Monkey

"Yes, this is good… turn a bit… yes." Click click click — the sounds of the camera.

"Can you put your hand near your face?" the photographer continued. "Yes, just like that… no, come back to the previous one… yes."

The synthetic clothes on me, bright colors, felt itchy against my skin. The label had an English word on it that didn't mean anything. It was sold on AliExpress.

"Do you want to see some pictures?" The photographer paused, turning the camera toward me.

I was standing in a short dress, legs showing, wearing heels, bright makeup making me look like a doll. "No, thanks, I'm good," I replied, standing in the middle of a huge white studio where the floor curved seamlessly into the walls with no edges.

"Where are the coffees? You promised them an hour ago," I heard complaints from the girls nearby.

"Here are the coffees." The agent came onto the set, handing cups to me and the other girls. The warmth was exactly what my stressed hands needed something to hold onto.

"How much longer is it going to take?" I couldn't wait to be done. It had already been six hours. I looked at Jacky the agent and at the single long hair growing from his chin. Just one long black hair.

"We're almost done. Change the outfit, then we wait for Maria to finish and we can go." As he spoke, saliva collected in the corners of his mouth. I turned my eyes away to look at the other girls. They were tall and slim, with perfect jawlines, all in their early twenties. We were all the same age, but they had come from a professional agency — some of them I'd already met on other jobs. I suddenly became hyper-aware of my face, the softness of my cheeks and chin, the belly pressing against the cheap fabric at the beltline. The contact lenses I wore instead of glasses made everything brighter and more unforgiving.

I told myself that if I kept doing these jobs a little longer, pushed through the discomfort, I would start to feel prettier. I just needed to hold on a bit more.

"I can use these pictures for your new model card," Jacky said, coming back to me, holding the camera in hands where the little finger had one significantly long, yellowed nail. "很漂亮," he said

— very beautiful — as I caught a glimpse of round cheeks on the small screen.

"There's a job next week. Three days, 700 RMB per day. One day travel there, one day back. You want to go? Do you have black high heels?" Jacky looked at me and winked.

I felt the coffee rise in me with a wave of disgust.

"Yeah, sure. What are the dates?" I replied, as usual. He promised to send everything by message.

"And let me know what you decide about the KTV — I'm still looking for one more girl."

He was a sneaky agent who organized all kinds of modeling, acting, and entertainment jobs for foreigners in Beijing.

"No thanks, I'll skip." I hated everything about KTV culture — the private rooms, the choosing of girls for entertainment.

The industry was already familiar enough, and the extra cash helped. Around 100 euros a day meant I could live for a week. The problem was I couldn't make myself like these jobs. Every time was a gamble — decent or horrible, respectful or not, good conditions or bad. Too many variables, too little control.

"We're done." Maria tapped me on the shoulder. I ran to the changing room to get back into my own clothes as fast as I could, the whole day already dissolving like a dream. There were still five more hours in an old bus.

A week later I arrived at a bus stop an hour from my home. I was ready for the trip — a bag of clothes, high heels packed, a change of outfit, some warmer layers. The group of girls, all in

comfortable clothes, was standing together. Some had stepped aside to smoke, snacks in hand. Jacky greeted me, the single long hair still on his chin.

"When are we leaving?" I couldn't bring myself to even say hello to him. Predicting delays, I moved away to look around.

"Have you eaten?" Jacky tried to make small talk. "We're waiting for a few more people — we'll go in thirty minutes." He was smoking and offered me a cigarette.

"No, thanks." I stepped away and looked around for a familiar face. There were always girls you'd already met mixed in with someone new. We were around thirty people in total. Everyone was a different height, but I spotted two very tall girls who looked like they were from Kazakhstan.

"Hey, girl." I heard it behind me. It was Maria from last week's shoot — a girl from Brazil who had come through a model agency. She lived with five other girls in a shared apartment and somehow still did all these gigs alongside non-professional girls like us, while also occasionally landing more proper work at fashion shows and branded shoots.

"Hi, how are you?" I felt relieved to see a familiar face.

I stayed close to her, recognizing a few other faces around me. But Maria felt like the better company. We got on the bus and found seats next to each other. The other girls filed in, settling in for the long ride.

"Is everyone here?" Jacky stepped in. A girl at the front was turned around, counting heads — she was an agent for some of the others on the bus. "The road will be around ten hours. Snacks and water are here. We'll make stops along the way." It was formal, efficient.

I had a book with me, prepared for the boredom and the long waiting — on the road and during the job itself.

"So, do you know what we're going to do?" Maria turned to me.

"I don't know. I think it was something to do with a presentation for a new housing compound. Jacky wasn't very clear." It was normal — we never had specific details.

"How's life? Did you go to that new techno club they opened? The house one?" I was ready to distract myself with small talk before diving into my book.

"Not yet. I've been busy with jobs — my agent gives me work almost every day. I'm actually happy to have some rest on this bus. And I decided to take a job at Vix club, just hanging out there while they pay us. I need pocket money — we don't get enough from the agency." "How come? You're working every day — where does the money go?"

