Contractual

by Alice Montalvo-Tribue

  “No.” She cuts me off with a shake of her head. “No, I mean how good are you with your hands?”

  “I’m not sure that I know what you mean.”

  “It’s very simple, really. You see, some of our clients do request massages but most want a little bit more than just the massage.”

  “Do you mean like a happy ending?” I ask on a whisper, not believing the words that are coming out of my mouth.

  “Yes. Exactly like a happy ending thing…and sometimes minus the massage.”

  “I thought that I was here for a job at a day spa…as a masseuse.”

  “Occasionally, our clients will request a massage, so your training will definitely come in handy.”

  “You hire prostitutes?” I ask flatly. Of course, I would answer an ad for prostitution. That fits perfectly with my brand of bad luck.

  “No. No. We hire escorts, Sage. Escorts who service a very elite clientele. We are very particular about who we will work with. Our clients are the crème de la crème, as are our employees.”

  I can no longer contain my thoughts as I look at her in stunned disbelief. “What does that even mean? How is that any different from standing on the corner?”

  “Corners are reserved for pimps and druggies, Sage. This is an upscale business and our employees are not used like cattle.”

  I move to stand.

  “I see that I’ve shocked you, but before you make up your mind, let me explain.” I don’t know why I sit back down, it’s not like I would ever entertain the idea of becoming a prostitute—an escort, as she calls it—for any reason. I suppose a part of me is just curious. “I think you must be imagining something seedy, dirty even, but it’s really not.”

  “How so?”

  “Every single client must fill out an application and meet certain qualifications. They are not your average men; these are businessmen, CEOs and such, who simply don’t have the time for affairs or relationships. They do, however, have needs, and this is where our service comes in. Each client is assigned one woman, only one, and for the length of that contract, he will only see that woman and she will only see him. So, you see, Sage, in essence, it’s almost like dating without the silly get-to-know-you process. Some of our girls have been here for years and have been with the same client for the entire time.”

  “And what if she doesn’t like the man who’s chosen her?”

  “If, after she meets him, she is unhappy with him, she has can opt not to see him again.”

  “I see.”

  “I mean, honestly, Sage, what’s the harm in spending your time with a wealthy man, having a great time doing it, and making more money than you can imagine?”

  She makes it sound so simple, so appealing, that even I can see how she manages to lure people in. She makes it sound more like dating than selling your body, but I would never be able to do it. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I actually went through with something like this.

  “I’m sorry, Victoria, but this just isn’t for me. I could never do it. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

  “All right. Well, if you change your mind, you can always give me a call,” she says, handing me her card.

  I politely take it and stick it in my bag knowing that I will NEVER call her back. I will never take a job where what I’m doing is selling my body, even if it is only to one man.

  “Did you ask me to unbutton my shirt so you could check for a wire?”

  “Smart and pretty. You’d do well here.”

  With that last question, I’m done. I don’t want to give her any false hope of me accepting a job here—if you could even call it a job. “Thank you for your time.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” I say nothing, just nod and follow her out of the office. “I hope you consider it, Sage. I understand that you have preconceived notions of what this is all about, but I promise you it really is a wonderful way to make money and you… well, you have a great look about you. You would attract some of our best clientele, I’m sure of it. The potential earnings for you would be limitless, and like I said before, everything that we do is contractual. You would only see one client at a time.”

  “I will give it some thought,” I say before leaving the office. I get on the elevator and lean against the wall as it descends, trying to wrap my head around what just happened. I’m in a daze the entire way home, wondering how I could have been so stupid, how I could have answered such a random ad in desperation, knowing that it was likely too good to be true.

  ***

  “Miss Turner, as you know, since we are a credit collections company, part of the requirement for employment with us is a healthy credit standing. Because of that, we reserve the right to run our employees’ credit reports randomly without notice. After obtaining a copy of your most recent report, we’ve found that your score has significantly dropped since your initial offer of employment. It seems that you have a number of delinquencies, as well as having had your car repossessed. According to this, you now have a credit judgment on your permanent record.”

  I can feel my cheeks heat from embarrassment. “Mr. Johnson, I can explain.”

  “Miss Turner, I truly am sorry, but we have no other choice. We have to let you go.”

  “Wait. What? Why? You knew my credit was less than perfect when I started here.”

  “At the time, your credit score was substantially higher, and we were not aware of the repossession. There are certain things that even we cannot overlook. Landlord-tenant cases, housing foreclosure, and vehicle repossessions are amongst those things.”

  “So, that’s it? Someone has a stroke of bad luck and you just toss them to the side? This is the only thing that I have. If I lose this job, I could lose my apartment.”

  I can see that I’ve made him uncomfortable but fuck him if he thinks I’m going to make firing me easy on him. “I’ll be more than happy to be listed as a reference on your resume. I normally don’t do that, but I do feel bad that this is happening to you.”

  I sit across from him in his tiny office, feeling like I just got sucker punched. I feel exhausted, weighed down, and unable to move physically. And even if I could get up, where would I go. Home? The home that I’m absolutely about to lose? If I had any hope at all of keeping it, it’s gone now, completely obliterated. I’m out of options and out of ideas.

