Call Me

by Gillian Jones

  Aside from equality, I’ve also come to discover that Ms. Hughes is obsessed with film adaptations. That was another tangent that I thoroughly enjoyed listening to her go on about.

  “Ace, you ready, sir? Everything all right?” Jax’s concerned voice asks, jolting me out of being lost in thoughts of her.

  I run my hand through my hair. “Yeah, sorry. I thought I forgot my USB drive is all.”

  “Does she have it?” He nods towards where Court and Ellie are talking.

  “Not sure who you mean, Jax. I was just thinking where I put it last, is all,” I say, trying to deny my staring.

  I’m becoming more and more convinced that Ellie Hughes is the creator of some sort of voodoo spell that has me in her clutches. She calls to me on some crazy level that I can’t even begin to understand. Which is completely baffling, because she’s barely my type. I prefer blondes usually; ones with light curves, a more scholarly look, and a bit older.

  “Sure thing, Professor. Well, in case you missed it, the blonde and that redhead are both attractive,” Jax says, smirking.

  “I’m sure they are, but that’s not what we’re here for, right?”

  “Of course not, Ace, I was only observing. And it’s all in the Google Drive folder, no need for a stick anymore,” he says, pulling up the folder on the laptop.

  “Perfect. I forgot we uploaded it. Thanks.”

  Having spied her walking into the room affected me immediately. Sure, I looked like an idiot. I fumbled through the introductions, took longer to set up the PowerPoint presentation—my usual confidant self-wavering, all because some curvy redhead is messing with my head. Luckily, I don’t think anyone really noticed, but I noticed all right…and I guess Jax did.

  Thankfully, by the time I was ready to begin, she’d sat down with Courtney at the back where I couldn’t maintain direct eye contact. Bad enough I’d been caught off guard by her presence in FSD470B4, I didn’t need this again now. I don’t know if I can keep my composure having her in two of my classes. I’ve never reacted to a student like this before, and I need to get this under control and quick.

  Being thirty-two and in my first few years of teaching higher education, I need to be extra cautious, diligent even. On average, my students aren’t much younger than I am, leaving me to have to be careful to uphold, follow, and stay within the strict boundaries of university policy, plus the ones I’ve put in place for myself. I will never cross the line of student/teacher relationship.

  I’ve been extremely lucky to get where I am at my age, trust me I can acknowledge that, but truth be told, I’m good at what I do. I’ve earned the right to hold this position, and I will continue to keep the trust I’ve earned. I know people have taken a risk giving me this chance, so the last thing I’ll do is screw it up, especially over some student. I’ve always been extra careful to maintain my professionalism and to make sure to never put myself in a compromising position. But with just one look at her, all thoughts went exactly there: to all the compromising positions in which I could put this beautiful girl.

  Deep auburn hair, hazel brown eyes, eyes that warm my skin like the melted chocolate running in rivers in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Delicious-looking lips that would no doubt taste incredible. What I wouldn’t give to suck on that pouty lower lip, run my tongue over it, to watch those eyes as they change from an innocent student’s to ones which reflect the lust I know my touch will elicit from her. I want to test my theory but I know I shouldn’t.

  No, I know I can’t.

  But fuck if I don’t want to.

  Chapter 9

  Ellie

  Double-checking my phone’s Google Maps app, I’m happy to see that the address for the call centre (as I’ve come to refer to it when talking about my new job) is quite a bit closer to campus than I had originally thought. I can totally handle a fifteen-minute bus ride.

  But walking up the steps towards a series of floor-to-ceiling glass windows, I see nothing to indicate that I’m actually in the right place. Looking around for the marker Mr. Conrad told me I’d see, I begin to wonder if I’ve written down the wrong address. Opening the heavy glass door, I see the security desk and offer the tall, awfully sexy, dark-skinned man behind it a shy wave. I’m just about to ask him if I’m in the right spot when I see the painting of the hockey player Mr. Conrad told me to stand under. Ken Danby’s “Lacing Up” hangs on the far wall of the building. Nodding to the security guard, I make my way to stand by the painting. Not even a minute later, I hear an excited voice headed my way.

  “Welcome to Breathless Whispers! I’m Destiny, you must be Ellie,” the pretty blonde, blue-eyed woman with tight bouncing curls greets me.

