Meals of Misery

If Annetta though that the outside environs was breath taking, then the inside of the manor was even more so. It was obviously posh, but, somehow, with a decorum of style she could not put her finger on. The walls were decorated with various paintings depicting scenarios from entirety of art schools. As the men led them to the parlor to talk business, they commented on the various art pieces decorating the halls and walls. Fucking Hell, no way, the blond thought to herself after hearing how much some of them cost.

They were seated on a large black leather daybed, the accent of which was a large oak writing desk at the center. While some security guards lingered at the guest sides, the others went to check, if there aren’t any traps. The men simply shrugged their shoulders assuring the arrivals to the contrary. The trio introduced themselves simply as Misters A, B and C. Each of them from various walks of life, united by one single goal – artistic passion manifested in the real world. Annetta noticed that her colleagues were rolling their eyes at their hosts bragging about their life style, and smiled a bit.

As the rest of the security guards reported that the house is clean, the cooking show hostess finally found enough resolve to ask them about what is expected of her. “You would be expected to entertain the high paying viewers, Missis Mortinson”, said Mr. B – a man in his fifties, with a prominent grey hair. He had some tattoos on his wrist, the meaning of which Annetta neither understood, nor wanted to understand”.

“Entertain?”, the blond asked incredulously. “Like, entertain how? I was told that I will be interviewing my guests being naked and being overly friendly while they are having a physical interest in me or some such shit?”? What the hell is that?” “It means, what it means, Missis”, Mr. C interjected – the smallest of the three and the youngest. Annetta noticed that the dinner suit he was wearing couldn’t hide his prominent muscles. “During one shooting, you might be asked to simply cook in your underwear while chatting with your guests, in another shooting you might be asked to sit on their lap and laugh at what they are telling you, you may be asked to make out with them etc. etc.”

“It means a lot of things”, said the man, who greeted them at the entrance. “Okey, so, sex, for example?”, Annetta asked wanting to get to the bottom of things. “If the script requires so, yes”. The other two men nodded. She saw how the faces of her colleagues were gradually getting more and more flushed as the conversation went on about her would be sexual activities. She was rolling her eyes in her mind.

“You do realize I’m married, right?”, she asked the men. They simply stared at her not understand what was the question. “Yes, we know. What is your question?”, said Mr. B inquisitively. What is my que… WHAT IS MY FUCKING QUESTION? ARE THESE GUYS FUCKING SERIOUS HERE?! “What I mean is, what do I tell my husband? I mean how long will the shooting gonna take? My show is usually done in an hour, and by the next one I’m right back at home. And, anyways, what about protection? I mean, I’m not having sex with some random guy without him wearing any protection or him not having been screened by the doctors beforehand saying that he doesn’t have any diseases!”, she finished her sentence shouting, eyes throwing daggers at them.

“Ah, so you are willing to give it a go, Missis?”, asked Mr. A, the one who greeted them. “That’s so not what I meant!“, the blond shouted standing up.

 “Calm down, Missis Mortinson”, said Mr. C seeing how frantic the TV super star chef was getting and watching how the security detail moved closer to protect her from them. “Your questions are more than reasonable. I will let Mr. B explain, since he’s more eloquent in these talks than I”, he said apologetically.

Jim gently took Annetta by the hand and guided her to sit down, telling her softly that she might as well hear them out since they are here already. Mr. B cleared his throat. “Right, as Mr. C said, Missis Mortinson, your concerns are valid and let us alleviate them. First off, you can tell your husband that the network is changing up the format of your show, which requires you to be in the studio earlier than usual and be back home a bit later. Of course, we will be creating edited video segments to incorporate this lie, when the TV Station broadcast your usual show to the ordinary viewers at home”. Mr. B watched her for a second, but the chef refused to give him any reaction. “Secondly, of course, we really do not wish you to get hurt during the segments or, god forbid, contract some sort of a disease”, the man shuddered even at the thought of it. Annetta thought that it was too forced to be real. “I assure you, that all of your guests will be thoroughly screened and a day before the filming starts we will forward to your e-mail their medical test results. Should you find them dissatisfactory, you have every right to refuse filming”.

“We are not some sort of monsters, Missis Mortinson”, Mr. A added looking defeated and gesturing with his hands. “We simply have refined tastes and we think that for a certain amount of money, you could fulfil them? I mean, what’s an hour or so of your time per, let's say, twice a month, in exchange for ten thousand euros per filming? Think of all the opportunities this brings you and your family”.

Oh, Annetta did think about it. She thought about it all the way here. Ten grand per filming was more than she made in three months on her own show. She thought how the money would help her family financially: they could finally finish paying mortgage for their house, go on vacations more often or send their children to quality private schools. The opportunities were endless. Annetta looked at her colleagues who seemed lost and without words. They simply shrugged at her.

Mr. B slid her a document sheet detailing the contract she would be signing. The men urged her to read it with her colleagues and discuss it. After three hours of deliberation, Annetta finally made up her mind. She signed the contract and handed it to the men. They smiled pleasantly and agreed, that next month the filming will start giving her ample time to prepare emotionally and physically for her part in the new series. They assured her, that while she will be entertaining her new guests, an AI segment will play instead of her regular show to the viewers at home showing her normal cooking meal segments and talk show parts.

Everyone sighted in relief when all the signatures were down and swift goodbyes were made. Annetta couldn’t wait to get in to the limo and get the hell out of there, she felt ashamed for what she agreed to do. As the blond walked to the limo with security escort and her colleagues in tow, the trio waved their hands from the front porch. When she opened the limo doors, her vision turned black and she fell to the ground unconscious.

A needle had been stuck in her neck by Fox. He tsked at the blonde's limp form. “Well, guys, help me lift this stupid filly up”. The security detail watched detached as Jim and Aurelius aided Fox in lifting their long time colleague, whom they have known for ten years, up as a sack of potatoes and carried her to the front porch were Misters A through C were waiting expectantly. They gave each of the producers an envelop and another three envelopes for the guards. It was more than enough compensation to keep them quiet. Having bid them a good rest of the day, they carried Annetta's peacefully sleeping form in to the mansion closing the doors behind them.