She laughs. "That's why you have your vodka glasses on."
Now it's my turn to laugh.
"You'd be surprised, though. Most of the clients are middle-aged, and yes there are much older ones, but they're not what you're thinking at all. Not the high-paying ones. A few have drug problems and want to do rails off your naked body. Some have strange fetishes. They come from all different backgrounds and for the most part they’ve got their shit together. They're well-dressed, and work out too, but there are a few who could lay off the carbs." She gives me a no-bullshit look. "Money talks, girl, and if a client has it, and he's invited into Sanctuary Cove, Madam Christine isn't going to say no to anything. There's a lady for every client's needs."
I blink. "Have you been with all of them?"
"Oh God, no. Usually when a client finds one lady he likes, he requests her often." She pauses to apply a soft pink lipstick. "Listen. I won't push you into this, but the offer is on the table. I know Madam Christine would love to have you. You have the looks and the body and you're not afraid to put out. I will pay for your identification card, your STD test—"
"An STD test?" I ask.
"Oh, yes. We're tested before we start taking clients and then regularly after that. So are the men. Using protection is ingrained into your skull but you have the option to forego it. I never forego. Wear a rubber or you're not passing go."
"I mean, that makes sense, but just the thought of catching a disease is not on my to-do list."
"In addition to paying for that," Natalie continues, ignoring my disease jab. "I'll give you five thousand dollars. No. Ten thousand—"
"Nope." I shut her down. "Not going to happen."
"Just shut up and listen to me. I'll give you ten thousand. Put five aside for bills and Grammy since you'll be quitting those two jobs of yours that you’re going nowhere with. Take Grammy out to eat and buy her something nice, I don't care. I'll take you shopping with the rest of the money and help you get new clothes. You can't be wearing Goodwill cast-offs. You need Versace, Prada, a little Diane and Channel. That shit costs money, and as you can see, I have plenty of money, so take it."
It’s almost too good to pass up when she lays it out like that.
Natalie stands up and grabs her purse, then slips her beige coat on. She buckles it around her waist and looks absolutely stunning. A total babe. Her face is on point—natural yet sensually seductive—and her ridiculously tempting tall heels match her coat and dress.
"Would you call those fuck-me heels?" I jokingly ask.
She glances down, then back at me. "These are 'don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me' heels."
Shaking my head, I follow her out of her room. "I can't believe I ever thought you were only a shot girl dressing up like that."
She chuckles, and then says, "I mean, it's not impossible. Lots of shot girls dress up like this. I feel bad for lying to you about it, though."
I brush it off. I would've lied too.
"Natalie." I call her name as she reaches the door. "Sink or swim, right?" I say when she looks over her shoulder at me.
"For me, tonight, it's spit or swallow." She winks and gives me two air kisses before she leaves me standing here with my jaw dropped.
Ten
I'm on my way to my last class when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out and smile at the name on the display.
"Hey, Grammy," I answer.
"My sweetie, Aubrey. Just checking in to see how you're doing."
My heart softens. I love her so much.
"I'm walking to class right now actually. Not excited for the weekend because of the little monsters I'm going to be stuck with. How are you doing?"
She starts coughing, and it's one of those relentless coughs that sounds like it's deep in her lungs. My brows furrow together. Someone shoulder bumps me and I keep walking. "Are you sick?"
"No," she says without hesitation. She's in denial. She always is when she's sick and refuses to go to the doctor. "I just have this cough I can't shake. Nothing else. And, Aubrey, I told you, if you keep talking about God's children like that, you're going to give birth to Satan's child."
I bust out laughing because she's far from religious, yet she rarely ever says anything negative. Grammy’s sarcastic, but with a coating of honey.
"I'm not having kids. Problem solved."
"You bite your tongue. You better make me a Great-Grammy before I die."
Laughing, I round the corner and am hit with a gust of wind that slithers around my neck. I pull my jacket tighter and shiver, feeling the crisp fall air slowly make its decent upon the city. Fall and winter are the absolute best in New York. There's no place better than here during the holidays.
"We'll see. Maybe Prince Charming will roll up in a broken-down white creeper van and whisk me away to his dungeon. He'll impregnate me and I'll bear six sons for him before he's off with my head. But hey, you'll get your grandkids, even if they're never allowed to leave his mansion tucked away in the woods that even GPS can't pick up."
"Aubrey." She pauses, and I pull the phone away to hide my snicker. I can see her puzzled face in my head. "But where do you come up with this stuff?"
I chuckle. "I have no clue. How about I finish school first and then we talk kids?"
She makes a sound under her breath and coughs again. I can't help but worry like a stressed parent. She raised me, now it’s my turn to take care of her.
"How's your oil? Do you have enough for the start of the season?" I ask.
The last thing I want is for her to freeze during the winter, so I need to make sure she has enough oil to turn her heat on. I saw on the news last night that this winter is estimated to be one of the coldest yet, with record-breaking temperatures.
"Will you stop it. Save your money, I don't need a thing."
She never asks for a dime, but that doesn't stop me from giving it to her. Just like she’s done for me my whole life.
"You know I'm going to do it anyway," I say, walking up to the lecture hall.