  “Uh-huh,” is all I can manage, my eyes transfixed, fascinated, as she chomps incessantly on her gum, making her way to meet me in the exact spot Mr. Conrad told me I’d meet my trainer tonight. Finally, I smile, extending my hand to shake hers. “Yes, sorry, I’m Ellie. Hello, it’s…er, nice to meet you.”

  “Pleasure to meetcha too.” She pops a loud bubble, and I gawk at her again, this time taking in her pink leopard print shirt, one that matches her extremely bright pink nails perfectly. “I’m soooooo excited to train ya, you’re my first little protégé. And I’m pumped!” Destiny gasps excitedly, forcing my eyes to focus back to her face while at the same time my heart rate picks up again as I question internally what the hell I’m doing here. “It’ll be great. We’ll be fast friends, I can feel it. Trust me, we’ll be getting to know each other real good this week, eh?” she assures, and I can’t hide the loss of my smile at the images her words have me imagining.

  Letting out a laugh Destiny shakes her head. “Aw, you’re an innocent one, aren’t ya? I didn’t mean anything by it, sweets. I only meant you’re gonna hear me in action, and I’m gonna share my tricks of the trade with ya, nothing more. I mean you’re a real knock out and all, but this isn’t that kind of place, and I’m not into rugs,” she winks, gesturing to the sterile office building in which we’re standing. It’s a smaller building located in the upscale area of Toronto’s Liberty Village. I honestly expected the office to be in a shadier part of the city, but as Mr. Conrad assured me that Breathless Whispers was all about “Class, Discretion, and the Happy Ending”. I can almost see the smirk I heard in his voice the other day when he interviewed me, as I think of the double meaning on that last bit. What kind of “Happy Ending”, exactly?

  Making our way over to the bank of elevators, I shift nervously on my Converse-covered feet. This is really happening. No turning back now, I guess.

  “You ready to learn how to be a Phone Sex Superhero?” Destiny asks.

  I laugh, despite my nerves being on the fritz, because she has got to be kidding. This girl is seriously something else. Maybe we really will become friends? “Phone Sex Superhero, eh? Is that how I should see this job?”

  “Hell, yes, sweets! The shit you will do to get a client off is definitely hero work. I’ve coined the phrase and I’m making it stick,” she laughs, licking her index finger and gesturing as if she’s keeping score. The move causes me to belt out a laugh as I join her in the elevator, all the while shaking my head.

  The ride is quick. Before I realize it, we’re exiting onto the 7th-floor.

  “Come on, let me give you the tour.”

  “Sounds good, I think,” I say, while falling in step behind the petite blonde spitfire. She really is pretty, and I’m curious what her story is. She looks to be around my age, maybe a few years older. I want to ask her why she’s here, but seeing as we’ve just met, I refrain, not exactly wanting to spill my beans yet, either. Maybe after tonight I’ll feel comfortable to pry, seeing as we’ll be besties.

  Moving along the dimly lit corridor, Destiny opens a secured door with a black plastic pass the size of a credit card.

  “You’ll need this security pass to enter and exit. It’s a bulletproof double-entry door with short-circuit cameras. We use this so we can come and go twenty-four hours a day. Th
ere isn’t always someone at the desk, so this way the place is secure with the girls all holding different work hours,” she tells me, waving the card as we walk through.

  “We’ll make sure you get yours tonight. You’ll need it to get around in here. The Conrads are all about security, secrecy and selling sexy.” She lifts her brows playfully.

  “Huh, the four ‘S’s’. Mr. and Mrs. Conrad are real scholars to have thought up that sassy alliteration.” I smile at my lame joke, which causes Destiny to look at me as if I’m just as lame. “Sorry. Nerves,” I mutter.

  “It’s fine. I get it. We’ve all been there.” She offers a reassuring smile.

  “Wait.” I stop. “I thought the motto was ‘Class, Discretion, and the Happy Ending?’” I ask, confusion evident in my tone.