  “Miss Turner… Miss Turner, did you hear me?”

  “What?”

  “I asked if you could please go back to your desk, clear out your cubicle, and log off your computer. I’ll give you ten minutes, and then I’ll come escort you out.”

  “That won’t be necessary, I’ll go quietly.”

  “It’s just protocol.”

  “Right, it’s not enough to fire someone. You have to add insult to injury by escorting them out of the building. Make their last moments with the company as humiliating as possible.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “No.” I push myself up out of the hard chair I’ve been sitting in for the past five minutes. “It’s fine. I will go clear out my desk.” I don’t wait around for any more apologies or explanations. I bypass my coworkers as I head to my cubicle, grab my purse and the few picture frames on my desk, and walk to the elevator bay as quietly and quickly as I can. There is nothing of value at my desk anyway—a few tubes of lip gloss, hair ties, hand sanitizer, and lotion. Nothing that I can’t replace or live without. Mercifully, the elevator opens immediately and I’m able to step inside and get it moving without anyone seeing me. How would I explain to my coworkers that I was fired because my credit sucks and my car was repossessed? I’d be mortified, but this is my life—this is what I’ve been living like for the last few months. It was stupid of me, delusional even, to hold out hope and believe that something would turn around for me. That I’d be able to find a way to make ends meet, but now I know that short of selling my body to the highest bidder, eviction is inevitable. I’m full of sadness and confusion. I have too much on my plate, and no one to co
nfide in, not a friend in the world to talk to. And even if I did, would they really understand? I feel like a failure, like I came to this city wide-eyed and innocent chasing a dream with grand expectations and no real grasp on reality. I certainly didn’t think that Billy would cheat on me—that I’d lose someone who I loved and then be left to fend for myself. How he could just walk away and leave it all for me to deal with, I’ll never understand. I’d never quite believed that someone could be so fucking selfish and cruel. I guess that’s what makes me who I am. My lack of understanding for the way people act and how easy it is for them to hurt others. If that makes me stupid and naïve, then so be it. I’d rather be those things than anything like the asshole who imploded my life.

  Jackson-

  “I have to say that I was surprised to hear from you, Jackson. It’s been a while.”

  “I’ve been extremely busy, Victoria. Don’t take offense, it’s nothing personal,” I say to the woman sitting before me enjoying lunch at one of my favorite restaurants. Victoria is possibly the only woman who I can have a civilized conversation with without wanting to gouge my eyes out. I met her my freshman year of college and we became fast friends, bonding over our common backgrounds. Much like me, Victoria came from very humble beginnings, and like me, she fought tooth and nail to succeed in this world. She may be the only woman who I’ve ever met who doesn’t want me for my money. Albeit, she’s made her own fortune a bit unconventionally, but who in the hell am I to judge her? Especially since I live such an unconventional existence and especially since I’m contemplating getting myself mixed up in her business.

  “No offense taken, just stating fact.” She reaches across the table and grabs hold of my hand. It’s a game that she plays because she knows that I don’t like the affectionate touches. “I get it. I’ve been pretty busy myself lately.”

  “Business doing well?” I question, taking a sip of coffee.

  She leans back in her chair, giving me a flirtatious grin. “I can’t complain.”

  “You’re being modest.” I know that she’s making a killing. The business of sex is a lucrative one—legal, illegal, or otherwise.

  “Maybe,” she teases as she tilts her head, taking as much of me in as she can. “Since when do you care about my work?”

  “Since I’ve been thinking that I may be in need of your services,” I answer matter-of-factly. It’s not in my nature to beat around the bush. I like to say as much as I can using as few words as possible. I find Victoria’s expression of both shock and curiosity amusing. It’s not often that I catch her off guard.

  “I thought you considered my business trivial. Why would you change your mind now?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever said it’s trivial, and not that I owe you any explanations, but as it is, I’m finding it more and more difficult to obtain suitable companionship.”

  “What you really mean is that you have a hard time finding no-strings-attached companionship.”

  “I mean uncomplicated companionship,” I correct her with a glare. Not that she was wrong, but I like my term better. Perhaps it makes me feel like less of an asshole.

  “All right.” She pauses, a twinge of hesitation in her voice, and I can tell that she’s choosing her words carefully. “It’s just… You do know that I’m more than available to take care of you, Jackson.”

  I lean back in my chair, not wanting to hear this now. I don’t want to have this conversation with her. “How is that uncomplicated?”

  “We’ve done it before.” She’s right. While we have enjoyed each other’s company over the years, it isn’t something that happens often, and I like it like that.

  “Yes, we have, but we’ve never made a habit of it, and I don’t want to start now.”

  She gleams at me, her killer smile the one she uses to bring men to their knees. “Fair enough. I can see where the lines might get a little blurry after a while.” She tilts her head, taking me in, assessing as she takes a sip of her wine. “Blonde, slender, Caucasian? That’s your usual type, right?”

  “That’s exactly the problem, Victoria. I’m tired of the usual type. I need something different, something other than the exact same woman in a different body.”

