Hush, Hush

by Franco, Lucia

My eyes shoot wide open and my butthole puckers like there's a circle of fire surrounding it. All I want to do is squeeze my legs shut from the warmth spreading over my skin. The technician applies some salve and it immediately cools the heat down a little.

  "Shit, that hurt."

  "We do anal bleaching, by the way," the woman says casually, like she’s ordering two sugars in her coffee.

  My eyes take in the pretty garden picture on the ceiling panel that's supposed to take my mind off things. Anal bleaching? The fuck?

  "No, thanks. I think I'm good."

  "Suit yourself. Place your feet down and drop your knees."

  The woman applies the gooey wax to my inner thighs and bikini area. She tells me to exhale before she rips off one side, then quickly moves to the next side.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and my back arches from the heat searing my flesh. Goddamn that hurt and she's not even done. Grabbing the sides of the table, my fingers curl around the edges as I try to steady my breathing. Warm wax is placed on my mound, then on the actual lips, moving them to the side for what I'm assuming is to get all the fine, little hairs.

  "This is gonna hurt, isn't it?" I glare at the stupid picture above me, hating it. My heart is pounding against my ribs and I'm seriously dreading this. There's no going back now because the honey-looking goo is already on and has to come off somehow.

  "Ready?" the woman asks.

  "Nope."

  "Good," she says, then rips one side off.

  I fucking see stars.

  Shock surges through me and bile rises to the back of my throat. Tears fill my eyes and I’m in utter agony.

  "Oh my God. I think you ripped off my vagina!" The pain, oh hell… It's brutal and unlike anything I've ever felt before. I just want to cup myself the way a guy does when he gets kicked in the balls, and I can't.

  I barely have time to catch my breath when she's holding the skin down to rip off the other side, and then the one on my mound.

  "FUCK!" I cry, drawing out the word. "My vagina is on fire! Get the fuck away!" Rug burn times eighty million on my vag.

  Natalie is laughing hysterically and I silently vow to smother her in her sleep tonight for this.

  "No more." My breathing is heavy.

  "You're done anyway," the technician says, then cleans up so she can give me a facial. "You can dress now. If I were you, I would wear loose-fitting clothes for the rest of the day. Tomorrow you will be fine, and smoother than a newborn baby. Trust me, you’ll be excited to come back next month."

  Somehow, I highly doubt that.

  "Do I have any flesh left?" I ask, my voice cracking.

  They both chuckle and I die a little inside. My goodies are both on fire and numb at the same time. I sit up and reach for my dress, not even bothering with my thong. Now I know why Natalie said to wear a dress.

  "It will be easier next time," Natalie says.

  "No," I spit and lie back on the table. "I feel victimized."

  "Just wait and see," she says, eying me.

  I get the feeling she's trying to tell me something. The woman steps out of the room to grab some products and Natalie leans in to whisper in my ear.

  "When you get paid for those first few jobs, you'll be back here doing everything because that money is going to be your biggest motivator. Mark my words. Plus, there's no maintenance and it's really nice. The men loving being with young girls, and a smooth vag looks fresh and new to them."

  "Men are fucking creeps."

  "Eh. Doesn't bother me. I just want their money. We all have our fixes."

  I shake my head and let out a breath. I really want that money too, but I don't think anal bleaching or waxing my ass is necessary to get it. Then again, I guess we'll see. I've come this far, so who knows what I'll agree to next.

  After my facial and mani-pedi, we stop at a bar for a drink before heading to the apartment. I haven't been out since my birthday, and now that I'm legal, I don't have to use my fake ID. We both have school work waiting for us at home, but we decide to stay for no more than an hour.

  "Why are you walking like that?" Natalie asks, laughing, as we walk down the street. "You look like you went horseback riding bareback style, all bow legged and shit."

  I roll my eyes at her and laugh. My walk isn’t that exaggerated, but I definitely don’t walk like I’m about to take the runway either. I'm still panty free, and even though it's chillier than before, it feels good against my bleeding, fiery privates. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

  "It feels like I did," I say and open the door to the bar.

