scarce on the shelves. I felt fortunate that we had money when so many others, out of a job, didn’t.

And then, there was confusion about the masks and we didn't get any because they cost too much, so I used a couple of decorative bandannas that I had used for accents that we used as makeshift ones until they became available on the street and in health clinics for free. And of course, we were too young to get any of the vaccines that were coming out. Every time we left the apartment we stood the chance of contracting the disease.

The disease began to lay waste to the old and already sick filling the hospitals until the hallways were full and temporary morgues had to be created to handle all of the bodies. While the disease morphed its name into 2019-nCoV, SARS-nCoV and SARS-CoV-2 with the idea spreading that the disease was mutating in two different forms that couldn't be stopped as it got more contagious and deadly.

As time went on with all of the arts shut down and street playing frowned upon, my meager money in our account gradually declined to the point where it worried me every day. And then, in my email, I got an offer for a photo shoot. It told me they were "paying up to $1000 for models to do a resort beach promotion in Trinidad/Tobago."

Since all of the airlines to the Caribbean were shut down, I should have sensed something wrong, but we were getting desperate for money and I was willing to do what it took to earn some for us. I responded to the requirements on the form and sent it back. I was surprised when I received an email inviting me to an appointment the very next day!

Rory wanted to accompany me, but I wanted to reduce his exposure and told him to hold down the fort while I was gone. I never wore makeup, but that day I put on some lipstick, did a little plucking of my eyebrows, and added a little powder here and there to keep any nervous sweating from make my skin shiny. Since this would be a photo shoot, I wore my sky blue bikini under my sweater and tweed skirt, since it was a blustery May day.

It was only a five block walk and seven floors up by elevator in a nearly vacant office building to the suite that had a beautiful beach scene on the door. Opening the door, there was a small window with nobody behind it and two well-endowed black women waiting. I sat down in the comfortable chairs and waited, chatting with the two women who both said they had answered the ad and were also trying out for the job. I began to wonder if I, as a fair white girl, was it the right spot.

My doubts were relieved when a handsome, tall black man with his hair pulled back in a ponytail and with a strong Caribbean accent, called the first woman in and told the two of us, "I'm sorry, but we are running behind. It will be a while before we will be able to take you in. He handed both of us clipboards with a disclaimer form for us to fill out. It had all of the usual questions and a couple of questions that I should have paid more attention to:

"Some of our resorts are clothing optional. Do you object to being photographed or filmed in the nude?" I, not altogether shy about my body, of course, wrote… No, without any conditions.

"Some of our pictures and videos are placed on strategic websites where they will get the most viewers so that our resorts will reach the most potential customers. Do you object to that?" I thought for a moment…. If it meant that viewers saw my face more often, I might get other jobs for risqué photos. Other models had done that such as Playboy and it helped them get ahead in their careers. So I wrote… No, I don't mind if my pictures or videos are on the Internet.

Of course, at the end of the document I had to sign and date it. And, like all documents like this there was a bunch of small print that, even if I had a lot of time, I didn't read before signing.

It was another hour before the second woman was called in. The Caribbean guy taking a careful look at her disclaimer before taking her in. The first woman didn't come out. I thought that rather strange. There were some Caribbean magazines there, so I bided my time paging through them and saw lots of women of all races, but all strikingly beautiful in swimsuits, and in a couple of the magazines, playfully playing in the nude. Classy stuff, I thought.

It was more like an hour and a half when I was called in. I hadn't told Rory that I would be late. But I didn't tell him that I would be early, either. That second woman didn't come out. Inside, there was a lavish beach scene with real sand, beach furniture, other props like beach balls and fake palm trees that looked very real with a large green screen behind so that they could insert any image they wanted behind the photo scene. I thought that was very clever and professional. There was a lighting guy and a couple of camera guys. All looking like they knew what they were doing? I was impressed.

The head man, older, with sunglasses propped up on his head, also speaking with a strong Caribbean accent, dressed in a muscle shirt and swim trunks like he was on the beach. Came over and took a careful look at what I had written, too.

"Hello, Becky, I'm Jay, I'm glad you qualify." He said, looking at me intently.

Jay asked, "Have you ever modeled before? I see here that you were prom queen and that you did cheerleading and were lead actress in some plays in high school. But I don't see any modeling. But never mind, you certainly are beautiful." He smiled. "Fresh and eager. I like that. For the shoot, I'd like you to get into one of our selection of bathing suits and get some makeup on for your fair skin.."

