I'm totally joking, but he seems taken aback by my comment.
Oh well.
* * *
"You have three options," Daniel says.
It’s Friday night and I’m not really looking forward to a dinner date after my last-minute Valentina job. I can still smell the distinctive scent of cocaine that dusts my breasts. Sweet and a little floral—no chemical smell. The client licked off the remnants so there shouldn't be any left, but I can still smell it. He was an easy wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, let-me-snort-some-rails-off-your-body-while-I-come quickie. He kept offering me lines to do off his dick, but I declined politely. He seemed to enjoy every second of my time he bought and came four times in that hour. I didn’t even come once. I just couldn't get off.
Christine had texted me earlier in the afternoon. One hour, six thousand dollars. How could I say no?
"We could go to a nice candlelit restaurant and order a bottle of wine," Daniel continues as I take in his appearance.
The last two times we’ve met, he was in light green scrubs. Tonight, he’s dressed in black dress pants and an eggplant-colored, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His dark hair is messy and loose, perfect to run my fingers through.
"If you don't like that option, we can go to a sports bar and eat greasy burgers and drink beer." His eyes gleam with excitement, and dammit I start feeling it too. "Or, we can hang here and do shots, then stumble to get pizza."
"Wow, Daniel, you really know how to woo a lady," I say, my tone full of sarcasm, and I fan myself like I'm hot. "The choices are difficult. How will I ever choose?"
He chuckles and I feel it in my bones. A shiver travels down my spine as my smile grows.
"I feel like I'm supposed to go for the first option, but…"
Daniel's shoulders shift and he purses his lips. "It's respectable." He doesn’t seem too keen on the idea, even if it was his suggestion.
"I'm not really a respectable girl."
He lets out a boisterous laugh and I find myself laughing with him. If he only knew just two hours before I’d had a John’s dick deep in my pussy while he fucked me like a porn star.
"I say we do shots and get pizza. Call it a hunch, but I have a feeling we both had a long week and need to let loose."
"I like your style," he says, and turns to the bartender to order two shots of tequila.
The shots are set in front us a moment later, and Daniel boldly takes my hand and licks the space between my thumb and forefinger, then dusts it with salt.
"To new beginnings?" I suggest when he hands me a shot glass and a lime.
"To new beginnings, and those shoes you're wearing that are fucking killing me."
I grin, loving the sound of his thick, brassy city accent, and we tap glasses. We lick the salt, down the shot, and suck the lime.
Three shots in and I feel too good. Not drunk, but I'm not far from it. Daniel’s holding me to his side, embracing me while we stand at the bar and talk. I'm slightly taller than him in my heels, and while he's not built with muscle, he's not soft either.
"You smell good," I say, feeling the liquor coat my veins. "I want to take a bite out of you."
Daniel laughs and it's good-hearted. "You're so cute. Want another shot?"
"No, but you should have one."
I’d taken half a pill earlier before my job, and I'm still flying high and feeling great.
He eyes me and I'm grinning. I can't help it. When I get like this, all I do is smile and laugh.
"I have a feeling you're a bad influence. Like that one friend who is always encouraging her friends to do bad things when they shouldn't."
I give him a sly smile and pretend to zip my lips. "I don't kiss and tell."
He brings my chest to his. My low-cut dress pushes my breasts up, giving me ample cleavage.
Leaning in near my ear, he says low and deep, "What if I want to kiss you?"
His whisper sends a shiver through my body.
Instead of waiting to see if he does kiss me, I grab his face and plant a hard one on his lips. The people surrounding us at the bar roar, hollering and chanting. I smile against his mouth and Daniel's hands roam my back, stopping at my hips. He's gentle, I can tell. Breaking the kiss, I look at his mouth and start giggling.
"What?" he asks, looking confused.
"You have huge red lips slanted across your mouth," I answer, trying to contain my laughter.
He's surprised and wipes his mouth off with a napkin.
"So tell me about you. I feel like all we've done is talk about me."
