LEELA: The Series
A story about a woman who, like many of us, knows how to give love to everyone but herself.
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Start at the Beginning…
Episode 8: The Frog
Two bulbs work in tandem: a dim yellow for just enough illumination.
And a striking red, giving everything a crimson glow.
Sweat drips down Angelo’s sculpted back.
He’s naked.
Draped around him like a sash of Persian silk are the arms and legs of a beautiful Afro-Cuban woman.
Her lips are full, her mouth open.
Her long, brown curly hair is splayed across the back of the red leather couch cushion.
The sounds of her pleasure are distinct and genuine.
Her nails dig into his back as he thrusts into her.
A soft, familiar voice speaks into his ear.
“Very good. Can you feel her trembling? Her nipples getting hard against your chest as you move together?”
He can.
He feels hyperaware.
“She’s getting close. When you feel her contract around you and her breathing change, she’s ready…”
He can’t control the sounds he’s making.
Grunts and groans that he would censor on any other night.
He can’t give more, and he can’t take enough.
On the wall of the room is a large mirror.
Behind the mirror are two almond-shaped eyes.
Studying.
Noticing the details.
Biting her lip like an addict facing her demons.
Like she belongs to the undead.
And the room is saturated with blood.
***
16 Hours Earlier
8:00 a.m. EST
The gang is all together.
Leela is standing in the same spot Addy had been when she was practicing the daily briefing.
Tanvi leans toward Addy and says quietly, “Take notes…”
“Alright, Team, we have our work cut out for us over the next few days.”
She looks at every one of them.
“It goes without saying that Marcus is one of the most recognizable faces on the planet, and I also shouldn’t have to remind you that our mission is not only to ensure my safety and security, but also the security and discretion of our clients.”
She looks at Tatum.
She does notice his hair.
It’s a freshly faded, high-end buzz cut.
But she doesn’t mention it.
She just smiles.
“What’s the plan for pickup?” she asks.
“We are going to pick Mr. Hayes up from the InterContinental Miami at 9:30 p.m. in a black Suburban. Tinted windows, tactical armored shell, bulletproof glass, all the high-end security tech…”
He looks at Tanvi.
She picks up the details.
“GPS and cell signal scrambler, encrypted Wi-Fi, 360-degree camera coverage, and two aerial drones installed up top, ready for surveillance deployment if necessary…”
Leela looks impressed at that last detail.
Tanvi notices.
“New upgrade. Whisper quiet, thirteen-hundred-foot range, top speeds of over 75 mph, and they are AI-assisted…”
She looks at Tatum.
“…so even Tatey’s team of cavemen shouldn’t be able to fuck them up. Nice haircut, b-t-dubs.”
He rolls his eyes.
She loves it.
“Oh, and one more thing…a state-of-the-art fridge.”
Her look is a clear baton passed to Addy.
“Pre-stocked with all of his favorites: mango Red Bull, Ace of Spades, Stella Artois, and freshly bottled coconut juice.”
Leela looks pleased.
Then turns back to Tatum.
“What if the paparazzi tail you after leaving the hotel? I don’t want any of those Furious Five shenanigans that you pulled with the prime minister…”
Tatum’s body language acknowledges that the example in question is less than ideal.
“If the security detail or drones spot a tail, we’ll move to the alternate rally point for standard combine-and-scatter protocol.”
Addy looks confused.
Tanvi leans toward her and says, “See what I mean?”
Quick to flag his use of big fancy jargon.
She translates.
“They meet in a covered and closed parking garage where three identical SUVs are waiting. They then all exit the garage together, scattering in separate directions.”
Leela isn’t quite there yet.
“Tell me that the beach house is already under surveillance.”
Tatum nods.
“By both contractors and AI.”
She exhales, thinking.
“Okay, good.”
She looks at them, her head nodding slightly.
“You guys are incredible.”
They all look at one another and smile.
“You’re all dismissed. With the exception of Addy.”
She opens her eyes wide and puts a hand on her stomach.
“You and I need to discuss catering.”
Addy grabs a binder and follows Leela into her office.
***
10:15 a.m.
Stephanie waits in line for the teller.
The interior of the bank looks like it should be scored by crickets.
One banker, one teller, one branch manager, and two senior managers doing God knows what behind their office doors.
Meanwhile, with three people in line, she’s been waiting long enough to question not only her decision to be here, but every other decision she’s ever made in her life as well.
Fifty grand.
She felt terrible.
There was no way it could have been easy for her dad to ask her for that.
His voice was literally shaking.
There was also no way her husband was going to be involved in this.
