by Corgan, Sky
“Sure,” she responds, turning the camera screen to face me so that I can see the picture she took of Dmitri Strife.
He's sitting outside on a patio with another man, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Dark sunglasses obscure his eyes, but there's no mistaking the likeliness.
My hands start to tremble as instant recognition hits me, and I silently mouth the words oh my God. I feel like I'm about to faint, my heart is beating so rapidly.
I fucked things up with Dmitri Strife.
***
I've never felt like this before, this strange numbness mixed with excitement. I push myself against the window and gaze down at my lap, replaying the night before over and over again in my head. Had I known who Dmitri was at the time, I'd like to think I would have done things differently.
This confirms that going the escort route wasn't as bad of an idea as I keep telling myself. If James gets these types of high-profile clients, then I may be able to pursue my dream of being in show business after all. It's still a stretch, but at least I have a better opportunity to make connections than I'd have just going to casting calls. I'm not opposed to fucking my way to the top. Too bad I couldn't start with Dmitri.
I practically skip from the bus stop to my apartment, feeling stupidly giddy. All of that time last night at the Chateau Silverbridge spent sulking about not being able to meet anyone famous, and I was with one of the most famous men in the world. I feel like such an idiot for not recognizing him, but seeing him in person was far different than watching him on television or looking at a magazine spread. He was every bit as nice as everyone makes him out to be. I always thought that was just an act. No one can be that flawless all the time.
When I shove my key into the door, I realize that it's unlocked. That means my roommate is home.
I throw open the door, planning to retreat directly back to my room until I see some guy sitting on the edge of her futon eating my leftovers. My roommate is passed out next to him, and there's another guy asleep on the floor with a needle beside him. Damn junkies, all of them. My life may be shit, but at least it's not that bad yet.
For the briefest of moments, I think about saying something to Mr. Douche Bag who is eating my food, but the way he's looking at me suggests that if he stops eating, he'll probably start hitting on me, so I don't bother. I let out an exasperated sigh as I step over the guy on the floor and give my roommate a scornful look as I pass her before taking my bags into my room and closing and locking the door.
In the span of a few short minutes, my good mood is completely ruined. This is my reality, and I hate it so much. Hate this life. If only I had been a better daughter, maybe my parents wouldn't have kicked me out. I'm not sure what else I could have done, though. I tried my hardest to be perfect, did everything they asked me to. Nothing could have prevented what happened.
I sit on the pile of clothes that make up my bed, cradling my face in my hands. The scent of mold and marijuana is everywhere. After a few minutes of trying to calm myself down, I stand and take my bags to the closet, hoping to keep the smell out of my new dresses. As soon as I can afford to, I'm getting out of here. That will be my first priority after paying for college and books.
There's a knock on my bedroom door, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out it's the guy from the living room wanting to come in and hit on me. I swear, Claire doesn't discriminate against who she brings home. These guys probably make the worst client at James' establishment seem like a prize.
“Fuck off.” I slam the door to the closet, venting my frustration.
“Oh, come on baby, let me in. I just want to talk,” his voice is slurred from the drugs.
“Sure you do,” I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes.
He jiggles the door handle a few times, and I instantly start scanning the room for a weapon. Anything I can use to fend him off. Depending on how persistent he is, I only have seconds before the lock gives and he makes his way inside. This apartment complex is practically made of cardboard and duct tape. Everything breaks with the slightest amount of effort.
I pick up one of the shoes I wore last night and hold it with the heel facing out. Then I stand in front of the door, shifting my weight and trying not to let my anxiety boil over into a panic attack. In truth, I probably won't be able to fight him off, but I'm sure as hell going to try.
There comes a point when you just need to give up. That's what I've always told myself. But I came here to start a new life, and that new life shouldn't include giving myself to any guy who thinks he can force himself on me just because he's stronger.
My eyes are glued to the doorknob as I watch it twist and turn.
“Let me in,” he pleads, but I don't respond.
Miraculously, he gives up with a huff, and my chest floods with relief though I don't put down the shoe. Disaster averted, but for how long? Probably not long if I plan on staying here, which I don't.
Part of me wishes I could talk to Claire and tell her not to bring these guys here, but she's an argumentative bitch, and I'm fairly certain she values herself less than I do. I wouldn't be surprised if she's already slept with both guys. That's probably why this prick feels entitled to me too.
I sit in my room for what feels like hours waiting for Clair and her other male companion to wake up and leave. It's hard to concentrate on anything else when I'm so worried about my safety. I wanted to take a nap before tonight since I really don't have anything else to do, but the last thing I want is to be caught off guard. Waking up with a man on top of you is a scary thing. It takes a moment for your mind to process what's going on, and it instantly reverts to terror.
