Call Me

by Gillian Jones

  Call Me

  by

  Gillian Jones

  Copyright © 2016 Gillian Jones

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the US Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Enquiries please email gillianjonesauthor@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Gillian Jones is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians or artists mentioned in this book.

  First eBook edition: 2016

  Edited by Quoth the Raven Writing Co.

  Cover design © Book Covers by Ashbee Designs

  Formatting by Paul Salvette

  About the Book

  Some know me as Chanel69.

  But to my friends and family, I’m simply Ellie Hughes.

  A university student who’s in desperate need of money. A lot of money, and fast.

  I’m about to start a new job.

  Three nights a week, I’ll be the star of your late night fantasies, bringing your fetishes and fucked up scenarios to life.

  You’ll listen to my voice while you get off on your dirtiest desires.

  Truth be told…this job makes me nervous. Regardless of the money, I don’t know if I can do it.

  But when he calls, I feel an instant connection.

  Over time, he becomes my regular, my friend, and my confidant.

  The problem is…he seems familiar…I think I know who he is.

  And if I’m right, how will he react when he discovers that I’m Chanel69?

  Dear Reader,

  Although Call Me deals with the lighter side of the sex trade industry, it is important to note that this story is fictitious. Call Me portrays this situation as humorous, sexy, and sometimes fun, however, this is not always the case. As readers, we need to realize that this novel does not show the entire truth or depth of the issues that occur within the sex trade industry, or the negative experiences that many sex trade workers encounter.

  In the story, Ellie Hughes is of legal age—which in Canada is eighteen—making her older than many of the workers that are forced into this trade. Ellie’s age of twenty-four and ability to make her own decisions makes it somewhat more palatable for her to be working in an environment such as Breathless Whispers, where Ellie is employed. Call Me does not depict the often dangerous and degrading environments in which many sex trade workers find themselves. In general, most of those running this industry in the real world do not care about fair wages, working conditions, or employee health and safety, the way the owners of Breathless Whispers—the Conrads—do in this fictional account.

  The sex trade industry operates worldwide, and within North America despite our opportunities, freedoms, and laws. Sexual exploitation and human trafficking are a serious problem and it is important that we all work together to raise awareness and overcome this issue so vulnerable persons are not exploited.

  For more information, here are a couple of websites, which include statistics and ways you can help:

  www.publicsafety.gc.ca/cnt/rsrcs/pblctns/ntnl-ctn-pln-cmbt/index-eng.aspx

  www.thestar.com/news/gta/2013/10/05/inside_the_world_of_human_sex_trafficking.html

  Jedi Code

  There is no emotion, there is peace.

  There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

  There is no passion, there is serenity.

  There is no chaos, there is harmony.

  There is no death, there is the Force.

  —Star Wars, movie

  “I write movies about mavericks, about people who break rules, and I don’t like movies about people who are pulverized for being mavericks.”

  —Quentin Tarantino, director

  “Phone sex isn’t brain surgery. It takes a few times before you get good at it, but you’ll be a Phone Sex Superhero in no time! You just have to allow yourself to play a little, too, sometimes.”

  —Greta, Breathless Whispers

  Dedication

  To my beta readers, thank you.

  For the late night reads, my crazy messages, the words of encouragement you each give me, your time, and—most of all—for giving me a chance.

  This one’s for you!

  Xox

  Call Me Playlist

  (Can be found on Spotify)

