by S. E. Law
I chuckle at that. “Legendary? What does that mean?”
“Oh, come on Pete. Working for you as a teenager, you were like a god to us. You had all the hot chicks lining up to see you. We all wanted to be you because you were dating a different girl every week.”
“Was I really that bad?”
My friend laughs, and I’m glad to see a smile on his face.
“Bad? No way, it was awesome. It’s just that when I met Julie all the other girls faded into the background.”
I think to myself. Has that ever happened to me? Truthfully, I have to say no. One of the things about New York is its multitude of women. There always seem to be more choices, and I admit, I’ve availed myself of those choices plenty of times.
Speaking of which, a slender blonde takes the stool beside me. She’s beautiful with her hair cut in a bob with severe bangs. Her make-up is immaculate, and her lips have been injected with collagen, but it’s done tastefully. She carries a signature Louis Vuitton bag and has on those red-soled heels with her designer jeans.
“I’ll have a dirty Belvedere martini with three olives,” she purrs.
“Put that on my tab,” I tell Luke, not because I’m interested in her but because this is how New York works. When an attractive woman sits beside a good-looking single guy at a bar, it’s expected that he’ll buy her a drink.
Then again, she’s like every other woman in New York. She probably saw me sitting here at the bar alone as she was walking by on her way to meet girlfriends at a trendier spot. She probably texted those friends to let them know she was going to be late because she spotted a good-looking guy sitting by himself. I know how I present: I’m a handsome man in his forties, dressed well, sipping on a Manhattan in Manhattan. I already know this woman wants me to do a tired, boring, and clichéd flirting dance with her. Unfortunately, I really don’t want to do it.
I wonder if Luke remembers our little S.O.S. number from when he worked for me. It’s worth a try.
“Luke, how’s your Uncle Stanley?”
Luke doesn’t have an Uncle Stanley. It’s our code word.
He nods with a concerned expression on his face.
“He’s good. He’s just wondering when you’re going to bring that husband of yours over for dinner again. He adores hearing Brian play the piano.”
Good. Luke remembers the S.O.S. Immediately, the woman next to me jerks and shoots me a shocked look.
“Uh, thanks for the martini, but I forgot I’m supposed to be meeting friends,” the blonde slams back her drink and exits on cue. After she’s gone, Luke laughs a bit.
“Pete, she was smoking hot. What’s up, are you dating someone seriously?”
I roll my eyes.
“No, I’m not dating anyone. I’m just tired of the parade of New York girls that all look like they stepped out of their plastic surgeon’s office. You know their agenda: be a model, find a rich husband, get a dog you can carry in your purse, all the while gossiping with friends non-stop.”
Luke nods knowingly.
“I get it. Julie grew up in North Carolina, and she isn’t a typical New York girl. She’s as beautiful as any of them, but she’s real. She drinks beer, watches basketball, and would rather wear a pair of Converse than heels. And our dog does not fit in her purse.”
I nod.
“For these women, it’s all about who’s weekending in the Hamptons and what parties they’ll be attending. I feel like every time I stumble upon a group of city girls at the beaches up there, they’re talking about who has the best fake breasts, when their next Botox appointment is, and whose husband is cheating on whom. They would all rather stab each other in the back than lift each other up.”
My friend looks sympathetic.
“It sounds like you’re having a reverse mid-life crisis, buddy. Instead of looking for a piece of arm candy to boost your ego, you’re looking for a woman with substance.”
I snort.
“We both know my ego is just fine and arm candy is like any other sugary snack. It leaves you hungry for something more substantial in no time at all.”
Luke laughs.
“Maybe, but I still love a good sugar cookie. Have you been to that bakery around the corner, SugarTime? Their sugar cookies are phenomenal.”
I shake my head.
“No, I haven’t heard of it. Maybe I’ll check it out once this quarantine mess is over. Speaking of which, I’ll take my tab, bud. I’m going to head out of here and get some sleep. I anticipate lots of calls from managers with questions about the new safety protocols for Shake Place.”
