Her Last Chance

by Stephanie Belafonte

  I raised my to-go cup in a mock toast. “For the cause!”

  Michelle laughed. “For the cause!”

  “Do you really think it’ll work?” I asked.

  “You know their mindset better than I do, but yeah, I think so. I mean, I’d be intrigued because all it takes for Aaron to get a handjob is helping with the dishes.”

  “Prostitute.”

  “Hah, well, maybe I have it in me after all.”

  I nodded and drained the last of the cappuccino, discovering where all the sugar had gone in those last syrupy sips. “So. We make an irresistible offer.” I tossed the cup in the trash and glanced around the room, looking at all the excessively expensive stuff that I’d allowed Michelle to splurge on. “I’m not sure we can afford it. What if none of this works out? What if I waste all my savings and I’m right back where I started?”

  “Then just do it for six months. It doesn’t have to be a year. And seriously, listen to me—you said it yourself—people will pay so much money to get their rocks off the way they really want to. It’s that simple. You want the right kind of talent, we have to do it. This’ll be a loss leader to get them on staff, and the offer’s so good, you won’t have to stress over what that lady told you about trust and whatever. They’ll beg their clients to come with them to get what you’re offering. After that, it’s gravy.”

  “Did you just say ‘loss leader’? You finally read that book I gave you, huh?”

  “As if. I made Aaron read it and he gave me the highlights.”

  I inhaled deeply, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. “Okay, no time like the present.” I rolled my chair around so that I sat behind my desk, feeling not-so-official in my sweat pants, hair in a mess, with a blueberry stain streaking across my t-shirt—the result of Joey flinging a bowl that morning and giggling at the aftermath.

  Michelle waited, watching me, as my hand hesitated over the office phone. My confidence, all that I had built up imagining myself haggling over billions of dollars in some corporate boardroom had slowly leaked out of me now that I was the one in charge, when it was my savings on the line. The wavering between being a power hungry harridan and a timid, fledgling business owner gave me heartburn.

  I suppose that my confidence issues, strong one minute and paper-thin the next, can be attributed to so many years of feeling like I’d accomplished something incredible , only to be beaten down by Dreama’s demands for more, and better. “Oh, you got an A on your paper, Kim? Why didn’t you get an A-plus?”

  Boohoo, blame it on Mommy issues.

  Damn right. I doubt a therapist could’ve erased the damage.

  I said to Michelle, “Any chance you would want to go for a run? Or, you know, I think there’s a yoga class down in the third floor gym.”

  “Why?”

  “I—I can’t do it with you watching.”

  She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, shaking her head. “And you made it through three months of weird sexy times with a bunch of old men?”

  “Different mindset. Please?”

  ***

  With Michelle finally gone, I dialed the first contact on my list. We weren’t really friends, not exactly, but we had become familiar enough that she was the best place to start. If I could get Lucinda—Lucy to those close enough—to join the enemy, then it might be easier to recruit the others. Social proof goes a long way.

  Lucinda had been something of a mentor to a lot of the ladies at Midnight Fantasy, and we’d even had coffee one time after she found out I’d taken over the sleazier cadre of clients. I’d inadvertently stolen one of hers, but she had reassured me that she was thankful. She wasn’t a fan of Walter Wickam III anyway.

  She answered on the third ring. “Hello, this is Lucinda.”

  “Lucy, hi, it’s Kim. Um, Kim, from…I used to work for Roman?”

  “Kim! Hi! I was wondering how you’d been. So it’s true, huh?”

  “What’s true?”

  “That Roman fired you.”

  “That’s what he said?”

  She chuckled. “You and I both know that you can’t trust a word out of that man’s mouth.” Where was that advice when I needed it, months ago? “I thought about calling you to find out what really happened.”

  “I quit. That’s all.” She didn’t need any more details than that.

  However, the hint of disbelief in her voice suggested she understood that wasn’t the complete truth either. “Right. So what’s up, hon? You looking for a recommendation or something?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it before the words could trip out. I hesitated long enough for her to say, “Kim?”

  “Yeah, I mean, no, I’m here. I’m calling because—because…” I leaned back in my chair and rubbed an eye.

  “What’s up? Are you okay?”

  “No, no, totally fine, but let me ask you something. Are—are you happy working for Roman?”

  Her throaty laugh filled the other side of the line. I’d been jealous of it the few times we’d talked. Her laugh was pure, the kind that moved her whole body, and it came with this sensual quality that I couldn’t really explain. I could see why men were attracted to her, even the ones that didn’t pay for her time. She said, “That’s a loaded question.”

  “It is?”

  “Yeah, well, happy is a relative term. If you’re asking if I’d rather be back at MIT teaching physics, then yes, I’m perfectly happy where I am. But if you’re asking if I like expensive dinners and blowjobs for dessert, that’s another story. I’m not proud of it, but I can bury the shame long enough to afford that house in Maui. What’s this about, anyway? You didn’t find Jesus, did you?”

  “No.”

  “And you’re not calling to save my soul?”

  “Nope, not that either.”

  “Good. Then spill it, girl. I’m about fifteen minutes late for some rock band I’ve never heard of.”

