Chapter 3

The heat is unbearable, not far from forty degrees and almost one hundred percent humidity. Jasmine stops at the narrow, dilapidated door. Surprised, she searches for the ad in her bag.

Girls needed for a samba movie. Between 18 and 20 years old. Attractive and able to dance.
Address: 15, Ferriera Street, Leblon, Rio de Janeiro (Ref. 1255/95).

It is here. Nervous, she searches for the doorbell. There is only one old door knocker and she remembers her father telling her you have to knock as many times as the number of the apartment you want to go to. Unsure of herself, she moves back to look through the window and stumbles on a man who grabs her by the waist.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asks her without releasing her.

“No. I’m sorry, I was distracted.”

The man still won’t let go. On the contrary, he pulls her even more.

“Let go of me, please,” she asks.

Indifferent, the man maintains his grip.

“I said let go of me!” She cries.

“Very well!” the man shouts. “You are all tease. You dress like whores and then you don’t go all the way!”

Jasmine’s face is all red from screaming. Fortunately, there aren’t many people out in the scorching midday sun. At that moment, the door opens and Jasmine takes the opportunity to rush inside. Someone pulled on an old rope and opened a way to a narrow staircase.

“Close the door and go up to the sixth!” screams a man’s voice.

Jasmine climbs slowly. It’s very hot and she doesn’t want to sweat. Sure of her charms, she’s dressed to make an impression and if she starts running and sweating she’s going to ruin everything. She checks her clothes on the way up. She’s wearing a strappy crop top that goes down just below her breasts. A mini-skirt that barely covers her mid-thigh is hung low over her hips. At seventeen, she has been dancing in this outfit a number of times and knows from experience that no man can take his eyes off her butt. However, she is sweating when she gets to the sixth floor. It’s the top floor of this building that gives it the impression of being abandoned. The stairs are covered with dust and it looks like the doors haven’t been opened in ages. She comes across a closed door. There, too, she looks for a doorbell ... There is nothing: no name on the door, just a small, clean rectangle showing that a plaque has recently been removed. She hesitates for a moment. She doesn’t like it and decides to leave.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

She’s already on the fifth floor. Not knowing what to say, she looks up. A man in his thirties smiled at him and said,

“It’s here. I take it you’re coming for the audition?” His voice calms her.

She came for an audition, didn’t she? Well, there she is! The door opens onto a long hallway. There is no furniture or decoration on the wall and the place seems uninhabited, even though it is cleaner than the lower floors. It smells of tobacco and hashish. Jasmine walks behind the man who introduced himself as Oswaldo, and she comes into what appears to be the living room at the end of the hall. She hears the radio. She also hears someone screaming from the background,

“Is that her?”

“No,” his companion replies, locking the door. “It’s another one.”

Jasmine is confused; she wonders who they are waiting for. In a tone she can’t hide the concern from, she asks, “Are there a lot of candidates?

“Yes of course. But none like you,” Oswaldo smiles. An older man, well into his forties, unkempt and dirty-looking, is waiting in the living room; he is seated with his bare feet on the table. Jasmine feels uneasy under his gaze. His eyes are cold, like an eel’s, but they are penetrating. It’s like they can see through her clothes. “This is Hector. He’s the one conducting the auditions.”

“Good to meet you,” the young girl said, approaching him and holding out her hand. The man’s cold, wet hand disturbs her. After holding her hand longer than normal, he just replies,

“Turn around.”

Jasmine turns to Oswaldo then she calms down and does a charming spin on herself. Hector takes a notebook and begins to question her without even offering to sit down. He asks her the usual questions: name, address, age, level of education ... Jasmine is uncomfortable with his dirty feet on the table. But she answers without paying too much attention and looks around the room where she is. The shutters are closed and a bare bulb shines a horrible purple light on the room. There is a poster of Claudia Moore nude, nailed to a moth-eaten poster of the Last Supper.

“Are your parents still alive? - Only my mother... - Where does she live? - In Bahia. - Do you live alone in Rio? - No ... Actually, now, yes. My friend went to spend Christmas with her family. The interview continues. Jasmine, tired of standing, sighs. Hector looks up and looks at her body openly... “How tall are you?” - One meter seventy-six. - Your weight? - Sixty kilos. - Chest size? Jasmine blushed at the worrying gaze fixed on her breasts. “86. - Are you sure?” The young girl looks at him, bewildered.

“Hector wants to make sure you’re not wearing a padded bra, is that it?” Oswaldo spoke.

“I’m not wearing a bra,” Jasmine answers timidly. - Do you need this job? Hector asks. - Yes ... again in a shy voice. - A lot? - A lot... - Turn around, Hector orders. Stop! He yells when she turns her back on him. A long silence ensued. He continues: “Hips? - 91...”

Someone turned off the radio. “Waist size? - 57...

“Here,” he said, dragging a bag towards her. “Put that on.”

Jasmine opens the bag. It contains a typical samba costume: a thong, high-heeled sandals, a tiny bra and feathers ... Not knowing what to do, she looks at Oswaldo who shows her the hallway. When she reappears, strutting on her heels, the men are speechless. She’s irresistible and provocative ... The kind of woman whose very presence causes painful erections, a woman who can melt a bucket of ice ... Everything about her is perfectly sensual and terribly erotic ... The atmosphere becomes electric. The situation is tense and exciting: a beautiful half-naked creature is going to dance for two strangers and try to do her best to impress them...