Authors: Scarlett Black
“Might”
being the appropriate word.
I
pulled into the parking lot of a large, red brick office building with two
minutes to spare. Thankfully, by whatever miracle of the traffic gods, I
caught four green lights in a row and made up some time. Damn the blue hairs
and cotton-tops with their feet riding the brakes—when luck is on your side,
you take it where you can get it.
My
heels clicked across the concrete as I pulled open the front door and searched
the building directory for “The Midnight Fantasy Corporation,” expecting to see
its name alongside the others like The Acupuncture Zone and Williamson Family
Dentists. No dice. Slightly panicked, I checked the address number to make
sure I was in the right place—I was—and then scanned the list of names again.
Gotcha.
There you are.
It
was listed as “TMFC” about halfway down. Sixth floor, Room 602.
The
initials were obviously an attempt to keep things discreet, which I
appreciated. With all the standard businesses that called the place home—law
offices, chiropractors, real estate agencies—my biggest fear had become running
into someone I knew. Or worse yet, someone that knew Dreama.
I
pressed the elevator button and waited. And waited. It gave me too much time
to dread the scenario. I could see it play out in my mind: “Kim? Hi, what’re
you doing here? That’s a nice dress. Did your mother give you that?”
I
shook the thought from my mind, kept my head down, and dashed for the stairs,
climbing up them as quickly as the tight dress would allow.
At
the landing, I checked the office numbers and followed the arrows down to the
end of the hall, which had champagne colored walls and matching carpet. An
interesting color choice, to say the least, and if I’d lain down or backed up
to the wall, I could’ve disappeared within the unintentional camouflage.
I
pushed the door open and had to refrain from actually plowing inside.
Right
on time. Barely.
A
woman, wearing a floral-print dress and black-rimmed glasses, sat behind the
counter talking quietly into the phone.
Her
nameplate read, “ALICE WILKINS.”
She
hung up and smiled when I approached. I got closer and noticed the heavy streaks
of gray in her hair and loose skin around her upper arms. Somebody’s
grandmother probably, and I wondered how she felt about working where she did.
What if it was
her
granddaughter coming in for an interview at an escort
service? Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe she didn’t have grandchildren and what
the girls there did with their bodies was none of her concern. Or maybe she’d
been in the same position as me—unemployed and desperate—and accepted what had
finally been offered.
“Well,
hello, sweetheart,” she said, and I instantly fell in love with her. Kind
words, sweet disposition. Welcoming. She reminded me of Lois, Dreama’s
mother, who’d passed away when I was fifteen years old. I had so many fond
memories of my time at Lois’s house and still missed her too much, all those
years later. How the sweetest woman in the world had given birth to the spawn
that became Dreama was anyone’s guess.
“Hi,
Alice. I’m Kim Baker. I called earlier and have an interview scheduled.”
“You
certainly do,” Alice said, checking her computer screen. “You’ll be meeting
with Roman.”
“Roman?”
“He’s
the owner. Can I get you anything? Coffee or tea? Anything stronger?”
“Stronger?”
“To
help you relax, dear. Your hands could mix paint the way they’re shaking.”
It
was true, and I’d been so stuck inside my own head contemplating what in the
hell I was doing there that I hadn’t even noticed. I clasped my fingers
together and then held my purse against my waist, trying to steady my hands.
“Sorry about that. I’m a little…nervous.”
Alice
gave me a knowing look, like she’d heard it hundreds of times before. She
said, “They all are, honey. Everyone that walks through that door for the
first time. Now, how about that drink?”
“Scotch,
I think. That’s classy, right?”
She
winked at me. “You learn fast. Roman will be impressed.”
***
A
couple of minutes later, I sat in a tiny waiting room off to Alice’s right.
With my legs crossed, I tapped a foot on the floor and tried to keep the ice
from rattling in my tumbler. The scotch was strong with a hint of caramel flavor
on the back of my tongue. It burned going down and it wasn’t long before I
began to feel the effects. I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in months. Couldn’t
afford it. The result of a bottle of wine, alone, wasn’t worth the expense, no
matter how stressed or depressed I’d been.
