Selling Out

by Amber Lin

  “I will,” I said. “I’ll quit, I swear it. I’ll find a new job and a new apartment, where they can’t find me. I’ll never…do that…“ Suddenly I couldn’t say it. I had performed the act a hundred different ways with a hundred different men, but I couldn’t say the words.

  “You don’t have to say. I know. I trust you.”

  * * * *

  Present day

  The worst part of the whole thing was that he had. He’d trusted me, and I’d fucking lied. I hadn’t meant it as a lie, but I should have known it was impossible for someone with my past to live a normal life. But there I went, wishing on another star, and this time there wasn’t even Luke’s worried face above me, just a pissed-off, anxious teenager at nine o’clock in the morning. After opening up to her, I hadn’t had any energy left—nor any desire to hear her pity. So I’d hit the sack. It looked like my reprieve was over.

  Ella wanted to talk about the past. She wanted a plan for the future. But I only ever lived in the present. It kept me from hyperventilating and was cheaper than therapy.

  “So what, are we just going to wait around until they find us?” she asked.

  Still frustrated from my dream, from my failures, I rolled over. “Give me a few minutes.”

  “You’ve been sleeping all morning. It’s afternoon now. Did you know that?”

  Sighing, I tried to rub the old hurt and bitterness from my eyes. Now wasn’t the time to mess with me, but she didn’t know that or she didn’t care. Wasn’t she supposed to be pissed at me for blowing Philip? Or maybe she was glad about it now, because she didn’t sound angry. I couldn’t keep up.

  I glared at her as the pounding in my head grew louder. “I should have left you there at that fucking hotel.”

  “I did tell you to leave me alone, if you recall. You’re the one who didn’t listen.”

  “And I’m not listening now either. Notice a pattern?”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Go fuck Philip if you want to make yourself useful.”

  She looked stricken right before she ran from the room.

  I flopped back on the bed, beating my head against the wall. Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. It had just hurt so much to see Luke’s brilliant eyes in my dream, then Ella’s with the same hopeful shine. I was failing them both.

  At least I was awake now. Self-loathing would do that to a person.

  Though it wasn’t all bad. I needed to make a visit, and illicit anticipation rushed through me at the thought. I had broken my promise to Luke, but I would still take whatever pleasure I could get from him, wring every second of his company.

  I thought about going to the club alone. Being Henri’s girl had always afforded me a certain amount of protection. But now, this time, my identity would be a secret. A lone girl in a place like that… Well, look at what happened to Ella. Instead, my disguise would be commonplace, and strung-out, drugged-up girls being dragged around by a grungy boyfriend, dealer, and occasional pimp were a dime a dozen in Chicago’s underground scene.

  Luke should come with you.

  Jade’s words kept repeating in my head, a slippery invitation to my darkest desires, excuses to cling to when I slid down, down. Besides, I reasoned, this way I could see Luke and not break down at the thought that he’d never wanted me. What had he been thinking when I’d pushed myself on him? Before, I would have said repressed desire. Now I thought maybe disgust. The whore who couldn’t even be in the same room with a man without humping him. And my actions with Philip last night proved it.

  I didn’t waste much time on regret. Why poke the base of a house of cards? And yet my situation with Ella irked me. I hadn’t really done anything wrong. Why was she even mad? That I’d slept with a man on her behalf? Or that I’d slept with the man who’d rejected her? Goddamn teenagers. I couldn’t get her hurt expression from when she’d found us out of my mind.

  Downstairs, I found Ella sulking into a coffee mug that smelled like chocolate.

  “So, did you have a good night?” I asked.

  She said nothing, glaring at her drink like she could bring it to boil through sheer force of will.

  “I did,” I said, sitting across from her. “I always sleep great. It’s a gift and a curse.”

  “Why would that be a curse?” she asked before catching herself.

  “Isn’t that the proverbial moral compass? That way I could know when I’d done something bad. Though I’d probably get permanent insomnia.”

  She snorted.

