“Well, some of my friends are planning a trip to Marco Island and…”
“And you were hoping that I would fund your trip.”
“Maybe a loan?”
“Another loan? How is that elusive job search going?”
“Interior design is not easy to break into, Jackson. It takes time and I’ve been making connections. In fact, one of Madeleine Hubert’s friends will be coming down to the island with us, and she is one of the top interior designers in the city. It would be beneficial for me to go and make nice with her, don’t you think?”
I sigh at her ridiculous attempt at reaching for valid reasons for me to fund yet another one of her holidays. They do, however, get her out of my hair for an extended period of time, which is a good enough reason for me. “Send me the details and I’ll take care of it, but I’m not giving you carte blanche on your spending while you’re down there. There will be a budget to adhere to, do you understand me?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you, Jack, ah, I mean Jackson.”
“Goodbye, Camille.” I hang up before she can get another word in or ask me for yet another handout. This is ultimately what I wanted for my mother. I wanted—no, needed—for her to lose what she held most dear, the things that made her happy. I watched as she lost them all one by one, and I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say that each loss brought me more and more joy. But the true victory was achieved when she came knocking on my door, begging me for my forgiveness. Begging me for mercy, knowing that I was her only hope at maintaining any semblance of the life that she’d become so accustomed to. I needed her to beg the way that I had wanted to beg her to stay with her family but couldn’t, because even at the age of twelve, I was stronger than my mother, stronger than my father, and that was what set me apart from them. That is why I have the power that I have today.
I see my father leaving the building as I arrive home, but he doesn’t see me. He appears to be in a hurry, and the look on his face puts me on immediate alert. Something is wrong; he looked angry when he got into the back of his town car and was gone before I could reach him.
I rush through the crowded street, past the doorman and through the lobby of our building, jumping on the elevator just before the doors shut. The short ride to the penthouse suite feels longer; I can sense that something is wrong because I’ve never seen my father look that way before. The front door is cracked open, and I barely pause to push it open. Everything is quiet inside; the space looks untouched. I take a calming breath and manage to make myself almost relax… almost. A slew of suitcases at the foot of the staircase blows my calm to smithereens.
I barely register the feel of the stairs underneath my feet as I take them two at a time.
“Mother,” I call out, knowing that she’s behind whatever is happening here. Anything unpleasant that has happened here for the past year has been because of my mother and her growing unease, her sudden unhappiness, with her life.
“Mother,” I call again, bursting through her bedroom door to find her packing a small bag. “Mother, what’s going on? I just saw father leaving, and he looked mad.”
“Jack, you’re home.” She states the fact almost as if my presence is unwelcome; she looks annoyed by me. “I see your father has left this to me, as well.”
“I don’t understand what you mean. What has he left up to you?”
She zips up her bag before turning to face me. “I’ve asked your father for a divorce, Jack.” It flows out of her mouth with ease; she says it with relief like a caged bird finally set free. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but the last few years have been a struggle for me and I just feel as though I settled down way too young into a life that perhaps wasn’t meant for me.”
“What are you saying, Mother?”
“That’s just it… That right there- Mother… I am not cut out for that. I should be traveling and exploring the world. I don’t want to worry about if I forgot to sign a permission slip for a school trip or pick you up from basketball practice. And your father… Oh, he’s just the worst. All of that untapped potential and he settles for mediocrity. We can have so much more than this.” Her words are ridiculous; the things that she’s saying, the excuses she’s making, are unbelievable to me. I can hear the confusion in my own voice when I finally speak.
“So, you’re just going to leave? You don’t want to be my mom or dad’s wife anymore, so you’re leaving us?”
“Do you really want a mother who doesn’t want to be there?”
I say nothing in return; what could I possibly say to this woman standing before me who is telling me that she has no interest in being my mother anymore.
“Jack, I’m not saying that I never want to see you again, that’s not it at all. I just need some space, and once I’m settled and have things figured out, I’ll be in touch.”
I stood by and watched her zip her bag up, toss it over her shoulder, and walk away. I wanted to ask her to stay, beg her to want to be the mother I so desperately needed and the wife that my father adored with blinders on, but my pride wouldn’t allow it. I could not bring myself to grovel; not even for this woman, who for better or worse raised me because everything in me knew that she didn’t deserve it. That she never really had deserved the love and devotion we gave her, and unlike my father, my blinders came off that day. And unlike my father, my mother’s betrayal did not destroy me, it only motivated me to become who I am today.
Sage-
The walls are closing in on me fast now; I’m running out of money and I’m running out of options. The money I get from unemployment is less than I was making at my job, and it’s not even enough to cover my expenses. I had no choice but to cut the cable and Internet last week. I take my laptop to a local coffee shop every day for about an hour so that I can use the free Wi-Fi to look for a job, and I got thirty dollars yesterday by donating plasma. I nearly passed out leaving the clinic because I was so weak.
This morning, the manager of a hotel caught me sneaking in to take advantage of their free breakfast buffet. He promptly kicked me out and told me that I was no longer allowed to step foot inside.