I hug my knees and rock back and forth, praying to every God I've ever heard of for a better life, that things will eventually be okay, that this isn't destined to be my forever fate. I don't know how long I'll survive if it is. Even I have a breaking point.
***
Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, I hear the front door open and close though I don't dare leave my room to check and see if it's someone coming or going. Claire and her friend wake up, but it's not until right before it's time for me to start getting ready for work. I listen to their voices as I slip on one of the dresses I bought. It's yellow with a pleated bodice, cap sleeves, and a swing skirt. Adorable and wholesome-looking. I hope the client will like it as much as I do. I match it with a pair of white heels and then take a deep breath before heading to the bathroom.
Thankfully, horny douchebag is gone. I pay no mind to Claire and her friend, who are passing a joint between them, and close myself off in the bathroom to fix my hair into a curly updo. Then I put on my makeup, giving myself a smoky eye and a ruby red lip. By the time I'm done, I look the perfect mixture of cute and sexy.
I spray myself liberally with perfume, hoping it will hide the pot smell that's slowly making its rounds through the house. Then I take long strides to gather my things and head out the door.
“Hey, Pepper,” Claire calls to me.
I can't tell if she's greeting me or trying to get my attention, but I choose to ignore her. Talking to her isn't anywhere near as important as getting to work on time, and I know that if I stop, it will take her forever to say whatever she has to say. She speaks so freakin' slowly when she's high. And she's always high. It's annoying as shit.
This time I make the bus. I take it down to James' office since that's where I'm supposed to pick up my assignment. The whole way there, I wonder who tonight's client will be.
I'm still a little on edge as I walk through the door to James' office, holding my head high and taking confident strides to his desk. He looks up from his computer, his eyes landing on my face first, then scanning down the front of my dress. He scowls, and I feel an instant tightness in my chest.
“What in the hell is that?” He picks up a pen to point at my dress.
I wrap my hands around the bottom of the skirt, holding it out and examining it for a stain or a run or some other issue. Unable to find anything
wrong, I glance back up at him. “It's a dress?”
“It's hideous.” He shakes his head, pushing himself back from his desk. “You can't wear that.”
“But this is what I bought.” I place a hand on my hip. What in the hell did he expect me to get?
“You can't see the client like that. I won't allow you to fuck this up.” He walks past me to a wardrobe in the corner of the room and pulls it open. Inside is a row of dresses. Just a glimpse of the length and style tells me that I was way off the mark with both of the dresses that I picked out.
“Get over here.” He motions to me, and I quickly obey. James glances at my shoes for a moment before shoving his hand into the wardrobe and pulling out a light pink dress. I look at it curiously as he holds it up to me. “This should work.” He hands it to me. “Strip.”
My mouth goes dry from the command though I'm not sure why. At some point, I'm fairly certain he's going to see me naked. Hell, at some point, I'm fairly certain I'll have to sleep with him.
I set the garment down on the chair on the other side of James' desk and reach behind myself to unzip my dress. He returns to his office chair, lounging back to watch me. It makes me feel completely dirty, again reminding me of how seedy this kind of work is.
“Hurry it up. You have to be out of here and on your way to the client's location within the next fifteen minutes.” James rolls his eyes at me in frustration.
I hustle to take my dress off and put the new dress on, being careful not to mess up my hair or makeup. For not even bothering to ask me my size, James couldn't have picked a better fitting dress. It goes on like a glove, sliding down my body, the material hugging me as if I'm wrapped in silk.
It's not until I look in the mirror that I realize how exquisite the dress is. The bodice has a V neckline with cutouts and lace insets. It's sexy but not trashy. A high dollar dress, judging by the material and design. I can't help but wonder how much it cost. I admire myself in the mirror for a few moments, fidgeting with my hair to make sure that it's perfect.
James stands again and walks around his desk, stopping behind me. He reaches up and puts his hands in my hair, pulling out the bobby pins that are holding it together. It falls over my shoulder, and I silently curse at him for undoing my work.
“There, now you look somewhat worthy of being one of my escorts.” His eyes are glued to my neck, and his touch is a bit too gentle, too intimate. It makes me get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I hate the way he's looking at me. Hate the way he's touching me.
“Who is the client tonight?” I turn around, trying to divert his focus.
It works well enough. He slides his fingers through my hair a few more times before returning to his desk. Internally, I sigh in relief, thankful for the distance between us.
“Apparently, you made quite the impression last night. Dmitri Strife requested you again.”
“Dmitri Strife,” I mouth the name, feeling my heart skip a beat.
A man knocks on the door, drawing both of our attention to him. He's wearing dark sunglasses, is dressed in black from head to toe and looks like the kind of guy hired to break some legs and dump a body.
