Hush, Hush

by Franco, Lucia

  "If I guess, will you tell me?"

  "Nope." She chuckles. "He's hot as sin though and has requested me a few times now. We've yet to have sex, but let me tell you, our chemistry is off the charts. He’s younger than most men at Sanctuary and in great shape. He's got tattoos on both arms. And the way he looks at my body while he strums his guitar, I swear he can read my soul. One of these days we're going to fuck, and it’s going to be insanely hot." She sighs, and I swear I can hear longing in her voice.

  "I thought you weren't supposed to get close to the clients."

  "Aubrey." She clears her throat, and I hear her blankets ruffle. I think she's sitting up. "When you fucked the guy in the bathroom on your birthday, were you close to him?"

  "Well, no."

  "Did you bang him because you thought he was hot?"

  "Yeah."

  "So how is this any different? The only difference is that I’m getting paid for it, and honestly, who cares if no one knows anyway? Just because I want this musician to put me out of my misery doesn't mean I need to be emotionally or romantically attached to him. I just want to see if he's as good as he puts off. I want to know what he feels like inside of me. Coming isn’t a top priority—the client always comes first, figuratively speaking—but I'd still want to if I could."

  I pull back, utterly confused. "Wait. What? What do you mean you can't come? How do you hold back?"

  "That's a rule of Madam Christine's. We're not allowed to have any sort of pleasure until after the client is fully sated, not that you'll really want it anyway because you'll be so focused on rocking their world for that cash. It's just not that easy when the pressure is on. You have to create the best experience for the client. Give them a moment they'll never forget. I know some girls who are so good at it they charge two grand an hour. Hashtag goals."

  I blink rapidly. What the fuck does someone do for that kind of money? My head is spinning with all the information Natalie keeps throwing at me. I have even more questions than I started with. It never crossed my mind that the girls wouldn't reach climax. I just assumed they did. On one hand I'm okay with that. It helps me believe that my self-respect is still intact. On the other hand, I'd feel dirty, used, because I know myself and I'll probably end up orgasming.

  "So you've never had an orgasm with a client? Not once?"

  "Oh I have plenty of times, just not always. You're not going to be able to every time. The clients are not what you think, and they expect you to do all the work. It's what they're paying you for, after all."

  "And you can charge two thousand dollars an hour? I call bullshit. What call girl charges that kind of money anyway?"

  "She has a three-hour minimum and requires thirty percent down first," Natalie states.

  I'm speechless now, but wondering why I'm so hesitant to give this a shot. That's big money right there, and I suddenly want a piece of it.

  "Nat?" I say after a few beats of silence. My voice is a little shaky because I'm about to sell my soul to the Devil.

  "Real recognizes real," she says with such a heavy Bronx accent in the back of her throat. "Say no more. I got you, girl."

  Twelve

  "I quit!" I yell as I walk into our apartment and slam the door shut. It's after midnight and I have to be up early for class in the morning and I'm just now getting home. I don't even have time to shower because I need the rest.

  "I almost put out an Amber Alert for you. What the fuck happened?" Natalie takes a sip from her coffee mug and I chuckle under my breath. I’M A HOOKER ON THE WEEKENDS is printed in bold black and red lettering on the side of her mug.

  How have I never put two and two together? Then again, that’s Natalie’s personality, so I didn’t even think twice.

  I plop down onto the couch and blow out a stressed breath. "You don't even know. First of all, the Schneiders never answered any of my calls, and I sent text message after text message to no avail. I even went as far as telling them Grammy fell down a flight of stairs and was in critical condition so I needed to get to the emergency room. Crickets. I started to think they were never coming back, until they strolled in like nothing happened four fucking hours later. I had to keep my cool, though, because they still needed to pay me, and I wanted my money."

  "Are you fucking shitting me? I would've left those monsters alone and dipped out."

  "Of course I wanted to just walk out, Nat, but I couldn't do that. It’s not the kids' fault their parents are ignorant assholes. But it gets better."

