by Mia Carson
“Come on, Ms. Faye. We don’t have all day,” he called, disappearing down the hall.
I hurried behind him, my heels sinking into the soft carpet that lined the hallway. I wished I could sink my toes into the carpet and feel the warmth, but there was no time for such luxuries. Maybe on my way back I would spare some minutes for play, as I didn’t need too much time to change into whatever uniform I had to wear–probably a skirt, a blouse, a blazer, and one of those neckties that hotel staff always tie to the side of their necks.
“Pick any dress that fits best,” he said as he walked up to a door and opened it. He stepped aside for me to enter the room.
“Nice,” I said, trying to conceal my excitement. It was as if I had walked into a boutique. There were at least a hundred fancy dresses, each one threatening to outshine the next.
“It’s arranged by size,” Mr. Gordon said, pointing out the obvious to me.
“I can wear any of these?” I asked in disbelief.
What kind of staff was I supposed to be? When I was volunteered by my supervisor for this extra shift at work, I had been told I was going to be greeting the guests as they arrived, but based on the styles of the dresses I was to choose from and wear, I had a feeling I may have signed up for a lot more than that.
“Yes. Try something on. There is a dressing room and a bathroom right there.” He pointed at a room tucked away in the corner. “Just in case you wanted to freshen up. You may also want to touch up your makeup.”
“Sure,” I said, trying my best to act like it was normal to shop in the most expensive boutique I’d ever seen for free.
“I’ll be outside waiting for you. Choose carefully. You get to keep the dress after the party. You’ll find shoes in the other room. It was restocked this morning, so you should be able to find your size,” he said, pointing to a room that had a sign Shoes.
I stood for a few seconds, unsure where to start. I was in a room with dresses that cost more than my yearly salary, and I could wear any of the dresses and got to keep it afterwards? Suddenly I felt overwhelmed. What had I gotten myself into? Was this a prostitution ring and I was going to be sold to the highest bidder? Panic crawled up my spine and pulled out my phone to text my boss, Anthony.
Here at the job at Fox Wood Manor. What type of party is this?
Tony must have been expecting my text as I got a response instantaneously.
Relax. Have fun. Meet a couple rich men. I’ll see you in the morning.
I wanted to text him back and tell him he could send someone else, maybe his precious Amber, a coworker he was messing around with, but I decided against it. Maybe meeting a few rich men was not a bad idea. I had always wondered how the really rich lived, and tonight was my best chance to rub shoulders with people who made more in a minute than I made in a year.
I went to the rack and started rummaging through the dresses. There were short dresses, long dresses, ball gowns, knee-length dresses, A-lines, sheath, sleeveless, sleeved, off-the-shoulder, and other dresses I couldn’t describe. I pulled a red silk sheath dress I thought would hug my body in all the right places and looked at the label. Yikes! It was a designer name I didn’t recognize, but judging the sleekness of the fabric, I knew the dress must have cost a fortune.
The bathroom, adorned with mirrors and marble, was bigger than my entire apartment and smelled like fresh roses. I stepped out of my cheap outfit and pulled on the dress, reaching behind to zip it up. It fit perfectly. I turned to look at myself in the mirror. The dress fit me like a glove, but there was still something missing – make up. If I applied a little bit of makeup and let my hair down, I would pass for one of those rich, spoiled women outside. I regretted not bringing my makeup until I saw a spread of cosmetics packed for individual use on the counter. I smiled; these people had thought of everything. I wondered how often they had girls dressing up to entertain rich men. I found my shade of foundation and powder and applied it as expertly as I could with my limited knowledge of makeup.
Since I still needed some shoes, I walked to the shoe room. I knew the shoe room was going to be expansive, but nothing prepared me for what lay before me when I opened the door. Rows and rows of all types, sizes, and colors of shoes lay before me, arranged by color. I tried a handful of shoes until I found black heels that fit perfectly. I took another look at myself in the wall to wall mirror, and I had to admit I had transformed from the street girl that rode the bus to a high-class society woman. I let my long, dark hair loose and turned to the mirror again. I did look like one of those rich, spoiled women. Or maybe I was just going to be an overdressed waiter.
I put my clothes and shoes in a plastic bag I found in the bathroom and stepped outside. Mr. Gordon was sitting on a couch in the hallway. The look on his face told me I was right about how I looked. I expected him to say something to me, but he simply stood up and starting walking back toward the main lobby.
“Sorry I took some time. It was a little overwhelming,” I said, trotting behind him, trying to catch up. He noticed my effort to stay in step with him and slowed down.
“I’m used to that. Most girls take longer than that.” His face was blank.
“Most girls? You mean like other temporary staff?” I asked, stopping in my tracks. This had to be a sex slave shop.