In fact, she didn’t even tell him.
She would never, in any universe, expose her father to the humiliation of knowing that anyone other than her had something hanging over his head.
So, in the spirit of protection and discretion, she was here.
At a bank she never goes to.
Taking money from an account she never touches.
In her mind, her mother’s life insurance benefit was off-limits.
Reserved only for her future child’s college education or an absolute emergency.
Her mind flashes with all the oil changes, Uber rides, comforting hugs, pep talks, and words of wisdom he had given her over the years.
Apparently, this was an emergency.
Besides, he was the most talented and hardworking guy she’d ever known.
He’d land on his feet, even if he had to move heaven and earth to make it happen.
Finally, she’s called up to the teller.
She provides the necessary identification and instructions for the cashier’s check.
The teller’s eyes get big, and she disappears with Stephanie’s I.D. to find a manager.
Stephanie turns around and looks at the line.
Five deep.
She can’t help but think that he’s lucky she’s crazy about him.
***
1:30 p.m.
Angelo’s curtains are drawn dark.
He’s sound asleep.
Spread across the mattress like he’s trying to claim every square inch.
His clothes are scattered in small piles across the huge room.
Empty bottles and white powder decorate the coffee table like Christmas decor.
His phone vibrates in his hand, slowly tugging him back to the world from a deep sleep.
In a stupor, he looks at the screen.
Oh shit.
His father’s name shows up.
“Hello…”
He’s talking into the wrong end of the phone.
He flips it around.
“Hell…hello,” he says, pulling it away from his face to double-check.
His voice gives him away, telling his father everything he needs to know.
“Are you still sleeping, Angelo? What the fuck is wrong with you? It’s half past one. You could have slept at home for free!”
Angelo rubs his face with his hands, as if that will magically sober him up.
“C’mon, Dad, why are you busting my balls? I’m awake. Just at different hours, that’s all.”
His dad laughs.
Alex was no stranger to being young or to partying.
“Yeah…well, I’m sure you party like a finook too. I just forwarded you a text message from the lady friend I told you about.”
Angelo’s mind is cloudy.
“The hooker?” he asks.
“Hey…you watch your fucking mouth!” Alex says before yelling away from the phone.
“Tommy can you believe what I’m fucking hearing right now? Yeah…my kid. He’s a fuckin’ moron.”
He addresses Angelo directly.
“You listen to me, you little prick. She’s not a fucking hooker. She’s a lady, and you better treat her like a goddamn goddess. Do you hear me?”
“Do you have any idea what I’m doing for you here? The kind of strings I’m pulling? She’s an artist. She’s muthafuckin’ Pablo Picasso, okay…”
Angelo cuts him off.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw shade on the Virgin Mother. I’ll be on my best behavior, alright?”
“You better be,” Alex replies.
“Why is she messaging me through you anyway? Why doesn’t she just message me directly?” Angelo asks.
“One day, when you become a man, you’ll understand. Listen, I gotta go. Did you get the text or not?”
“Yeah, yeah…I got it,” Angelo replies.
“Alright, listen…you got some Viagra or something?” Alex asks in earnest.
“Dad, I’m twenty-three years old. Why the fuck would I have Viagra?” Angelo is appalled.
“Get some. Trust me. Don’t fuck this up. Listen, this is the last time we talk about this. What happens is your business. Capisce?”
“Yeah, got it, Dad.”
“Your mother sends her love.”
“Tell her I love her, too. And Dad…”
“What’s up?”
“Thanks…” Angelo hesitates. “For whatever it is that you’re trying to do here.”
Alex LOVES it.
“Aye…there it is! She’s already having an effect on you, and you haven’t even met her yet.”
Angelo can’t help but chuckle.
“Listen, I gotta go. Bye.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
Angelo looks at the text message.
It has an address and some instructions that, in his current state, might as well have been written in hieroglyphics.
He lies back down.
Groaning at the top of his lungs.
Then falls back asleep.
***
5:45 p.m.
Addy is locked in.
Laser focused.
Catering. Outfits. Drinks. Music. Robes. Bed sheets. Fragrances.
Even down to the size of the condoms.
It all falls on her.
She feels like a conductor.
Curating the details of an experience that some of the most remarkable people alive couldn’t get anywhere else.
And she loves it.
Who would have thought when she graduated near the top of her class at Florida State that she would be using her talents for glorified sex work?
She certainly didn’t.
But then again, this wasn’t crack-motel, filtering-johns-from-the-corner sex work.
This was handsome, Hall-of-Fame, escorting-johns-from-the-stadium sex work.