  Bad Intentions – Niykee Heaton, Migos

  Headrush – Aléatoire, Claire Ridgely

  The Hills – The Weeknd

  Feel It – Jacquees, Rich Homie Quan, Lloyd

  Sex You – Bando Jonez

  Body Party – Ciara

  Rock with You – Pleasure P, Plies

  All The Time – Jeremih, Lil Wayne, Natasha Mosley

  Glory Box – Portishead

  Pony – Ginuwine

  PILLOWTALK – ZAYN

  Phone Sex – Otis Marlon

  Birthday Sex – Jeremih

  High For This – The Weeknd

  Neighbors Know My Name – Trey Songz

  Smack That – Dirty – Akon, Eminem

  Sexy Can I feat. Yung Berg – Ray J

  I’m a Slave 4 U – Britney Spears

  S&M – Rihanna

  Ride – SoMo

  Confident – Justin Bieber, Chance The Rapper

  Nice & Slow – Usher

  Tonight (Best You Ever Had) – John Legend, Ludacris

  World In My Eyes – 7” Version – Depeche Mode

  Is This Love – Corinne Bailey Rae

  Makin’ Good Love – Avant

  Any Time, Any Place – Janet Jackson

  Call My Name – Morgan James

  Lose Control – Ledisi

  Lullaby – The Cure

  Strangers on a Train – Nathaniel Merriweather, Mike Patton, Jennifer Charles, Kid Koala, Dan The Automator

  Je t’aime moi non plus – Serge Gainsbourg, Jane Birkin

  Porn Star – August Alsina

  Kisses Down Low – Kelly Rowland

  Need You Tonight – INXS

  Vindicated – Dashboard Confessional

  Work from Home – Fifth Harmony, Ty Dolla $ign

  Sex – Cheat Codes, Kris Kross Amsterdam

  Don’t Let Me Down – Hardwell & Sephyx Remix – The Chainsmokers, Daya, Hardwell, Sephyx

  Might Not – Belly, The Weeknd

  River – Bishop Briggs

  Talking Body – Tove Lo

  High For This – The Weeknd

  In Your Room – 2006 Remastered Version Zephyr Mix – Depeche Mode

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Book

  Dear Reader

  Quotes

  Dedication

  Call Me Playlist

  Prologue: Ellie

  Chapter 1: Ellie

  Chapter 2: Ellie

  Chapter 3: Ellie

  Chapter 4: Ellie

  Chapter 5: Ellie

  Chapter 6: Ace

  Chapter 7: Ellie

  Chapter 8: Ace

  Chapter 9: Ellie

  Chapter 10: Ellie

  Chapter 11: Ellie

  Chapter 12: Ace

  Chapter 13: Ellie

  Chapter 14: Ellie

  Chapter 15: Ellie

  Chapter 16: Ellie

  Chapter 17: Ace

  Chapter 18: Ellie

  Chapter 19: Ellie

 
Chapter 20: Ace

  Chapter 21: Ellie

  Chapter 22: Ace

  Chapter 23: Ellie

  Chapter 24: Ellie

  Chapter 25: Ellie

  Chapter 26: Ellie

  Chapter 27: Ellie

  Chapter 28: Ace

  Chapter 29: Ace

  Chapter 30: Ellie

  Chapter 31: Ellie

  Chapter 32: Ace

  Chapter 33: Ellie

  Chapter 34: Ellie

  Chapter 35: Ellie

  Chapter 36: Ace

  Chapter 37: Ellie

  Chapter 38: Ellie

  Chapter 39: Ace

  Chapter 40: Ace

  Chapter 41: Ellie

  Chapter 42: Ellie

  Chapter 43: Ace

  Chapter 44: Ellie

  Chapter 45: Ace

  Chapter 46: Ellie

  Chapter 47: Ellie

  Chapter 48: Jake

  Chapter 49: Ellie

  Chapter 50: Ellie

  Chapter 51: Ace

  Chapter 52: Ellie

  Chapter 53: Ellie

  Chapter 54: Ace

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Follow Me Here

  Books By Gillian Jones

  Prologue

  Ellie

  Four years ago…

  I wake to my mom, Silvie, yelling from the hallway of our bungalow.

  “Ellie. Ellie, honey! It’s here, the mail. I see it. It’s a thick envelope.”

  “Okay. Oh my God. It’s thick? Are you sure?” I call back, tugging my hoodie over my head while trying to pull my arms through the holes at the same time. It’s wintertime in St. Albert, Alberta, where we live, so layering is key, especially when getting out of a warm bed.