"We have. That was the goal," I respond, like it was planned that way.
I give him my old nanny job details. It’s the perfect cover. If this thing between us goes anywhere, I can always say I have to babysit if Christine texts me with a job.
"I don’t even like kids," I say, then add that I'm majoring in sociology with the goals to either go into law or something related to children and families.
His eyes are filled with laughter as he watches me. "That doesn't make any sense. You don't like kids, yet you want to make a career out of working with them?"
"Well, I guess I like them, kind of, I just don't like babysitting them for long stretches of time. And it's not like I would be working closely with them if I made a career…" I stop and give him a droll stare. "Would you want to babysit someone else’s kids for forty-eight hours straight?"
Daniel grins. "Not really. Do you want kids?"
"Whoa, Daniel. We just met. Slow your roll. I'm not ready for my own little monsters yet. You didn't even get to second base."
"You're such a sarcastic ass," he says, and laughs. "Why do I have this feeling there's never a dull moment with you around?"
I playfully bat my lashes and he tugs me closer to his side again, leaving his hand to rest on my hip.
We chat about our upbringings. He comes from a large family of accountants, and I, well, what more could I say about Grammy other than she’s a saint. I learn he’s a Mets fan, which causes us to teasingly argue because I’m a Yankees fan, and there’s no better team than the Yankees. We talk for a while about everything and nothing until we get the check and he pays, then we walk across the street to grab a couple slices of pizza.
The night is fun. No stress, no pressure, just easygoing conversation that I didn’t realize I desperately needed.
I take the train back home with my mind focused on Daniel. I can’t remember the last time I had a real date and try to jog my memory. The only thing that comes to mind is my time with James, but that doesn’t really count.
James.
My heart lurches just thinking about him and how incredible that day was. I wonder if he’ll request me again. He’d wanted to create a moment to remember, and that’s exactly what he did.
I pass out the moment I get in my bed. My thoughts filled with James. Daniel. James and Daniel with me sandwiched in the middle. Mmm…
Twenty-Six
"Nat, Nat, wake up," I say softly, shaking her. "Wake up."
Natalie rolls onto her side. Her blonde hair is matted to the side of her face and she's looking at me, but not really seeing me. I think she came home after I did last night.
"Is someone dead?" she asks, her voice groggy.
I frown. "No?"
"The building on fire?"
"No?"
"A shooting or attack outside?"
"What the fuck? No?"
"Then why are you waking me up so early on a Saturday?"
"I need a day with my bestie. It’s been too long. Get your ass up and let's go."
She groans and sits up, her loose curls falling around her shoulders. She rights her haphazard shirt, but her shorts are on inside out and I laugh.
"Long night," she says, her voice like sandpaper.
"I can see. Get up and shower. I want to hang out with you today, and it's on me."
She's smiles as she rubs her eyes. I hand her weed pen to her and she takes a hit. She offers it to me, but I
"Come on, wake and bake with me."
"Nah, I'm good. I feel like I’m still high off those Percs Christine gave me."
Within an hour, we're sitting at Tipsy's, a nail salon that serves drinks. We're both sipping on mimosas while getting a pedicure together. Next are manis and facials.
"I'm glad you woke me up. I have a full week ahead of me and could use this." She smiles happily. "What's on the agenda for today?"
"I want to go shopping. I need a new winter coat and some new jeans, bras and shit. I want to take advantage of the fact that I don't have to micromanage my money anymore. Now I make enough to fully take care of Grammy and spoil myself if I want."
Her eyes light up and she smiles widely. "You know I live to shop. Working a lot lately?"
"Enough that I now have a chunk of money socked away. I’m not going to spend it all, obviously, but I need some new things." I pause, thinking. "I can't tell if Christine's still testing me or not."
I think back to James.
"Do you think she'd send one to me"—I lower my voice—"who wouldn't want a happy ending?"
Her brows angle together like she's confused. "Ah, maybe? I doubt it, though. Wait—you mean you didn't have to do anything after? Like nothing?"
