Auctioned to Him 2: His for a Week

by Charlotte Byrd

  Maybe a therapist could help me with all of these things. Travis was great to talk to. He always comforted me and told me the truth. He wouldn’t sugar coat things, he knew that that was what I needed to hear. I had enough time being coddled by my friends in the hospital. He was the one that kept me realistic and reminded me that things would get better, even if they kept getting worse. That didn’t mean I didn’t hate him when he was telling me the truth.

  “That would make me want to die. I want to die. Kill me.”

  “Shut up, April. Try this on. It’s your color.”

  It was my color. It made me look slim. Maybe if I kept my hair down and contoured a lot I could look like I used to.

  “Is he hot?”

  “He gets paid to have sex. I would hope so.”

  “I would too.”

  “Do I hear you considering this idea?” Travis sang from outside the dressing room.

  “Definitely not.” He tossed a few more dresses over, I could already rule out a few of them. “These are all too low cut.”

  “Show off your new boobs.”

  “That’s a bit trashy.”

  “No it isn’t. But it will make him upset he didn’t stick around for them.” He slid some shoes under the door. “We have to get you a makeover. You’ll need a push-up bra or two.”

  We walked back home, twenty minutes there. We passed several beautiful people and too many of them were couples, holding hands. For too long I believed in true love. I wanted to play red rover and run through their locked fingers. I was already old and cynical but only twenty-seven. I was going to age fast and become a very bitter lonely old lady. I wish I liked cats. Then I would have something to love. Now I was just a failure of a freelancer and even bigger failure of a writer. My professors all said I had promise, but I didn’t see any of that.

  When Travis and I got back we popped in a movie. I couldn’t pay attention to it, too much was going through my mind. It was getting harder and harder to find joy in simple daily things. I couldn’t even watch a movie without it reminding me of all the stresses in my life. Travis kept drinking wine and steadily became very tipsy. Eventually he passed out on the couch. I wish I had a bottle of wine. I wish I could fall asleep like a rock.

  I checked my email again. No new messages. I looked online for job postings. Maybe I could just work at McDonalds to pay the bills. Once I made actual money I could get a liposuction or maybe buy diet pills that actually worked.

  6

  April

  My room was really warm and I curled up in my bed. This was the safest place on earth for me. I could hide here forever and be okay. My phone vibrated in my pajama pocket. It was my mom, the last person I wanted to talk to. I answered it anyway.

  “April, dear, you look awful.”

  “Thanks mom.”

  “Sorry. Are you sick?”

  “No. I’m just not wearing makeup.”

  “Oh… Well…”

  “It’s nighttime, mom.”

  “Doesn’t mean you should stop trying. I wanted to see how you are.”

  “Not just make me feel awful?”

  “Of course not. You know I care. I was there the whole time you were broken by that awful drunk driver.”

  “I know, mom.”

  “Which was over a year ago. It’s never too late to get back in shape, honey.”

  “I already feel shitty enough, mom.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” She fell silent for a moment and straightened her dress. “I’ll change the subject. I will be going to a garden and tea party tomorrow. Guess who will be there.”

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Middleton. That woman took my month to do it. She knew it was my turn to host, and yet here she is. As if the wedding wasn’t party enough for her.” My mom and Tom’s mom were the kind of friends that hated each other. I heard enough of it when I was together with Tom, hearing it when I was lonely was much worse. It served as a reminder of my past.

  “I don’t even think I can go to that wedding, Mom.”

  “What!?” My mom began messing with her hair frantically. “You must. There is no way you aren’t going to this party. They stuck with you when you were in the hospital, it’s the least you could do.”

  “I feel bad enough for not going, you don’t have rub it in my face too.”

  “You’re going. If you don’t go they will know you are still upset, and then they will blame me, and it will be an absolute mess.”

  “I really don’t want to go a fat, lonely slob.”

  “The Middletons are our oldest friends. You aren’t going to ruin our friendship with them.”

  “You and dad don’t even like them anymore. You were just bitching about her.”

  “Watch your language.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And your father still likes Roger.”

  “No he doesn’t. They argue all the time.”

  “It’s like politics, dear. They are having lively discussions.”

  “No, they argue about dumb things like who knows more about what and what is the classiest this and that.”

  “That’s politics.”

  “I don’t think a friendship would be ruined if I couldn’t make it to a wedding party.”

  “Clearly you don’t know the Middletons anymore.”

  I sighed. I really didn’t know them anymore, but I had known their family well enough when I was on my way to be part of it. There was no arguing with my mom, she always had to be right, another thing that her and Denise had in common. They should be best friends. I quickly tried to change the subject. I didn’t want every time I talked to my mom to be having to hear her complain and nag. She was only like this because I wasn’t at home for her to keep a close eye on. I never really got to see her, and I saw my dad even less. “I miss dad.”

  “He misses you too, honey. Want to talk to him?”

  “If he is around.”

