Back in Service (Service Girl Chronicles Book 2)

by Heidi Lowe

  “I’ve perfected my skills over the years. It’s easy to make money on the fly,” Moses said. “I’m resourceful like that. A bit like you.”

  I blinked. “Like me?”

  Jo whispered something to him then, suddenly looking uncomfortable. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  “Yeah, I heard you’re an escort.”

  My whole body went numb. I shot Jo a look, received a remorseful one back.

  My throat was dry. “Y–you told him?”

  “He won’t say anything. He promised.”

  He laughed, zipped his lips. “Your secret’s safe with me. So, like, is it just women, or do you do guys as well?”

  I swallowed, then swallowed again. Although I couldn’t see myself, I was certain I'd turned the shade of a ripe tomato. I’d never felt more betrayed, more exposed and embarrassed in all my life.

  “Just women,” I said weakly, avoiding eye contact.

  The intrigue in his voice came through loud and clear. “I didn’t think there was a market for that. I bet you're raking it in. I mean, you’d do a thousand times better with men, if you ever wanted to branch out...”

  I shot Jo a menacing look, though her head was hanging. She knew I was going to kill her for this; she knew she’d screwed up.

  “I’m gay, so no...”

  “Yeah, but women can’t really be gay. That’s a myth. I know about three women who said they were dykes but screwed a bunch of my male friends. Wait, is 'dyke' offensive?”

  “Very. Please don’t use it again.” I steadied my breathing as best I could, though made no attempts to conceal my glare.

  He laughed, put up a hand in surrender. “No offense. I like dy–lesbians. What guy doesn’t? Do you two ever, you know...?”

  As soon as I noticed my hands were clenched into fists, I knew it was time to leave.

  I got up. “We’ll talk another time, Jo.”

  “Erica, wait.” She hurried after me, stopped me in the foyer of her house.

  “How could you tell a complete stranger about me?” My voice was a furious whisper.

  One of her younger brothers walked past, and we waited until he'd headed up the stairs to resume.

  “I’m sorry. He’s not a stranger, he’s my boyfriend.”

  “You’ve known him five minutes. You were supposed to take that secret to your grave.”

  “We share everything. That’s what couples do.”

  I rolled my eyes, didn’t point out the fact that they were so mismatched and he was such a douchebag that I doubted they would last even a year.

  “Whatever. Just call me when you get rid of the dead weight.”

  “That’s not fair,” she shouted after me as I stormed out of her house.

  Nobody was spared my killer glare as I made my way home. Not the woman pushing her twins in a stroller, nor the happy couple walking their dog. I disliked everyone at that moment, and longed for the carefree, fun-filled days in London, where my only concern was learning and partying. If I hadn’t run out of money, and if my loins hadn’t been aching for Dana, I would have stayed over the summer vacation.

  I was fully prepared to write the day off as a disaster, when my work phone rang. Just like that, my mood did a complete 180.

  “You answered that rather quickly,” Dana laughed.

  I sat at the bus stop. “I totally did not. What are you talking about? I’m not dying to see you,” I joked. I didn’t care that she knew how much I wanted her. If the way I looked at her didn’t already tell her what was in my heart, my words did.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied this past week.”

  “It’s fine. Is everything sorted with your son?”

  “Presently. It’s a rough time of year for him. But I have some free time this evening. I thought we could spend it together.”

  “As long as you promise to do filthy things to me,” I said.

  She laughed. “Oh, you can count on it.”

  A calming lavender scent filled the spacious en-suite bathroom. Mellow music played from the bedroom. I closed my eyes, sank a little lower in the bathtub, letting the lukewarm water engulf me, the bubbles coming right up to my chin.

  I felt lips against mine, and I smiled before opening my eyes. Seeing her naked would never get old.

  “Were you falling asleep?” Dana asked, as she climbed into the tub. I watched her perfect form, unblinkingly, admiring and coveting.

  “Daydreaming,” I replied.

  She sat opposite me, the bubbles doing a wonderful job of not concealing the most precious parts of her.

  “About what?”

  “Lots of things...but mostly you.”

  She laughed. “Do you do that a lot, daydream about me?”

  I nodded but said, “No. Never.”

  Like me, she had her hair bunched up in a bun to keep it from getting wet. I loved when she wore it like that. She reached for the two champagne glasses she’d brought with her, handed me one.

  “To sexy time in the bathtub,” I said, clinking my glass against hers.

  This amused her. “Sexy time. Is that what this is? And there I thought we were just taking a bath.”

  “We can do both.” I took a sip from my glass. “How many people have you done this with?”

  She deliberated for a little while before saying, “One.”

  I grinned. “I’m the first?”

  She nodded. “You’re the first in a lot of ways, Erica.” It sounded so cryptic. I wanted to know what she meant by it, but she spoke again before I could inquire. “So...are you settling back into US life okay? Us Americans not too backwards for you?”

  “My parents are annoying me. My best friend did a really crappy thing. And your friends have completely ignored me since I got back, which means no moolah. But on the bright side, I’m sitting in a bathtub with the woman of my dreams, so...”

  She blinked for effect. “If I’m the woman of your dreams, your imagination must be lacking.”