  “Hey, I know. You can just tell me why exactly you’re upset, and we won’t have to rely on my faulty internal equipment.”

  She frowned at me.

  “Lay it on me. I’ll even let you smack me around if it’ll make you feel better. I normally charge extra for that.”

  She choked a laugh. “I can’t believe some of the things you say.”

  “Believe it, baby. Here’s a lesson about lying: tell the truth. You don’t have to tell the whole truth, just the parts that work for you. Me, I hardly ever lie.”

  “That statement could be a lie.”

  “What is this, a paradox? I’m trying to be a mentor here.”

  “And for reasons that are beyond me at the moment, I’m trying to learn from you. It doesn’t make sense, because I don’t want be a…a…”

  “Hooker. Say it, or I’m going to start calling it the-profession-that-must-not-be-named, and the last thing I need is another mouthful.”

  “An escort,” she finished. “I don’t want to be one, but I still want to be like you. Is that crazy?”

  It was sweet. Humbling. And a really bad idea. “If that’s crazy, then so am I. I want the same thing, honey.”

  “So why were you there, at the penthouse? Why not just quit?”

  Ah, what a question. If prostitution was the oldest profession, then how to quit was the oldest dilemma. “It’s hard to explain.” I thought for a moment. “Did you know a spider has venom to paralyze its prey? Most people just think about the web, but it’s the venom that incapacitates them. Then it liquefies them, all before the spider takes a sip.”

  “That’s disgusting. Also, please stop being creepy.”

  “My point is, the guns and the beatings, even the money, that’s the web. It’s easy to see, so people think that’s why prostitutes stay in the life. But really they’re stuck because of the venom, the sick poison of shame and fear that we’ll never fit in with regular people again—it paralyzes us. We stay there, frozen, even knowing that we’re going to get eaten.”

  “Oh, Shelly,” came Allie’s voice from the door. “You are like normal people.”

  Something caught in my chest before I breathed it out. “This is why you don’t lie,” I told Ella. “Too easy to spot.”

  Allie dropped a box of doughnuts on the table, and Ella grabbed one.

  “Now what is this I hear about a trip to a club?” Allie asked as she grabbed her own doughnut.

  “Who told you that?”

  “A little birdie.” When I stared at her, she conceded. “Okay, Adrian may have told me about your clothes. And the fake IDs.”

  “Traitor,” I said, snatching the doughnut from Allie’s hand.

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed another. “Someone has to talk you out of it. It’s a dumb idea.”

  “It’s the only idea,” I said. “Which makes it a good one.”

  “I assume you’re bringing Philip along for protection,” Allie said, probing.

  I examined my nails, feigning nonchalance even though I’d never get it past her. “Actually, I’m bringing Luke. Or I will, as soon as I ask him and he says yes.”

  Allie’s eyes never left mine. “Ella, can you excuse us a moment?”

  “Uh-oh. It must be time for my spanking.”

  She grabbed an extra doughnut before heading out. “Okay. If I hear any screaming, I’m going to assume they’re cries of ecstasy.”

  “What are you teaching that girl?” Allie as
ked when Ella had cleared the room.

  “I think she’s been watching too much HBO.”

  “And what’s this about Luke?”

  “Yeah, you know, the detective who can gather clues and make arrests and stuff. I figure he’ll be useful to have around, since we want to get our names cleared. Legally. Philip would probably start World War III before our drinks came.”

  “Whatever, it’s always about Luke with you. Seriously, can you guys just go fuck it out? The world would be grateful.”

  “Tried that. He didn’t want me.”

  She made a sound of disbelief. “The way he looks at you, the way he talks about you. He’s into you. Big-time.”

  “Yeah, and he still doesn’t fuck me. Makes you wonder what’s holding him back, doesn’t it?”

  “Honestly? Not really, no. He’s a nice guy and all, but I’m much more concerned about you. Why don’t you just forget about him? There are other cops, other men.”