  My dad popped out from around the phone corner. “Hi, honey!” I was a little embarrassed that he had heard all of that.

  “Hi, dad.”

  “How is life?”

  “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m kind of broke. And I haven’t been getting any work freelancing.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad, sweetie. You can always follow in your mom’s footsteps.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sit around and use my money. Join the family business.” I laughed and my mom smacked him away.

  “Shut it, Roger. Tell your daughter she has to go to the wedding.”

  “You have to go, April.”

  “But why?”

  “Because they are our friends and they are nice people. I know it is hard to see Tom, especially after everything. Doesn’t it make you happy enough to know that he is happy?”

  “No. It makes me miserable.”

  “Aw.” Both my parents sighed. My dad left the frame and left my mom to help, which wasn’t any help at all.

  “Wouldn’t we all be happier if we just stopped being friends with that family all together?”

  “Probably.”

  “Great! Then that’s the plan.” My mom shook her head and sighed.

  “No way. We share the same social group. I know that Denise would use her little blabber mouth to spread rumors about what I have said about them.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t complain about them to her.”

  “Well, it’s too late for that. And these are my friends too. She can’t just steal them like she stole my spot for the garden party.”

  “I don’t even have a date.”

  “You don’t need a date, you have your dad and I.”

  “I can’t show up to my ex-fiancés wedding alone.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “Would you?” She got silent again and then left the room, going into her reading room.

  “No, I probably wouldn’t.”

  “Then why should I?”

  “Because I’m your mo
ther and I said so.”

  “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “And you’re going. And that’s that.”

  “Your logic is unparalleled, mom.”

  I missed my mom, as much as she helped me feel bad about myself. We had a lot in common. She had also been left by someone. He was the man just before my father. She claimed she didn’t love him, that he didn’t really mean that much to her. It was someone that she had known since childhood. Their parents had paired them together. Supposedly they were inseparable as kids. My grandma said that they grew more and more distant the older they became. After the engagement he decided that he wanted to follow his dream of moving to Europe. My mom was against this idea but was willing to travel if it meant following him. Then he decided he wanted to go to Africa, and when my mom kept offering to follow him he decided to tell her that they were through and that he had met someone else. My mom hates talking about it. My grandma said she was sick for months after it, unable to eat or sleep. I knew just what she had been going through.

  “If you don’t go we will be very disappointed.” I assumed my mom might have had some sympathy on me, since she had been through the same thing.

  “Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, sweetie. We can send you some money to help you through this month. I’ll see if I can help find you a job.”

  “Thanks, mom. But I’m not happy about this.”

  “You’ll forgive me.”

  “I guess.”

  “We will have a good time.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Well, I’m going to get going before you can change your mind. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

  “Bye mom.”

  “Bye, sweetie.” My phone clicked off and I stared at my wall for a while. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to go to the wedding. The less I did the slower time moved. It seemed I had run out of options. I was either going to have to find a magic lamp to rub in the next few days or I was going to have to talk Travis’ hooker.

  I can’t believe I was stooping this low. I feel so pathetic. This is nowhere near where I thought I was going to be at this time in my life. I could tell my parents were disappointed too. If any of my professors had found out, they would probably be nice but also doubtful of a future for me. I didn’t have any connections to work off of. I didn’t have as much as I did when I was in school. I was fat, single, and broke, the three least desirable traits a person can have.

  I never thought in my life I would come in contact with a sex worker, let alone hire one. Meditating on this for a while I knew I had no other options. Maybe I could Facebook an old boyfriend from high school, or maybe I could fake my own death and run away to another state, or maybe another planet. I could become a hermit and demand squatters rights and panhandle for trade.

  My phone felt hot in my hands. I typed out the message. “If I have to go to this wedding, I’m not going to go alone.” I sorted through my dresses in my closet. Hopefully my parents would send me enough money that I could buy a new one. My fat clothes didn’t fit me as well, and my skinny clothes would probably never fit me again. Even my shoes felt weird on my feet. I was another person trying to squeeze into the shell of someone else, the past me, a much smaller and happier person.

  7

  April

  Why do I have a body to take care of? I can’t afford the food it needs to survive or the gym equipment it takes to make it look decent. Lucky for me, Travis has one of those deluxe gym packages, which means he gets to bring one friend with him. Normally he just texts me pictures of all the hotties working out here, but now I was going to be able to feast my eyes while fasting my body.

  I wasn’t very excited about being so lonely I had to hire a prostitute as a date. I couldn’t help the present circumstances, and I didn’t want to be cut off from my family. At least I could feel better about my body if I was the one that was shaping it. Travis showed me his routine, which was something impossible for my body to endure. Instead he wrote down a light workout for me, since this was my first time.

  “So this is what I have to do this week?” The paper was front and back, and there were some terms on here that I didn’t understand. I would need to get drawings too. Maybe a diagram.

  “That’s for today.”

  “Are you trying to kill me so you can use my room as a closet?”