  She must have thought I was kidding.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said, all of a sudden serious. I didn't wait for a response. “Where’s your husband?”

  “He’s around,” she said, and it looked as though that was all she wanted to give me.

  That wasn’t all I would accept. Why was he her husband when I was here, with her, giving her the attention she clearly lacked from him?

  “Are you separated?”

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  I shrugged, started drawing circles in the water with my finger, patently aware of the slight tension in the air now. “You live here by yourself most of the time—”

  “He’s a very important, busy man. I knew that when I married him.” Did I sense a hint of defensiveness?

  “Does he...know about me?”

  She drained her glass. I didn’t think she would answer, but then, “He knows everything, Erica. He’s my husband.”

  I hated him. I hated that he knew about us, that he’d “signed off” on it, likely given her permission. We’d never met but I despised him more than I’d ever despised anyone. As far as I was concerned, he was an obstacle to my happiness.

  I tried to pretend that this talk of him hadn’t fazed me, tried to offer her a smile to assure her I was cool, that I could be an adult about our arrangement. But for all the acting lessons I’d had, from some of the best teachers in the world, the pure, raw emotion of heartbreak couldn’t be contained.

  “I know you don’t need me to say it, but... there’s my marriage, and then there’s what you and I have... that’s how this works.”

  I swallowed, nodded. “I know. Of course.” In other words: she would never leave her husband for me.

  She smiled warmly. “Are we just going to sit here talking? Because I was under the impression you wanted me to do dirty, unspeakable things to you.”

  How was one to perform when their heart was in tatters? Sex was the farthest thing from my mind at that moment, as I tried to recover m
y dignity.

  At least, that’s what I thought. Until I felt her big toe on my nub. She had a sultry little smirk on her lips when I looked up at her. Her movements were unstable, which only intensified the sensation. My body grew weak, my breathing heavy. Her eyes glistened with relish as she watched me melt.

  My nipples were already hard when I touched them, stroked them. Each moan that escaped my lips was staggered and breathless. I’d never been fucked in a bathtub, nor by a woman’s toe. The whole thing felt surreal.

  “I wonder how close you are,” she teased. “Tell me how close?”

  A strangled murmur was all I could give her as I squeezed and pinched my nipples, rolled my head against the tub, and came with a fierce explosion of tremors.

  She crawled her toes up my abdomen, circled a nipple, before I leaned forward and took her in my mouth. I sucked her toe like it was a popsicle, tasting nothing but soap.

  Half an hour later, we were in bed, dry but still butt naked. She had me pressed to her as we lay on our side, spooned together; fused together.

  “...a complete douche,” I whined.

  “She really didn’t mention anything about him?”

  “Nothing. Four months and nothing. But I get it now, having met him. She knows he’s an ass.”

  “Well some asses a wonderful...” She proceeded to kiss mine, causing me to giggle.

  “He’s not the good kind. I don’t know what she sees in him. And I can’t believe she told him about what I do.”

  “Are you embarrassed by what you do?”

  I thought about it. “Not really. I just don’t like strangers knowing my business. Being all judgmental, you know.”

  She kissed the back of my neck. “I know.”

  “Doesn’t look like I’ll be doing that stuff much longer. What’s up with your friends? I tell them I’m back and...crickets.”

  “They’re preoccupied.”

  I twisted around to face her. “Do you know something?”

  She chuckled. “The world didn’t stand still when you left, sweetie.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She kissed me to shut me up. Then fucked me again to keep me that way.

  THREE

  “Tú no eres su padre!” the hot Latina woman on the screen yelled at her husband, a man whose mustache couldn’t possibly have been real. Then followed over-the-top dramatic music, before the credits rolled.

  “Did she just tell him that he wasn’t their daughter’s father?” I asked the old man sitting in his wheelchair. My Spanish skills were nonexistent, but even I knew what those words meant. Besides, I’d been watching this particular, badly acted telenovela for the past three days with him, and had been following along with the story.

  “Sí,” Hector said, then launched into an enthusiastic recap of everything we’d just watched, all in Spanish.

  “I don’t understand you, Hector, you already know that,” I said tiredly while he was rambling.

  I looked at the digital clock on the old TV set. His daughter would be back any minute and relieve me of my duties. Her chores never lasted more than two hours, but she paid me for the full two. Thirty bucks in total. Money I desperately needed, though it depressed me that I’d taken such a drastic pay cut. I’d grown accustomed to ten times that amount per hour.

  “Do you want a drink or something?” I asked him. “Erm... bebida? Is that the word?” I gestured as though taking a sip from a cup.

  He shook his head.

  It was easy work, I guess. Not much fun, but easy enough. He never needed anything, could pretty much take care of himself. His daughter — Marisa — with whom he shared the apartment, hated leaving him alone when his day carer was off. She was a middle-aged nurse, unmarried. They lived a few doors down from us, and she and my mom had become friends while I was away. Naturally, hearing that she needed help with her dad, my mother, instead of picking up the slack herself, decided to offer me up.

  “You need the money,” she’d said when she first brought it to me.

  “So do you. Why don’t you do it?”

