Back in Service (Service Girl Chronicles Book 2)

by Heidi Lowe

  “The girls are up on the roof terrace,” Mistress said, and led me up the stairs.

  The first thing I noted when we got there was that Dana and Algebra weren’t present. My heart sank a little. Algebra had become my second favorite, behind Dana. There was just something about her.

  “The traveler returns,” Dominatrix called out, drawing everyone’s attention to me. They were seated on white rattan chairs. Behind the tall, distant trees the sun set. Live piano music from downstairs played from the terrace speakers. Morticia was the only one puffing on an e-cigarette.

  Each woman had their own special greeting for me, complete with hungry tongues down my throat and wandering hands grabbing my butt. God had I missed that!

  It wasn’t long before Mistress had me on her lap, and they were listening to me talk about London and drama school.

  “Fencing?” Teetotal said, chuckling. “They really teach that stuff? What is this, the eighteen hundreds?”

  “They prepare us for all scenarios,” I explained. I helped myself to some chilli and lime quinoa chips, then said as casually as I could, “Where is everyone else?”

  “Janette’s in Marrakesh, and Dana... no idea,” Morticia said. “She hardly ever comes here. I’m surprised they haven’t revoked her membership.”

  “How does one become a member? I’m asking for a friend,” I joked.

  “There’s a whole process, huge donations have to be made, that sort of thing,” Mistress said. “You like it here?”

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  Mistress smiled before kissing me. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you.”

  “Yeah, right. So much that it’s taken you two weeks to reach out,” I said in a joking tone, though I was dead serious.

  “Ah, well—”

  She never did get to finish her sentence. Everyone’s eyes and attention drifted behind us.

  “She’s here,” one woman said animatedly.

  An ample-breasted woman whose brunette locks passed her perky butt strutted over to us; and just as they had upon seeing me, they greeted her with passionate kisses. I couldn’t help noticing that there seemed to be more passion in those than there had been in mine.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said in a thick, Russian accent.

  “It’s okay,” Dominatrix said, pulling up a chair for her. “The driver told us you had a family emergency.”

  When she sat down, she finally noticed me and smiled. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Katja.”

  She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. With the biggest blue eyes, and plump lips that I was certain had been surgically enhanced. Late-twenties, maybe, with the sort of mail order bride looks that swindled so many foolish men out of their money. Who the hell was she and why was she here?

  “This is Erica, the girl we told you about,” Teetotal said.

  “Oh yes, the girl who moved to England. How did you like it?”

  “It was fine. Who are you?” My manners had failed me. Someone needed to give me an explanation.

  She laughed, but it was Mistress who answered. “Katja’s been keeping us all company while you were away.”

  “My replacement?” I asked, outraged.

  They all seemed to find this funny.

  “No one can replace you, Erica,” Dominatrix said. “You’re both very special to us.” And with that, she leaned over and claimed those surgically enhanced lips.

  I watched in disgust, though super turned on by their display. She’d never kissed me like that, I was certain of it.

  Now it all made sense. This was what had kept them preoccupied: Katja. There was that feeling of betrayal again. Maybe it was naive of me to expect them not to replace me, but it didn’t make the pill any easier to swallow.

  Within minutes of her arrival, she’d stolen everyone’s attention right away from me. She was funnier than me, much more of a performer, had more attitude. The type of woman they were probably used to, not some twenty-three year old with little experience.

  While Katja was talking, I took the initiative and snuck Mistress away. I dragged her into the restroom, pinned her against the wall, kissed her, before hitching up her skirt and fingering her.

  “Say my name,” I insisted, while I sucked on her neck.

  “Erica,” she breathed.

  Being a top with her was a new for us, and one that she seemed to enjoy. It took only a few minutes before she came all over my hand.

  I watched her with a satisfied smile as I sucked off her juices.

  “You’re a naughty girl,” came her breathless response. “I could lose my membership for this.” She didn’t seem too concerned.