I sign the credit card receipt and duck out the front door while Luke is lamenting March Madness being cancelled with a couple of guys at the other end of the bar. Luke has always been a friend and a good businessman. I don’t know if I would have had the courage to open so many Shake Place locations if I hadn’t had someone like him at my back. Because he deserves it, I leave him a $500 tip to ease some of the strain during the shutdown. He’ll protest if he sees it, so I give him a two-finger wave and slip out the front door while he’s still at the other side of the bar.
I consider what Luke said about having a reverse mid-life crisis. Is that what you call it when you decide that jumping from one shallow, pretty face to the next is unfulfilling? And like a response from the universe, my phone rings. It’s Stella, a gorgeous Instagram model with hair the color of wildfire. I hit ignore.
As stunningly beautiful as Stella is, I’m not interested in spending any more time with her because she’s just annoying. Whether we’re strolling through Central Park or having lunch in a café, Stella spends more time posting selfies than she does engaging in conversation. She needs to get just the right angle so that the brand of her running shoes is displayed for her sponsors. She arranges her strawberry-feta-chia seed salad for photoshoots, and posts “Delicious, but I’m stuffed!” under the photo. Of course, she’d doesn’t even eat it. It’s just for show.
I don’t know who I’m looking for, but I expect I’ll know her when I see her. I imagine someone lush, sassy, and intelligent. Someone who’s about the real things in life, and not about their Instagram following, or getting as many “likes” as possible. I head home, and flip open my laptop. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a curvy girl waiting for me on-line.
3
Whitney
I wake up at four a.m. forgetting I can’t go into the bakery to get started on the breads and pastries for the day. I try to go back to sleep but it’s no use. Instead, I go to the living room to feed Apollo and brew some coffee. It’s time to put my ingenuity to work and figure out a way to pay the bills while SugarTime is shut down.
My fifth floor walk-up is pretty shabby but I’ve done my best to turn it into shabby-chic. I splurged on a new couch when I moved into this place. It’s overstuffed brown microfiber to hide Apollo’s fur, and the color pretty much hides any smudges from my day at the bakery. I have tons of colorful pillows and an amazing jewel tone afghan my Grandma crocheted for me.
I grab a steaming cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun before curling up under that afghan. The afghan is a luxurious turquoise blue with accents of peacock purple, emerald green, and goldenrod. It comforts me, the soft texture reminding me of my grandma. She’s the one who got me interested in baking. Every time I spent the night at her house, we baked something delicious. I hope her spirit is with me to guide me tonight as I look for options.
There must be some work-from-home jobs out there that I can do. The first site I hit has a ton of telemarketing positions. Unfortunately, they all want you to have a land line and a head set. Nope, no can do. I’m not looking to spend money before I even start a temporary job.
The next site has all sorts of different job listings, and I spend hours taking ‘tests’ to see what skill sets I have. Turns out I do not type all that fast compared to most people, and I’m not surprised. There weren’t a whole lot of papers that I had to write while at culinary school. We were more into hands-on wor
k, like knife skills and spice tasting.
I find a site that has opportunities to write content for the internet and I search for something relating to food. But I can’t find anything on point. I make a mental note that I should start a blog for SugarTime. At the very least, I can give baking tips and recipes and keep my customer base engaged.
I’ve now landed on the third page of my search results, which is discouraging. I want to break down and cry. As I scroll down, feeling increasingly hopeless, I see one site at the bottom called MessageMe and click on it. What is this? There isn’t much of a description in the snippet, so I just dive right into the content, hoping my laptop doesn’t get a virus.
Oh strange. This doesn’t seem to be a job site because instead of job listings, I see profiles. There are pages and pages of people with names like KandyKane and BelladonnaDream offering ‘services’. The girls are really pretty, and my curiosity is piqued. Is this a dating site? Can’t be, right?