"No, nothing. I tried, but he didn't want it. That's weird, right? We did kiss and it got hot and heavy, but he didn't let me take it further. Maybe he got performance anxiety," I joke.
"I mean, all men want sex, or at least a blowie, so that's a little weird to me. Maybe he just really liked your company."
I pause, thinking about our time together. "Honestly, I think he just wanted to hang out—"
"What was his name?" she asks.
"John," I lie. I don't want to find out Natalie's been with him too, or that she finished him off when he wouldn't let me. I'd rather not know. "He has red hair, like flaming red, and pasty white skin. I think he said he was a doctor? Sound familiar?"
"No, but there's a lot of clients I haven't met yet." Natalie rolls her eyes like she's annoyed, but not with me. "And a lot of them are Johns, too. They use a fake name because they don't want to get caught cheating."
"Yeah, this one had a ring."
She nods. "I had a feeling you were going to say that. They have no shame in sticking their dick in any hole. I swear, I'm going to be single for the rest of my life after I've seen how men can be while working there. I'm convinced they're all liars and cheaters, and they think they fuck like porn stars, meanwhile we’re just counting the minutes until their pencil dicks are spent and pray we don't end up with a roast beef vagina one day. They think they're God's gift to us."
I giggle when the nail technician looks up at us. Natalie looks so sweet and innocent, until she opens her mouth. We both apologize.
"We'll both be single for the rest of our lives together."
She high-fives me. "Faking an O has never been easier."
"For real," I say. I'm pretty sure I have that down now after practicing in the shower one day when Nat wasn’t home.
After our spa treatment, we do a little shopping for a couple of hours then decide to stop for lunch.
"So I went out with Daniel last night."
Natalie's eyes widen around her vegan sandwich, sprouts hanging over the bread.
"You went out with coffee guy after your job? No way."
I laugh, nodding. "I did. My client literally just wanted to fuck while he got high, so he was in and out and I was done pretty quickly."
"Nice," she says. "Quick and easy money. Do you think you'll see Daniel again?"
I shrug one shoulder, dipping a fry into ketchup. I wouldn't say my night with Daniel was earth-shattering, but it was fun and I could see myself hanging out with him again.
"I guess if he calls I wouldn’t say no. He's so relaxed and nice, and he's adorable. I think I might've been a little too outspoken for him, but he went with it. He's a doctor."
"Like every other person in this city. If you're not a doctor, you're a lawyer or stock trader."
I agree. "It's true. Or they're models and singers."
She laughs. "Was it strange seeing him after a job?"
"Not really. Is that weird? I thought I would be bothered, but it didn't bother me at all. What does that say about me?"
I fill her on the rest of the details from my date and how I lied about my profession.
Natalie takes a sip of her ice water. "What if it gets serious, though? Like what if you guys get intimate? How are you going to tell him you sleep with men for money?"
I stare at her and wonder the same thing.
The truth is, I don't know. I don't know how any man would ever be okay with something like that. Just thinking about it makes my chest hurt a little and I wonder if I'm ruining myself for anything serious in the long run.
A relationship is built on trust and acceptance, not lies and deceit.
I'm such a fucking hypocrite.
"Unless it gets serious, I don't think I'm going to tell any guy. How can I? Would you be okay if your man was selling his body?"
"You know it's not the same. Men don't get heat for things the same way women do. It's okay for them but not us."
I sigh, instantly annoyed. "I know. "
"Would I be okay with it, though?" Natalie says, musing over my question. "I guess I’d be okay with it as long as he isn't having sex for free, because then that's totally cheating."
"Do you ever get the same client twice?" I ask, curious, wondering if James will ever see me again.
"Oh yeah, when a guy likes you, he'll request you. I have repeats all the time."
I pause for a moment, panicking a little as I think about my first few clients. "Oh man, really? I hope I don't get that Hannibal guy again. He freaked me out big time, Nat."