"You're just like your mother, you know," she says softly, as if she's reminiscing. "When she made her mind up about something, that was it."
I run my fingers over the rose gold chain I've yet to remove since it was placed around my neck. "Do your cats need anything?"
"No, sweetie. They're plenty stocked and you know I would feed them before I would feed myself."
Just to be safe I’ll make an extra deposit today after class. Thank God today’s payday and after this weekend, I'll have almost a thousand from watching the spawns, on top of folding clothes. It'll be a tight month, but I can survive on ramen until next payday.
You wouldn't have to if you'd take Natalie up on her offer.
I shake it off and tell myself that I'll worry about it later.
"I'm about to run into class now, but listen, if your coughing persists, please make an appointment to see the doctor."
"Focus on your studies. Education is everything," she says, her voice raised, completely ignoring me. I just smile.
"Love you, bye."
"Love you too, sweetie."
* * *
"I won't be here this weekend," I say to Natalie.
We haven’t seen each other much this week, but that was normal for us once school started back up. We both work and live the college life, just trying to get by. Or at least I am.
She looks up. The room is dim and she's sitting with her legs crossed on the couch. Her hair is tied into a messy knot at the top of her head and she has a pencil dangling between her teeth. She looks so innocent under the white Christmas lights.
"The devils?"
I fight a grin. We both have names for the two boys I nanny. They're the cutest boys, but I swear the minute I turn my back, they turn into the Problem Child on crack times two. At that point, I'm ready to build my own pipe and ask for a hit of whatever they're on. Call me MacGyver. The jack of all trades.
"Yup. I had a feeling they'd need me all weekend after I took off last w
eekend. I swear, why have kids if you have to hire a nanny all the time? It doesn't make sense to me," I say, and head to my room to pack.
I don't bring too much and try to keep it light since I'll have to carry my duffle bag to the subway, then transfer onto the Long Island railroad, where I'll be picked up from the station closest to their house. The Schneiders live in Manhasset, and their French Normandy Tudor-style home that looks like it was made for a fairytale is priced in the high millions. Suburbs for the wealthy and dull. I can't even imagine having a home like that.
"You know how rich people are," Natalie says when I return to the living room. "But my dad would never let a nanny in our house. We had maids and shit, and occasionally a babysitter. My dad was all about my mom being a stay-at-home mom. He was adamant that she raise me. It’s probably why I'm close to my mom and not my dad."
"That's still kind of nice, though, you know? I mean it sucks your dad is the way he is, and in some strange way it makes sense why you work where you do. You take back a little bit of control in your life and possibly your future too. Though, I have to be honest, I think this route is a little extreme to show defiance. But hey, whatever works for you."
"You could have the same control too, you know," she says, her voice silky as she reminds me of her suggestion. As if I could ever forget my best friend asking me to join her in being a rent-a-hoe. "That offer still stands."
My lips flatten. I can't believe I find it tempting, but I do, and I’m kind of ashamed about it. If my grammy knew about this, she'd say it's the Devil's work. Probably is.
"I just don't know if I can do it."
"You had more one-night stands your first year in college than I did and I wasn't selling the goods. You have nothing to lose. I know you can totally do it, but I would never want to push you into this lifestyle either. That being said, the ten grand is yours."
I huff out a laugh. "You just gotta remind me of that money, don't you?"
She shrugs casually. A one-night stand and getting paid to have sex really aren’t the same, but in a strange way, they are to me. My shoulders slump forward, and my lips pull low, the choice weighing down one hand more than the other.
"Even if I decide to do it, I can't take your money. I refuse."
She glares at me. "You will take it, and you will use it. No returns. You'll need it to start up anyway."
I worry my bottom lip. My heart beats a little faster than usual and a surge of adrenaline pushes through me.
"What if I pay it back to you with my first…job?" I didn’t know what to call it.
Her eyes light up when they shouldn't. She shouldn't want me to do this with her, and she shouldn't encourage it, but I'm a willing adult who can make sane decisions.
"Deal!" she yells. I feel like she's just saying that to tide me over.
I cast her a look, the same one I give the boys when I scold them. "Calm down. I didn't agree to anything yet. I'm just asking questions and weighing my options."
Her smile curves up like the Grinch. "But you will."
I throw my duffle bag over my shoulder and walk toward the door, mentally preparing for a long ass weekend.
"I'd say don't do anything I wouldn't do, but now I don't even know what that is anymore."
Her chuckle is light and airy, and she responds in a husky voice I didn't know she was capable of. "I'll share all my secrets for the right price."
Shaking my head, I smile as I walk out the door.
Eleven
"Thank you for coming this weekend, Aubrey. My wife and I could use the break. I had three major surgeries and need to get away for a bit to shut my mind off."
"Of course. Anytime you need me, you know I'm here for you guys. Working and raising two boys requires a village," I schmooze. "I miss those two little nuggets."
"They miss you. They've been writing your name all over the walls with Leslie's lipstick. Of course, they can't actually write, but we tell them we love it anyway." He muses with a dreamy smile on his face.