  She fixed herself up, kissed me then headed back out. I stayed to use the toilet.

  As I was washing my hands, Katja trotted in.

  “Hey,” I said, doing my best to be polite even though I just wanted her to disappear.

  She said nothing back, didn’t even crack a smile. What was her problem?

  As I went to leave, she said, “Do you think you can just come back here and pick up where you left off?”

  My eyes grew wide in alarm. “Where’d your accent go?” It was still there, but nowhere near as pronounced as it had been with the women.

  Now those once inviting blue eyes were cold and mean. “They don’t need two of us.”

  “You got that right. I was here first.”

  “And I’ve been here longer,” she said smugly. Well, she had me there. “Six months. I know them inside out. Every one of them.”

  A stomach-turning feeling hit me then. Had she discovered the secret to cracking Dana? Had she slept with her?

  “So you’ve slept with all of them?”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  “All of them? Even Dana?”

  She folded her arms across her chest, studied me curiously, likely trying to figure out why I’d named her specifically. Then she said, “Dana was the first, actually. She can’t get enough of me. Always pays extra.”

  I fought back the urge to grin victoriously at her ridiculous lie. I simply feigned anger, glowered at her before flying out of the room in a false rage. She might have replaced me when it came to the others, but clearly she hadn’t been anywhere near Dana. That was all that mattered to me.

  FOUR

  As I pulled into Jo’s driveway, my phone rang. When I saw Dana’s name on the caller ID I quickly cut the engine, neglecting to park properly.

  “Hey, Erica, I got your text... all three of them.” Was that impatience I heard in her voice?

  “Sorry, I just...when you didn’t return the first one...or the second one, I thought—”

  “You’d send another?”

  “Yeah.” I scratched at the back of my head, feeling stupid and bothersome. Her tone didn’t exactly sound warm. This was a first. Her voice was hushed, as though she was whispering.

  “Look, I know you’d like us to spend more time together, but I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment. It’s not a great time.”

  “Parker?” Jesus, he isn’t even your son. Let his parents take care of that mess, my inner voice shouted. Why was there always something standing in our way? First the money, now her creepy, Looney Tunes stepson.

  “The others will keep you occupied, I’m sure.”

  “Except they’re already occupied. Why didn’t you tell me about Katja?” I said miserably, mocking her name. It had been over a week since the evening at the country club, and no one had called me. Out with the old, in with the new.

  “I didn’t think it was necessary.” There was a voice in the background, a panicked, urgency to it. “Honey, I have to go. I’ll call you when I get a chance.”

  “Okay, well—”

  She’d already hung up.

  I swore, threw my phone down. When tears began to fall, I let them, unashamed of them. I felt sorry for myself, and I almost never allowed that to happen. It was just the unfairness of it all. From what she’d told me, she’d been in Parker’s li
fe, raising him, since the age of ten. He’d had her for sixteen years, and that still wasn’t enough for him.

  For five or so minutes, with the seat reclining slightly, I sat in my car, composing myself. Reminiscing about London. We’d been inseparable. Hours and hours of lying in each other’s arms, of laughing about the oddities of life. The best, most beautiful moments of my life. There had been no mention of her husband, or Parker, or her friends. The world belonged to us; and we belonged to each other. Naively I’d assumed we would pick up where we left off when I returned. Boy was I wrong.

  “Have you been crying?” was the first thing Jo said when she let me in.

  “No.” I’d done my best to eradicate all traces of my tears, but the redness in my eyes wouldn’t disappear.

  “Are you still pining for Miss Sex on Legs? I thought that business was sorted? She visited you in London, for God’s sake.”

  “She has no time for me. Before I know it, summer will be over, and I’ll be back in London.”

  I slumped on her bed. She had this hideous blue Angry Birds stuffed toy that she'd won at a fair, which I now decided to hit because it looked so happy. It had such a punchable face.

  “Hey, hey, hey, leave the bird,” she said, snatching it away from me. “Only I get to hit the bird.”