The
waiting room had the distinction of being plain but strangely decorated at the
same time. Lime green walls, fake flowers, and famous art reprints. A small
coffee table sat in front of me with an odd statue of a golfer in mid-swing,
which served as a centerpiece. The couch I sat on was faux leather, but deep
and cushy, so I didn’t mind its fakeness too much. Being comfortable when
you’re about to pee yourself is a much-needed benefit.
Across
from me was a matching love seat and next to that, a stack of magazines on an
end table, their covers adorned with more golfers in ridiculous clothes and
awkward poses. It had to be where they deposited all the male clientele, if
any of them were bold enough to visit the office instead of calling in an
order.
Did
they sit them down with a three-ring binder and have them flip through a stack
of headshots like they were choosing from a menu? And what would that be
like? Did it have tabbed sections for things like Blondes, Brunettes, or
Ethnic? And maybe Young, Mature, or Something in Between? Fake Boobs? Real
Boobs?
What
category would I fall under?
Shaky,
probably. The caption under my headshot would read something like, “Pick this
one—she vibrates!”
I
checked the door, saw that Alice had her attention elsewhere, and then discretely
sniffed my armpits.
He
could smell me if we do it in
here
, I thought. God, this is a mistake.
What am I doing? Should I go? Yeah, I should leave before this goes too far.
I’ll just thank Alice and tell her something came up.
I
grabbed a marbled coaster, scooted it closer to me on the table, and put the
scotch down. By the time I wiggled out of the deep couch—the dress made
getting up difficult—it was too late. Alice opened the door, poked her head
in, and motioned for me to come with her.
“He’s
ready for you.”
“Oh,
um, well I was thinking—maybe I should just—”
Alice
sensed my apprehension. She stepped closer and took my hand. “Cold feet?”
“Freezing.”
“Want
a pep talk?”
“Yeah…maybe.”
She
reached for my other hand, and I let her take it. The gesture comforted me and
I stopped shaking for a moment.
“It’s
not my job to convince you, sweetie, but he’s going to love you. I know he
will. This…it’s not for everyone. It’s up to you to decide how you’re willing
to handle it. Do you understand?”
I
nodded.
“I’ve
seen more girls come through here than I could count. Some last, some don’t.
But the ones that do? The ones that handle it the right way? You’ve never
seen a more confident woman. You have power. You have control. It’s your
life, honey. You do what you want with it, okay? But my advice—not that you
asked, really—is to stay safe and stay smart. If you do that, pretty soon
you’ll have more money than you know what to do with. It takes a special kind
of woman to handle this, and I can see that in you.”
“You
can?”
She
giggled and pinched my cheek. “No, I’m just an old lady that’s full of shit.”
We
laughed together, hard enough to push away my nervousness and doubt. She’d
done her job properly. How often had she given the same speech?
“Okay,”
I said. “Okay, I think I can do this. But—”
“But
what?”
“Is
any of that true? About the control and—and the money?”
“Every
word of it. At least from what I’ve seen over the past ten years. Are you
ready?” she said, pointing toward a closed door down the hallway. “He’s right
in there.”
“I
think so. No, wait. Yes. I am. I’m ready.”
“Wonderful.”
She patted my backside. “Go get ‘em.” She reminded me of Lois on the days
she’d take me to volleyball camp in the summers. The subtle encouragement, the
confidence boost—anything and everything to take my mind off the performance
anxiety.
I
took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “
Whew
, okay. Any last minute
advice?”
“Chin
up, shoulders back, breasts forward, and when you walk in there, remember, you
own
that room. Be respectful, because that’s how Roman likes it, but that room is
yours
,
understood?”
“Yes,
ma’am.”
I
did as she said. I lifted my chin, threw back my shoulders, and marched down
the hallway like I belonged there.
The
confidence lasted until I lifted my hand to knock on Roman’s office door. I
froze and absolutely could
not
force my hand to move. I didn’t look
back at Alice. I didn’t want her to know I’d lost my nerve.
Godddamn
it, Kim. Suck it up. You can’t really take this job, remember? No pressure.
It’s just for fun.
Right?
Wasn’t it?
I
knocked three quick raps and waited.
I
waited so long that I thought he hadn’t heard me, but as I reached to knock
again, the latch clicked and the door swung inward.