  “Yes! It’s definitely got to be good news.”

  Thank goodness. I’ve been waiting for this envelope for months. I didn’t get early acceptance like my friend Courtney, but it looks like I’ve been accepted, and that’s all that matters.

  Racing down the stairs of our small home, I run right into my mom’s open arms. Looking over her shoulder out the living room window, I think I can see snow falling off the tree branches at the sound of our happy screams.

  “I’m going to miss my girl all the way out there in Toronto. The house is going to feel so empty with just me here,” she says, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

  “I’ll visit and you’ll visit,” I say, although I know we won’t be able to afford that. “It’s only four years, and it’ll go by fast. That’s if I’ve even received the sports scholarship. We already know we can’t afford for me to go all that way without it.” I give her a squeeze.

  “I know, honey. I’m just being a mom. I’m so proud of you. I have a good feeling, Ellie. Open it. You’ll be in and you’ll get that scholarship. You’re an excellent runner. You’ve been accepted to all of the other six universities you applied to, with athletic scholarships. There’s no way the University of Toronto will let you pass them by. They’ll want you.”

  She smiles tearfully, and hands me the heavy envelope.

  Chapter 1

  Ellie

  If you’re a movie buff like me, you’ll know the intense emotions films elicit from you as you chomp handfuls of buttery popcorn, anxiously waiting to see what’s going to happen next. You’ll then be able to relate to how I’m feeling during this little film clip of my life.

  Think back to the last tearjerker or drama you watched. Remember when the heroine was about to be delivered life-altering news? The kind of news that would change the course of her life forever? Information which would act as a catalyst for helping Hollywood to create two hours of cinematic genius? Yeah, that movie. The one you watched with bated breath while it flickered away with conflict, tears but also triumphs, and, finally, the happily ever after you needed the star to have.

  Well, I kind of feel like I’m starring in my own version of that movie as I sit here waiting for my doctor to seal my fate. Only I’m hoping to avoid all the drama, wanting to fast forward straight to the end for the “aw, yay!” moment known by all movie fans. Hoping like crazy that I’ll get my happy ending.

  But unlike some famous actress starring in a soon-to-be blockbuster, sure to make millions, sitting calmly while a narrator explains what’s going on in an audio dub, I’m fidgeting, stressed out, and annoyed, trying my best to channel not only my inner strength but also my inner Yoda.

  ’Cause, unfortunately, for me this isn’t a movie.

  It’s the rest of my life.

  Tick tock, tick tock…

  And that right there is why I need to be a Yoda. The incessant tick tock of the damn clock is driving me out of my mind. I mean, isn’t it nerve-wracking enough to be sitting in a stuffy, overly-sterile room waiting to see a doctor? Did they really need to add the loudest clock ever? One which is taunting me, as I see it’s now fifteen minutes past my appointment? God, I hate waiting. What ever happened to punctuality?

  Tick tock, tick tock…

  “Use the Force, Ellie,” I mutter, closing my eyes and praying for Master Yoda to hear me, for him to gift me with a one-time Jedi pass. I close my eyes tight, trying my damnedest to use the Force. I need it, to make the clock crash to its demise. I’m positive there’s enough distance between it and the floor that a fall would smash it into a million tiny pieces.

  “Ellie, dear. Doctor Robinson will see you now. Please wait in Room 3.”

  Tick tock, tick tock…

  Chapter 2

  Ellie

  “What do you mean, you don’t think I’ll be able to run again?” I yelp, like a wounded dog. What?

  “Let me explain, Ellie,” Dr. Robinson says placatingly, like he knows I’m about to go off like a firecracker.

  “I’m almost positive I didn’t hear you correctly.” I shake my head in disbelief.

  I can’t accept this answer.

  I won’t.

  “Now, I didn’t say ever again, Ellie. I said competitively, and no longer for the Varsity Blues, that’s for sure. No real running, not for a long while yet. You might still be able to run in the future—but more in a more leisurely fashion than you’re used to, per se. Some light jogging…” Dr. Robinson says, bending my right knee backwards then forward again, causing a painful twinge.