“I can give you two hundred dollars,” says the man behind the counter at one of the many Canal Street jewelry stores I’ve been to today.
I gathered every piece of jewelry that I’ve ever owned, tossed them in a small backpack, and came here hoping that I could sell it for at the very least enough to pay one month of overdue rent.
“Two hundred dollars? There’s thousands of dollars worth of jewelry here. How can you offer me so little?”
“The price takes into account the weight of the jewelry. Most of it would be melted down anyway. That’s my best offer; take it or leave it. I have other customers.”
He’s offering the most of any other jeweler who I visited today, and desperate times call for desperate measures. I have a pile of shutoff notices sitting on my kitchen table, a handful of food in the fridge, and I don’t know what to do next. I’ve contacted every temp agency in the city, I’ve applied for every job that I can possibly think of, and still nothing.
“All right, fine.” I regret the decision instantly, but I need the money and something is better than nothing.
I leave the store and jump on a subway train heading home with a sense of sadness. Everything I sold back there were items that I had bought for myself. I’ve never had anyone buy me jewelry before, so once I started working when I turned eighteen, I decided that I would treat myself to one piece of jewelry every year. It became somewhat of a tradition, and now it’s all gone.
I head straight to my bedroom and lie down on the lumpy mattress once I make it home. I could always leave and go back to where I came from. The thing is, if I go home to Indiana, my life might just be worse than it is now. But if I stay put in New York¸ all signs are pointing to the possibility that I’ll end up homeless. Like literally without a roof over my head, nowhere to go, and responsibilities that are not going to go away. No. I can’t go home; I�
��d rather go to a shelter than go back there.
Think, Sage…
The idea pops in my head like an unwelcome guest, but once it’s there, it takes flight. Could I really be that desperate… could I really allow myself to go to that place? I pull my purse off the nightstand and dig in the front pocket until I feel the tiny piece of paper in my hand. I pull out the business card that I reluctantly took just a few weeks ago. Victoria Powell, I say to myself as I stare down at her card. It feels like a lead weight in my hand. I know that it’s wrong even to contemplate this, and I’m probably going straight to hell, but what else am I supposed to do?
Victoria said that I’d have just one client; just see one man until he decides to cancel his contract. If I think about it, she did make a good point—how is this any different from dating, or from being in any other monogamous relationship? Okay, so we won’t be going to candlelight dinners together or catching a matinee. But wouldn’t sleeping with one man in order to keep a roof over my head be worth that kind of tradeoff? I might hate myself in the end, but at this point, I honestly have no other viable options. It’s not like my phone is ringing off the hook with job offers. No. The truth of the matter is, according to the notice waiting on my door when I got home, I’m only weeks away from eviction. If I have any hope of saving myself from that fate, I have to act now.
I don’t give myself time to think about it before I dial the number on the card. She answers on the second ring, her voice like silk, and I know that life as I know it is about to come to a disastrous end.
***
I bypass the hotel’s front desk and head straight to the elevator bay, hitting the button for the 25th floor as directed. I wasn’t given much information when I met Victoria to fill out my paperwork and sign the contract—just that I’m supposed to be meeting a Mr. Stone. I lean against the wall and rest my head back, the tension in my body making it more of a struggle to breathe. I can still back out. There’s time for me to figure out another way; there must be some other way for me to make ends meet. There has to be an easier way to save myself from eviction. This is what I tell myself as the elevator dings past each floor, like a countdown to my execution. There is no other way, though. I know that any type of public assistance would take months to set up. The wait lists are long—I should know, I’m on them all, and I’ve wracked my brain trying to think of other options. I’m tired of thinking now, tired of the constant worry and stress that my life has come to. I just need to accept it and carry on.
I’m waging an internal battle to keep my composure, and by the time the elevator doors open, it takes every ounce of strength I have to move my legs. My heart beat races double time and my hands tremble as I fight back the tears that threaten. It’s just one client, I tell myself. It could be much worse—it’s not like I’m standing on the street corner. This is completely upscale. Just one client at a time, that’s what the contract that I signed states. A contract that reads like any other with a lot of hidden meanings in it. The client can’t touch you in any manner that makes you feel uncomfortable—meaning he can fuck you, he just can’t smack your ass if you don’t want him to. I can refuse to kiss if I want, and I can say no to anal or any other kinky shit he might want me to do; everything is contractual. If I just think of it as a booty call, I’ll be okay. Just the kind of booty call you are paid for. Oh, my God, this is bad. This is so bad. Have things really come this far? Are they really that far gone that I would consider selling my body to a complete stranger? But it’s a paycheck—a constant, steady paycheck that I can rely on every single week. There are no other options; this is the only one. Going back home would be worse than this.
I follow the arrows pointing in the direction of room 2524, taking slow, unsteady steps in a sad attempt at prolonging the inevitable. This is happening; I’ve made my choice, and now I have to stick to it. There’s too much at stake, too much for me to lose, so I’ll do what I have to do in order to survive.