I try not to stare at Mr. Schneider too much as we drive to his house, but now I can't help but wonder if I could have sex with him for cash. I don’t find him attractive, but he's not the ugliest man I've ever seen either. He's average and looks to be in shape. He always wears black, though, so I can't tell if he's flabby or not.
Natalie said some of the men have fetishes. What if I get one who wants me to wear a strap-on and call him Uncle Bobby? That would be a hard no for me.
"We're going to need you to get the lipstick off the walls," Mr. Schneider says, like he's daydreaming about Uncle Bobby.
"Nothing a magic eraser can't remove," I respond, my appeasing robot personality kicking in. What the fuck! Why wasn’t his precious wife watching the little shits so they didn’t highjack her makeup?
Fuck my life.
The moment we pull up the driveway, Spawn One and Spawn Two run outside in their sagging cloth diapers, along with their mother. I get out of the car and open my arms to them. Their faces are covered in dirt and there's snot running down their noses into their mouth, but I hug them anyway, because they really are the cutest fucking kids. They're a mess, but this is because Leslie likes to teach the boys through playing. They jump in muddy puddles in the rain, have action figures with no faces, and all natural, biodegradable toys. No Playmobile for these tots. It's all wood and peasant clothing. I don't really get it, but it's another thing that's not my problem. I just do what I'm told and they pay me well. It's a good system and I try not to ever ruin a good thing.
"We've all missed you," Mrs. Schneider says. Leslie really is a nice woman, just a doormat kind and I find it annoying. "You're here until Sunday night, correct?"
I smile at her and nod. Her eyes are full of relief and I can't help but wonder what she'd do if I put my two weeks in.
"I'm all yours." I turn to the little monsters. "I heard you guys drew me some pretty pictures. Ready to show me?"
They don't really speak, but they understand what I'm saying and reach for my hand. I get by because I understand their mumbles.
We walk inside and I look around. My jaw drops the moment we reach the living room. I try to mask my reaction, but it’s a serious struggle. There are shades of pink lines everywhere and I feel like Leslie purposely gave them the makeup now as a fuck-you for leaving her with her spawns last weekend.
I have my work cut out for me.
Saturday morning, I wake up and realize Mr. and Mrs. Schneider never called to check on their kids. I scrub the walls again while the boys sleep, this time with an old container of bleach. I had to go on a scavenger hunt to find it, as the Schneiders only use natural products.
Once the boys get up, my day is filled with chasing toddlers, making airplane sounds so they eat a few bites of food and changing handmade diapers that I have to wash immediately after. I make sure to run the boys ragged by playing with them outside for hours so the fresh air knocks them out. After the day I've had with them, I'm so tired. All I want is to go to bed as soon as they do.
Sunday comes and I've yet to hear from the Schneiders, which is strange because they always check in. They haven't picked up one phone call from me either.
"Um, Nat, the parents still aren't home."
It's six in the morning and I call her first thing. I don't even bother making coffee, even though they have the best tasting coffee I've ever had.
"See, you wouldn't have that issue if your new name was Sparkles."
Her voice is groggy, and even though I'm worried where the hell these people are, I still laugh.
"The prospect is looking brighter, that's for sure."
"What are you going to do if you haven’t heard from them by late afternoon?"
I glance around the quiet house searching for an answer. "Well, I obviously can't leave the kids alone. What can I do?"
"I think if you don't hear from them around noon, you should start blowing up their phone. This is a little crazy. They didn't tell you where they were going?"
> I glance out the kitchen window, hoping to see their car pull up any second.
"I didn't ask. It's none of my business. I just find it so incredibly rude to do this. Like it makes me never want to come back here the way they’ve left me in limbo."
I sigh, deciding I would text them around lunchtime telling them I have an emergency with Grammy. Surely they would understand.
"Tell me what you did last night," I say.
"A man in his thirties."
My brows raise. Doesn't seem too bad. "That young?"
"Yeah. Every once in a while you get a spring chicken. He wanted to hit the hottest clubs and fuck all night long."
"That's it?"
"Yeah, I mean he was doing coke off my boobs so he could have sex all night long—I hate sex on coke—but I got six thousand dollars for it, so I'm not complaining."
My eyes pop wide open. "If you get six thousand, how much does head bitch in charge get?"
"Christine gets a cut, but for everyone it's a different price. It really depends on how long you've been doing it, what you do, that sort of thing. Last night cost the client six thousand, and he pays for everything too."
"I just don't understand why he would pay so much for that. It blows my mind."
She yawns, and I'm starting to feel bad for waking her up. "The clients of Sanctuary Cove know what they're getting, so they know their money is being well spent. Do I look like a hooker to you? No. It's an illusion they're after and we're paid top dollar to give it. Ludacris said it perfectly—men want a lady on the streets but a freak in the sheets. The girls are clean and we’re totally discreet."
"When's your next date?"
"Tonight. I have to get naked while the client plays his guitar in front of me."
"And then have sex?"
"No, he just wants someone to be his muse while he writes songs. I can't tell you who it is, but he's a heavy hitter in the entertainment industry and filthy rich. You'd die if you knew. I was starstruck at first."
My jaw drops in shock. I'm still staring out the window hoping to see the champagne Jag pull up.
Hush, Hush Page 6