He led me over to the corner of the room where there was something like a small closet with a lot of swimming suits laid out to try on.

"I said, I have my bikini on. Is that all right?"

"I guess it will be okay to start. We probably will ask you to wear some of the other stuff to get more video of you in different outfits."

I went into the closet where there were hooks but no clothes from the other women. I took off my sweater and my skirt and my boots and was in my bikini with what was left of my faded tan from the year before in the little bit of sun I had absorbed since coming to Manhattan.

As I stepped out of the closet, some of the men exclaimed, “Ahh"… in that deep baritone accent, letting me know that they were pleased with the way that I looked, so I smiled shyly for them. The man directing the action had me pose near the palm trees, in the lounge, and on a towel on the sand as though I were at the beach. All the while the video cameras were running and still photographs were being taken as I smiled and mouthed "Hi" as I was directed. It was quite pleasant and professional.

I was asked to change into two other bikinis that didn't quite fit and had to be pinned up by the gay makeup man. That was okay, but they weren't as good as mine. And then, the director told me to put on a string bikini held up by the makeup man. Inside the closet, when I figured out how it fit, I was surprised that it add a hole for each nipple of my breasts and a larger, gap at my that morning shaved crotch leaving nothing to the imagination. I complained from inside the closet.

The director came over and said, "This is the latest fashion on our beaches where clothing is optional. You signed off on being nude."

I relented and came out of the closet. As I walked over to the set I noticed that some of the men were sporting bulges in their pants. I tried not to smile, but the director insisted that I smile as I posed with this very revealing purple bit of nothing but fishnet remains supposedly covering but really uncovering the most intimate parts of my body.

And then, in his usual matter-of-fact tone, the conniver asked me to take those strings off slowly for the camera until I was completely nude before all of the guys who were smiling brightly and some reaching down and rubbing where they shouldn't have been, but were.

After briefly posing in the nude, the director asked me to lie down on the huge beach towel on the sand. One of the guys came over with sunscreen and begin covering my shoulders, my back, my buttocks and legs all the way down to my feet and toes, rubbing my feet quite generously, making them tickle. His hands were very graceful and smooth as his touch came up the inside by legs then briefly touched me between the legs.

With my backside done, the director asked me to turn over. The man giving me the lotion started at my shoulders, but quickly, with both hands begin working it into my breasts that was, I must admit, turning me on. And then, his fingers slid down my belly in long strokes until reaching my crotch, freely rubbing there until I was tingling all over while desperately trying not smile as the director kept ordering me to smile.

And then, the man quickly pulled off his loose-fitting pants with a huge erection and kneeled in front of my face. To the director it was not an invitation, but an order as I took the whole thing in my mouth.

Steel drum band music was playing in the background as the guys all dropped their pants and began to take their turns with me. I wanted to get up and run but they were holding me down and ramming me so hard I screamed.

The ultimate insult was when they forced their way into my backdoor. Something that I had never done before and I never want to do again. They all ended by spouting their sperm all over my body and even in my face. I was exhausted and humiliated.

The director, who had participated in my rape, came up to me with a towel and ordered, "Clean up and get out."

In the closet, I stuffed my bikini in my purse with my mesh stockings, put on my sweater and my skirt and was ushered to a back door that led to the hallway and the elevator.

At the door, the director told me, "That was a good audition. If you want more, let me know."

He handed me his card and three $100 bills. I had earned every bit of it and learned much more.

As I struggled to walk the cold dark streets I was so sore. I tried to think of what I would tell Rory. In the end I decided not to tell him what happened. I thought, It will only make him angry and want revenge. Revenge would only end up with him getting hurt. I didn't want that.

As I came through the door, Rory, in the kitchen making dinner, called out, "You're late! I almost called 911!" He joked. "How did it go?"

I was in no condition for jokes. "It went all right, but they had me under hot lights for hours and I need to take a shower. I got so sweaty and all that makeup needs to come off, too."

I hurried into the shower so he wouldn't see me, and quickly took off my clothes. The warm water running down over me gave me an opportunity to cry and wash away all the filth that I felt inside and out from that encounter. It took me about 15 minutes of that soothing warm  water before I felt able to face Rory without him detecting something wrong.

