by Luxe, Eva
What the hell was I thinking, leaving my friends and going out into the strange area all by myself at night? This isn’t like me at all. But neither is going club hopping or confessing my virginity.
I start to think I should have just gone home to finish my Trevor book much earlier. I shouldn’t have spent so long outside talking to Tessa and Monique about the past.
Nonsense, I chide myself. I’ve had a great last night in Dublin. Tonight was the last night I could drink, could let loose and actually go out, before returning home to a rigorous study regimen. They’ll be plenty of time to read then— for work and for fun.
I finally get to a street and the sign says Sherriff Street. It looks like a thoroughfare where perhaps I could catch a cab instead of continuing to have to walk in the rain trying to find my way. There are even some people further down the way—if I squint, I can make them out.
It looks like they’re passing by on their way to a pub but the pub must be seedier and more of a dive bar than the one I’ve just come from. The people look rather scruffy and dangerous and the area looks dirty.
I keep walking. I still have my jacket pulled over my head and I hope no one noticed me.
I’m reticent to continue down more and more alley ways. But I also don’t want to get myself into any trouble with people in a rough area with which I’m completely unfamiliar. The safest decision seems to be the dark alley instead of the frightening crowd.
But as I continue on my way I see two men in the distance. Two men. I squint and make out the first man raise his arm and knock the other man on the side of his head. The second man raises his fists as if he wants to fight back but the first one pounds him upside the head again.
The first man is large and menacing, while the second is quite small in comparison. The second one lets out some grunts, seeming to beg the first one to stop the violence.
I know I should turn and run away but it’s like seeing a train wreck. I feel frozen and compelled to watch, my feet stuck to the pavement and my mouth hanging open.
The bigger man continues pummeling the smaller one, knocking him upside the head until he falls over onto the ground. My heart races as the first man begins kicking and stomping on the first man, shouting something I can’t quite make out. I gather that the words form sentences that sound something like “I told you so” and “teach you and yours a lesson” but nothing is making any sense right now.
I feel that I should call out and try to stop this chaos from happening but my better reason takes over and I realize that could be very dangerous. I also don’t think it would help anything. The first man continues kicking the second until he is apparently satisfied that his job is finished.
And then he looks up and sees me, staring wide- eyed and shocked right back at him, although, luckily, from a distance.
Holy shit .
Now I really need to turn and run away, and I do. I run faster than I ever thought I could, down the alleyway and back to Sherriff Street. I careen around the corner and making a mad dash for the people I had just a few moments ago decided I hadn’t wanted to be around.
Being around them seems like the best idea right now. I barrel down the direction in which I had seen people walking, wanting to shout out for help but also not wanting to attract even more attention from the man I just witnessed commit some heinous crime.
At last I am among other people and although I’m out of breath and panting, no one seems to notice. They’re drunk and quite rowdy, singing drinking songs and fighting about politics. This does look like a seedier pub area— somewhere that Monique and Tessa avoid when they go out.
I pretend that I belong among them, hoping that I blend in well enough to hide in between the boisterous pub crawlers. When I dare to turn back around, I see the man from the alleyway, searching the crowd for my face.
Cars speed down the street and I think about throwing myself in front of one of them and begging the driver to take me somewhere, anywhere, to get me out of here. That idea isn’t much of a plan because it could backfire stupendously on me. So I continue my way with the crowd until we reach a street corner.
Luckily, it looks like a major crossroad and I see a cab in the distance. I step out into the street and wave my arm like a lunatic, hoping and praying that the cab driver will let me in.
Miraculously, I manage to flag him down.
“Where to, Miss?” he asks.
I hop in and say, “Please start driving,” before he can ask me again.
I’m panting and breathless, searching for the man from the alleyway. I see him behind me, peering at the cab, and I can only hope and pray that he doesn’t have a way to follow me. I have a flight home tomorrow— I just need to get out of here and home to Boston and put this nightmare behind me.
What started as a fun last night in Dublin has now turned into a gruesome event. And the best I can hope for in the future is that it will only be a terrifying memory.
I give the cab driver my address as soon as I can think straight.
“Are you okay, Miss?” he asks, peering at me from the rearview mirror.
“I don’t know,” I tell him, which is the most honest and raw thing I’ve said all night— even after having spilled my guts to Tessa and Monique. “I hope so but I really don’t know.”
St. Patrick’s Day Evening – Boston– One Week Later
Chapter 5 – Jade
“Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” Tessa says, clinking her glass of green beer up against mine and then Monique’s.
“Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” we both say.
I can’t believe that I’m out and about with them again, this time when it’s not even legal to drink. But we had gone to the St. Patrick’s Day parade and then they had produced fake IDs and insisted I come out with them.
They said I’d been holed up in my dorm for far too long, being moody and studying for midterms and that I needed a break. Really, I had been scared to death about what I saw in Dublin.
