It’s afternoon. Well dressed guests are spread throughout a mansion’s entertaining spaces. Music from a string quartet drifts through the air with the sound of voices. Elaborate gardens serve as a backdrop to the scene. Servers in the requisite black and white pass finger food and champagne, which I’m refilling. Everyone is mingling and chatting.
Then I see someone in a bow tie grab one of the passing servants by the ass and feel her up while continuing his conversation with another guest. And I’m not surprised – our contracts stated that we’re also part of the entertainment.
I am surprised a few minutes later when a woman points me in the direction of a man who clearly doesn’t need a refill. The way he looks at me as I walk up is clinical, the way you’d analyze a menu before deciding what you’ll order. He nods just as I reach him and takes my arm, champagne and all. He leads me to the nearest wall, pushes me against it, and puts the champagne bottle against my lips. I drink, and feel his hands roaming over me.