  We order our drinks—gin and tonic for Natalie, Sprite and tequila for me—and find a quiet booth in the back. I can't cross my legs without it feeling uncomfortable, but after a few sips, the alcohol coats my veins and dulls the pain.

  "I'm not supposed to tell you this because it's a test—I wish someone had told me—but Madam Christine is going to assign some test Johns to you."

  My brows bunch together. "What does that mean?"

  "You’re going to get some guys who are going to be extremely aggressive and come on to you hard. They're going to put heavy moves on you and provoke you," Natalie warns me. "It's a test to see if you can handle yourself and the clients. There's no saying how many you're going to have, but you'll know when Christine’s done testing you."

  I take another sip and let her words sink in. "How will I know which is fake and which is real?"

  "I would expect at least two, but I've heard she's sent up to five. I think that's her max."

  I take a sip and let her words sink in. "Are they going to be violent?"

  "No," she says, and I feel a little relieved. "Madam Christine doesn’t stand for violence. She always does an in-depth background check on all members before she lets them near any of her girls, and she runs follow-up checks every three months, so don't ever worry. She makes sure it’s a safe environment for everyone."

  I was already uneasy about this secret world of high-end escorting, but now I'm wondering if I should sign up for self-defense classes.

  "It's not as bad as you think. You're going to be nervous as hell thinking they're all test Johns until you find your way. Just don't take too long. She's quick to fire girls, too."

  I take a long sip. "No pressure, right?"

  "You got it. That's why you take two shots and a Percocet before you go and pretend you own them, unless you're hired to be a sub and say, ‘No, Daddy.' That's a different story."

  I almost choke on my drink stifling my laughter. "You've had to do that?"

  "Once. He had a wicked fetish and made me use a pacifier, but I got ten thousand out of it, so who cares?"

  My eyes widen. I can't fathom that kind of money.

  I glance around the dimly lit bar wondering if any of these white-collared men have daddy dom fetishes. It could be anyone, really, and I'd never know.

  "How long were you with him?"

  "I think it was like three hours. Can't remember, but half the time they take Viagra if it's longer than an hour just to make sure they get their money’s worth. Oh! And here's a tip—before you go on any appointment, use spearmint spray to relax your gag reflex and coat your goods in coconut oil for easy access. Both make a huge difference, unless of course he's got a small dick. If that’s the case, you lick it like a Dum Dums lollipop and pretend he's got an anaconda hanging between his legs. No working girl wants a big dick. It's too much work and requires hazard pay. I'll make sure you have some travel sizes for your purse too. Give a great blow job and you got a client for life, er, ah, for however long you want, I guess." She makes a face when she realizes this should never be lifelong work.

  "Tricks of the trade, huh?" I say, finishing off my drink.

  She laughs and her eyes light up. "Girl, I’ve got enough to write a book."

  Seventeen

  My phone vibrates in my lap and I glance around the auditorium to see if anyone else noticed it. I'm in the middle of class and don't want to offend the professor.

  Swiping the screen open, I read a text message from Natalie. She wants to meet for shopping after class, but since I still have another class after this one, I let her know I'll see her in about three hours. The one thing I won't do is sacrifice my education for anything. Say the escorting works out for a couple of years and I get ahead financially, it won't last forever the way a degree will. I need to play my cards right so I don't fuck myself in the end.

  When my classes are done for the day, I drop my books off at the apartment, then take the subway to meet Natalie uptown. I got a clean STD test, which I knew I would, and got my adult entertainment license; I even signed up for Pilates where Natalie goes. The last thing on my to-do list from Christine is to shop for proper attire.

  I walk into a store on Madison Avenue and Natalie already has a few bags in her hands. Stella McCartney, Carolina Herrera, Fendi, Prada—all places I never thought I'd shop at. I've walked past them countless times over the years, but I've never let myself step inside any of them. No sense looking at what you’ll never own, right?