  "I can’t wait to hear this shit."

  "They only wanted me to use lemon juice to clean off the lipstick from the walls. I'd rather muck a horse stall than do that again. I found an old container of bleach in the basement and switched to that. Oh, and the cloth diapers they use because they're worried about the environment? They wanted me to wipe off the shit from the diapers first before throwing them into the washer. I'm all for saving the animals and being a tree hugger, but you will never catch me putting literal shit into my washing machine."

  Natalie's face pinches into a scowl of disgust. It's exactly how I feel.

  "So Mr. Schneider takes me to the railroad station and as he hands me my pay, he proceeds to tell me he’s short by five-fucking-hundred dollars."

  "You can’t be serious," Natalie says, and her jaw drops.

  "As a heart attack. He said he’d give it to me next weekend. That was the icing on the cake. I take care of his kids all weekend and he can’t even pay me in full!" I take a deep breath. Just thinking about it again gets me all worked up.

  I crack my neck and the sound echoes throughout the room. I was supposed to be paid eight hundred for the weekend. I got three.

  "They've done this before, but this was just the straw that broke the camel's back."

  "Fucking losers." Natalie rolls her eyes at the lunacy of the situation and shakes her head. "So, do they know you quit?"

  "Sure do." I smile as I think about Mr. Schneider's shocked expression. "He told me he’d see me Tuesday and Thursday and then the weekend again, and that I needed to make sure I could fulfil those dates indefinitely."

  "What the fuck!" Natalie’s eyes bulge and I can feel her anger. It's as hot as mine.

  "Once I had the cash in my hand, I told him the next time he wants to ask someone to be his bitch, he should be the one to bend over and say please."

  "Bend over? That's the best you could come up with?"

  "Of course now I have better comebacks since I've had time to stew. But you know what's funny? His face went pale white, almost as if someone actually told him to bend over."

  Natalie covers her mouth. "No way! You're kidding me!"

  "I wish I was. He looked so shocked. He didn't drive off for a solid minute after I got out of the car."

  "That's amazing. I wish you would've been like, 'Go fuck your mother,' but sometimes you like to keep it classy and I get it. You’re the nice one in this relationship."

  I shrug. For the most part they were nice to me while I worked for them, but that was because I was taking care of their kids. They shouldn't treat the hired help like shit, definitely not the nanny anyway. When I look back on it and think about all the things they had me do on top of watching their kids, how they had little to no concern for the train schedules I needed to catch, or my extremely few obligations I needed to fulfill, I was just another pebble in their driveway for them to kick around.

  I yawn and stand up. "I'm gonna hit the sack. I'm exhausted."

  "Later, sleeping beauty," Natalie says, and I walk into my room and get settled into my bed.

  I turn over onto my side and curl up into a ball, pulling the covers tight to my chin. The horns and whistles and the police sirens don't bother me anymore. The noise is almost like a lullaby that soothes me to sleep. Later on today I'll need to see if I can pick up a few extra shifts at the laundromat, then I'll deposit the rest of the money, save for like a hundred bucks, into Grammy's account.

  "I got you an interview," Natalie says quie
tly.

  I pop up into a sitting position and turn to face her standing in my doorway. My heart begins beating faster than usual. I'm both excited and nervous, definitely more nervous than anything.

  "Already? I figured we'd talk about it first. How? When?"

  She looks around my darkened room, then flips on the light. "Ah, I thought we already did talk about it."

  I frown and try to steady my heart rate. "Not really. I mean, I just thought we'd talk more."

  "There's nothing to really talk about. After we spoke earlier, I called Madam Christine and told her about you. She said to bring you in when you're available, which means ASAP. Like later today after class and shit."

  My eyes widen. "But I have to work at the laundromat today," I say, a little panicked.

  "Obviously you’re gonna call in. You can't miss this interview."