I pulled on my robe and went into the kitchen where Rory had a meatloaf--to save money--dinner with powdered mashed potatoes and canned peas. Already placed on plates on our small table ready for me to eat.

As cheerful as I could, I called out, "Thanks, Rory! I'm famished. That was hard work and I really needed that shower. Can you believe they wanted to color my skin darker like a tan for the shoot?"

"I can believe it. Besides your bikini, did they ask you to wear any other swimsuits?"

"Yes, but they didn't fit well so they had to pin them up."

"Any nude shots?"

"I was wondering if you would ask. Yes, but they were stylized glamour shots and I felt quite comfortable doing them if it will advance my career. They paid me $300 for doing those. And they may call me back for more later. We sure do need the money."

"We sure do. I really hate to have you making the only money we have while we are draining that money you brought every week we live here. Something has to change soon or we’ll be out on the street in a pandemic. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

We finished eating quickly, did the dishes, and curled up in front of the laptop to watch a movie. Rory didn't get rowdy with me, and I was grateful for that. I was asleep when the movie was only 10 minutes old. Had some bad dreams I didn't tell him about.

We ventured out only after dark during that long hot summer, masked and staying away from people as much as we could. Only on the fire escape to get some sun and air when our apartment got too stifling.

Nothing was happening on the Internet with everything closed down tight. Even Skype or FaceTime interviews didn't happen. My bank account was being drained regularly.

One night at the waterfront I ventured, "Rory, maybe I should volunteer to help with the sick. That way I would get a free vaccination, and maybe, pick up a few bucks if they decide to hire me on as an aide or something."

"You don't know New York like I know New York. There are nurses coming from all over the United States here because they know they can pay well. You don't have any credentials. They might let you volunteer and give you a shot or two, but you will do all the shit work I never get paid."

The summer finally passed, but one September day at breakfast, Rory complained, "This morning, my fingertips were numb. I'll show you. Hand me my guitar."

I grabbed Rory's guitar from the couch and brought it to him at the breakfast table. He set the guitar on his lap and begins to strum one of his riffs when it didn't sound right.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"My fingers don't move well either and I can't feel to play."

"Do you think that's a symptom of COVID?

"I don't think so but I don't know either. I don't get sick much anymore. And this feels different."

"Maybe you should go to that free clinic before it gets worse?

"You're right. Maybe I should. Let's go this morning. It's not like we have a lot to do." He chuckled.

Most of the people at the clinic had symptoms of the pandemic, so we tried to stay away from them and keep our masks on as tight as possible in a room that was too crowded to get away from the others enough. I was feeling a little sick to my stomach and had been for a week but hadn't told Rory.

We waited for hours and it was late afternoon before we were called in. They took our temperature and blood pressure in all of the precautions and found that we were not showing any COVID symptoms. But after they questioned Rory, they became disturbed. The nurse examining us left, and a young doctor came in.

After checking Rory's fingers and talking to him about the symptoms, Dr. Rodriguez said. "This could be a number of things. It could be some spinal injury, meningitis, the onset of MS, or something else. If it is already affecting your ability to play the guitar, you won't want it to progress. I would like to refer you to Manhattan General Hospital under Medicaid for a neurological workup to see what it is."

"How soon will I have to do it? I don't have Medicaid."

"Most young folks coming here don't. I will sign you up. Give me your phone number and I will have the hospital call you and give you a time and date to come in. If I were you, the sooner the better. This could be very serious and needs to be looked at by somebody qualified right away if there's a treatment that can reverse it."

Dr. Rodriguez took a look at me and said, "Young lady, you look too thin for a woman of your age. When was the last time you had a physical?"

"Just those short ones that every high school athlete goes through. I must have been checked three or four times for track and cheerleading."

"I mean a full workup. The way things are going around here, it's never too early to start getting an annual checkup. With Medicaid it's free. So, I will sign you up, too, if you don't mind? Rodriguez queried.

"Why would I mind? Sounds like a good thing to do."

"Are you pregnant?"

"Not that I know of. Why would you say that?"

"I don't know. Just intuition gained from being a doctor so long." He chuckled. "I just finished my residency the last year, but I've seen a lot of patients here. I'll have the hospital call you both with appointments."

To be continued in Part 3…

Copyright 2022 © Ronald W. Hull

6/12/22