  Destiny walks back my way, pausing in front of me. “Shit, you really are a bundle of nerves aren’t ya, sweets? He has two mottos. That’s the motto for clients; the other is for us workers. The Conrads are very good bosses; they will do almost anything to make sure we girls are happy and protected. All they ask in return is that we maintain the ‘Class, Discretion, and the Happy Ending’, for all clients with each phone call. Don’t worry though, I’ll teach you all of this, I swear. I promise, once you get the hang of it, you’ll be asking yourself why you didn’t do this sooner. The money that you make here is incredible. I bought a condo, go to Vegas on the regular, and even have some for my savings. Trust me,” she says, opening a door simply marked “701” once we exited the glass chambered hallway.

  Walking across the threshold, I’m met with vibrant walls painted a light lilac in I would describe simply as an office. Yep. A plain old, everyday-type of office, definitely not the setting I expected for a high-end phone sex service.

  “This is where you’ll check in.” Destiny waves at a woman sitting at the desk in the centre of the room. “This,” she gestures at the immaculately dressed grey-haired woman, “is Greta. She’s the eyes and ears of Breathless. She deals with setting up all the new hires, arranges training, handles all the admin duties like scheduling, updating the website, and—most important—is our pay goddess. She also makes sure we all show up and aren’t on drugs or drinking. She also deals with any emergencies should they arise, and best of all she’s our at-work mama. Well, between the hours of 11 a.m. to 7 p.m., anyway. Unless she’s pulling a late shift.” Destiny smiles warmly at the older woman. “Greta’s been known to work the nights with us sometimes. We all think it’s so she can keep an eye on us, but she swears it’s because she likes the quiet, and can get more done after hours. But, regardless, we all love her. Right, Greta?”

  Greta nods, offering me a warm smile. “Aw, thanks, honey. You know I love you gals right back. Now, who do we have here?”

  “This is Ellie.”

  “Hi, nice to meet you, Greta,” I beam, because she makes me feel comfortable immediately.

  “Oh yes,” she claps her hands together excitedly, “you’re Erica’s friend. I’ve heard wonderful things about you, dear. I spoke to her about you the other day. No need to be nervous. It will pass. I’ll keep an extra eye on you,” she offers.

  “I’d appreciate that, thank you. I’m super nervous. I have no idea if I can pull this off.”

  “Nonsense. Phone sex isn’t brain surgery. It only takes a few times before you get good at it, and you’ll be a Phone Sex Superhero in no time! You just have to let yourself play a little, too, sometimes. Once you get over the ‘first caller’, ‘the shock call’ and ‘the make-me-hot call’, it will be smooth sailing all the way to the bank.” Greta gives me the “puh-lease” wave.

  “The what-the-what calls?” I ask, bewildered. I feel like I caught everything she said, but I don’t think I understood a word of it.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll explain.” Destiny laughs. “It’s a little Superhero humour.”

  “Okaaay,” I agree, albeit hesitantly.

  Placing a stack of papers on the desktop, Greta goes through the paperwork that needs attention. “First, I need you to sign this non-disclosure form. I’ll need your banking info, and here’s your security pass. Your call ID will be…uh…let me see, I have it right here,” she says, opening a file that’s obviously mine. “Aha. Yes. Ha. How did I forget? You’re lucky 69.”

  “69.” I repeat, confused.

  “Yes. Don’t worry. The 69 is for the administration side of things. All the girls choose their handle but we add a number behind it, which is how we distinguish you all.”

  “Right, like my handle is Destiny21, but the clients only know me as Destiny. The 21 is simply for the computer system to connect our regular callers as that’s our line number and employee number. You’ll need to think of a sexy handle too. Better have it soon because I’m hoping to have you taking a call later this week.

  “Okay. Right. Makes sense. A sexy handle. Got it.” I feel my heart pounding in my chest; I really don’t know if I’m going to be able to do this.

  “Come on, I’ll show you where the magic happens,” Destiny says, pulling my arm. “Just breathe, you’ll be fine. See ya, Greta,” she winks again as we make our way past the desk to an adjacent hallway.

  “Have fun, honey. Go with it,” Greta calls, and I turn, offering a small wave.

  “When she’s not here, you’ll check yourself in with the IT system in the call rooms. I’ll show you that tonight too. It’s easy and you’ll need to do it when you clock in and then when you clock out.”