I knew a little about how the modeling world worked, but not the details.

"They give us daily pocket money, and the real payment comes at the end of our stay — after three or six months." She said it automatically, like she'd explained it many times before. "I'm actually glad to have some time on this bus. At least I can sleep a bit." She settled back into her seat. "And my roommate is driving me crazy. The fighting over the mess just never stops — I told you about it last time." She closed her eyes.

I sat alone, looking out the window, while Maria's head slowly leaned to one side.

Hours passed. The early Chinese sunset had long since faded behind us. The road was dark and somehow felt very slow. I tried to rest, half-distracted by conversation around me and the occasional distant complaint — "it's taking so long." Then I looked outside and realized we weren't moving at all. The girls looked confused. The driver looked bored and half-asleep at the wheel. We were stuck in traffic in the middle of the highway, hundreds of cars ahead, behind, and on every side, with no way around.

"Fucking China," someone said nearby.

"It might take longer," the driver told Jacky lazily, in Chinese.

My head went empty. I forced every thought away, bracing for the long night. With each small lurch forward I opened my eyes with a flicker of hope that died almost immediately. Ten promising hours turned to eighteen.

With the sunrise, a landscape began to appear around us — long flat steppes stretching slowly toward the horizon. I remembered then that we were heading to a town in Inner Mongolia. After a few more hours we got closer to buildings. As we entered the town it felt strangely empty.

Buildings stood one by one, stores on the ground floor, but no one on the streets. Just air filled with drifting sand. When we finally arrived at a smaller building, a few people were there to greet us.

We were surprised to learn that everyone would get their own room instead of sharing, as usual. I entered my suite to find a brand new interior waiting — a big clean bed in the middle of the room, a large window opening onto a flat landscape with towers of buildings in front of it. A feeling of unexpected privilege washed over me, the feeling of actually traveling somewhere. I took off my shoes, slipped on the soft white hotel slippers, and made myself a tea.

After an hour of rest we went to the venue to find out what the plan was for these three days, starting that evening. We were led into a building with a large hall and an entrance to what looked like a theater with a stage. Everyone started to look confused.

We were told to get ready for rehearsal. "What rehearsal?" someone asked.

"It will be a beauty competition," one of the new faces answered. Murmurs spread through the group.

"Hey everyone!" A woman shouted to get attention. "⼤家好," she said — hello everyone — and

introduced herself. "Since you arrived so late we have to do a quick rehearsal. Everything is simple. You will do a few catwalks, one by one. First in an evening dress, then in swimsuits, then in a wedding dress. The closing ceremony will be in the evening dresses again."

"We didn't sign up for this," Maria said, turning to Jacky.

"I told everyone — don't blame me. 不⼤事情." Jacky was quick with his words. Not a big deal. More complaints circled the room.

"Girls, let's go, go, go — to the dresses." We moved to the fitting room, which was packed with big fluffy dresses in every color. "You have ten minutes to change and we need to rehearse. The event starts in five hours," the woman continued.

The complaints didn't stop as everyone tried on dresses and went through the rehearsal. Everything was rushed.

"We won't have time to rehearse everything — you have two hours for food and rest, then come back for makeup and we start," the lady announced.

Irritation grew. Nobody had issues with the dresses or the change of plan, but no one wanted to go out in swimsuits. We returned to the hall where everyone was handed a strip of fabric printed with a nationality that had nothing to do with where we were actually from. With makeup done, dresses on, and the strip placed on top, we sneaked out to see the main stage.

People were starting to arrive. The seats filled quickly — mainly older people, seniors who looked cheerful and excited, taking their places for the show. Some younger people sat separately at tables marked as the jury.

Everything moved fast. I was wearing a sequined dress with a strange smell — I wondered if it had ever been washed. A thick layer of makeup covered my face. I had decided not to wear my contacts and left my glasses on the table. I could see where to step, but I avoided looking at anyone in the crowd.

Words in Chinese came through a microphone with terrible sound, barely making sense. The food I'd eaten earlier sat heavy in my stomach. I put on my heels and stood in line behind another Ukrainian girl. No one was talking. Everyone was just trying to get through the day. The girls walked one by one; only a few of them smiled. When my turn came I walked to my spot on the stage and stood there for an awkwardly long time, not registering anything, just trying to stop feeling disgusted. Forcing a smile from time to time.

We moved to the back after what felt much longer than it was. "Change into the swimsuits," the woman ordered.

"We won't wear swimsuits," someone protested. "We didn't sign up for this," another girl added. I looked around.

"Girls, it's not a big deal," Jacky said.

"It is a big deal. I'm already here performing — I won't wear a swimsuit," I heard Maria's familiar voice. Some girls obeyed quietly, changing one by one behind an improvised curtain. Others stood still.

"You won't get paid if you don't finish the job," Jacky said.

"Let's make it quick. You won't be on stage for long. Just walk," the woman said, looking desperate.

And we gave in.

I changed into the swimsuit, feeling the weight of my stomach. I didn't pay any attention to my legs, which I hadn't shaved since the previous shoot. The rest of the evening passed in controlled motions, without registering much of what happened. Some girls were called back to the stage as winners. After the show we were asked to go out to the audience — everyone wanted photos with us.