I hadn’t even told them because I didn’t know what to say. I’m afraid they will say I should have called the police or done something to try to stop the man from hurting or even possibly killing the other man. I feared
for my life, though, so I’m not going to do anything that would further endanger it.
I’ve been scouring the Internet for any news of the crime that had occurred but nothing had shown up. Apparently the area I was in was one of the most dangerous in Dublin. That’s another reason I don’t want to tell my friends what had happened— I feel stupid and embarrassed for venturing off late at night and getting lost.
Some of the most dangerous mobsters in all of Ireland frequent that seedy strip of bars on Sherriff Street. From my Google research, I found countless acts of past mob violence.
Although there was no mention of this specific crime on that specific date, I’m sure it was just one of many that probably went overlooked. I don’t even want to think about what kind of cover up could have been planned.
The good news is that no one seems to be looking for me. I made it out of Ireland safely and I doubt they know where I live or have the ability to follow me to the United States.
I suppose, under the circumstances, that everything worked out as well as it could have— except of course I wish I never would have witnessed that crime. It haunts me at night, making my stomach churn and my body shake. It’s hard for me to fall asleep and sometimes even after I do I wake up with nightmares, drenched in sweat.
Tonight, though, I really want to try to forget all of that. It’s St. Patrick’s Day— a night of revelry and fun. I had given into their request that I go out with them and we had all gone back to the dorms to change before venturing forth for whatever tonight holds.
“I’m so glad you could come out tonight,” Tessa continues, winking at me. Her blue eyes are framed with green eyeshadow to match her green dress.
For once, I’ve gotten dressed up myself— wearing a dark green form fitting dress and a long gold necklac
e. My hair is piled on top of my head and I can’t seem to resist touching it to make sure it’s all in the same place as it started out earlier tonight when Monique did it for me.
“We know you’ve been having a difficult time lately,” Monique says.
“Yes,” I say. “I really have.”
“How is your mom doing?” she asks. “And your sister?”
Monique and Tessa think that it’s only family issues that have been bothering me. And those sure haven’t helped matters.
“They’re okay,” I say, taking another sip of my beer and realizing I’m being purposefully obscure.
It’s been a tough couple of years. First, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. They managed to cure it but then it came back and now she needs even more aggressive treatment. It’s costly and her insurance doesn’t pay for all of it. I’m not sure what we’re going to do.
Then, my younger sister didn’t get a scholarship for college like I was fortunate enough to be able to do. She had worked just as hard and gotten just as good grades, but she was unlucky and didn’t get any of the many grants and scholarships for which she applied.
Our parents had saved some money for college for both of us, which I gladly would have donated to my sister, but we both donated to our mom for her cancer treatments. Now my sister is in community college and I feel guilty, as if I should be doing more for her, but I don’t know what else I can do.
Tonight, though, I don’t want to think about any of that. Nor do I want to think about the man in the alleyway in Dublin. All I want to do tonight, on St. Patrick’s Day, is drown my sorrows and forget my worries like every other college student in America.
I down the rest of my beer and say, “We need some shots up in here!” in my best Tessa impression.
“Wow,” Tessa says, laughing. “You sound just like me.”
“I know,” I admit. “I was trying to.”
“Mission halfway accomplished,” Tessa praises me. “But I would have shouted loud enough to actually get the bartender’s attention.”
I laugh and she says, “I’ll go get the drinks.”
But while she’s standing up, an elegant woman approaches our table. She’s wearing a black dress that stands out in the sea of green clothes that everyone else is wearing.
“May I refill your drinks?” she asks, gesturing to our empty beer glasses.
“Yes please,” I tell her. “And we’d also like some shots.”
I’m debating whether to get jello shots or lemon drops when Tessa says, “Jack Daniels please. In honor of our recent trip to Ireland.”
She winks at me.
I shrug.
Why not?
The woman smiles at us and says, “Of course.”
As she walks away, I say, “She doesn’t look like a waitress.”
“Yeah, I guess they’re really getting fancy up in here with their wait staff on St. Patrick’s Day,” Tessa agrees.
“Doesn’t matter to me as long as they bring us our drinks,” I laugh.
“I’m so glad to see you’ve loosened up,” Monique tells me, shaking back her mane of curly hair that she’s wearing down and free tonight.
“But you haven’t really loosened up, right?” Tessa teases me. “You’re still nice and tight and virgin-y, down there ?”
She points towards my lap and I break out into laughter.
“ Yes , Tessa,” I tell her. “I still am, if you must know.”
“Of course I must know,” she says, her eyes widening. “I’ve been meaning to ask you ever since we were in Dublin…”
The woman returns with our drinks and Tessa stops talking while she’s at the table.
“Here you are, Ladies,” she says, with the same pleasant but rather eerie smile on her face.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
I shoot a look at Monique as if to say, “That was fast,” but Tessa continues talking as soon as the woman leaves.