Roman
wore a pristine suit, metallic gray with a baby-blue scarf poking out of the
left side pocket. His tie matched the scarf and both matched his eyes, just
like Finn’s that day back in the coffee shop. It was nothing more than a
masterstroke of coincidence, but it made me pause and think again about where I
was and why. What would Finn think of me if he knew?
Yet
I wasn’t sure any of that would matter, because Roman was one of the most
handsome men I’d ever seen. Maybe in his mid-forties, brown skin, beautiful
dark hair, cut short in a Caesar-style. Whether it was intentional or not—and
I was sure it wasn’t—I couldn’t help but notice the connection. Roman with a
Caesar cut. I might’ve pointed it out under different circumstances.
He
had a thin, five o’clock shadow—the kind that’s trimmed that way on purpose.
Roman
was simply…damn hot. No words would do him justice.
I
could only describe the look he gave me as “penetrating.” And it wasn’t just
my eyes. No, he surveyed every inch of me from head to toe. Long, slow looks
so intense that I could feel them on my skin. The hair on my arms stood up,
but not from fear. It was from the idea of being ravished without being
touched.
My
nipples hardened and pressed against the dress.
Could
he see them? Could he tell how turned on I was?
Maybe.
Maybe he could feel my heat.
Finally,
he said, “You…are…incredible.” His voice was deep, sexy, genuine, and coated
with a mixture of truth and amazement.
I’d
never had anyone speak to me that way, with such sincerity and lust wrapped up
into three simple words. I wished I could’ve captured that moment in time so I
could show it to Dreama and say, “See? You’re wrong, and you always have been.”
“Well?”
Roman said. “Most people say ‘thank you.’”
I
snapped out of my reverie and managed a nervous laugh. Flustered and fumbling
my words, I said, “
Oh
, oh right. You caught me off surprise, um,
by
surprise—thank you. So nice of you. Really. That’s…flattering.”
“It’s
not flattery if it’s true. Come in, have a seat.” He motioned toward one of
the chairs in front of his desk and guided me inside with a hand on my lower
back. I melted with the touch and could feel him gazing at me from behind.
I
heard the door close, followed by the thick
clunk
of the lock.
Maybe
I should’ve been frightened because how often is someone comfortably locked in
a room with a strange man? But no, I wasn’t afraid. Nothing could’ve been
further from the truth. The room was
mine
.
When
I sat down, my dress rode up high on my thighs.
I
didn’t bother with pulling it down.
Roman
moved slowly around his desk like a panther stalking his prey. Underneath his
suit, I imagined his muscles rippling and flexing with every step, every
motion. His fingers lightly traced across the dark mahogany and then he
slipped into his high-backed leather chair. “Give me a second,” he said,
picking up a sheet of paper. “I haven’t had a chance to look at this yet.”
“Is
that my resume? I think you’ll find that I’m—”
He
put a finger to his lips and softly said, “
Ssshhh
. One second.”
I
wanted to retake control. I wanted to say something, but I let it go.
Be
respectful, I thought, just like Alice said
.
So,
I waited, looking around the room while Roman read and muttered the occasional,
“Hmm.”
There
was the giant desk in front of me, as spotless and well groomed as his
appearance. The kind of perfection that comes from a personal touch, not from
a hired cleaning lady. Want something done right, do it yourself.
All
of the papers were neatly organized. His laptop hummed quietly and I noticed
one framed photograph, angled sideways, of Roman shaking hands with an older,
white-haired gentleman. Not that I follow politics, but I immediately
recognized our fine governor. Was he a client or had Roman donated a huge pile
of cash for the opportunity?
To
my right was a bookshelf, absolutely stuffed with novels and business guides.
You
were right about one thing, Dreama. A reading man is a sexy man.
Behind
Roman, mounted on the wall, was a massive painting of a nude woman, lounging on
a divan. She was plump, with full breasts and a mischievous smile. Curly red
hair. It had to be an original by some famous painter. I couldn’t know for
certain, but from the impression I’d gotten of Roman, I wouldn’t have expected
anything less.
And
then, to my left, was a wall of windows overlooking the river. Lush, green
trees and a couple of geese lazily swimming upstream. A gorgeous view, and I
could see myself kicking back in his office chair with my feet up on the desk,
watching the water flow by, getting lost in my daydreams. It would’ve been the
perfect place to hide, shut out the world and just
relax
.