  “What’s going on with you?” She looks at me as if I’m a stranger, as if she doesn’t know exactly who I am. Maybe she’s right to look at me like that. Something in me is grasping for change, needing to break away from my version of normal.

  “You know me about as well as anyone does, Victoria, and you know that I grow bored rather easily. You understand that I don’t have the time for complications. All I’ve encountered, as of late, are complications from women who want nothing more than to change me. They want to transform me into something that I will never be. I need to get back to simple and easy. What can be more simple than what you provide?”

  “Yes, but you’ve made it clear that you don’t prefer sleeping with the same woman more than a few times.”

  “Different, Victoria. I want something different, and as such, I need to change how I operate. Besides, your girls are professionals, right? I won’t have to worry about them getting emotionally invested in me.”

  “No,” she sighs, “you won’t have to worry about that.”

  “Excellent. What now?”

  “Now, I do my job. I’ll narrow it down to a few possible candidates, and you’ll make the final choice. Of course, we require a blood test, but I can skip that for you.”

  “How kind of you,” I reply sarcastically.

  “I’ll draw up the contract…” she says, moving to rise.

  I hold up my hand, indicating that she should remain seated. “Hold on, no paperwork. I don’t want my name associated with your business if anything should happen.”

  “Such as?” she questions with an irritated scowl.

  “Such as anyone finding out exactly what it is that you specialize in.”

  “The contract is vague; it’s discreet enough, fronted by the massage business, but it’s in place to protect both my clients and my employees. I have to insist that you sign it, as well as a standard NDA.”

  “A non-disclosure? Really, Victoria? Do you have that little faith in me?”

  “This is my business, Jackson, my livelihood. I can make certain concessions for you because of our relationship, but I need to cover my bases. I need to protect my interests.”

  “All right, fine. Draw up the paperwork. If I like what I see, we can move forward.” I signal the waitress for the bill, needing to end this conversation altogether. I can only hope that I don’t regret this later.

  “Trust me. You’ll like what you see; my girls are impeccable.”

  “That remains to be seen.” I say it as a challenge. If there’s something that Victoria cannot do, it’s walk away from a challenge. I know her well enough to know that she’ll deliver; she’ll find me exactly what I’m looking for. Sex as a business transaction is not something that I ever imagined I’d partake in, but now that I’ve broached the subject, it somehow makes sense. It’s all so easy—a few papers signed, a selection made and done, it really does take all of the guesswork out of it. Simplifies it so that all I really have to do is show up.

  I finish my lunch with Victoria and head back to my midtown office. This office was the dream, the finish line, for me growing up. I always knew that I was destined for more than what I was, more than what I came from. My father had a brilliant mind who threw it all away as though it meant nothing. I knew that I would never let anyone or anything affect me that severely. I’d never let anyone make me lose the drive, the vision that I’ve created for myself, no matter what the cost. I’ve seen firsthand what giving someone that kind of power over you does; how it can destroy even the strongest person and cause them to lose what they think they love most when really love is only an illusion. Love, the way it’s portrayed, does not exist. Can a mother love a child? A sister love her brother? A husband love his wife? Yes. I suppose that that kind of love is real, it can be rea
l, but to the extreme that society likes to make us believe? The kind of romantic love that can conquer all? No… No, love like that does not exist; a love like that, in my experience, is pure bullshit.

  “Mr. Stone?” The voice of my secretary coming through the speakerphone startles me.

  “Yes, Liz?”

  “Mrs. Stone is on the phone for you.”

  I try but fail not to roll my eyes. Mrs. Stone. That’s fucking rich. There hasn’t been a Mrs. Stone in years, not since my mother left my father for another man, who at the time was a much wealthier man. I find it almost humorous how she reverted to the name she callously threw away when her second marriage failed miserably.

  “Put her through.”

  “Yes, Mr. Stone.”

  I pray for patience as I wait for the familiar voice to sound on the other end of the line.

  “Hello, Jack.”

  “Hello, Camille. What can I do for you?” I tap my pen on the desk counting down the seconds till one of us pushes the other’s buttons.

  “Would it kill you to call me mother?” That didn’t take long at all; it usually takes more than five seconds before the negativity and hostility begin to surface. It’s refreshing to skip the niceties and small talk.

  “You know, it just might.”

  “Are we going to end up having yet another argument, Jack?”

  “It’s Jackson. You know it’s Jackson seeing as you signed my birth certificate, and yes, Camille, I’m sure that this conversation will end in yet another fucking argument.”

  “Why do you have to curse at me?”

  “I didn’t curse at you, Camille. I cursed in reference to you. There’s a big difference. Could we please get to the point of this phone call?”

  “The landlord on my townhouse said my rent payment is fifteen days late. I was just wondering if you’d forgotten to pay it again.”

  I didn’t forget; I just like to hear her beg for it every once and a while. It’s a nice reminder for her of exactly who it is that maintains her, who it is that holds the cards now. How easily it would be to cut her off and leave her with absolutely nothing, the way she left me. A mother’s love, my ass. “Yes, I guess it must have slipped my mind. I’ll take care of it today. Is that all?”