“No. What I mean is that any girl that goes into that room has a difficult time leaving.”
“Then you don’t know my sister. She’d be in and out of there in seconds and will ask you where the sweats and tee shirts are,” I giggled at my joke. Mr. Gordon simply smiled.
My only sister, Beth, was a few years older in her mid-twenties. She was the opposite of me in every way, and there was no way she would spend more than five minutes in that room. Then again, she wouldn’t even have found herself in my situation, so seeing the room wouldn’t have been necessary. Thinking about what sensible Beth would have done in this situation, I decided it was time to ask some sensible questions.
“So, what if I don’t want to participate in whatever it is I’m dressed up for?” I asked, already knowing that I wouldn’t like what I was about to hear.
“It’s not your choice.” The reply was cold.
“What do you mean? I’m not a prisoner here. I can come and go as I please.”
“Maybe so, but not for the next six hours. Now, save your questions for orientation.”
Orientation? I wanted to ask what he meant, but I knew he wasn’t going to tell me much, so I bit my lips and kept moving with him.
He stopped at a door in the hallway and knocked before opening it. I followed him in, unsure what to expect. I had decided to play cool. I knew a huge and famous hotel in the middle of the city was not going to be involved in anything that would be deemed scandalous or illegal. I hoped.
The room was a boardroom with a huge mahogany table and several leather chairs surrounding the table. A man was sitting at the table, but he rose to meet us when Mr. Gordon walked into the room.
“Ben, this is Sara Faye. She’ll be one of the hostesses for tonight,” Mr. Gordon introduced us. “Ms. Faye, Ben Hunter, one of the senior personnel. He will let you know what your duties will be for tonight as well as go over the financials.” And with that, Mr. Gordon walked away without looking back.
“Hello, Sara. Welcome to Fox Wood Manor.” Ben smiled at me, extending his hand for a handshake.
“Thanks,” I said as I observed him. Ben seemed to be in his mid-forties and was dressed in a suit that looked tailored for him. He was handsome in a rugged way, and I noticed that he had on a wedding ring. “So you’re the money man?”
“Yes,” he replied, smiling. “Please have a seat.” He pointed to a leather chair that seemed so luxurious I was afraid to sit on it. He walked over to the other side of the table and sat down. I reluctantly lowered myself into a seating position. The upholstery was as comfortable as I had imagined, and I sank a little more into it as I sat.
“So, the first thing I’ll do is have you sign a contract.”<
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“What contract? Didn’t I already sign that at the staffing agency?”
“This is a different contract that is just between you and Fox Wood Manor.”
“For what? What am I signing?”
“You are going to agree not to discuss anything that happens here tonight with anyone.”
“Excuse me?” My heart missed a beat. “What exactly are you talking about?”
“Whatever you see here tonight or in the future that may be related to Fox Wood Manor is a business trade secret, and you cannot discuss anything about this night with anyone.”
I was growing tired of the suspense and, frankly, a little irritated. What was I doing here? What did these men want from me? What if they raped me? Or worse, killed me and dumped my body? Surely they would be found out; I had friends and family who would miss me.
“Does my boss, Tony, know about this second contract?”
“No. Every girl that becomes a hostess for us is sworn to secrecy, so your boss will have no way of knowing.”
“So this is a prostitution ring. I’m out of here.” I was furious and my voice reflected every bit of my anger. It took all I had not to scream at him and curse Fox Wood Manor. What did I look like, a twenty-dollar whore? I rose and turned to walk away, but he reached out and held me by my wrist.
“At least let me tell you what the job description is before you decide to walk out on ten thousand dollars.”
The mention of money made me sit back in the chair with a thud. He’d just confirmed I was getting ten thousand dollars.
“I’m guessing you want me to kill someone or sleep with someone. I can’t. Not even for a million dollars,” I said, sinking further into the seat.
“Neither of those,” Mr. Hunter smiled. “You’re simply one of the hostesses for the event today, and all you do is mingle at the party and have intelligent conversation as the day goes on.”
“Let me understand this. You’re paying me to attend your party?”
“Yes. Fox Wood Manor will pay you ten thousand dollars for six hours of your time, and all you have to do is attend this party and engage the guests in conversation.”
“Crazy,” I muttered under my breath. These rich men had nothing better to do than pay young girls to keep them company.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Gordon asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that I thought I was going to be a waitress.”
“Yes, that’s what everyone thinks. But you are going to be one of the guests. Can you manage that?”
Normally, there was no way I could manage the company of the richest men in the country, but for ten thousand dollars, I would have to manage it. “I’ll do my best.”
He pulled out a leather portfolio with papers and started flipping through it, leaving me in an uncomfortable silence.
“So when do I start?” I asked. I was beginning to get nervous. I needed to get the night started so I could get my money and get out of there.
