by Lyra Parish
"My adrenaline is pumping so fast right now. I can't even think."
He grabbed my wrist. My heart beat a million miles per minute.
"Wow. Did the flashing lights turn you on?" He laughed at my expense.
It was being pulled over combined with your deadly sex appeal, I wanted to say, but didn't.
"Always the asshat, aren't you?"
"Only when you are the ass, Ms. Downs."
Leaning forward in his seat, he programmed the GPS to bring us home.
I followed the route, and could see faint city lights in the distance. Another mile and I would be home, well, his home.
A tall cement fence lined the side of the road, and I knew we were almost there. Following what the GPS said, I turned into to a gate-blocked driveway.
"The code is 0619. Press enter, and the gate will close behind you."
Tall golden gates slowly opened and closed whenever I drove through. In the distance sat a fortress of a house. It was pure architectural genius with large windows lining the outside instead of walls. There was more glass than siding. I glanced inside as we passed, and could see two women inside leaning over the kitchen bar. Okay, house was an understatement, but somehow I expected nothing less than a fortress funded by sex.
"Welcome to my private compound. Felton Estates."
I rubbed my hands over the steering wheel before I removed the keys from the ignition and handed them to Mr. Felton.
"Told you V would give you the ride of your life. She's never disappointed."
As I opened the door, he pulled me back into the car. I turned my body toward him.
"Before you go in, you must know you moving here is simply protocol."
"Is that what yesterday was as well? Protocol?"
"Since you understand. Shall we?"
My first orgasm was fucking protocol.
With a beat, he opened his door, grabbed my bags from the trunk and handed them over. The sparkle in his eyes vanished; it was every woman for herself because he had turned all business.
"Since I was five."
"Excuse me?"
"I've been dancing since I was five. Trained in jazz and ballet and danced my way through college."
He swallowed, and I caught the hint of a smile form on his face, but it never manifested.
White marble steps led up to the double wooden doors. Inside stood Paisley, Jesse, and another girl whom I hadn't met yet.
"Everyone, please welcome Ms. Jennifer Downs to the house. She is new to the business, and I hope that each of you welcome her as if she were a long-lost friend."
Jesse scoffed, and Paisley elbowed her. Mr. Felton stared at Jesse until she looked away. The other girl, pretty with dark brown hair and blue-gray eyes, had freckles sprinkled across her face like stars in the night sky. There was no pattern to her prettiness. She had a natural quality about her. Not innocent but not fake, I couldn't explain it. Her hair flowed midway down her back, and she wore it in a tucked-in side swoop. She smiled at me, and I smiled back. A kindred spirit in a room full of tigers, I supposed.
"Lori, won't you show Jennifer to her room?" Paisley asked.
She didn't complain, or give dirty looks, or act upset by my presence. Instead, she introduced herself formally and grabbed a suitcase from my hand, and we walked up the stairs. I couldn't help but stare up at the high ceilings or memorize the various abstract paintings on the wall.
The upper floor had several doors lined against the wall, and I wondered how many women lived here at one time.
"Don't worry. You'll get used to being here. It doesn't take long."
Her words and voice were reassuring, soft, and motherly, although she couldn't have been much older than me.
"How many women live here?"
"Right now there are five of us here, six including you. The rest of the girls have their own places but drop in occasionally. Here we are."
The fourth door on the left would be mine.
Inside were beige walls, a sleigh bed, and a large window with a balcony. At least I had that.
"I'm right next door," she said as she pointed to the right, "if you need anything."
I smiled.
"I'm happy you're here, Jennifer. It seems everyone else is sewn into cliques. Plus it's nice to no longer be the new girl."
She gave a sincere smile and shut the door.
I unpacked my clothes and laid them in the dresser and then opened the balcony door and stepped out. The backyard had a hot tub and a pool, and a patio bar and pool house. I only imagined the kind of sex parties that happened down there. My mind went wild with naked people strutting around the pool, having sex with one another in the corner, and the moans. Oh gosh, the nasty moans. Sometimes my imagination even scared me.
Three knocks tapped on the door, and I barely cracked it. Mr. Felton leaned against the frame only enough for me to see his face.
"Yesterday was a mistake. I wanted to apologize."
"It's not like I enjoyed it anyway."
"Of course you didn't. I wouldn't expect a virgin to."
"Bastard," I whispered.
And then he walked away.
Ten
Mr. Felton and I didn't cross paths for weeks. The memories of getting naughty in his office were just that, memories. Mistake memories, if I were to term them correctly.
Training sessions, one after another, continued to bore me to death. I never knew there were so many forks and spoons, or that there were proper ways to eat spaghetti, sip wine, or cut steak. Sitting up straight and making sure to act like a lady were top on my scold list along with learning to speak only unless spoken to. No swearing, biting nails, or making ugly faces. Act interested in what the clients have to say. Men do not like women who act like barbarians, my coach said after I ate fried chicken.
