Sapphire Beautiful (2 page)

“Like a mistress?” Mallory raises an eyebrow.

Sydney snaps her fingers together. “That’s the word I was looking for. Mistress. You get paid to be a rich guy’s mistress.” She leans in closer to Mallory. “And my cousin told me a lot of men in The Club buy the girls extra gifts, like jewelry and clothes. Some of them have even gotten cars and apartments.”

Mallory’s eyes grow as wide as mine. “I could use the money. My dad lost his job three months ago. My parents are tapped out.”

I could use money like that too
, I think. Then wonder where that thought came from. Would I actually consider being someone’s mistress for money? Even if I was ten years younger and not a university professor applying for tenure is that something I could really do?

Sydney flashes Mallory a business card. “This is the phone number for The Club. You have to tell the woman who answers who referred you or she just hangs up the phone. Guard this with your life.”

I try to move in close enough to see the number on the card, but I can’t quite make it out. I decide to do something completely uncharacteristic. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I pretend to be so engrossed in my emails as I hurry past Mallory that I knock right into her accidently on purpose.

Luckily everything in her hands goes flying including the business card. As she goes for her notebook and papers that are strewn everywhere I reach for the card.

Sydney is a little too quick for me. She snatches it from my grasp, but I am able to memorize eight of the ten numbers before I lose the card.

“I’m so sorry, Mallory,” I say as I pick up a few of her papers and hand them to her. “I must have been distracted.”

“It’s okay, Dr. Pine,” she says through clenched teeth, then gives Sydney a barely disguised eye roll.

“Your notes look excellent,” I tell her. “I’m sure you’ll do well in the class.”

At least that brings a slight smile to her face. “Thanks.”

***

T
he minute my graduate class is dismissed I want to hurry home to see if I can figure out the last two digits of the phone number for The Club. My plan is stymied, however, when one of my most eager graduate students catches me in the hallway on my way out.

At twenty Misty is one of the youngest graduate students we’ve ever had in the program. She was homeschooled and took enough dual high school and college credits as a teen that she only had to attend the university for two years to complete her undergraduate degree. Now that she’s in our graduate program she seems more excited about learning than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.

Is it possible for someone to be too eager?

“Dr. Pine. I was wondering if you had time to meet with me. I have a list of questions for you.” She holds up a legal-sized pad filled with single-spaced questions.

“I’d love to meet with you, Misty. My offices hours tomorrow are from two to four.”

Her big green eyes go wide. “That’s great! Could I also email you some questions tonight?”

“Sure,” I say, trying not to sound reluctant. I have a sinking feeling I’ll get an equally long list of questions in my inbox.

“Terrific!” She tucks a strand of her long red hair behind her ear and stares at me.

“Is there anything else? I’m on my way to an appointment.”

“I just want to tell you how much I love your class.”

“Thanks. It’s only the first day. I hope you continue to love it.”

“I’m sure I will,” she replies before she bops down the hallway.

I let out the breath I’d been holding through our entire exchange. I don’t think I ever had half that much energy, even when I was twenty.

***

M
y block is quiet as I walk toward my townhouse. It’s one of the things I like best about my small, residential neighborhood. Even though it’s an older, more established area the townhomes have all been completely remodeled. Like me, most of the residents in the area are young professionals in their late twenties and early thirties.

I have a beautiful, two-story all brick walk-up near the end of the block. Unfortunately I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to maintain the small garden in the front of the house. It looks uncared for and ignored, which in some ways is symbolic of how I feel about myself lately.

I hurry up the stairs to my small front porch. When I glance over at the cedar rocker that I wanted for the longest time I’m overcome with emotion.

When the sex scandal broke and Doug killed himself I felt like I had lost everything. This house feels like the only thing I have left. It’s my anchor.

And now I’m in danger of losing it too.

Quickly unlocking the front door I just about make it inside before tears begin streaming down my face.

Doug and I put everything we had into customizing the townhouse. We turned the dining room into a large library with floor to ceiling bookshelves. And we replaced all of the old carpeting with cherry hardwood floors. We updated the fireplace in the living room to give it a more modern feel and we invested in all new solid cherry wood furniture that stretched our budget, but was too attractive to pass up.

I have to do whatever it takes to save my house
, I tell myself.
I’ve lost too much already
. I can’t lose my home too.

I run upstairs to my bedroom. After changing into a t-shirt and shorts I plop down on my bed with my cellphone.

I briefly consider doing a Google search for The Club, but decide it’s pointless. A service that teeters on the edge of prostitution probably tries to stay hidden not advertise. 

I start dialing different combinations for the final two digits I’m still missing from the phone number for The Club. 

After an hour with no luck I rise from the bed and stretch.

Then I take a long look at myself in the mirror above my dresser. I keep my thick, dark, shoulder-length hair in a style that frames my hopefully still youthful face. My chocolate brown eyes have only the slightest of wrinkles around the edges when I smile. I may be in my thirties, but I think I still look decent. I definitely don’t look like a co-ed anymore. What happens if The Club won’t hire me because I’m too old? What if the rich, old horny guys only want young college girls to screw around with?

Would a guy actually pay to have sex with me?

I need the money and I don’t have any other options. Even if I could get another part-time job it probably wouldn’t pay enough to get me out of the deep financial hole Doug left me in. And I wouldn’t get my first paycheck for a few weeks.

I could be homeless by then.

I grab my cellphone and start dialing more combinations of numbers. It takes about fifteen more tries before I finally hit what I think might be The Club. It’s not easy to tell because the person at the other end of the line doesn’t say anything.

“Is this The Club?” I ask tentatively.

“Who referred you?” the raspy female voice says.

I clear my throat. I wasn’t actually referred by anyone, so I’m going to have to lie. Something I’ve never been very good at. “Sydney.”