  “He doesn’t like me. But he’ll like you.”

  That woman always found a way out of getting her hands dirty. It was somewhat of a skill. I commended her for it.

  Marisa got in five minutes later, laden with grocery bags.

  “Thanks again, Erica. You’re a lifesaver,” she said as she handed me my thirty bucks.

  “No problem.”

  “I think your friend is waiting for you outside.”

  When I stepped out, I saw Jo at the door to our apartment. We hadn’t seen each other in five days. She’d tried calling but I never picked up.

  “I thought you might want your car back,” she said. “And maybe to forgive me...”

  Our fights never lasted very long, and after a few days things usually went back to normal. One of us had to make the first move. No one was too proud for that.

  “I’m still mad at you.”

  “And so you should be. That was a dick move.”

  “It was.” We went inside to my bedroom.

  She put my keys on the desk. “I suppose I’ll have to get mine fixed now. Public transport gives me hives. Literally.”

  I laughed. “It’s actually not that bad. You get to hear the craziest conversations on buses.”

  Just like that, we were back to normal.

  “Like, no one at all? I thought they all adored you,” Jo said half an hour later, once we’d talked our way to my predicament.

  “Well, no one besides Dana, but she doesn’t count, obviously.”

  “I know you guys have your arrangement, but sheesh, couldn’t she just pay you anyway? You said she’s loaded.”

  “I don’t want her money.”

  “Okay, but you need it. I mean, keeping old Spanish guys company might be intellectually stimulating and maybe even charitable, but you’d never earn enough.”

  I growled in frustration. The economy wasn’t in the best state, so entry-level jobs were scarce. Seeing as I didn’t have any commercial skills beyond providing sexy services, my options were limited.

  “What if you branched out?” she continued.

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Looked for new business.”

  The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. Could I ever get lucky a second time and land equally sexy women? I was so used to my extraordinary eight.

  “How would I even do that?”

  “I could set up a website for you.”

  Jo had been building websites for fun since we were teens. With her graphic design skills, she could spin pixels into gold. But having my face connected so publicly to an escort service didn’t seem wise, not for someone who planned on having a buoyant acting career.

  “The Internet never forgets. That would come back to bite me in the ass.”

  She shrugged. “Then you ought to brush up on your Spanish.”

  No sooner had she said that than my phone beeped. I dived for it, opened the message.

  “What does it say?” Jo questioned upon seeing my grin.

  “Looks like I won’t have to learn Spanish after all.”

  Mistress’s text told me to wear something sexy and classy, and that a car would pick me up at seven and take me to The Daisy Quarter. I had no idea what or where that was, so googled it. The search results returned pictures of a lavish country club tucked away in Lake Forest. Members only; female only. Up until then I didn’t think such places existed. It had its own golf course, tennis court, pool, cinema, you name it. Not many photos of the interior existed online, which added to the mystique.

  River Island on Oxford Street in London had an awesome Boxing Day sale, where I'd picked up a few outfits. The pink, floral, summer mini dress with the frilly arms was a perfect fit for the setting and occasion.

  My dad was just getting in from work as I was leaving.

  “There’s a chauffeur standing beside a Mercedes downstairs,” he said. “Seems a bit out of pl
ace in this neighborhood.”

  Crap! Absently I must have given Mistress my actual address. Usually I met them down the street, somewhere no one I knew would spot me climbing into a fancy car.

  He noticed I was dressed up. I could almost see the wheels spinning in his head, putting two and two together.

  “Yes, it’s for me, all right?” I decided that lying about it would have only added to his suspicions. “I’ve been invited to a party. It’s...uh...an acting thing... Bye.” I dashed out, robbing him of the chance to bombard me with questions.

  When the car pulled onto the grounds, I saw Mistress waiting at the entrance.

  “Hello, stranger,” she said, pecking me on the lips. “You look just as good as I remember.”

  She’d cut her hair, and the new bob suited her to a T. Made her look more youthful.

  “I didn’t know this place existed,” I said. The automatic doors slowly slid open to let us in.

  “That’s by design. It’s a female haven, totally private. We want to keep it that way. Come.” She led me through the foyer, nodded to the two burly security guards standing by, looking tough and intimidating. They must have been the only men on the plot.

  There were women everywhere. Playing pool, sitting at the bar, sitting out on the terrace. I got a glimpse of the beautiful, rolling green outside, where a group of women were playing golf.

  “This place is amazing,” I said. The pictures, all five of them, hadn’t done it justice. A lot of expense had gone into making this hideaway a real paradise on Earth. It smelled wonderful, had a warm, homely feel to it, but most uncanny of all was the all-female clientele. They ranged in age, from late-twenties to seventies. Even the staff was female. It was already my favorite place in the world.

  “You’re already very popular here,” Mistress said.

  “Huh?”

  She laughed, took my hand. “They’re probably all thinking the same thing as me: your ass looks amazing in that dress!”

  Only then did I notice that some of the women had stopped what they were doing to look at us — at me. I caught one woman’s eye, a scarlet-haired lady with a Jessica Chastain look and elegance about her. She smiled as she chalked her pool cue. I smiled back.