Barbarians? She would die in Texas, where everything was bigger and the trivial things didn't matter. Where we walked around with barbecue sauce on our T-shirts because it was easier than changing, and being barefoot was natural. Texas, where the sun always shone, and where everyone worked hard until their dainty hands had calluses.
Coach demanded practice in four-inch high heels, taught me to laugh genuinely at stupid jokes, and flirt with my eyes. Twice a day, exercise was required, cardio in the morning and afternoon with weight lifting every other day. I essentially attended princess training. Where the hell was my prince?
The contract stated I would have a dedicated week of training, but I didn't expect mannerism school. I expected to watch porn, learn how to give hand jobs, blow jobs, and to pop my ass out when I walked. My views on being a call girl were steadily changing.
Lori laughed when I told her that. Her response was, "The Elite are classy individuals, Jennifer. Not whores that are picked up on the side of I-10. You have to make the men feel important. It's easy, really. Our clients act like gentlemen, and they do nice things to make a girl feel special. I have a great time with my Number One, you know, the man I'm most compatible with out of all the clients," Lori said.
I loved her. She was my saving grace. Although I kept my deep secrets to myself—more specifically the ones about Mr. Felton—she knew most things about me, and I her. She was no Abbie, but was the closest alternative, and would be returning from a business trip the next day. Until then, I would be alone in the lion's den.
After I strutted my way through hell, also known as Jennifer's mannerism training, I was given a manual with dating guidelines for The Elite.
Trust between client and employee must not be broken.
Never kiss on the lips because it's too intimate.
No blow jobs, hand jobs, or any sort of sexual acts on the first date.
All dating curfews must be followed.
And the list continued with more No's than Yes's. Of course, the fine print stated that if agreed upon beforehand or if the price was right, some of the No's could become Yes's. Each case would be reviewed and approved on an individual basis. Along with the guidelines, we were
given specific to-do's such as checking our email each day. Most correspondence from Mr. Felton arrived that way. Nothing personal like a phone call, or a text, but rather a group message sent to every girl. Tomorrow would be the night that I met one of my matches.
The email clearly stated the instructions:
The limo will arrive at eight. All girls will be escorted to the corporate office's convention center, which will be setup for the client meet and greet.
Below was a reminder of how everyone was matched:
Both client and employee must take the match survey to see if they have fully compatible personalities.
The client must decide if he is attracted to his matches, and then a bid is placed.
The highest bidder is granted access to the employee. Documents will be signed between both parties, creating a legally binding contract.
Lori would be back in the morning.
She would help calm my nerves before the big night.
***
The group of women lined up against the walls. We were handed specific numbers and were instructed to place them over our left breast. Before sticking on my number, I peeked. Lucky number thirteen.
The doorway at the end of the hallway opened.
Mr. Felton.
He was dressed in a navy blue fitted suit jacket with straight-legged trousers. It had to have been designed by Brioni because only James Bond himself could pull off that look. I swallowed hard and kept my eyes to the ground. His voice, confident and smooth, traveled down the hallway with the directions. But we knew what to do; it was in every manual we were required to read.
Turn around and face the wall so blindfolds could be attached. Don't speak unless spoken to.
We were never to know all the clients that used Mr. Felton's services; it was a part of the nondisclosure agreement. So, everything was done behind closed doors and blindfolds.
The softness of the material rubbed across my cheeks and eyelashes. I squished my nose a little and peered down. I had moved the material a quarter of an inch, and if I tilted my head a tad, I could see. It was directly against the rules—rules that I had just broken.
Lori, and another one of the girls whose name I didn't know, grabbed my hands and all the women were escorted to the main room where a stage awaited us.
Curiosity killed me. I lifted my head and caught glimpses of men of different ages and sizes. They sat around circular tables eyeing their forms, which included headshots and the numbers of their personal matches. The men were like cattle herders, but they all wore expensive suits and ties, the most sophisticated of gentlemen, the upper class, the only ones that could afford The Elite.
Mr. Felton's voice reverberated through the room over a sound system.
"Thank you all for attending tonight. As you can see, each one of my girls has a number attached to her chest. Please circle the one that you most desire on your compatibility form. Once completed, please return your bid slip to me. Assignments will be given once the bidding has finished."
His voice, so British and sexy, articulated every word carefully. I memorized how this worked: the highest bidder would be assigned to a girl and then the meet-and-greet would commence. There would be no sex. The Elite believed that two people should have a common chemistry before any sort of sexual act took place. Tonight was nothing more than an Elite speed-dating event that could eventually end in sex, one day. It didn't seem so bad, considering.
I licked my red lips and pressed them together because I knew what was coming next.
"Virgins step forward, please."
I did as told and moved forward for everyone to see the one and only prized virgin. Murmuring increased, and I knew they were excited. Tilting my head, I could see the clients searching their forms for lucky number 13. Some had me, and others didn't.
"Thank you," Mr. Felton said, not speaking into the microphone. And I moved back into place.
I almost could hear my heart beating. And before I let my thoughts take over, the line traveled from the main room back into the long hallway. We were instructed to face the wall until Jesse removed our blindfolds.