There’s a long moment of silence. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I may have blown it.

“What’s your name?” the voice asks.

“Mary.”

“Is this the number where you’d like to be reached?”

“Yes.”

It takes me a few moments to realize that the woman at the other end of the line has hung up.

What happens if she calls Sydney to ask about me? My stomach knots. I guess I was so desperate that I didn’t think the entire thing through.

A few seconds later my phone rings.

“How do you know Sydney?” another female voice asks when I answer the call. This woman’s voice is deeper and she sounds older.

“School,” I reply. I know it’s a vague response, but vague seems to be a safer option when you’re lying through your teeth.

“Tomorrow at three. Don’t be late. Write down the address.” She quickly recites an address, which I recognize as other side of town. It’s right down the street from the very expensive lawyer I consulted after Doug’s death. His price was beyond my budget. Ultimately I ended up with a paralegal service the university recommended.

And that’s it. Dead air. She didn’t even give me a chance to respond.

M
isty follows me as I head toward my office. I promised that I’d see her during my office hours, but that was before my appointment with The Club. And Claudia told me not to be late.

“I’m sorry I only have about twenty minutes, Misty.” I unlock my office door and we both enter. “I have to make it to another appointment across town.”

My office is small, not much bigger than a clothes closet, and it’s covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves. There’s barely room for my small desk and two chairs.

“Are you okay?” she asks as we both sit down.

“Why would you ask that?”

She glances down at her feet. “You seem really anxious.”

I take in a deep breath. I don’t make it a habit to talk about my personal life with my students. “I have a lot on my plate right now.”

“I heard about everything that happened. With Dr. Pine. The other Dr. Pine. Your husband.”

I nod. “What questions do you have for me?”

She removes the legal pad from her backpack and hands it to me. I quickly skim the long list. It could easily take me an entire semester to answer all of her questions.

“I can tell you’re eager to learn as much as you can about medieval history and culture. I promise you that we’ll be covering all of these questions throughout the semester. But if you just can’t wait, I’ll give you one point of extra credit for every question you find the answer to on your own.”

Her eyes completely light up. “Seriously? You’ll give me extra credit?”

I nod and hand her back her notepad. “It’ll take a lot of work, but if you want to put in the time, I’ll give you the credit for it.”

“That’s fantastic! Thank you so much.”

I glance at my watch. “I don’t mean to cut our meeting short...”

She rises. “I know. You have an appointment. I hope everything’s okay.”

“Me too,” I tell her.

***

I
’m out of breath as I dash into the front entrance of The Club right at three o’clock. The public transportation gods must have been smiling down on me today because I didn’t think I was going to make it on time.

“I’m—here—to—see—Claudia,” I gasp.

The young woman at the front desk looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine. I’m thin, but this woman looks almost anorexic.

The Club is in an upscale part of the city surrounded by offices filled with high priced attorneys and financial advisors. The exterior of the small building is nondescript and blends in with the neighboring buildings. If you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for you’d probably just ignore it.

Inside, The Club is much more dramatic. Everything is dark wood and feels heavy. It definitely exudes an atmosphere of old money and refinement.

When the fashion model at the front desk finally looks at me I can tell by the sneer on her perfect face that she’s not impressed with what she sees.

Professors aren’t known for being fashion plates. The only thing in my closet that seemed appropriate for an interview was the black suit I wore when I defended my dissertation. I also wore it when I interviewed for faculty positions. The suit is definitely not sexy. It’s a suit that says
take me seriously as a scholar
. It definitely doesn’t say
fuck me
.

“You are?” She arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

I clear my throat. “Mary. I have an appointment. Three o’clock.”

She looks me up and down. “Are you sure?”

I stare at her defiantly. After successfully defending a doctoral dissertation in front of a committee of hypercritical Ph.D.s it’s extremely difficult to intimidate me. Miss I-Just-Stepped-Off-The-Runway doesn’t intimidate me in the least.

“Follow me.” She turns on her very high heels and heads down a vast hallway. Her stride is so long I nearly have to sprint to keep up with her.

“You can go in,” she tells me when we reach the office at the very end of the hallway. “Claudia is expecting you.”

She doesn’t wait for me to respond. She turns and hurries away.

I swallow, but my throat is quickly closing. I feel like I could pass out at any moment. Taking in a deep breath I do my best to compose myself.

“Get a grip,” I tell myself. “You need the money.”

When I open the door I’m taken aback to see the office is completely white. It’s in sharp contrast to the dark feel of rest of The Club.

“Have a seat.” Claudia demands.

I take back what I said about no longer being intimidated by anyone. Claudia is scary as hell.

I quickly take the only other seat in the room opposite her massive metal desk. The furniture probably appears larger than it actually is because it’s completely bare. No computer, no phone, not even a calendar. I assume in a profession like hers it’s a liability to write things down.

She eyes me for what feels like forever before she speaks again.

“Thirty-two.” That’s all she says. Then she stares at me again.

I’m not sure what to do so I just mumble a barely audible, “Okay.”

“You’re thirty-two,” she repeats as if I’m the most stupid person on the planet.

“How did you know?”

She glares at me. I guess I’m not supposed to ask questions. Then she says, “You’re a lot older than the girls we usually hire.”

I nod because I don’t want to be on the receiving end of another one of her icy glares.

“Most of my clients want college girls in their early twenties.”

I take in a deep breath and prepare myself for the inevitable rejection. As a college professor I’m considered young with my whole career ahead of me. It’s hard for me to fathom a profession in which you’re completely washed up by the time you’re twenty-five.

If you can actually call being a paid mistress a
profession
.

I expect Claudia to kick me out and tell me to never come back, but to my surprise she removes a thin file from her top desk drawer and places it on her desk.