“…I was wondering if you’d given any more thought to losing it,” she says. “You know, like, how you want to do it and when?”
“Inquiring minds definitely want to know,” Monique agrees.
I quickly take a shot of my whiskey before answering.
“Maybe tonight,” I say, with a shrug and a grin.
“ Really ?” They both squeal.
“I don’t know. I’m down to try something new and different— if the guy is half decent. Could be a long shot in here though.”
I look around the bar but all I see are a bunch of young immature guys. None of them seem very attractive.
It’s too bad. I would love to escape into a real life fantasy of losing my virginity to a stranger. When I haven’t been down and depressed this past week, I’ve been thinking about it to cheer me up, and the idea sounds appealing.
Suddenly, the mysterious woman is back at our table.
“Ladies,” she says. “This dive bar isn’t the place for stunning women such as yourselves.”
“It’s like you read our minds,” Tessa says, aghast.
Maybe she was just listening in to our conversation , I want to tell her.
But why?
“How would you like to go to an exclusive club that caters to billionaires, movie stars, rock stars and other celebrities?” she says.
“About the same as we’d like to win the lottery,” Monique immediately says.
I smile despite the craziness of this situation. Why is this woman offering to take us to such a club?
I look back and forth at Tessa and Monique as if to ask them this question but they just shrug like, “Let’s go with this.”
Why not? I wonder again.
I don’t really have a good answer to my own question.
If my goal is to lose my virginity, the club that this woman mentioned sounds like it has much better prospects than the bar that we’re in right now.
“Let’s go,” I say.
I nod, surprising both my friends and myself with my eagerness to try something new. I didn’t even bring my Kindle, let along a purse big enough to fit it, tonight.
I’m carrying a clutch that matches my green dress in both style and sophistication. And of course I’m wearing the orange leather jacket that got me through the rainy, cold, crazy night last week in Dublin.
Thinking about that night makes me shiver. I obviously haven’t had enough green beer or whiskey to drown out the memory.
“But first I’m going to need more alcohol.”
Chapter 6 – Jade
I wanted this St. Patrick’s Day to be different and special. But I don’t know if I’ve gone a little too far.
I’m standing on an auction stage at a club called The Exchange, and rich men are bidding on me. I never in a million years would have thought I’d be up here. Yet here I am.
The stunning woman from the bar told us her name was Vivian and explained once we arrived that at this club men pay a very high price for what they want— and we are exactly the kind of women they want.
“What exactly do they buy?” We had asked her, aghast.
“Whatever you’re willing to sell,” she says. “And the price will rise accordingly.”
“Whatever we’re willing to sell,” I’d repeated, marveling at the thought of it. “Such as…?”
“You name it, they’ll buy it,” she says. “Dinner. Your company. A date with you. Anything you want. The Exchange is a well- known yet secret club, with locations all over the country. Men know exactly what they’re getting when they come here. They pay for whatever they want. And the girls who are auctioning themselves are in charge of deciding what exactly they’re willing to sell.”
“Let’s go for it,” I’d announced.
“Are you sure, Jade?” Tessa had asked. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” I told her, nearly glaring at her.
I guess she finds me incapable of making my own decisions. Or at least any fun ones. But that was the old Jade.
The new Jade is on a
mission to have fun and lose my virginity. I may as well get paid along the way.
It sounds like these men have money to burn and I want some of it to help with my sister’s college expenses. She doesn’t even have money to buy textbooks and has to study at the library or borrow from her friends.
I had promised myself that I would do what it takes should the opportunity arise to help her—and here is just such an opportunity. It’s also an opportunity to do something else I’ve been wanting to do— meet a man to whom I can lose my virginity.
“Well, if you’re down I’m down,” Tessa had agreed.
“And you both know I’m always down for anything,” Monique had added.
So here I am. On the stage. Going first. I’ve really become a lot more bold. I guess something about last week’s experience has changed me. Hardened me. But I also feel that I needed to be hardened.
“Let’s start off the bidding for the lovely Jade,” the auctioneer says.
He begins to read off a card that Vivian had prepared based on a brief interview of me earlier.
She had told me that the guys can bid on whatever they wanted and it was up to me to accept or reject their offers.
“Jade is nineteen years old and a student at Boston University. She enjoys reading and music. This is her first time here tonight at our exclusive club.”
“A thousand dollars to take her out for a drink,” shouts a man from the back row, and I try hard not to let my mouth fall to the floor.
A thousand dollars just for that? I think.
And here I’ve been letting guys buy me drinks for free during the two times I’ve gone out.
I actually feel stupid for a minute. But then I remember that those guys weren’t filthy rich.
“Do you accept?” the auctioneer asks me.
“Yes,” I nod, squinting into the crowd.
I can’t really get a good look at the guy in the back but I’d let Frankenstein take me out for a drink if it yielded me ten thousand dollars.