  She didn’t sound convinced, though, as if she knew her words were falling on deaf ears, and oh, they were. Other cops? To pay off so I could work uninterrupted. Other men? Other paychecks. There was no one but Luke for me. There wasn’t even him. Just me and my wanting of him.

  “Don’t you think I’d let him go if I could?” I dropped my voice. “I can’t. I think…I think I might love him.”

  “Bullshit,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What do you care about, exactly? His penchant for singing show tunes in the shower? Or maybe it’s the way he cuddles with you after sex. No, wait, you guys don’t have sex. And you don’t know anything at all about him.”

  Righteous anger flooded me, a relief really, because what the hell? “And I suppose you knew every secret of Colin’s life before you fell in love with him.”

  “I didn’t pretend to love him when he barely gave me the time of day.”

  I suppressed my gasp of pain with ruthless efficiency. I could control my breath, my body, the goddamned spasms in my cunt to fake an orgasm. That was why every man wanted me, everyone except for Luke. “I want it to be real,” he’d said. Except I’d faked it for so long I didn’t know how to stop. If I wasn’t pretending, wasn’t modeling every word, every turn of my head to elicit the proper reaction, what would I do? If I stripped away the sultry sexpot and the ruthless working girl and even the doting godmother, what would be left?

  “Then tell me.” I swallowed hard, willing to beg. “Tell me what I have to do to make him want me.”

  Her laugh was harsh, metal on metal. “You’re like some sort of man whisperer. You know what they’re thinking, what they want. You know how to be around them so that they all fall at your feet. With Luke, you’re dumb as a rock. And maybe that’s the best argument I’ve ever heard for you two getting together.”

  “I’ll make him want me,” I said grimly. “And you’ll eat your words.”

  Allie stared straight ahead, her expression closed, her body rigid. It was clear she didn’t understand me. We used to see men the same way. They used us, and we used them right back. But she was in love now, happy now, and I guess she didn’t have the black heart to keep up the charade.

  Tiredly, she said, “I’m not going to argue with you.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything.” I hated the nasty turn in my voice; I reveled in it. “You think you’ve got me figured out? Because you landed yourself a man, the only one in the city who was willing to put up with your bullshit?”

  Shock widened her eyes, parted her lips.

  “I bet you repay him nicely too. Do you give him shit if he stays out late? Nag him to put the toilet seat down? That’s what wives do, but you’ll make it up to him at night. Make him forget about all the trouble you cause, because hell, I told you what to do with your mouth.”

  Once upon a time, she would have called me a bitch. She would have put me in my place.

  She turned to me, her frown slight, more thoughtful than hurt. “You went too far.”

  The quiet words stung more than epithets. “So leave.”

  “I will,” she said, and I held my breath. “But I’ll come back. You’ll keep pushing me, and I’ll keep coming back, because I owe you my life. You saved me a hundred times over, and nothing you could ever say or do to me will be enough to repay that.”

  She turned back at the door. “You know, if it was a pride thing, I wouldn’t mind at all. The one man who could resist you, so you have to bring him to his knees. That would be fine. But I don’t think that’s it. You seek him because you know it’s impossible. You’re setting yourself up for failure, just so it won’t be your fault when you’re alone. So you can be alone and blame every asshole john and every uptight cop instead of yourself.”

  * * * *

  Inheritances are funny things. They aren’t earned; we get them whether we deserve them or not. But I had learned long ago that everything came at a price. On the first day my father came to my room, he didn’t touch me. He sat on my bed and told me that my mother had abandoned us both. She was weak, and he was strong. He hoped I would be strong too.

  He left a small velvet bag of rocks on the bed. Mostly diamonds but other types of gems too, rubies and emeralds all beautifully cut and glittering by my bedside lamp. He explained that he had melted down my mother’s jewelry after she left. It was rightfully mine, considering I would take her place.

