Gems

Sometimes a Fantasy

Preface

Gems is a collection of short stories that have been inspired by music, art, games, movies, everyday life. There is no central theme. So, theme, motifs, characters, setting and so on and so forth will cange every time. 

Thank you for reading Belle's story.

Sometimes a Fantasy

Belle was a pretty girl. She had always known and people never ceased to tell her how pretty she was. Even when she was a child and her name was still Gwendolyn, her mother would tell her every day that Belle would grow up to be a beauty. Oh, what did she have hopes for her. Her Gwendolyn would become an actress or a model or marry rich. Mother never imagined that her little girl could make something out of her mind. Be a lawyer or a doctor. Belle's mother had always lacked ambition. And it really was a shame that Belle did not turn out to be especially smart. Her grades dropped from year to year and so did her chances of becoming something great. Mother didn't care. After all, her Gwendolyn was a pretty girl. She could still be someone.

Too bad that there are millions of pretty girls out there. Gwendolyn was never discovered by a scout and all the castings just left her worn out. She turned fifteen, sixteen, seventeen and nothing happened. Except for mother who became more frustrated every day. There were bills to pay. Gwendolyn couldn't be the prettiest girl in shabby, cheap clothes and she needed so much makeup and someone to attend to her hair's needs.

Mother cried a lot. In the beginning, Gwendolyn cried too. Just because she didn't know what to do. She wasn't actually sad but she didn't see a way out. Being pretty didn't pay the rent.

So one evening, after Gwendolyn was returning home after some test shoot that didn't go well and wouldn't pay, she was approached by an elderly guy in his late forties. He also noticed how pretty she was and he told her in many words. Gwendolyn was surprised that all he wanted was a bit of her time. Go out, have a drink, talk a little. She didn't have to pay for anything and at the end he would send her home with a bit of extra money to spend. Gwendolyn knew what was waiting for her at home. Her mother, crying about Gwendolyn not being successful and not making money.

That night, Gwendolyn became Belle.

And Belle was excellent at covering up Gwendolyn's inabilities. She was so very successful at what she did. How she did it. Belle never understood how it worked but from that very first paid date, there must have been an aura surrounding her. Men knew and Belle was never short of offerings. She got herself a second cell phone, which was only for work, so regulars – her boys – could just call or text her.

It didn't take Belle long to find out what would get her how much. And she was pleasantly surprised it usually wasn't nasty. Her boys were all in their forties or fifties, they looked like office men and middle-class bourgeois. Once, one had shown her pictures of his family: detached house, two kids – boy and girl – a Stepford wife and a Labrador. Everything looked just perfect. Belle couldn't help but notice that his daughter would grow up to be a very pretty girl.

Mother didn't cry anymore. She didn't ask where the money came from. Belle assumed her mother knew something was up but preferred lying to herself. And Belle didn't intend to correct her. When it comes to lying, it always takes two – one to lie and one to listen.

Belle as well didn't cry anymore. She had stopped that a while ago. When she came home, she would take off her makeup and the fancy clothes and just stare at her reflection. Some days she wasn't sure who she was looking at, and then she had to stare a little longer until she remembered before she could go to sleep. Belle didn't dream anymore. Sometimes, when she lay in bed, she wasn't sure whether she ever had at all. Her dreams seemed to blend with her mother's.

After a good day, Belle would think about her future. Not too long of course – what was there to think about? She had recently turned twenty-five and in bad lighting she looked even older. She wasn't sure for how long she could pull off that fantasy of innocence that lured them in. Sooner or later, Belle would have to think of something else before her mother started crying again.

But for now it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

After all, Belle was a pretty girl.