I stand for a moment in front of the door. It’s a door like any other, but this one will have a significant impact on my life, adding a permanent blemish to my soul, and another crack in my heart. I stand here hating my life, hating every stroke of bad luck, every bad decision and wrong turn that has brought me to this place in time. A place where my options have been stripped away, leaving me only with this one. I steel my spine and gently rap on the door. Seconds later, the door thrusts open and I come face to face with the most intoxicating man I’ve ever seen. I can only assume that he’s Mr. Stone. His hazel eyes pierce through me, keeping me frozen in my spot. My eyes travel up, taking in his chiseled features—unmarred tan skin, a perfectly sloped nose, and square jaw draw me in. He’s the kind of man you could stare at forever and know that you’ll never tire of him. You’d never look at anyone else, want for something more, because based on his looks alone, he is the epitome of perfection.
I gather my nerves, come unstuck, and offer him my hand. He stares at me for a moment, ignores my outstretched hand, and moves away from the door.
“Come in,” he commands gruffly, giving me his back. I take a breath and follow him into the room, silently closing the door behind me.
“Hi, I’m Meadow,” I say on a shaky breath. Victoria gave me the name; she said that part of the contract was keeping my anonymity. It’s one of the rules that she has in place to protect her employees.
I stand and watch him as he strides over to the bar and pours himself a drink.
“Can I get you something?” he asks, never looking up at me.
“No, thank you. I assume you’re Mr. Stone.”
“Yes. Jackson Stone.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
He strolls out from behind the bar and comes to stand just a few feet away from me.
“You look different from your picture. Not as slender as I’d thought.”
My cheeks flush from embarrassment as I look down at my shoes, unable to make eye contact. He polishes off his drink and sets his glass down on a nearby end table.
“I suppose you’ll do,” he snaps, making me flinch a little. “Take off your clothes,” he commands.
My head snaps up, taking him in again. Jesus, does he have to be this gorgeous? His looks intimidate me and make me feel even more inadequate. I’m not used to interacting with men like him—obviously rich, suited up, and perfectly groomed. His looks scream money and mine… well, mine leave a lot to be desired. The agency provided my outfit today; it’s nothing like I would normally wear. A short skirt that leaves little to the imagination and a button-down shirt that’s mostly buttoned down. I feel completely ridiculous and my interactions with him so far have not helped that at all.
“I’m sorry?” I ask finding my voice.
“I said take off your clothes. I don’t have all night and I’d like to get this over with, see if this arrangement is going to work for me or not.”
“I…I just thought we might talk first, get to know each other a little before.”
“Get to know each other? This isn’t a date; you’re here for one purpose and one purpose only. You can either do as you’re told or get out.”
His bluntness catches me off guard; this isn’t how I anticipated any of this going down.
“No. No, please,” I answer quickly. I can’t fuck this up. The agency was very explicit that I would not get another chance. “I, I can do this,” I say nodding my head like an idiot.
He tilts his head, assessing me with his cold dark eyes once again. “Have you not done this before?”
Shit. He’s not supposed to know that this is my first time. Per his request, I’m supposed to be an experienced girl. He did not want to deal with someone who might be nervous or have second thoughts. Someone who might have an emotional breakdown. Someone like me. You’d think that I am a fucking virgin with the way my body is trembling. I know that I need to get control over the situation or I’ll be back to square one. Victoria made it very clear that the only reason I was sent was because all of the experi
enced girls either were taken or didn’t fit the profile that he was looking for. In fact, I was the only one to fit the description of what he wanted.
“No… I mean yes,” I stutter.
“Fuck.” He sighs in frustration, points to the door, and booms, “Get out.”
I take a step closer, shaking my head frantically to show my desperation, unable to hide the lone tear that falls free and not caring one bit. “No, please.”
“I like willing partners; tears kill the hard on.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, quickly swiping my cheek for the moisture left behind.
“I do not have time for this shit; get out now.” I can tell that he’s not the kind of man who you should cross, not the kind of man who you should piss off, but I think about everything that I have to lose if this doesn’t work. The debt I carry is more important than how badly I feel right now.
“I can’t lose this job, and if I leave here now with an angry, unsatisfied client then I’m going to get fired.”
“That’s not my problem,” he scoffs, looking at me with menacing eyes.
I square my shoulders and mimic his stance. It’s become a standoff—one that I can’t afford to lose. If I leave here now, my life as I know it is over. It’s over either way I go, but if I leave now, I’ll be homeless in days, having lost everything I’ve fought so hard to keep. I can’t let this asshole be the reason that I lose it all. I wipe the weak, scared look off my face and steel my spine. I look him dead in the eyes and say a silent prayer of forgiveness at the same moment that I grab the hem of my shirt and strip it off, tossing it on the floor. He looks unimpressed, disinterested even. He wants me to think that he doesn’t care that I’m stripping for him, but I know better. He’s a man, like any other, and if I show him that I’m willing, he will take what I’m offering. It’s only for a split second, but I’m almost positive that I see his eyes heat over with lust. If I can just get through the next few minutes, I know that he won’t turn me away.
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