  I gawk at her. "But what if she doesn't like me? Then I'm out two jobs. I can't risk that, Natalie. Can you just reschedule it to tomorrow?"

  She shakes her head. "You won't be out. Trust me. She's going to take one look at you and hire you on the spot."

  My face scrunches up. "One look? What kind of interview is this? Like, what's she going to ask me? Who gets interviewed to be a call girl?"

  "Relax. She isn't going to ask you to get on your knees and make you demonstrate how big of an O you can turn your mouth into."

  My lips twitch and I lie back down under the covers. Natalie always knows how to make a stressful moment funny.

  "I'm just nervous. This is a big thing. I'm more nervous about it than anything else."

  "It's a huge deal, so I get it. Christine has this sixth sense about her, where she can look at a girl and know if they'll work out immediately. After I sent her a picture of you, she said to bring you in as soon as possible. Trust me, you need to be there all dolled up, like you're going on a date. You need to dress like Natalia. I've got just the outfit for you, and I'll do your hair and makeup."

  "What will she ask me?" My voice gives way to my anxiety. I've held quite a few odd jobs over the years, and never once have I felt butterflies like this. Am I really going to interview for a sex trade job?

  "She’ll ask you things like how many guys you've been with, are you cool with one-night stands, what kinds of days or nights you can work, what your hard limits are. Stuff we've talked about before."

  My heart is fucking racing. I'm not sure I can do this. The thought is making me ill. I'm never going to sleep tonight.

  "What's my name going to be?"

  Natalie muses over my question.

  "Carlita."

  I roll my eyes. "Okay, forget I asked. How about Maeve?"

  "Meh. Sometimes Christine gives the girls names. Let's just wait and see."

  "How do I know what my hard limits are?" I ask. I feel like I know, but then again there's some wild people in the world doing things I don't find to be a turn-on.

  "She'll have a checklist for you. Don’t be afraid to check them off either, because the last thing you want to do is get matched with someone who wants you to pee on them, or wants to pee on you."

  I lean up on my elbows and look at her in mortification. There's no way. Just the thought causes a sour taste in the back of my throat.

  "I'm just kidding," Natalie says playfully. "Madam Christine runs a classy business. It's one of the top rated in New York City. Think of it as the couture side of fashion. Only the streetwalkers pee on people."

  My forehead creases. That doesn't help at all. "Seriously?"

  She gives me a bored stare. "Do you really believe that people pee on other people?"

  "I believe people will do anything for money, so, yes. And I also think people like really strange things that I don't."

  She rubs her hands together and inhales. "We’ll have a shot of vodka while you're getting ready. That'll help bring down the nerves. Make sure you come straight here after class. We'll need about an hour to do hair and makeup, and then take a town car to Chelsea."

  "She's in Chelsea?"

  It doesn't surprise me that she’s on the West Side in such an upscale part of the city.

  Natalie nods. "It's a huge converted warehouse. I think she paid around a cool million for it—in cash, mind you—and then upgraded the fuck out of it. Wait until you see it. The way she designed it looks like a penthouse suite." Her face lights up and for a split second, my apprehension turns to anticipation. "There's a cigar lounge just for the men. We're not allowed in there, but they can watch girls dance in these little cages. It's kind of sexy, if you ask me. The lights are turned down low, so their faces are never shown. I don't dance, but the girls can wear masquerade masks if they want extra privacy. There are also rooms to rent with private entries if it's just an afternoon quickie, or a place for you to get ready if you don't have time to go home. There's even a kitchen with private chefs. She really spared no expense for this devious business."

  I nod, still fluttered as a hen in its cage.

  "Don't stress too much, it's not as bad as it seems. Look at it this way, you could be giving blow jobs to smelly truck drivers for twenty bucks."

  Thirteen

  Another Monday where class is a bust.

  I’m having a hard time focusing this morning due to the lack of sleep. I tossed and turned all night with tons of questions weighing on my mind, different theories, and of course, the shame.