“Nathan,” James says to him, “Please take Miss Kimbrough to the client's location.” When I turn back to James, he's holding out a card to me. I take it gingerly, looking at the handwritten number on it. “From now on, whenever you leave a location, you'll call Nathan to pick you up. This is part of the way I keep track of your time. I will also confirm with the client when you left him. If you lie to me about the time...well, you don't want to lie to me.”
A shiver rolls down my spine as the meaning of his words sinks in. I feel like last night was my probationary period. Now, things appear to be getting serious. If I go out with Dmitri tonight, I'll be hooked into the business, perhaps way over my head.
It feels like I'm making a moral decision all over again—like I stepped into James' office for the first time. My eyes dance from the card to the driver, and I try not to look afraid. Maybe it's too late to back out now. After all, I have a client waiting for me. What will this guy do to me if I tell James that I don't want to do this after all?
Of course, that's not an option. I made my decision when I showed up at the party the night before. I reaffirmed it by showing up today. I need this money and this opportunity. There's no going back, only forward.
I nod down at the card before turning to leave with Nathan. He towers over me as I flank his side, quickly stepping in front of me to lead the way, opening doors like a gentleman all the while.
“It's nice to meet you,” I say as I climb into the back of the black Escalade waiting outside. It feels a bit degrading that he doesn't allow me to sit in the front passenger's seat, but who am I to complain.
Nathan doesn't respond. He simply shuts the door behind me and then crawls into the driver's seat to start the vehicle. The silence is unpleasant, only elevating my fears. This is definitely the kind of guy who does lots and lots of dirty work.
Even though I gave myself a pep talk on the way over to James' office, my nerves are on the fritz. Between the vague threat of physical repercussions should I screw up, being in a vehicle with a guy who looks more like a murderer than a driver, and thinking about spending the night with a mega-rich rock star who blatantly rejected me the night before, I can't seem to get myself together. It's going to be yesterday all over again, I can feel it.
We pull up in front of the Chateau Silverbridge, and Nathan gets out of the vehicle to come around and open my door. My stomach feels like there's a rock sitting at the bottom of it. I'm nauseous and overheated and a mental mess. I try to recompose myself before Nathan can see how much I'm falling apart since I'm sure he'll report back to James.
When he opens the door, I smile. His tan face greets me with a scowl. While I can't see his eyes, I know there's no warmth behind them. I'm nothing to him. Just a job.
“You will go straight to the elevator and take it to the sixth floor where Mister Strife is staying. You won't look around, you won't dawdle. You don't want to be late,” his words are just as harsh as his appearance. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply meekly before slipping around him to walk inside the hotel.
How in the hell does James expect me to perform when I'm scared half to death? Each step I take is unsteady. I keep my eyes forward when I enter the hotel, too afraid to even look around as I make a beeline for the elevator. I think I can feel Nathan's gaze upon me, watching me, waiting for me to screw up, even though there's not much of an opportunity yet. I'm probably just imagining it, though.
It's not until I step into the elevator and the door closes behind me that I feel a rush of relief. I'm safe for now. Safe until I call Nathan to pick me up again. Whether I'm safe afterward or not depends on what Dmitri tells James. It's scary to think that my physical well-being rests on the words of another. An angry client could lie, and I'm confident that James would take their side over mine. What have I gotten myself involved with?
When I reach the top floor, I exit the elevator and just stand there for several moments. My body is covered in a cold sweat. My heart is still beating rapidly. I look and feel like I just ran a marathon. There's nothing sexy about me.
You're getting ready to see Dmitri Strife again. You should be excited about that. He's handsome and rich and has connections.
Try not to think about the bad. Nothing will happen to you if you don't screw this up. Everything is going to be alright. It always is.
You just have to make Dmitri happy. That is your one and only goal tonight. Please him. Put all of those years of theater arts to good use. You don't really even have to fake it with him. You like him. He's a good guy.
Even though I genuinely like Dmitri, I know that I can't allow myself to get attached. Can't allow myself to feel anything. This is the life of an escort. Emotionless. Cold. Everything is an act. Everything has to be an act to keep my sanity.
I straighten out the front o
f my dress and force a smile. My body calms as my legs carry me the rest of the way to the door. I knock three times and hold my breath, trying to formulate a polite greeting in my head, something far more elegant than the night before.
Yesterday, I was a blundering idiot. Tonight, I'm a lady—a professional escort.
When he opens the door, though, all of that goes out the window. I'm starstruck, but beyond that, the realization of how excited I am to see him, not as someone famous but as a man, hits me like a ton of bricks. His charming smile melts me, and I silently hope that it's going to be another long night.
From the Author
I hope you've enjoyed Strife: Part Two. Part Three will be available shortly.
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