  “Okay. I brought a notebook, I’ll write this all down so I don’t forget.”

  “Perfect. That’s what we all did, made a little cheat sheet. You’ll find you won’t need it for too long, this job really is simple once you get over the humps.”

  “I sure hope so,” I mumble, as we enter a hallway filled with closed doors.

  “How many girls work here in total, and on shift?” I ask, a bit reluctantly. I’ve read statistics, watched documentaries. I know most sex trade employers are not exactly exemplary. I know working in the sex trade industry can be a risk. I’d like to make sure I’m not getting myself into a situation I might soon regret. Luckily, from what I’ve seen and heard so far, I’m not too uncomfortable, no red flags have gone up yet. I know without a doubt that Erica would never suggest this job for me if it were one of the bad places.

  “There are about twenty-five of us girls in total. All over twenty-one, so no need to worry about anyone being underage. The Conrads own and run one of the best agencies; they make sure everything is legal and go above and beyond to make sure that we are all well taken care of,” Destiny assures me before stopping midway down the hall.

  “Here’s where the magic happens.” She gestures at the doors lining the hallway. “These are our call suites. There are twelve girls working at all times. Shifts can be anywhere from four- to six-hours long. If you’re busy, you’ll find the time flies. If not, you can do homework or whatever and wait. The goal is to be busy. Get some regulars and make bank. Otherwise, you get minimum wage and clock out after four hours. So, really, this job is what you make it,” she says, stopping in front of a door labeled Sweet 44.

  “Ha! Nice pun. Like, Suite 44. Clever,” I laugh.

  “Oh, you get it? Most girls take a bit longer. Look at you, 69!” she says, opening the door and ushering me in.

  Once inside, my nerves reach a whole new level.

  Chapter 10

  Ellie

  “Wow, it looks like a mini hotel room in here,” I say, in awe of what I see inside Sweet 44.

  “Well, yeah…you can’t expect a girl to get guys off while sitting behind a stuffy desk, now, can ya? Although, I find I tend to sit at the desk most of the time anyway. Weird, eh? Anyway, Mrs. Conrad figures we need variety, room to move, to properly set the stage.” Destiny closes the door behind us. “Told ya they treat us right,” she beams.

  I move further in, and my eyes dart around the dimly-lit, deep purple-painted room: a room with a plush white area rug laid over dark hardwood, a c
omfy looking chaise complete with side table, a large cherry desk with two rolling chairs, a small fridge tucked into the corner beside the desk, and a large flat-screen TV mounted to the wall.

  The décor is not what I expected, at all.

  “I guess. I hadn’t thought about it. I think I assumed it would look like a typical call centre, you know, with cubicles…” I shrug, still taken aback by how comfortable I feel standing in the room where I know I’ll be using my voice to get men—and possibly women—off.

  “Well, we gotta be comfortable to deliver the Happy Ending, right? Mr. and Mrs. Conrad spare no expense. You don’t become the number one-rated sex line by making the workers unhappy. Look, we even have pay-per-view!”

  “Wow, really?”

  “Yeah, but it’s only the porn stations,” she deadpans, “consider it inspiration.” She turns back to look at me, a wide grin in place. “Just kidding, you can watch anything you want,” she laughs.

  I’m glad one of us is having a good time here. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Of course, ask me anything. I’m your open book to PSO superhero-ism.”

  “Okay, well, first off: ‘PSO’?”

  “Phone Sex Operator, silly.”

  “Oh right, that makes sense. I’m a bit slow off the mark, I guess.” I laugh awkwardly.

  “Relax, 69, I’m here to help. No question is stupid. Please, ask me anything.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that. I guess the first thing I want to know is kind of personal.”

  “Honey, I get people off over the phone. Nothing you ask will phase me, trust me,” she says, waving her hand.

  “Okay. Well, do you…Have…er, I mean…” I trail off, unsure of how to ask what I really want to know.

  “Have I what? Ever gotten off with a caller? Shit, yeah, many times. Sometimes you’re so deep into the role-play you can’t help it. Trust me, we all have, and you will too, regardless how hard you try to convince yourself that you’re different,” she says, pulling out the chairs at the desk. I see a phone with a super-long cord, a cordless headset, and a computer.