  “Life sucks! I’m officially out of commission now, too, didn’t I tell you?”

  “Russian Barbie?”

  I nodded. “Not one phone call. It’s as if I don’t exist. Like they’ve forgotten how many times I made them...you know.”

  She looked at me. There was something in her eyes that I couldn’t decode.

  Finally, she sat at her computer desk, switched on the iMac screen.

  “Okay, don’t get mad...”

  “Whenever you say that, there’s, like, zero chance of that not happening.”

  She twisted the screen to face me, and took a breath.

  I blinked a few times just to make sure I was seeing correctly. But nope, that was definitely me on the website. She’d Photoshopped herself out of the picture — taken a couple of years ago at her twenty first birthday party. The almost transparent cream number I’d worn had gone down a treat that night.

  The website surrounding me had been designed to a high standard, in an array of different shades of purple and white. The header read: The official website of Madam Ice, the sexiest ladies-only escort in Chicago. A sparkling, flashing button prompted the user to Book a Date.

  “So I kinda started working on this after we spoke about it.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen, not sure how to feel.

  “It’s just a mock-up, not live or anything,” she said, nervously.

  “Madam Ice? Oh, right, because of the Frost thing.”

  “We can totally change it.” She clicked on the button, which took her to another page, on which my rates were listed, along with a calendar. “They can book mornings, evenings or nights.”

  I observed quietly, taking over the mouse and clicking through the other pages. A couple more photos of me, and a page detailing my preferences.

  “I’m very selective of the type of women I choose to provide company for,” I read. “I reserve the right to cancel any date. A video call is necessary for identity verification. — You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  “Are you mad?”

  “I don’t think so.” I clicked back to the front page. “It needs more pictures, but they can’t show all of my face. Just the bottom part. Keep my lips.”

  She gawked at me. “Does that mean you want to do it?”

  I shrugged. “Why not? I should broaden my horizons. Let’s up my hourly rate, too. High prices mean good value for money.”

  I left Jo working on the site. She was in her element, which probably should have worried me that my best friend was so gung-ho about pimping me out.

  As I started to my car, a familiar, and unpleasant, face was coming up the drive.

  “Hey,” Moses said. His smirk sent a shiver down my spine. Now that he knew about my seedy job, I got the feeling that he was laughing at me.

  “Hi,” I mumbled.

  “Got a big job? Who is it? Anyone famous?”

  So much for the sealed lips.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t bring it up,” I said, looking around nervously. Anyone could have heard him.

  “Oops, sorry.” He wasn’t sorry. “It’s just so...sleazy. Makes perfect sense, though. I mean, who doesn’t want to get paid for sex, right?”

  I gritted my teeth. The dude had no volume control.

  “What is your problem? Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear?”

  He slapped a hand over his mouth, the whole thing amusing him.

  “How much do you charge anyway? What’s your going rate?”

  “None of your business,” I said, as I climbed into my car.

  He tapped on the window, and I reluctantly rolled it down. He leaned his elbow on the glass. His eyes took me in, something akin to lust in them. He licked his lips. “You’d make a shit ton more if you dropped the whole dyke thing.”

  I rolled up the window, almost trapping his arm in it. “I told you not to use that word.”

  “Hey!” he shouted, dragging his arm out in time.

  I backed out of the drive, furiously, got one last glimpse of him watching me as I drove off.

  He was going to be a problem, I just knew it.

  On warm days like today, and with little in the way of gainful (or salacious) employment, I liked to stroll around the park. It also didn’t hurt that my favorite milkshake stand was there.

  “What will it be today, Erica,” the owner said when I rocked up to the window. He was always in a cheerful mood. I liked to think it was because of me, but he seemed like a genuinely nice guy who loved his job.

  My eyes scanned the menu. I already knew every flavor on it, and had tried all of them, but I looked anyway.

  “I think I’ll try coconut, mango and vanilla today,” I said.