In fact, she knew that calling it sex work at all was cheapening it, but sometimes it was fun to think about it in the most basic terms.
She looks at her phone.
Missed texts.
Maya: Hey, babe, thinking about you.
Maya: Omg, they assigned me to cover a regional bingo event for the seniors in Port St. Lucie kms.
Maya: You must be busy. Miss you.
Maya: Almost there. Apparently, this is a really big deal.
Maya: What are you doing tonight? I should be back around 9 p.m. if you want to see me.
Addy’s heart sinks.
She feels terrible.
She grabs her phone and starts typing.
Addy: I’m SO SORRY, baby! I’m the worst. I’ve been insanely busy at work today and am just seeing all this now!
Addy: Are you okay? Do you hate me now?
She stares at her screen, hoping Maya will reply soon before she gets sucked back in.
Three dots.
“YES…” Addy says to herself.
Maya: Hi, this is Maya’s ghost. She’s not able to respond right now. She drove her car off a bridge in loneliness and disappointment.
That’s all it takes.
Addy is grinning from ear to ear.
Addy: Well, make sure nobody swipes her body before I do. I need to have my way with it, you know, say my goodbyes properly 😏
Maya: Mmmm, she just came back to life. Hold, please.
She is just too much.
Maya: Hi, babe, it’s me. Tonight, for that whole have-your-way-with-my-body thing?
Addy groans.
Addy: Ugh, trust me, I want to SO BAD. But I’m gonna be tied up at work for the next few days.
Maya: Well, damn, that sucks.
Maya: I guess absence makes the heart grow fondler.
She can’t help but laugh.
Addy: Actually, little miss journalism major, it’s “fonder.” Absence makes the heart grow “fonder.”
Maya: I said what I meant 🤪
Addy snorts, then quickly looks around to see if anyone noticed.
Tanvi is at her workstation.
She doesn’t look like she noticed.
Addy breathes an inner sigh of relief.
She did.
***
8:30 p.m.
Natalia is a stunner.
Her soft sienna skin tone makes her stand out among her colleagues.
She is excited.
In this business, threesomes with other escorts are not at all uncommon.
Most of them are both fun and surprisingly unoriginal.
Working with Leela is different.
Not only is it always fucking red hot.
She always comes up with the most insanely original scenarios.
Pulling strings like Geppetto and tasting like…
Dear God, Natalia’s eyes roll back a little.
“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Natalia asks.
Leela looks deep into her honey-colored kaleidoscope eyes and smiles seductively.
“We’re going to El Conejo Rojo.”
***
Midnight.
Angelo walks down a flight of steps next to what vaguely resembles a bunny drawn in charcoal on the brick wall.
He is trying to be confident.
Trying to be arrogant.
It is dark.
It is hot.
He thought going shirtless underneath his jacket was a great move.
In NYC, his pinstripe charcoal suit and chains would kill.
In this humidity, it’s all like a clingy broad, sticking to him in awkward ways and begging for attention.
He doesn’t know where he is.
In a fucking back alley somewhere.
Surrounded by abandoned buildings and warehouses.
Why couldn’t they do this in South Beach somewhere?
He gets to the bottom and listens.
Nothing but a faint mechanical hum.
He hopes it’s air conditioning.
The door is gray and weathered. No hinges, no window, no handle, no nothing. Just a small sticker of a cartoon rabbit in the upper right-hand corner.
He looks at the text messages containing his instructions for the thirtieth time.
Knock three times. Stop. Knock six times. Stop. Knock three times again.
He feels stupid.
Should he tap?
Should he pound?
He looks around.
Knocking.
Three times.
Six times.
Three times.
He hears an electric buzz, and the door opens.
Sounds like prison.
He steps in and is met by a wall of washing machines filled with tumbling clothes and a mountain in a Dickies work suit.
His voice is deep.
“What’s your business?”
Angelo knows the response, but he nervously looks at his phone anyway to make sure.
He stutters through it.
“I’ve got six loads of laundry.”
“How many pounds?” the man asks.
Angelo exhales a bit, feeling more confident that he’s on the right track.
“Thirty-six.”
“Do you have detergent?” the man responds.
Angelo pulls out a white metal card and hands it to him.
The card is tapped to a handheld device with a screen and handed back to him.
“Your name?”
“Alex Ferrero.”
“Stand in the white square and put your hands against the wall.”
Angelo looks down and sees a white square taped onto the concrete floor.
He does as he’s instructed.
He feels a massive shadow move over him.
The handheld metal detector slides along his body.
“Turn around and stay where you are.”