  “You know how I feel about closets. If I liked them, I wouldn’t have come out of the one I was in.” I was unable to laugh looking at this impossible list of deeds. I wouldn’t have been this worried if he had handed me a ransom note and my mom’s pinky toe.

  “So how much of this is English?”

  “Oh! Hold that thought. I just saw a hunk walk into the sauna.” Travis left me. I figured I might as well start with what I knew. I hopped on the elliptical and searched my phone for games to use. Maybe this would be a good time to get acquainted with my most expensive date.

  Hi. Is this Grant? I texted.

  I started kicking forward. For whatever reason I felt more awkward now talking to him than I had ever felt talking to a crush or boyfriend. Maybe it was because we were strangers or maybe it was my brain screaming at me for dating a hooker. In high school I was voted most likely to succeed, and if I told this story at my next reunion I doubted I would live it down.

  Yep. Who is this? He wrote back almost immediately. April. Travis gave me your number. I’m the girl looking for a wedding.

  Ah, yes. Hello, April. Tell me about yourself. He wrote.

  I huffed as I ran. My eye stayed glued to my phone screen. I didn’t want any of these people to look at me. What they saw was a fat girl trying to get into shape but what was really happening was a broke fat girl trying to get hot for a fiancé who had dumped her and hiring an escort to make him jealous. As if I couldn’t go any lower in the public’s eyes.

  Can we can do that when we meet in person?

  Of course.

  Where do sex workers do business? A coffee shop like normal people? Maybe a bar? I should probably just treat this like a date. Our first date of few to follow.

  Where do you live? He texted.

  I finished a mile. Only a billion more to go. The calorie burning count wasn’t nearly as high as I felt it should be. This was going to be a lot more work than I intended.

  Pasadena, I texted.

  I’m from Vegas. The city of sin.

  Go figure, I thought.

  That’s a little far away, I wrote.

  But I’m in Santa Monica right now for a few days. On business.

  My heart started to thump and all the blood drained from my face. Oh my God. This is actually becoming real. And then suddenly, something occurred to me. What if I had to pay for his travel expenses. Shit.

  I can’t really afford to pay you anything beyond the date, I texted.

  No worries. Just meet me in Santa Monica and don’t worry about any billing.

  I kept running and had a new found motivation. I wanted to be at a point in my life where I didn’t have to hire someone to hang out with me. I wanted to be able to sit at a restaurant with a man that wasn’t gay who genuinely found me attractive and funny. Maybe I would have to give it up and become homosexual myself, but until we got to that bridge my biggest hope was to date excellence and shove it in Tom’s face. My phone vibrated again.

  How about surfing? He texted.

  It’s okay, I guess, I wrote. I didn’t really have any opinions about it one way or another.

  No, I mean, do you want to go surfing?

  My heart skipped a beat. Of course I didn’t want to go surfing. Not with this body. Everyone would think I was a beached whale and try to roll me back in the ocean. Maybe I would actually prefer that. I really didn’t want to go out though. I only had bikinis from the thinner days.

  I don’t think that’s the best idea, I wrote desperately trying to come up with a plausible explanation as to why not that was not the truth.

  I have an allergic reaction
to salt water, I finally texted. Is salt water allergy even a real thing?

  Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.

  Yeah, it makes me all red and puffy, I added.

  Great. Now I looked like a big nerd too. There should be an app that texts for you or at least prevents you from being incredibly awkward and off putting.

  It’s a skin condition, I explained further even though any explanation would’ve been enough.

  How long had it been since I had a first date? I couldn’t remember the last time I was single and in the dating pool. I was so young; it was just before college. I wasted all my years with Tom, and so now I have no experience. How do you flirt? Does he pay if he is my hooker? Do they have discount cards? I was already going to have to pay 200 dollars a night for a few days. This wedding was the lowest I would be. I should just call my mom and ask her if she would rather me come to the wedding with a hooker as my date or if she would rather me not go at all. Which would really be more embarrassing for her?

  I entertained the idea of calling it all off again. I couldn’t stand the idea of everyone seeing me flounder. I didn’t want college to be when I piqued. I didn’t want to pique. I wanted to have a successful job, or just a job in general. I wanted to be able to walk into that reception and show everyone that I kept the boobs and butt but slimmed down my stomach. I wanted to wear a dress that gave Tom a boner and made him wonder why he ever dumped me. Who dumps a car crash victim? Losers who lose great girlfriends.

  I felt sort of bad for hating Tom’s new fiancée. She might have been nice and maybe she didn’t mean to murder my heart. Maybe she didn’t know she was a home-wrecker until they were into each other. The thought made me sad. What didn’t I have that she had? Other than a job and a body. I had more time with him than her. That should have been enough to secure our relationship for life. I stopped feeling bad for her. She was the reason I was single. She was the reason I had to hire someone to go to her dumb wedding. I would be nice to her, but I would not like her. My mom couldn’t even make me do that.