The private hotel room felt like the perfect place to hide. But we still had two more working days, and no idea what they would involve now that the main event was done.

"Tomorrow meet in the hotel lobby at 11am. Costumes will be distributed during breakfast. Thanks for your work and cooperation. — Jacky"

A line of cars was waiting outside the hotel. We changed into blue and pink tracksuits, keeping

the nationality strips on top. Two people per car, the roofs open, and we were encouraged to lean out and wave to people on the streets. We made a round of the half-empty ghost town, stopping at a few memorials for photos, passing through busier streets where people were shopping and stopping to stare at us. The next day brought another event in the morning that made no sense after everything we'd already done. It was followed by a celebration lunch with the clients.

We were greeted at the lunch venue with applause. The place was a simple traditional Chinese restaurant — white walls, plain tables, unusually modest for such a celebration. The tables were large and packed with local food and milk liquor, stronger than vodka. We were seated in groups of six to eight, with a few more tables filled with faces we didn't recognize but who were part of the organization. Lamb dishes arrived, vegetables, more food. The client walked from table to table, making a toast with each person individually, thanking everyone for their work and their beauty.

The mood lifted. The relief of having finished, the client's happiness, and the strong liquor all moved through our bodies together.

"Girls, thank you for your work." The woman came over to us, genuinely happy. "How beautiful you all are!"

"Thank you for your hospitality," we answered, smiling, the earlier humiliation briefly forgotten. "I hope you'll come back to us one day," she said, pouring another round into the tiny glasses.

"We're a bit far from Beijing, but I hope the flight wasn't too long for you." She smiled broadly, her cheeks red.

"We came by bus," I said. I was one of the few who understood some Chinese.

"Bus?" she repeated. "You mean flight, surely? It's too far for a bus — the flight is only an hour and a half."

"No," I confirmed. "We came by bus. It was a very long way. Very tiring."

"But we paid for your flight tickets." She looked at us warmly. "Please, eat some more — the food is delicious."

The girls around me started paying closer attention. One of the girls who spoke Chinese passed the message along. "WTF, Jacky," someone muttered, already heading toward the agent's table. Most of the girls were simply confused. Talk spread quickly about how much money he had saved by putting us on a bus instead. People stepped outside to discuss.

"We have to ask for more. After all those days, and now this — we still have to make the eighteen-hour trip back when it could have been two hours." The anger was growing.

"Girls, time to go. Go to the bus," Jacky suddenly shouted. No one was listening. We were too busy figuring out what to do.

"Maybe we can call the police?" someone suggested.

"You want to be deported? What visa are you on? A business or student visa doesn't give us the right to work like this," I said. The girls agreed it was a risky plan. Everyone began moving in nervous bursts, exchanging more ideas.

"What if he just leaves us here without paying?" someone said.

"Let's just go to the bus and forget about it. I don't want any trouble," came a low voice nearby. "Everybody please just go to the bus, we have to leave!" Jacky shouted again, louder this time, his frustration showing.

"Let's just ask him for extra pay. At least a thousand on top for each of us," Maria said, standing next to me.

"I agree. Let's not go anywhere until he pays everyone." Someone picked this up, met with nods of agreement.

"What if he calls the police?"

"Let him call — he'd have more problems than us. Look at him, he's already scared. He won't do anything."

Some of the girls stepped up and went to confront the agent directly. Jacky moved among them, smiling nervously, trying to get everyone moving toward the bus. "We know what you did, Jacky. The client told us — there was money for flights. We were supposed to have a proper journey here, not a night on a bus through the middle of nowhere." The anger and frustration of the past few days poured out through their voices.

"There were no flights available — everything was booked. The bus was the only option. Just go back to the bus." He was trying to stay calm but his eye had started twitching nervously.

Underneath it all, every girl felt the same quiet fear — standing in the middle of nowhere, far from home, with no valid working visa. Everyone tried to hold their nerve, standing their ground to get paid more.

Finally, after the negotiations, Jacky — one eye now bloodshot — said: "Go to the bus and we'll sort it out. I'll pay everyone, I promise. Just go to the bus!" He was losing it.

"I wouldn't trust him," I said, mostly to myself.

After a long standoff we agreed to go one by one while he paid each person in cash.

We stood in a long line in front of the bus, stepping forward one by one to receive an extra 1,000 RMB on top of the original payment. Behind us the empty buildings stood in the wind, which blew particles of Inner Mongolian desert sand through the air, turning everything a warm, hazy tone.

The process stopped several times while Jacky ran to find an ATM for more cash.

After more than an hour, when everyone was exhausted from every possible pressure this trip had produced, the bus finally left for Beijing.

This time the traffic was lighter and we returned after fifteen hours, arriving back to Beijing at sunrise. On the subway home I thought about all those jobs, while my life in Ukraine had become a distant dream, something from another world. With those thoughts came a feeling of shame, which I ignored as usual. At least here, sometimes, I felt prettier.

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