  Only years later, when I left the house with them in my possession, did I realize that she would have taken her jewelry with her. Which meant her leaving had been an unplanned escape or that she hadn’t left at all—at least not willingly. Part of me preferred this rendition, since it meant my mother hadn’t abandoned me to a monster. But these were all stories, part of the Laurent family legacy.

  I hadn’t sold the jewels, even when Allie and I had desperately needed the money. I had preferred to sell my skin than part with them, for reasons I couldn’t quite understand. I set out in the world with both my dignity and my inheritance intact, and now I only had the latter.

  My dependence on those stones was fading, though. I could feel the weight of them lifting, their manacles unlatched. Their worth to me was measured not in blood but money—what I could buy with them. A new life for Ella, maybe. And if I bestowed the money upon her, like our own makeshift inheritance, what price would she pay?

  The large sitting room and wet bar were usually empty unless Philip was entertaining. I slipped along the wall, trailing my finger over a lesser-known Matisse. In his private rooms, Philip’s taste was spare and masculine. However, he spent a small fortune decorating the public rooms with artwork and bric-a-brac. The only style was expensive, and that was the point. I had once teased him about being so obvious. He replied that he had to be—people often didn’t see what was in front of their eyes.

  I had taken this lesson to heart.

  Nestled in a bookshelf was an abstract sculpture of a rainbow with metal rays jutting from an unpolished block of concrete. Without the muted colors on each thin pipe, this would just be a piece of construction refuse. Maybe it had been once, though Philip had paid five figures in an auction at Christie’s in New York to acquire it. I loved the way the artist had taken something ugly and made it valuable and unique—but without hiding its true nature. I also loved the way it stored my gemstones, which filled a dip in the concrete. I assumed that no one would look twice at the treasure at the end of the rainbow. Hiding in plain sight. Isn’t that what I did every day, every trick? Even if the maid had dared to steal from Philip, the rainbow statuette hardly seemed like the most valuable trinket in the room. It looked like Swarovski had thrown up on a brick.

  I had brought the stones with me when I lived with Philip. My departure had been abrupt, and I’d never gotten to retrieve them. That turned out to be a good thing. If this had been at my apartment, it would have been stuck there along with the rest of my belongings.

  I scooped them out, a handful of glittering color, my own tainted ra
inbow that I had been following for years, a hopeless quest for treasure at the end. An emerald sparkled against my palm, the same green that had gazed at me with heat and passion and distrust, endless facets of light and dark, of blind hope and a long tumble to fathomless depths. It mesmerized me against my will, held me in its thrall so that I’d never be able to let it go.

  “Find what you’re looking for?”

  I whirled at the sound of Philip’s voice. His hands were slung into the pockets of his dress slacks, his shirtsleeves rolled up. I searched his face for signs of accusation but found only a sort of sheepish tension. His dark eyes were hooded.

  Slipping the stones into my pocket, I perused the textbooks on the shelf. “Not yet. Got any recommendations?”

  He strolled closer, his distracted gaze flicking over the titles. “I didn’t think you were interested in architecture.”

  I lowered my voice. “I’m interested in what you want me to be.”

  Mild amusement lit his face. “Very pretty. Actually, your erstwhile profession is what I came to talk to you about.”

  I glanced around the large room, with its wall-to-wall marble flooring and columned door frames. “Here? I think this may be the one room we never christened.”

  “Talk wasn’t a euphemism. Come, sit.”

  Oh, fine. We had an entire relationship built on empty sex, but now he wanted to talk. I perched on the cool leather recliner while he took the one opposite me.

  He stared out the distant window, unseeing, then turned to me. “Last night, I was…hasty. I was stressed out and fell back into our routine, but I didn’t mean to have sex with you, and not that way.”

  “I’m shocked. Are you apologizing to me?”

  “No. I’m saying I should have taken the time to negotiate. Clear terms make sure everyone is on the same page.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’d like you to reconsider the situation with Ella.”

  I made a noncommittal sound.

  “It wouldn’t be as…sleazy as it may have seemed before.”

  “Sleazy is not a word I associate with you. Perverted, deranged—”