  My mind continues to be a maze with three entrances and no exits, my stomach a knotted mess cramping together as I sit in a freezing lecture hall. Riddled with intense guilt, I almost pull my phone out to message Natalie to tell her I’m not going, but something inside of me holds me back.

  As soon as class lets out, I grab my books and briskly walk to the first coffee shop I can find. I'm going to need something a little stronger to make it through the rest of the day. I stand in line inhaling the dark aroma and already feel a little better. There's something about the smell of brewed coffee that just makes me feel good and instantly calms my nerves.

  The doors behind me are open with customers streaming in and out, the street air cooling down the little vintage shop. This is what I love about living in the city. There's something new to experience every single day.

  "I'll have a triple shot with your medium roast, no sugar, half and half, please." I'm out of one job and called into sick to another, this could be my last decadent cup of java for a while.

  "A woman after my own heart," a man says from behind me as I reach into my purse for my wallet.

  I turn around and look up into a pair of dark chocolate eyes. He's about my height, with lashes as thick as soot and a jawline that could sharpen knives. I'm feeling a little shy and pull my books tighter to my chest.

  "Desperate times calls for desperate measures." I smile at him. "It's Monday, and I'm on a mission to take over the world."

  "I'll have what she's having," he says to the barista, and pulls a hundred from his money clip then reaches around me to drop it on the counter.

  "Oh, no. Here, let me give you money," I say and fumble with my purse. A book slips from my grasp and drops to the floor. I'm not a clumsy kind of girl, so my action just embarrasses me. I watch as he reaches down to pick it up, and his green scrubs catch my eye. I'd been too busy staring into his eyes to notice anything else.

  "The coffee is on me," he says like it's the end of the discussion. "Getting a gorgeous girl a cup of coffee is the least I can do."

  I smile in appreciation.

  "And because"—he leans back to look at my textbooks—"you're studying at Fordham."

  "You guessed that by a three-second look at my books?"

  The twinkle in his eyes causes a flutter in my stomach. If I wasn't in such a rush to head to my next class, I might try to strike up a conversation with him.

  "No, it's just the closest school nearby, and because most college students live on ramen noodles and coffee."

  That isn't a far stretch of the truth.

  "I usually get coffee cold
, but I need a good swift kick to my ass today. I actually love it with sweetened condensed milk and cream of coconut—shaken, not stirred—but not a lot of places carry that."

  He studies me. "That's an interesting concoction."

  "It's rich and creamy and has a pleasant aftertaste."

  Heat blossoms under my cheeks. I don't know why I said all that.

  He places his left hand into his pocket and says, "How about I take you to your favorite coffee shop tonight and you can introduce me to this drink of yours?"

  Blunt. Forward. I love it, yet it catches me off guard. I almost take him up on the offer when I remember I have an interview tonight at a whorehouse. I'm pretty sure no respectable man would ever allow his girlfriend to sell herself. Not that we would immediately start dating or anything, of course.

  The man reaches around me and grabs the coffee off the counter then hands it to me. Our fingers brush and I feel a little rouse in my body. God, I hope I don't act like this with clients. He reaches for the other cup and takes a sip, his eyes boring into mine over the rim like he's getting a read on me. It's a little thrilling.

  "I can already see you're going to decline. How about we meet back here tomorrow?"

  I smile and shake my head. "No."

  He's staring at my lips. "Do you come here often?"

  Persistent. I like that. "Thank you for the coffee," I say, then step around him.

  I peer over my shoulder as I walk out of the coffee shop. Just like I expected, his gaze follows me until I'm out of his view.

  I take a deep breath. He was intense, and I'm sure coffee with him tonight would end just as strong. But right now, with a twenty-page paper due in a few weeks and my potential new job that requires me to spread my legs, the last thing I need is a man.

  * * *

  I can't believe I'm going through with this.

  "Okay, make me look like every man's wet dream."

  Natalie chuckles. "That isn't hard. You're already a neck-breaker."