  “This early in the morning?”

  “They need a tour guide for the day, then I guess I’ll show them around the bedroom later. C’mon, chop chop.”

  “Right, okay. I’ll be quick.” One deep breath, then another. “I started my own company, another escort service, and I was wondering if you wanted to leave Roman and come on board.”

  “You did? That’s awesome. Smart girl like you, you’ll do fine, but Kim, honey, you know what the clients are like. I just…”

  Disappointment settled over me like a pillow over my face. Soft, pressing, suffocating.

  But, nothing was ever gained by giving up at the first sign of defeat.

  “I know, I know. Trust is fragile. Will you let me give you the terms, at least?”

  “Sure.”

  I could tell by the sound of her voice that I’d already lost her. She’d checked out of the conversation and was likely checking herself out in the mirror, ensuring perfection before entertaining the rock stars.

  “I’m going to offer you something that you won’t get anywhere else. If you come work for me, you’ll retain a hundred percent of your earnings for the first six months. I won’t take a dime of whatever you earn. After that, it’s a fifty-fifty split. No bargaining you down, no taking extra out of your upsells like Roman does. Straight across the board, fifty-fifty.”

  She didn’t need to say anything. The silence told me that I had her attention.

  I felt good. This felt right. This is what I was meant to do.

  I continued, trying to contain the smile creeping across my lips, “And, that first six months? That includes old business and new business, too. Come work for me, and you’ll get a bonus for each new client you bring in. I always thought that was something Roman should implement, but he was too cheap.” It was a risk, but the reward would be worth it.

  Lucy cleared her throat. “What’s the catch?”

  “Two small conditions. Your current clients come with you—are you okay with that?”

  “I’ll convince them. And the second?”

  �
�Did you ever wonder why I took over the taboo clients?”

  “I figured it was more money.”

  “Exactly. Here, with us, we’re catering to the customers that want their needs met through…other methods. Let me ask you this: have you ever felt like your clients were too afraid to ask for something more, but you were certain they’d pay anything for it?”

  I listened to Lucy’s soft, understanding chuckle. “All the time.”

  “That’s the second condition. We won’t allow anything dangerous, and nothing you aren’t absolutely comfortable with, but if you can let go of any inhibitions you might have and give them what they’re really looking for, the sky may be the limit, but your bank account won’t have one.”

  “What kind of stuff are we talking about?”

  “Anything goes. Within reason.”

  “I don’t know, Kim. Some of these guys can get pretty freaky, and that’s with me putting my boundaries out there already.”

  “It’s up to you. I stretched my boundaries over those three months and never felt like I was in any kind of danger, not in the slightest. Slightly freaked out by the weirdness of humanity, you know, which is why I’m behind the desk now. I can tell you this, it was worth it. It was worth learning that we’re all flawed, and that being flawed doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself as long as you find someone that appreciates it. Or, someone that’s paid to understand. And that acceptance, even if it’s only for a couple of hours…people will pay anything for it.”

  “Okay,” she said, sighing. “I hear you. Let me think about it, and don’t you dare lie to me…give me one good reason why you’re not feeding me a line of bullshit.”

  “I can give you one point five million of them.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Be careful what you wish for. When it rains, it pours.

  Whatever. Use any cliché you can think of to describe a “too much, too soon” scenario. It’s amazing how much time speeds up when you’re buried under so much stuff to do that you open your eyes in bed, you blink, and it’s time to stumble back into fitful sleep twenty hours later. Phone calls, meetings with the talent and clients, paperwork, collecting money to show a bookkeeping record and then handing it right back over, it all adds up. Michelle, bless her, helped as much as she could, but she wasn’t properly trained in a lot of what needed doing and it cost less time for me to do it myself than to teach her or clean up after her mistakes.

  She refused to leave, however, because she was in it with me, no matter what. Aaron bitched and moaned, whined and complained, but once Michelle showed him the numbers we would be pulling if we could make it past the six-month loss-leader period, he sulked in silence. Browsing the internet for manly toys like jet skis and classic cars helped numb the wounds. They could afford them before, but in six months, if things held up, he could start a collection.

  I paid Gertie double to keep Joey, and lied more and more to Dreama. My new job as a salesperson for a large winery, I’d told her, kept me on the road for long, long hours, traveling out of town for days at a time. She bought it—though not without her usual upturned nose—and offered to watch her grandson on the days that Gertie needed a break. Thank God he couldn’t form sentences with enough coherence to explain the truth.

  Just a little while longer, I thought. If I can keep it up for another six months and we’re consistently profitable, I’ll break the news to Dreama. She’ll find out eventually. Better to hear it from me—and better for me to rub it in her disapproving face—than for her to have the upper hand yet again. “Yes, Mother, I run an escort service. Yes, it’s all your fault. No, you will not be taking Joey from me. You have no one to blame but yourself. Twenty-two years, Dreama. A pat on the back would’ve been nice once in a while.”

  Six months. I looked forward the day.

  But at that point, I was so damn busy, I couldn’t even think about Dreama’s reaction. There wasn’t time. I lost weight. I had bags under my eyes. My diet consisted of whatever breakfast bar I managed to grab on my way out the door.