"Girl, I already told you I can make your head spin with the jobs I've had. I never reject any of them, though, and I'll do whatever is asked of me. The money is too hard to walk away from. It’s addicting. I've been doing this for over two years now, and I've made over a million dollars. How do I walk away from that? I swear I get high from chasing paper."
My jaw drops. I blink. I stare. I'm in utter shock. Two years and a million bucks? No way. She's lying.
"Close your mouth. You're gonna catch flies in there," she says.
Lowering my voice, I lean in and say, "A million dollars? You’ve made a million dollars? You're lying. What kind of shit are you doing, Nat?"
She shakes her head. "It's not always like that. My time is valuable. You want a weekend with me on a yacht in Jamaica, where you're entertaining potential clients so you can embezzle their money and shit? Fifty grand and I'm yours."
I'm speechless. While I can see how she's addicted to making that kind of money in a short period of time, I can't wrap my head around how she's able to do the work and perform and still brush off the client's wild obsessions like it's nothing. I feel like my humanity is being chipped away with each client I’ve had so far, except one.
"How many clients have you been with?" I ask.
She looks me dead in the eye. "I don't count. I refuse to, and you shouldn't either."
"How do you not lose a little piece of yourself every time?" I ask.
"Every day when I step out of the apartment to meet a client, I wonder why Jesus is walking next to me when the Devil is right behind me."
Natalie feels the same way I do, only she disguises it better. Much better. I'm kind of relieved.
I swallow, then admit how I really feel. "Sometimes I feel like when I leave a client, they slice a piece of me off and light it on fire."
She crosses her arms on the table and leans on them. "At first I did too, but after a couple of months, it became normal for me and I got comfortable. When I get a text, I shut my brain down, I get dressed, and I become Natalia. Not everyone is capable of doing that, but high-end escorting is a lucrative business, and I want my piece of it." Natalie pauses, no shame at all in telling me how she feels. "I'd never push you to keep going, but every girl feels the same as you in the beginning. The indecision is a killer—it'll get to you—but that's normal. What you're feeling is because you're allowing the men to take a piece of you. Don't allow it. Shut that shit down. You're not doing anything different than an investment adviser on Wall Street who's about to fuck his client and take their money. This job can only make you feel negatively if you allow it to. Don't allow it. When you leave our apartment, you become Valentina. Separate yourself."
I nod my head, folding my cloth napkin and placing it near my plate. It's the indecision that gets to me every time, but then the cash is placed in my hand and I start singing a different tune. I remember that I'm doing this because I desperately need the money. It's a choice I'm making for me, and for Grammy.
"Listen, I'm going to get real with you," Natalie says, looking into my eyes. "Don't kill me." My stomach drops and I prepare for the worst. "The only way you're going to fully accept this is to recognize that at the end of the day, the harsh reality is, you're just another woman selling her body for money. Acceptance is what silences the thoughts in your head. Personally, the way I see it, I'm just being paid for the one-night stands I would've had anyway, so what's the difference? Some are just less exciting than others. I'm a whore who happens to wear Versace. So are you."
In a way, she's right. Something in my gut controlled my thoughts and held me back, and now I know why.
My biggest fear isn't losing Aubrey. I know who I am. It's having the strength to accept Valentina in the same magnitude as I do myself.
The guilt and shame of who Valentina is stares back at me every morning when I look in the mirror, and she’s why I feel filthy. If I can learn to love and accept Valentina as I do Aubrey, I'll be okay.
Twenty-Seven
The holidays always create a buzzing feel of enthusiasm in the city. Everyone is alive with spirit. The crammed streets are adorned with strings of lights, the shop windows decked with items no average person can afford. Even so, that doesn't stop the smiling faces to keep pushing forward. The hustle and bustle is exciting, and I love that the snow flurries bring a sense of wistfulness. The icy air invigorates every passerby with optimism, and when the tree goes up at Rockefeller Center in a couple of weeks and the lights are turned on, the city will come together and it makes my heart happy. Like everyone is one and equal. There's no divide. No looking down on anyone.
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