  "Hey, girl, I started shopping already," Natalie says cheerily. "I've got a bunch of stuff picked out for you."

  "Yeah, that’s awesome. I love your style, so it works."

  "Thanks to my mother," she says, and flips through bright red, high waist miniskirts. As usual, her makeup and clothes are on point. "My mom should've been a fashion designer, or at least a celebrity stylist. I think she missed her calling in life. She has incredible taste and always looks fresh to death. She has inside intel on what all the new trends will be, and then she tells me." Natalie hands me a handful of cocktail dresses that are insanely elegant and scream wealth. "Let's go to the back and try these on"

  I don't care about new fashion trends, but I guess if I'm diving head-first into the sex trade I probably should. Wealthy men know class when they see it. These clients want arm candy to show off, something that’ll make other men envious of them. I can't do that with a dress from Target.

  I try on one dress and try not to gawk at the price tag. I step out of the fitting room and Natalie’s eyes roam my body for two seconds.

  "We'll take it," she says. "Next."

  Natalie says that for all the dresses and it starts to worry me. While she held true to her word and gave me ten grand for taking the Sanctuary Cove job, I don't think it's going to be enough, so I speak up.

  "Even with the money you gave me, Nat, I can't afford all the dresses and whatever else you already bought."

  She smiles at me, always so friendly and sweet.

  "I got you into this, so I'm going to set you up. It's only fair. After your first job or two, take me out, or buy me a sexy pair of shoes, and we'll call it even."

  I tilt my head to the side. "Nat—"

  "Nope. Let me do this. And I'm sure I'll want to borrow some stuff anyway, so it's really for both of us," she says like it's final, then hands me a gorgeous pair of metallic gold Manolo Blahnik sandals. There's a band of amber crystals across the toes and a thin ankle strap. Stylish. I could dress them up with a black dress or dress them down with a pair of jeans.

  I don't even know how many more shops we stop at, but I now have my own beige and black Burberry coat, shoes from Prada, delicate gloves by a designer I can't even pronounce, a flowy blood orange and deep green floral scarf dress that I'd never, ever in a million years wear, but it happened to fit perfectly and I loved it at first sight. Natalie insisted it would be good for a brunch event. Something about my dark hair and milky complexion working well with the colors. Everything is glamourous and exquisite and I'm suddenly excited to wear them. We hit Bergdorf, Saks, Tory Burch, and even some little boutiques for jewelry before we take an Uber back to the apartment since we have so many bags.

  "Welcome to the lifestyle of the rich and shameless. If we’re ever given a reality show, that's what we'll call it," Natalie says, and I laugh. "You never wear personal jewelry. Nothing that can link you back to your real life or holds personal value. When you step out of the town car, you become Valentina," she says. "You forget your real world. You’re there to do a job. It's no different than any other job, really."

  I swallow, knowing it was different.

  I take my purchases to my room and hang up the clothes as Natalie checks her phone.

  "Your phone is vibrating," she says. I reach for my back pocket and frown when I palm it.

  "No, it's not."

  "Your Valentina phone."

  My heart drops.

  I walk to retrieve the phone Madam Christine had sent over for me the other day. Swiping it open, my hand is shaking as I read the text message from her.

  I glance up and meet Natalie's gaze. Instant nerves consume my entire being and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I knew this day was coming, I just thought I'd have more time to prepare.

  "Two hours," I say. "I have two hours until my first job."

  Natalie’s bright smile annoys me. I want her to panic with me, but she's acting like a kid in a candy shop.

  "How exciting! Good thing we went shopping!"

  My eyes widen and my chest rises and falls heavily. "But it's a school night. I have school tomorrow," I say, making any excuse to talk myself out of going. I don’t think I’m cut out for this after all.

  She stares at me, blinks long, and then laughs so hard that she has to reach out to steady herself from falling over. I'm so glad my freak out amuses her. I prop my hands on my hips and just glare at her.