  And it all began when Lucy called me back an hour after I made the offer. She accepted, said she was excited, and even though there were logistics to work out with Roman and her clients, she’d be under my wings within a week. I’d asked if I could use her name to convince some of the others too, and she practically begged me to do it.

  “Kim, honey,” she’d said, “please do. Those ladies deserve something better. You tell them whatever you want, but be prepared for rejection. Some won’t have the guts to leave the security they think they have with Roman, whether I’m recommending it or not. You’ll get a few, though.”

  I made her promise not to give Roman any details whatsoever. No names, no locations, nothing, to which she replied, “I’ve got more secrets locked behind these lips than there are words in War & Peace. One more won’t hurt.”

  All in all, slightly less than half of the women working for Roman jumped ship within three weeks once they’d heard my offer and gotten Lucy’s blessing. Every single one of them managed to retain every single client they had. The one hundred percent retention rate absolutely blew my mind, until I realized why.

  It was the suggestion to really open up the Pandora’s box of debauchery. At a higher price, of course. Once their clients learned that they could pay whatever they wanted to get whatever they wanted, within reason, they didn’t need convincing. Their real loyalties aligned with the women they were familiar with, not the organization that employed them. That’s where Ellen had been wrong.

  Gone were the days of abiding by Roman’s rules, regulations, and pricing structures. Those piddling upsells that limited the choices from the buffet.

  I learned from a number of the defectors that some of them had already been taking extra on the side to “go the extra mile” when the clients asked for it, but they were so scared of Roman finding out that they kept their dalliances limited.

  They were afraid of him. They said he was dangerous.

  It didn’t take long to learn that they were right.

  But with me, under my lackadaisical stipulations of anything goes, as long as it was a fifty-fifty split, they relaxed and felt free to open themselves up.

  I won’t go as far as saying we created a sexual revolution around the city, but we definitely demolished some inhibitions on both sides of the business relationship.

  Then it happened; something so incredibly unexpected that I had to question everything I’d been doing.

  ***

  Friday morning, light rain falling, with my windshield wipers swishing back and forth lulling me back into another dull mental fog, I fought to keep my eyes open. How many nights had it been since I’d gotten more than four hours of sleep? I couldn’t even remember the last time. Weeks probably. Yeah, it was the day Lucy accepted and shot Secret Desires into the stratosphere.

  I don’t know why I chose the route I did on my way into the office. Maybe my brain was so taxed that it lapsed back into old habits, trying to conserve energy. Another two miles and I would’ve been at my old job where my layoff had eventually led to my current situation. I grinned at the thought of taking off my panties and giving Ronnie a show; such a desperate attempt to keep a forty-hour-week position that paid in pocket change.

  I was so naïve. Young, really. I’d aged so much since then.

  Granted, I was currently going on double those hours, running my own company and earning nothing for the effort, but the payoff, four months away, would be so worth it.

  The soft patter of rain, the rhythm of the windshield wipers—it was unbearable. I needed coffee before I dozed off and ran someone over.

  And almost as if my needs were met by fate or coincidence, there it was. The coffee shop where I’d encountered Finn on the morning of my layoff. Hallelujah. Sweet, blessed, sugar-laden caffeine. I flicked on my blinker, cut across two lanes of traffic—ignoring the angry honks from rush hour drivers—and shot into the parking lot.

  I got out and didn’
t bother to scurry inside. In fact, the rain that had now morphed into a raging downpour would probably help my appearance. I hadn’t had time for a proper shower in days. My hair was a tangled mop of knots and split-ends. I doubt I remembered how to put on makeup. Lipstick? Out of the question. Hell, even my teeth were lucky to get brushed.

  You could call it Casual Friday, but then it wouldn’t be any different from Casual Thursday, Casual Wednesday, Casual Tuesday…blah blah blah. If clients wanted to come into the office to arrange their appointments they met with Michelle, who excelled in the area of spotless perfection, while I stayed hidden behind a closed and locked office door. We fell into our roles with ease.

  She was the beauty. I was the brains.

  I pushed open the café door and basked in the orgasmic smell of roasting coffee beans, steamed milk, and warm scones. Heaven, really, and I made a note to take this route to the office more often. It’s those little pleasures in life, those treats, that recharge the depleted reserves.

  It was early. The work crowds hadn’t packed the place yet. The campers and stragglers hadn’t commandeered all the tables where they’d set up shop for hours with their laptops or unnecessary rituals of reading every single word of the newspaper.

  Four older gentlemen occupied a table to my right, dressed in their slacks, collared shirts, and cardigans—the uniform of the retired, the Lonely Hearts Club. They hunched over their coffees, discussing the previous night’s…whatever. Some big game on television.

  Television. I remembered that. It’s kind of freeing when you realize just how little you actually need to watch it when there are other means of filling your days. As in, making sure the former nuclear physicist, who could also be a runway model, isn’t late for her appointment with the esteemed senator from Louisiana—the one that likes to dress up in a leathery horse costume and have her ride him around the hotel room.