“As soon as I’m done verifying your resume.”
“I need a resume to attend a party?” I asked in disbelief.
“So, you are a sociology and international studies student?” he asked, ignoring my question. He was flipping through papers I imagined were my resume.
“Yes,” I affirmed, wondering why he was interested in the classes I took at school.
“And you’ve never travelled out of the country?”
“No, but I’ve been to New York.” It was supposed to be a joke. I mean, who considers travelling from DC to NY a trip worthy to be discussed when real vacationers went to Europe and other exotic places. He didn’t laugh at my weak attempt to joke.
“Maybe you should avoid topics about international travel while you’re at the party."
“Sure.”
“You lived with your mom and recently got your own apartment?”
“Yes. Wait. You did a background check on me as well?”
“It’s my job,” he said, again not raising his eyes to look at me but focused on flipping through the papers to study me and ask questions. “It’s for the safety and privacy of our guests.”
Why in the world did anyone need to do a background check on me just so I could attend a party? And as a hostess or whatever title they chose to give me.
“I’m not a serial killer, you know. So all of that was unnecessary.” The more I thought about it, the more I felt violated. Some stranger had taken it upon himself to study me behind my back. I would have preferred he’d just asked me the questions directly when we met rather than run a background check on me. I guess the ten thousand dollars wasn’t going to come painlessly.
“Interesting stuff you got here,” he said, raising his head to look at me.
I blushed; I knew what he was referring to. Years ago, right before I turned eighteen, I had gotten into a fight with a kid on the street. We had both ended up in trouble with the law. I guess it was on my background information. I kept quiet, hoping he’d move on to a different topic.
“You won’t be causing any problems for us, right?”
I shook my head. “I’m no longer eighteen.”
He read a couple more pages and turned to me. “So, you’re going to be at the party, laughing and socializing and talking book smart. At the end of the night, you’ll come back here and get your money.”
‘“Sounds easy enough.”
“There is only one caveat.” He looked directly at me.
“What?”
“Under no circumstance must you engage these men in any type of sexual activity.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can’t have sex with the guests.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” I said coldly. Did I look like a slut to him?
“Good. There are three other hostesses who are already at the party, so you shouldn’t feel alone.”
I nodded. That shouldn't be hard. Just find three girls who stuck out like sore thumbs!
“I’ll escort you to the party,” he said, getting up, a cue for me to follow him. I gingerly walked behind him until we reached the main lobby.
“It’s beautiful,” I gasped as I looked at the sight before me. I had worked in hotels and bars, but this lobby looked like something I would find in the famed seven-star hotels. I stood, mesmerized, soaking up the grandeur of the chandeliers and décor. Exotic artwork lined the walls. An impeccably dressed man was playing a grand piano next to an indoor fountain illuminated with lights. As I walked behind Mr. Hunter, my heels clicked on the spotless and polished marble floor. Suddenly, I felt underdressed and out of place. I caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“This is too glamorous,” I whispered. “Maybe I need to change into a fancier dress.”
He stopped briefly and looked at me like he had never seen me before. “You look amazing, more beautiful than any woman in here. Just breathe and relax. I know you’ll do fine. You’re a very smart and beautiful woman, so use that to your advantage.”
I didn’t get a chance to ask him how far they had delved into my life as the large French doors that led to the main reception room swung open, causing music and laughter to filter towards me. The man walked toward us, the doors shutting after him. I glanced at the door and mentally chuckled to myself; that door led to the slaughterhouse where I would definitely be slammed. Everyone in that room would know I was paid to be there. People who moved in these types of circles all knew each other; any intruder would not be welcomed. I wondered how long Fox Wood Manor had been providing my kind of service for these types of parties.
“Thank goodness, Ben. I’ve been waiting for her.”
“This is Sara. Sara, this is Eric, the hotel’s event manager.”
“Hi.” I extended my hand, but he didn’t shake it. Instead, he grabbed me by the wrist.
“Come, Sara. I need you right now.”
“What?”
“One of our guests just arrived earlier than planned without a date, and you were supposed to have been waiting for him,” h
e said, swinging the door open again and hurrying me through the double doors, still holding my wrist.
“What am I supposed to do for him?” I asked as I wiggled my wrist free of his clutch.
“Just flatter him and talk smart.”
That was easier said than done. As I stepped into the room, my legs stopped working. I stood, frozen in one spot, and surveyed the crowd. There were about ninety, maybe a hundred, men and women milling around with glasses of wine. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the guest list was comprised of the more important people in the country. The women’s dresses shone more than the chandeliers, and suddenly I wished again that I could go back to the closet and pick out a shinier outfit. I tugged at my dress, smoothing the lines over my waist and hips.