Roman
cleared his throat, sat up in his chair, and using a single finger, he slid my
resume across the desk, as if it were something offensive.
He
said, “Convince me you belong here, Kim, because I’m not sure you do.”
Again,
I wasn’t sure I wanted the job, nor could remain a responsible mother and work
the odd hours, but something came over me—maybe it was the need to prove myself
to somebody, to prove my mother wrong—but it happened. I got caught up in the
moment.
Take
control. This is
your
room.
I
offered a smug, confident smile and replied, “May I call you Roman?”
“Of
course.”
I
leaned forward in my chair and lowered my voice. Poised and calm,
self-assured, I said, “Roman, that’s no way to speak to your future
star
employee.”
He
grinned. “Good answer.”
“I
know it was.” My heartbeat hammered inside my chest. I wasn’t used to being
so…
forward
.
His
smile widened. “I admire your confidence, but there’s something missing.
Something doesn’t add up in your background. At least, not from what I read.”
“And
what would that be?”
“You’ve
got an MBA from Stanford while a lot of young women your age are trying to
decide which fraternity house they’ll pass out in this weekend. I mean, for
God’s sake, you were the valedictorian of your class at one of the most
prestigious schools in the nation.”
“And?”
“
And
…you’re
brilliant, apparently, so why in the hell are you an unemployed customer
service rep? Why aren’t you out securing a few million dollars in venture
capital for some Silicon Valley startup? Basically, what I really want to know
is,” he said, as his voice grew more demanding, tapping the desk with each
word, “why are you
here
?”
I
thought about lying. I thought about making something up about how the
business world bored me and I wanted something more adventurous, but it still didn’t
explain how I wound up in that dead-end job in the first place. Since I had
nothing to lose, I decided that honesty would be the best option. Someone
would find out eventually—better to get it out of the way.
“You
really want to know the answer?”
“Make
it a good one.”
I
almost stuck my highly intelligent nose in the air. Instead, I settled for a
lot of five-cent words. “Being intelligent doesn’t preclude someone from
unfortunate oversights. I’m fallible, like everyone else. And when those
mistakes occur, especially when you’re at the top of the mountain, it simply
means you have a longer way to fall.”
“I
see.” Roman leaned back in his chair, studying me. “What kind of mistakes are
we talking about?”
“Mistake.
Singular,” I said, then regretted my choice of words. Joey wasn’t the issue.
He was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I rationalized it by
thinking that his father
,
Marcus
,
was
the mistake.
I
turned my eyes away and stared out the window. The geese had moved on. The
lust that had been a raging storm inside me evaporated into a tiny droplet of
water. It was still there, but there was integrity and business to deal with.
“The truth—the truth is, I have a son. He’s almost eighteen months, and, well,
I chose responsibility over glory, over that Silicon Valley startup.”
Which
wasn’t exactly true. A number of companies had been in the process of
recruiting me before that fateful night with Marcus. I’d already been promised
high-level positions and annual salaries well into the six figures. I’d been
promised unbelievable perks—company BMWs and tremendous expense accounts—perks
that would’ve made anyone my age drool over the possibilities, the freedom.
But
it wasn’t meant to be. The bidding wars for my skills dried up once word
spread that I was pregnant. I’d heard excuses like, “Shows a lack of judgment
that we’re concerned about,” and, “We’re concerned you won’t have time to
fulfill your duties with a newborn child.”
Concerned,
concerned, concerned. Everybody had been
concerned
. I hated that
word. Not to mention how discriminatory it had been. But, when offers are
pulled, no matter how much you try to convince someone otherwise, what do you
do?
Dreama
had suggested that I sue and I’d refused. I didn’t want to work for a place
where I had to stamp my foot and throw a tantrum to be accepted. I wouldn’t
want to be there, and they wouldn’t want me there. The environment would’ve
been too toxic to be productive.
What
Roman said next surprised me more than can be imagined. I expected rejection.
I expected him to be “concerned.”
He
said, “A child is never a mistake. Keep that in mind.”
“Right.
No, I know. That’s not what I meant. It’s his…father.”
“Not
in the picture?”
“He
never has been.”
“And
you take care of your son by yourself?”