There is an electric buzz, and half the wall of washers opens up to reveal a dark hallway lit by red light.
“Walk to the end of the hall and check in at the window.”
He steps in.
The entrance closes.
He says to himself:
“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”
He pats himself down and pulls a pill from his pocket.
His palms are sweaty.
He swallows it.
It’s not bitter.
It tastes like something else.
Like humility.
***
Liliana always sat in the second row.
Never the front, never the back.
Always the second.
Unfortunately, thanks to Olivia getting a little handsy on her way out the door, she was late to class, and by the time she made it there, the only spot open was in the front row, right in front of the professor.
Honestly, she was lucky to even get a seat.
This was one of the hottest classes on the entire campus.
Human Need and Sexual Psychology.
The professor might as well have been a unicorn.
A world-renowned scientific mind trapped in the body of George Clooney.
He wasn’t exactly Liliana’s cup of cafecito, but he had charisma. She had to give him that.
The professor was in mid-lecture.
Liliana quietly slid into her seat, unzipped her bag, and pulled out her notebook.
“As more studies were done, researchers discovered something fascinating…”
He paused skillfully, letting the suspense build.
“The old wives’ adage that if you want a woman to orgasm, you need to wine and dine her was mostly true.”
The ladies in the class started murmuring, and the room filled with the sound of self-righteousness.
“Not in the sense that gifts or romance equal female climax, but that in certain circumstances, with certain conditions, male generosity almost always led to female satisfaction.”
He paused, scanning their faces.
They were all on the edge of their seats.
“Who can tell me why?” he probed.
Hands went up.
He selected a blonde girl in the second row.
“Because women need to feel cared for?” she offered.
“Great guess! And you’re not wrong in general. We all need to feel cared for, but that’s not directly tied to female pleasure.”
He looked around.
“Anyone else?”
“Because when a man matches her effort and treats her like she has equal value in the relationship, women find it stimulating.”
A self-proclaimed male feminist guessed.
“I think women enjoy respect and being treated like equals, yes. It makes for a wonderful relationship. But no, not the answer that we’re looking for.”
The professor looked out on a sea of faces whose brains were working overtime.
“C’mon, think outside the box. Why would giving a woman flowers prime her sexual desire?” he says, challenging them.
Liliana looks around and then raises her hand.
“Yes! Miss Tardy,” he says playfully.
“Because the act of giving flowers primes the man to give. To think of someone other than himself. And thus, as a result, he is more receptive to the cues of her body and more competent at giving her pleasure.”
If he were sitting down, he would have fallen out of his seat.
He looks at her, fascinated.
“What would make you say that? Did you read that somewhere?” he asks, curious.
She shakes her head.
“I don’t know. It just makes sense to me. Sometimes, in order to be seen, you have to see others first.”
He’s mystified.
“Well, Miss Tardy…”
He catches himself.
“What’s your real name?”
She looks down before answering.
“Liliana.”
“Well, Liliana, you are exactly right.”
Liliana’s face flushes.
***
Leela watches Angelo from across the room like a lioness.
The air is filled with the sounds of Afro-Cuban jazz.
He approaches the bartender and orders a drink, sliding the white card across the bar as instructed.
The bartender nods and returns with a drink, a small electronics case, and an envelope.
He pulls a card out of the envelope and opens it.
It says:
Hello, Angelo!
Open the case and put the earpiece in your ear.
He does as instructed, pulling it out and putting it in his ear.
Leela’s voice speaks to him for the first time.
“You’re handsome, Angelo. This is going to be a fun night. Are you ready?”
He looks around, trying to spot her.
“Ooooh, this is fun. Let’s see who catches your eye first, me or her.”
He scans the room and stops on a breathtaking woman sitting at a table in front of the band.
She has light brown curly hair and a sparkling red dress.
“Ahhhh, I like your taste, Angelo. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I bet you’re wishing you had a wingman.”
He looks nervous.
“What is this?”
“Welcome to El Conejo Rojo, where dreams come true, and this, this is going to be the best night of your life.”
Angelo is speechless, and Leela is thoroughly enjoying it.
“You’re cute when you’re nervous. Don’t worry, Angelito. I’ve got you.”
She can hear his breathing change just a bit.
“Turn to your left…”
He turns.
“More…more…there. Do you see me?”
His pupils dilate when he fixes on her.
At that range, in that lighting, she shouldn’t see it.
But somehow, she does.
She’s wearing a black corset and a black pencil skirt. If she weren’t so damn gorgeous, she might be invisible.
He walks over to her.