But I need a distraction from my predicament, so I click on BelladonnaDream just to see, and my eyes go wide. It appears Bella is offering her services as a dominatrix to escort you into the world of submissiveness. Um, okay.
I click through a couple more profiles and slowly, realization dawns on me. Somehow, I’ve stumbled into the world of escorting. These girls are offering “services” at an hourly rate, although it’s euphemistically described as “partying” or “companionship.” Immediately, I pause. I’m not that desperate. I will not be selling sex. Hell no. I’d rather take a shot at those telemarketing jobs before I sell sex to save my store.
I’m just about to leave the site when I see a flashing button with text on it that screams, “LIVE ON-LINE NOW!” What could that be?
“Does curiosity really kill the cat?” I ask Apollo as he sits there licking his paw and cleaning his face. Like the cat who never leaves this apartment knows anything about curiosity.
I click on the flashing button, and a woman appears on the screen. She twists and turns, and then blows kisses at the camera while keeping up a relentless patter of chit-chat. What is this?
Suddenly, it strikes me. These are cam girl shows! There was a girl I went to Le Cordon Bleu with who did these. I didn’t know her personally, but some of the guys talked about it in one of my classes. She was using it to pay for tuition. I heard she made a lot, but then again, it was just a rumor.
My finger trembling, I decide to click on a cam girl named Willow, and a cute girl with a blonde pixie cut pops up on the screen. She isn’t gorgeous by any means, but she has some sass that makes her appealing. She’s dressed in cut off jean shorts over fishnet stockings and a very tight button-down top that makes me uncomfortably aware that she’s not wearing a bra. Hmm. I thought all cam girls were butt naked, but then again, what do I know?
Willow appears to be in a bedroom with dark bedding and candles and she is seductively sucking on a lollipop. She must have just started her show because she is welcoming viewers with names like Mike123 and Tha_Stud. She begins by answering some questions they post. One guy asks what kind of lollipop she has.
“A blow pop, of course,” Willow answers with a wink.
After that answer, I hear a few little jingles, like when you earn a coin in a video game. Willow squeals and pops the lollipop out of her mouth.
“Thank you Tha_Stud!” she giggles. “Your ten dollar contribution is much appreciated!”
What? Tha_Stud has given Willow ten dollars? Ten bucks for sucking on a lollipop? That’s interesting, and my eyes narrow as I study the screen. Willow asks what the viewers think of her outfit and she gets more money as she lays on her back on her bed, head dangling upside down off the edge, with her fishnet clad legs crossed in the air above her.
More viewers are logging on and more “coins” are going in her bank. The slot machine bell is sounding constantly, and it’s quite distracting actually. I glance at the counter in the corner, and my jaw drops because Willow has made $100 in 10 minutes! Many of her viewers must be regulars because she welcomes them with phrases like, “Good to see you again, Monster345” and “How’s the weather in Toronto, MagicMike?” Willow makes some small talk for a few minutes about the coronavirus and then eases right into some sexy flirting about how lonely she is and how she wishes she had one or more of her viewers to keep her company. She gets a lot of volunteers and even more money.
Willow gives shout outs to the guys making the biggest donations and switches to a sitting position on her bed, leaning forward between spread legs to show off her cleavage. It’s a weird position, but her breasts are practically spilling out of the vee of her top now, and at this point, the coin sounds are going crazy. One guy who evidently just made a big donation asks if she’s going to give him a reward.
“I think you’ve earned two buttons,” she says coyly and proceeds to release the top two buttons on her top.
The video game coin sounds start to get even more frenetic. Willow giggles and tells her men, “Since you are all so generous, I’ll keep going.”
Willow is a moderately attractive girl but she knows how to turn on the sex appeal. The seductive way she stares into the camera as she takes off her top has her total up to $750 in twenty minutes. I stare as I look at the counter in the upper right corner of the screen. Holy shit, that’s a lot! But then, I realize I’ve been entranced by this girl too and I’ve spent a good chunk of time watching her flirt and show her perky breasts. I shut my laptop, feeling like Alice going down the rabbit hole.