  "Okay," she says, trying not to laugh. "Stop being dramatic. You're not ten. You can stay out past your curfew. I asked and got approval. I promise you won't get grounded."

  I tie my hair up into a messy knot. I'm starting to sweat. "You're a dick. How come she didn't tell me sooner?"

  "She didn't want you to panic or have the time to back out at the last minute. She sprung it on you just like she does with everyone. The first date is always the worst because your nerves are all over the place. It's better this way, trust me. When I was told when my first job would be, I had a week to stew on it and it was the absolute worst. My stomach was so messed up that I couldn't stop going to the bathroom. I was sweating, I had the shakes."

  My jaw drops as realization dawns. I remember her not being able to go to class for three days because she was stuck in bed. That was about two years ago.

  "Oh my God! You told me you had the flu."

  Her blue eyes widen with confirmation. "Yes, that's when it was."

  I frown, brows pulling together. "I don't remember you dressing up and leaving."

  "I got lucky. You were with your grammy that night, but while I was getting ready, it dawned on me that I was going to need a cover story and that's how I came up with shot girl."

  I apply weight to my heels and just stare at her.

  "I can't believe how stupid I was—"

  My Valentina cell phone vibrates in my hand again. We both look down.

  "Oh, that's Christine. Answer it!"

  My fingers tremble a little but I slide the screen open and bring the phone to my ear.

  "Hello?"

  "Valentina?"

  Pulse thrashing, I can barely hear her. It's so strange being called that name.

  "Yes?"

  "Christine here. You'll have your first job tonight. I expect you to accept it."

  I shoot daggers at my best friend, who can't seem to stop smiling. My knees are shaking.

  "Yes, of course."

  "Wonderful. I’ll send all the information. Check your text messages. Going forward, text message is how we'll communicate, so make sure you have this phone on you at all times." She pauses. "You're not to bring your personal cell phone with you, and do not give this number out. Do not text or call anyone who is not me from this line. It's strictly for work."

  I lick my lips and watch as Natalie pours two shots, then snaps a pill in half. "I understand."

  "Do not bring any identification with you, you won't need it. No debit cards, nothing that can link you to your true identity."

  "I won't."

  "Wonderful. Remember the rules. I'm aware of your hard limits—I'll never pair you with someone you're not comfortable with. Whatever he wants is something you've already agreed to."

  I swallow the lump in my throat, wondering what I’d agreed to because my mind is a clouded mess and I can't remember.

  "Thank you."

  "Come by tomorrow afternoon for your payment."

  My brows shoot up and I'm filled with unjustified excitement over getting paid for sexual acts I haven't even committed yet. Actually, I don't even know what I'm being paid for, and I feel like that's something I should know beforehand, but I don't ask. I'll ask Natalie. Maybe she'll know.

  "I'll see you then."

  Just as I'm about to hang up, she says, "Oh, Valentina?"

  Dread forms in the pit of my stomach. Her soothing voice is starting to make my insides turn to mush.

  "Yes?"

  "Remember, I have eyes and ears everywhere. Don't disappointment me."

  "I won't," I respond quietly, then hang up.

  I look at the black screen, blinking, thinking, overthinking, before I lift my gaze to Natalie.

  I don't say anything. I'm too nervous. I’m not sure what to say anyway, but she's one step ahead of me and hands me a shot, then half of the pill she just split.

  I stare at the clear liquid, contemplating my life choices. I could turn around now and walk away. I could say no. I could find another job, a normal job, but instead, I find myself saying, "Spit or swallow, right?"

  We clink our shot glasses together as Natalie says, "I'll cheers to that."

  Then we throw back the shots together.

  Eighteen

  The black town car pulls up in front of the Empire Hotel, and I make a mental note to thank Natalie for her special pre-work brew. While I'm nervous as fuck, my knees aren't shaking and I'm not sweating or on the verge of a stroke.

  Before I left the apartment, Christine sent one more message listing my price for tonight.

  My jaw had dropped when I read the text.

  Eight thousand for two hours.

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