She stands to greet him, kisses him on the cheek, then straightens his lapels.
“You doing okay?” she asks warmly.
He nods his head.
“You’re doing great,” she says, then hands him a stunning red flower. “This is a flor de maga. Her favorite flower.”
He looks at it, then looks at her.
“I want you to approach her with the flower and a compliment. But…”
She grabs his hand and looks into his soul.
“…it’s very important that you give it to her from your heart.”
She puts up her hand in acknowledgment.
“Now, I know that might sound dumb to a cool guy like yourself. A guy who is used to buying what he wants. But you have to let that go for now. The gift isn’t to purchase her, it’s to honor her. And trust me…”
She winks.
“…it’ll be worth it.”
He nods his head and is ready to go.
She grabs him before he can move.
He hears her in his ear.
“Take a second. Breathe. And feel the music.”
He does his best.
“Now go.”
***
As Angelo approaches Natalia, Leela is right with him.
“She’s lovely, isn’t she? So much of our lives is spent guarding who we really are, gatekeeping our reactions. Let that guard down. Share yourself with her. Even if it’s awkward.”
He stands in front of Natalia.
She looks up at him, at the flower in his hand, back at him, then smiles.
He smiles back.
“Tell her the truth,” Leela coaches.
Angelo smiles.
“Listen, I’m really nervous. I noticed you when I was walking in, and I just felt like I had to talk to you…”
He hands her the flower.
Leela encourages him.
“Excellent. Now lead by telling her your name…”
“My name is Angelo,” he says.
Natalia smiles at him, sizing him up in his ridiculously inappropriate clothing.
“My name is Natalia…” she says.
Then, “Please sit.”
He does, then she asks him a question.
“So, Angelo. What about me made you want to come over and talk to me?”
Leela jumps in.
“Okay, take a breath. No rush here. Be honest. But really think about it. Don’t be completely obvious, and don’t be lazy. Think about what you’re feeling and describe it.”
Angelo smiles, nervous.
“Honestly? You’re beautiful. Like, wow, take-my-breath-away kind of beautiful…”
He’s easing into it.
“And this is probably dumb, but I’m really into fashion. I think it says something about a person and how they want to be seen.”
He looks a little embarrassed, wondering what the fuck he’s saying and whether or not he’s fucking up.
Leela’s voice relaxes him.
“No idea where you’re going, but it’s great. Keep being honest.”
“Your dress struck me and made me curious. What kind of woman would choose that? I felt like I had to know more…”
She looks at him in wonder, completely shocked.
“You’re doing it, Angelo. You’re doing it.”
Angelo’s smile is almost boylike.
“…and lastly, I saw the way you were enjoying the music and the way you moved. You looked passionate, and I wondered what you would be like in bed.”
Leela laughs out loud.
Angelo looks mortified.
Natalia smiles in wonder from ear to ear and speaks directly to Leela, knowing she can hear everything.
She leans forward.
“Okay, girl. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m all in. I’m taking him now!”
She stands up, takes him by the hand, and leads him away.
***
They head down a red-lit hallway with black walls and red doors, white rabbits and numbers on every door.
Natalia stops at door number six and kisses him like she can’t wait anymore.
“That was so fucking cute!” she says.
He smiles.
They hear the click of heels as Leela makes her approach.
Everyone is excited.
Leela looks at them playfully and says casually as she opens the door, “You guys ready to have some fun?”
She opens the door and lets Natalia walk into the room first.
The room we recognize from the beginning.
She keeps Angelo back for a second.
“You’ve got this. It’s just more of the same, but this time, be honest with your body…let me take this stupid jacket.”
She teases.
She looks at him standing there shirtless.
Like she’s sending him off on the bus for his first day at school.
She looks at Natalia and says:
“Look at her. Don’t miss this moment. Don’t overthink or try to perform.”
He looks.
He sees.
“Notice her. Her soft skin, her curves, her warmth, her moans. Notice every detail. She’s allowing you to experience all of that. Let her know you appreciate that, and give her something in return.”
He nods.
She points down a pathway that leads to another room, to the other side of the glass.
“I’ll be right here with you.”
Her eyes are saying so much more than her words.
“And because I’m selfish…”
She puts her hand on his chest and kisses him.
And she watches the frog become a man.
(The End)
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New written episodes drop every Saturday at 10 AM EST on Substack.
With episodes going Audible the following Wednesday.
LEELA follows a brilliant high-end escort in Miami who treats intimacy like art, therapy, and a little bit of trouble. It’s erotic, funny, emotional, dangerous, and not the story you think it is.