I take a few breaths to calm my beating heart. That was definitely eye-opening. Willow, a so-so looking woman, probably just made four figures in less than a half hour of work. She’s not a supermodel, but she’s flirty, sassy, and knows how to play her audience. Would I be able to do something like that?
I’m not sure. Heart racing, I try to think, but it’s hard to fully absorb what I just saw. Instead, the city is giving out free bag lunches so I put on my mask and head down to grab one. I need to take advantage of all that’s available to me right now. As I walk the few blocks to the temporary sandwich distribution center, I wonder if I could work up the courage to do what Willow does. Could it be possible?
Back at my apartment, I take my charity meal out of the bag. Eew. I know I should be appreciative, but it’s hard to muster any enthusiasm for the food. There’s soggy white sandwich bread with some sort of mystery meat and processed yellow ‘cheese product’, as they call those individually wrapped slices. There’s also an apple and a kid-sized box of milk. I’m a food snob, by my own admission. I am a pastry chef after all. Plus, I’m genuinely grateful for the free food, but I’m also disappointed that I’ve been reduced to this. I ate better while I was a student than I do as a business owner.
My phone rings and I see it is my mom. I considered spending the stay-at-home order with my parents in New Jersey, but with Dad’s recent car accident and Mom’s high blood pressure, I decided against it. I kept SugarTime open until recently, and I don’t want to take the chance of potentially exposing my elderly parents to a deadly virus.
“Hi Mom,” I answer as cheerfully as possible.
“Hi sweetie. Dad and I just wanted to check on you. Are you sure you and Apollo don’t want to come stay with us?”
My mom loves my cat. He is sweet and affectionate, whereas her cat is standoffish and rude.
“I’d love to be able to spend this time with you and Dad, but I need to consider your safety. Have you guys been staying in?”
“Mostly, but Dad went down to the food bank to pick up some groceries. They had real Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. You know how I hate the fake government mac and cheese where the cheese looks green. And we got eggs too! A local farm donated dozens of eggs to the food bank. I guess they usually supply restaurants with eggs, but since restaurants are closed, they donated them instead. We had omelets with farm fresh eggs this morning, and it was so good.”
My heart breaks. My parents sacrificed so much so I could follow my dreams and now, when t
hey need me the most, I can’t provide for them. I try to stay optimistic.
“I love being able to use fresh eggs at the bakery. I’m going to get some money to you and Dad. Take-out seems like a promising option for SugarTime,” I lie.
“You’re a smart girl. I know you’ll make it work. Don’t worry about your father and I. We will be just fine. I’m sure your Dad’s disability checks will start arriving any day now.”
Oh no. They haven’t gotten disability yet? That means their situation must be really dire. My heart starts beating rapidly, and I look down at my lap.
“I’ve got to go, Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow. Give Dad a hug for me. Love you!” I say in a fake-cheerful voice.
I hang up, feeling incredibly sad. How has our family come to this? We’re people who have always worked and pay our taxes. And yet now, my parents are going to a food bank? I’m surviving on the free lunches provided by the city? How have we fallen so far, so quickly?
Suddenly, I know what I have to do. I have to do a cam show. I saw that girl make one thousand dollars in half an hour, and if I even make a tenth of that, I’ll be happy. I have to help my family, and that’s that.
4
Whitney
I stare at myself in my tiny bathroom mirror. I’ve always received compliments on my big brown eyes so I’ve spent quite a bit of time accentuating them with make-up. I watched half a dozen YouTube tutorials on how to do sexy eye make-up before deciding on this look. I’ve contoured my cheeks and lined my lips to give myself a vampy, pouty look. My freshly washed locks are fluffy corkscrews framing my face.
“Am I really going to do this?” I ask Apollo. My cat is currently my only source of conversation. I feel like he’s judging me as he leaps from his perch on the side of the tub and exits the room.