“My
mother helps, but mostly it’s just me.”
“Let
me guess—you’re here because you need the money.”
I
looked down at my lap, nodding. I felt my cheeks go red. Admitting to the
fact embarrassed me.
“Can
you manage the schedule? Lots of nights and weekends, often hours at a time,
and every once in a while someone with more money than he knows how to spend
might request a long weekend. Can you do that?
Honestly
? Of course it
would be a shift in priorities, but as you mentioned, it all goes back to
responsibility. You’ll have extended periods away from your son—what’s his
name?”
“Joey.”
Roman
continued, “You’ll have long hours away from Joey—there’s no way around it, but
you’ll be able to provide for him like never before.”
“That…that
sounds wonderful.” And it did. It truly did. Yet I couldn’t believe that I
sat there actually
wanting
a chance at such a torrid future. “I’d have
to make arrangements though, and I could only fool my mother for so long.”
“Supposing
I give you the opportunity, I don’t think it would be a problem. A small
number of my employees are mothers, and they’re usually the most successful
ones.”
I
was dumbfounded. When I was able to close my gaping mouth and make words come
out of it, I said, “Really? Why?”
“Three
reasons that I can see. They’re smart, guarded, and highly motivated. Is that
you, Kim? Can you be all those things?”
“Yeah.
Yeah, definitely.”
He
nodded, held up a finger. “First rule. Don’t say ‘yeah.’ It’s unbecoming.”
“Oh,
sorry.”
“We
have a lot of high profile clients, some you’d be extremely surprised by, I
imagine, and they expect a certain level of sophistication.”
“I
can do that, I promise. I can be sophisticated.” I can’t express the level of
internal conflict I felt. There I was, practically begging for a job as an
escort, desperately clinging to any sense of morality and good judgment that I
might have left.
And
then they disappeared—flew out the window really—the moment Roman said, “If
that’s the case, then I can offer you something like a…call it a signing
bonus. An advance, actually. You’ll have to pay it back before you start
earning anything for your time, but with what I think I can charge for an hour
with someone like you, that shouldn’t take long at all.”
Someone
like me? That was a compliment, right?
He
added, “Ten thousand dollars up front to help you get started.”
I
gulped, and if I had been a cartoon, my eyes would’ve sprung out of my head.
“Buy
a couple of evening gowns, hire a babysitter, whatever you want to do with it.
Let me see your hands.”
“What?”
“Give
me your hands.”
I
scooted up to the edge of the chair as Roman reached across his desk. When his
fingers touched mine, I felt a shimmer of excitement race all over my skin.
“Decent,”
he said, examining my fingertips one by one. “But get yourself a manicure,
too. Maybe some color in your hair. I’ll tell you what, I’ll send you to
Lana, she’ll get you where I want you to be.” Roman teased my palm with his
middle finger, smiling. “Would you like that?”
I
felt warm. I wanted to be touched. I wanted that finger somewhere else.
“Yeah.
I mean,
yes
. I’d love that.”
“I
thought you might.” He let go and leaned back into his chair. In my head, I
begged him to come back, to put those warm, soft hands on my body. Every inch
of it.
“Roman,
I—I don’t know what to say. That’s not—”
I
almost said, “That’s not necessary,” but it would’ve been a lie. With that
kind of money, I could afford so many things I’d neglected for so long.
“Not
what?”
“Not
what I expected. Thank you.”
He
crossed his legs and tented his fingertips. “Let’s not get too far ahead of
ourselves. There’s still the matter of your situation.”
“Okay,”
I said, hesitantly, worried he would take it all away, wondering what he meant.
“Do
you really want this job?”
I
didn’t waver. “Yes.”
“And
you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get it?”
I
took a deep breath. I’d been sucked in by the promises—I’d come too far—to say
no. “I am.”
“Good.
Stand up for me.”
I
pushed myself out of the chair and crossed my hands at my waist.
Roman
tilted his head, pinched his lips together, and then motioned for me to twirl
around. When my back was facing him, he said, “Stop.” I waited patiently,
feeling his eyes on my ass, admiring it. “Okay, face me.”
I
spun around, unable to hide my timid smile. I knew I looked good, but the
question was, had he thought the same?
There
was more to come before I found out.
Roman
said, “Take off your dress.”