  I’m sitting in his office, which is located on the University of Toronto campus. A campus where I’m both a master’s film student and star of the Varsity Blues track team. Well, I was a star, anyway, until almost nine months ago when my knee gave out at Nationals. Within the blink of an eye, my life changed, and apparently it was going to change again. So much for bypassing the drama…

  I register the doctor’s words while trying to mask the wincing his mobilization of my knee is causing. Of course, he catches it nonetheless. Dr. Robinson is the university’s best sports medicine doctor, who holds not only my knee in his hands, but also my future.

  “So, let’s do the resection surgery,” I plead.

  “The surgery isn’t a guarantee, Ellie. I’m not sure I want to risk it at this point, and it seems like your left knee might need some work too. From what I’m seeing here.” He looks down, tapping away on his iPad’s keyboard, scrolling between my x-rays and the Thomas test results. Results that ruled out a hip flexion contracture and psoas syndrome, whatever the hell they were. Apparently they are good things to have ruled out, but that still left me with a lot of discomfort in my hip and knees.

  “So fix them both. All the stats I read said there was an eighty-four percent success rate after surgery. I say we go for it. Please, let’s keep trying, at least,” I huff.

  I’m so angry right now, I could strangle the guy. The idea is actually appealing to me, so much so that I’m forced to keep a tight hold on the examination bed for fear I might reach out and choke the good doctor.

  “You’re right, Ellie. Most cases do have reasonably good success,” he says, sliding his chair over to type something in my file before reaching
for my leg again. “I’m sorry, but in your case, that resection surgery isn’t going to fix it. There’s more going on. The constant swelling, the clicking sound when I bend it—and the pain in your hip—concern me, I’m afraid. I think you’re eventually going to need full knee replacements, but at twenty-four, you are way too young for that. I hate telling you this, believe me,” he sighs.

  “But, Doctor Robinson,” I plead, “iliotibial band syndrome is supposed to be treatable. I mean, I feel like it’s getting better, I—I can even jog a bit more regularly…sometimes. Please, we can’t stop treatments. Let’s try a few more weeks and then assess it again? I’m not taking this as the final prognosis. I won’t.” I cross my arms like a disgruntled toddler, staring down at my stupid right knee, the same one he’s holding in his hands, feeling around like he has the right to tell me to quit. To give up my life. But it’s the same prognosis my second-opinion doctor gave me too, after seeing the x-rays and the MRI. A simple surgery isn’t going to cut it.

  They don’t get it though.

  I’ve been a runner since forever.

  Movies and running: those are the things that make me—me.

  I love the feeling of my feet pounding the track, that feeling of nirvana as I cross the finish line before the others. I feel like the wind, I know no bounds when I’m running.

  No. This cannot be happening.

  It’s what I live for, and they think they can take it away with a snap?

  “I’m sorry, Ellie, but I don’t think it’s ever really going to feel much better than it does now, not until you’re older and have the knee replacement. It’s been months of regular treatment—I mean, we’ve tried NSAID’s, stretching, physiotherapy, cortisone injections, and the pain isn’t easing. And you’re still feeling the pull in your hip and pelvis area. We still need to sort that out too,” Dr. Robinson says in a slight scolding tone. I assume it’s for when I tried to minimize earlier how much pain I’m feeling in my right hip.

  “I can’t in good conscience tell you to train, Ellie. Coach told me you can barely run a hundred metres. I’m sorry, but I can’t sign off to let you compete. Hopefully, you’ll be able to run recreationally one day, though. That, I am confident, will come back in time.” With that, he stands, washes his hands, and offers a sympathetic smile. “I’m truly sorry, Ellie. I know how much competing means to you. If I thought surgery would fix it, I’d say ‘let’s do it’. How about you keep up with physiotherapy and strength training, and we’ll book a follow-up appointment for six months? See how things look one last time.”