"You did well," Mr. Felton whispered in my ear as he removed mine. So gentle, his touch and the way he brushed my hair from my shoulders. I tried not to smile and continued to look forward. As he walked by, I turned my head slightly and positioned my body to see in my peripheral if he undid anyone else's.
He didn't. I held a breath.
Lori grabbed my hand and squeezed, and we both shared a smile.
"Turn around," Jesse demanded.
Like robots, each woman turned in synchronicity and Jesse walked down the line passing out slips of paper with our man of the evening's number attached. As she handed me mine, she dropped it on the floor, gave an overly sarcastic oops and then kept walking.
Bitch.
I opened my paper and inside read, No. 26—Luketon Brand.
Lori opened hers and smiled. Every woman seemed happy with her selected match. Feeling out of the loop, I flashed my card towards Lori. She gave a smile and thumbs up, and then whispered he's fucking hot. I laughed and then immediately turned it off as Jesse glared at me.
The secretiveness of the process kept the integrity of The Elite call service. The men didn't want people to know who they were, and we weren't allowed to speak of it with another person. That would be easy for me. I had no one to tell.
Lining the walls of the convention area were tinted windows with numbers on the doors. Room twenty-six awaited me.
Mr. Felton spoke with Jesse by the exit. He pointed around the room and wrote a few scribbles in a small notebook. Jesse shook her head several times, and he nodded his. Mr. Felton continued to talk, almost scolding her, and then ended it with a smile. I kept my eyes on them while I went to meet my match. His jade greens caught sight of mine, and I didn't look away. He watched me until I couldn't take it anymore.
Outlined in gold and filled in with red, the number twenty-six held the man that wanted me: Luketon Brand. With a pinch of confidence, I opened the door and saw dark hair, blue eyes, and a set of plump lips. He stood as I entered and waited for me to sit, and then he followed.
"Hi," he said. "I'm Luketon Brand, but you can call me Luke."
"Jennifer Downs, nice to meet you."
He grabbed my hand and kissed the back ever so slightly.
"The pleasure is indeed mine."
Another man with a mesmerizing British accent. I thought I might lose it.
"So, Jennifer, won't you tell me about yourself?"
I traveled back to the office with Mr. Felton, and the result of the same question. I trashed the thoughts.
There are specific questions that a match can ask. I had the answers memorized as not to give away too much.
"I'm twenty-two, a Virgo, only child. I like fast cars, and hate taking walks on the beach."
He chuckled.
"Really? Duly noted. I have a confession to make."
He leaned in closer.
"I despise the beach as well."
I smiled and cocked my head.
"The sand is terrible, isn't it?" he asked.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me before I could agree.
"Would you like to ditch this joint? I also despise formalities, and ties, and boring business meetings."
"So we can leave?"
"You're mine for the next few hours. We can do whatever our little hearts' desire, and I can guarantee that does not include long walks on the beach."
He stood and placed his hand on the small of my back and led me from the cramped space of box number twenty-six.
Luke found Jesse and Mr. Felton at the exit.
"We are leaving. Be back before curfew."
I heard a slight edge in his voice. The three of them turned and looked at me. Jesse rolled her eyes just to confirm that she still hated me. Mr. Felton lifted his eyebrows as if to ask if leaving was okay, and I nodded my head. Why the hell did he have to look at me with su
ch intensity? Fucking Finnley Felton fucking with my feelings. Or maybe it was my emotions playing tricks on me?
Luke left Mr. Felton with a firm handshake and headed toward me with a smile on his face.
"Since that's settled, where would you like to go?"
"Anywhere but here."
He opened his arm for me to link onto. Before we left, I looked over my right shoulder and saw Mr. Felton watching me leave. I winked at him and turned around.
Take that, Mr. Fuckton.
"Is everything okay?" Luke asked.
"It is now."
Once outside, the cool air drifted across my legs, and I soaked in the fall breeze. He opened the door to the white Volvo, and I slipped in.
"I think I've got the perfect place for us to get to know one another a little better."
Within ten minutes, we were pulling into the entrance of a park. I lifted my eyebrows and turned to Luke.
"You'll love this place, I promise."
We walked toward a pond. Along the bank of the water were benches occupied with kissing couples. He led me one in front of the playground and then checked his watch.
"Just wait," he said.
A light breeze rustled the leaves behind us, and he leaned his shoulder into mine. The apple scent of his body mixed with the cool night air. Without warning, lights across the pond flashed and blinked. The trees branches glittered and danced like they were synchronized to music. Then the finale happened, and all the lights on the trees lit up at once and then slowly faded away to nothing.
"That was awesome! I've only seen things like that on television."
"Isn't it? I used to come here all the time when I was bored and contemplated life and love. If you play Chopin Nocturne Opus 9 as soon as it starts, it syncs nicely."
"Really? Classical music?"
"Yep. I love a good Chopin, Bach, or Beethoven. Occasionally Mozart. The music clears my mind whenever I'm working."
"What do you do for a living?"