  We exchanged smalltalk while he prepared my sweet beverage. He inquired about how my first year at drama school went. A line had formed behind me.

  He handed me my shake, I thanked him and turned to leave, then stopped when I saw yet another familiar face.

  “Uh, hi,” I said to Hazel. I said it before I noticed the girl beside her who was holding her hand. If I’d realized I wouldn’t have acknowledged her. The crazy pink was gone from her hair now, and there was a marked maturity to her that hadn’t been present before.

  She gave me a pursed-lipped smile, her cheeks lighting up just a little.

  “How are you?” Just leave, Erica! Jesus, you’re not friends. Leave it to me to make shit awkward.

  “Good,” she answered. “You?”

  “Yeah, good. Erm, okay well, see ya.” I hurried away and didn’t look back. How cringeworthy!

  I was still cringing when my work phone went off in my purse. I found a quiet, shady spot under a tree, took the phone out and broke into a smile when I saw the name.

  “There’s my sexy starlet.” The excitement in Algebra’s voice restored my faith in humanity. At least someone was pleased to hear from me.

  “I still have two years of school left,” I laughed. “That’s a little premature.”

  “Nonsense. You’re already a star. Particularly in the sack. You’re quite the performer. You deserve all the awards.”

  “Stop it! Actually, don’t.”

  She laughed. “I got back yesterday, saw your text. After the flight from hell, it came as a welcome surprise. All I could think about all night was feasting on that tasty treat between your legs.”

  Her words made me giddy and wet. Please tell me she wants me today, I prayed to the god of sexual favors. Algebra’s prowess knew no limits. The way she screwed, she had it down to a fine art.

  “Are you free Thursday afternoon?” Hopes dashed. That was two agonizingly long days away. “I’ll give you the details when I know more.” />
  “Sure,” I said, disheartened by the seemingly perpetual wait I would have to endure, yet elated that I would get to see her at all.

  “Great. Oh, and I want you to dress like a student, whatever that looks like.”

  FIVE

  I didn’t know much about Thorn College in Lake Shore, just that its graduate business school was world-renowned, and they periodically hosted a number of high profile entrepreneurs.

  The campus sat in an enviable location, overlooking Lake Michigan. Luckily I found a parking space that didn’t cost the earth and looked relatively safe.

  Students were lapping up the afternoon sun on the grass as I trekked into the building. I looked down at my attire for the hundredth time since getting dressed, and was satisfied that I fit right in with everyone else. A regular student. Jeans, T-shirt with a pretentiously “deep” slogan, battered Converse sneakers, and an almost empty backpack to complete the look. Nothing sexy about any of it, but Algebra was quirky like that. She wanted what she wanted, and who was I to argue?

  I found lecture theater two, per her instructions, and pulled the heavy door open, not knowing what to expect. I froze on the spot as the whole room, or so it seemed, turned to look at me. Two hundred or so pairs of eyes on the late comer who’d interrupted the talk.

  “Ideas are like, pardon my French, assholes. Everyone has one, and showing yours to everyone isn’t advised...” the speaker continued, to a chorus of laughter. It was only then that I noticed who the speaker was. The glasses threw me off; it was the voice that got me. Algebra stood down at the front of the room, sporting a Moroccan tan, kitten heels, and a tight black dress that looked painted on.

  I quickly found a seat where I could, mumbling my apologies to anyone whose view of the sexy speaker I was obstructing as I edged past them.

  “That being said, ideas are worth very little without good execution,” Algebra continued. “And good execution is usually a collaborative effort — meaning, at some point, someone has to see it. Don’t be afraid of that.”

  I, like the rest of the auditorium, was transfixed by this beautiful, regal woman. Not just because she looked like dessert in that dress, her brunette hair swept over one shoulder. But because she spoke with such confidence, sounded so knowledgeable about making money and building a sustainable business. What was sexier than a powerful woman who knew her stuff?