Dirty Prince

by Vanessa Waltz

  The unsympathetic voice on the other end told me what I already knew. “According to my records, you were granted two extensions already last month. I cannot give you a third, especially when your account has been delinquent. I’m sorry.”

  I never felt so ashamed in my life.

  There were several customers waiting behind me and they could hear every word of my conversation. My eyes were raw with unshed tears as I hung up the phone and turned to face Randy, who had a look of mingled annoyance and pity.

  “I can’t pay it,” I said in the smallest voice.

  His hand closed over my car keys. “Then you can’t take your car. I’m sorry.”

  Anger rippled through me until I looked at his tired face. He was just trying to run a business. This was my fault; I ruined my credit and was unwilling to take a shitty job to make ends meet.

  I felt like a beaten dog when I asked him to detach my apartment keys. I walked out of there and began the three-mile walk back to the soup kitchen. Maybe I could ask someone there for a ride home.

  My phone buzzed with a text message from Natalie: Are you ok?

  In the midst of tapping out a reply, I stopped. The last thing I wanted to do was burden her with another one of my many problems. She’d drop everything, rush over to pick me up, and pay for my car. It wasn’t fair to her. I wasn’t going to be dependent on her anymore.

  The first thing I would do when I got home was fill out one of those sugarbaby profiles. I needed a lot of cash and I needed it now. When I got some, I would pay the mechanic, then Natalie, and then make a credit card payment.

  By the time I reached the kitchen, the load on my mind lessened somewhat. Sure, everything was in shambles but at least I knew how to fix it. My mind was strangely clear. I knew what I had to do and I was determined to get it. My life depended on it.

  I found Shelly walking towards her car in the parking lot, and I jogged up to her.

  “Jessica! I thought you’d left!”

  “Hey! Thank God you’re still here. I could really use a lift, if you don’t mind.”

  “What happened? Did your car get stolen?”

  “No, nothing like that.” I hesitated as I looked at Shelly’s round, anxious face. I didn’t want to tell her the truth. “My car broke down, and the stupid auto shop doesn’t have a courtesy shuttle.”

  She waved me in. “Yeah, of course!”

  “Thanks so much.”

  I made small talk with Shelly as she drove me home. She told me how much everyone had loved the meal today. I nodded and forced a smile on my face. Suspecting one of the homeless smashed in my windshield dampened my feelings towards them.

  “See you next week!”

  I waved as she drove off, and my hands trembled with the keys as I entered my apartment. Natalie would be waiting and would want an explanation. The sound of the shower running made me sigh in relief. At least I could avoid her for a few more minutes. I ducked into my room quickly and closed the door.

  My stomach growled with hunger, but I ignored it. This was so much more important. The monitor lit up, and the sugarbaby website filled up the screen as though it waited for me.

  After I completed the registration, I paused over the username and weighed using a fake name. I decided to use my first name. Hell, there were so many Jessicas out there, what did it matter? I entered my height and body type. Then I realized I would need a profile picture, and it needed to be good. I grabbed a black cocktail dress from Natalie’s closet and peeked into the hallway. The bathroom door was open. I rushed inside, closed the door, and looked into the foggy mirror.

  I was a mess.

  My blonde hair looked like a bird’s nest. I attacked it with my brush, bemoaning the split ends that I found.

  I wasn’t ready for this, and couldn’t remember the last time I dressed up. I lined my makeup on the sink like toy soldiers. These billionaires probably only cared about having a hot chick dangling on their arm.

  Did I think I was hot?

  Not really. But with the right makeup, anyone can be.

  All the tangles teased out of my hair made a noticeable improvement, but it still looked dry. I squirted some of that hair moisturizer in my hands, and then tousled my hair to make it shine. I debated whether I should straighten my hair, and decided not to. I didn’t want to look too polished, and yet I wanted to stand out from all the blonde Barbie dolls listed on the website. I did my mascara and eyeliner in black. My cheeks were flushed with cold and the last thing was lipstick. I chose a red lip gloss and smacked my lips.

  A pretty, slight blonde woman looked back at me with a bit of fear. The girl in the mirror didn’t look like me. I touched my face and felt something like surprise stirring my heart.

  I walked out of the bathroom smiling, and bumped into Natalie.

  “There you are! I was getting worried.” She paused in the midst of talking and looked at me. “Wow, are you going out on a date or something?”

  She knew I didn’t really date. If I was a sensitive person, I would have felt a bit offended by the shock on her face. “No, I’m not going on a date. Can you take a picture of me?”

  “Sure,” she smirked. “Are you doing an online dating thing?”

  I faltered as she dashed inside her room to get her camera, and wondered why she was so excited. “Uh—sorta.”

  “Well, I think that’s great,” she gushed. “It’s about time you started dating.”

  My insides squirmed at not revealing the whole truth. I would tell her soon enough, but I didn’t think she would approve. “It needs to be really flattering.”

  “Well, duh.” She dragged me around the house. “Here, lean against the wall and hold one of your arms. Look down.”

  “Shouldn’t I look at the camera?”

  “No!” she said vehemently. “Models never smile for the camera.”

  I rolled my eyes. Natalie had taken a photography class in college, and apparently that made her an expert.

  “I just think that if I don’t smile it’ll make me look unfriendly.”

  “Stop talking.”

  I laughed and was blinded by the flash of her camera. She took dozens of photos, some of me sitting down on the couch, standing, drinking wine, and holding books.

  “What’s the point of this?” I whined as I held several volumes.

  She kept shaking her head at me as she took pictures. Am I doing something wrong?

  “You’re so pretty. I always thought that you should model.”

  I choked out a laugh. “Me? Model? I don’t think so. For one thing, I’m too short.”

  She said nothing, but her face looked a bit wistful as she snapped more photos. “Okay, I think that’s enough.”

  “Could you send them to me? I’m going to take this dress off.”

  I walked back to my bedroom, stripped off the dress, and pulled my jeans and t-shirt back on before returning to my unfinished profile.

  How much do I want?

  It was tempting to put $20,000, but I knew that was too crazy, so I clicked on the $5,000 − $10,000 per month tab and described myself as an aspiring editor with a Bachelor’s degree in English. I drew a blank at what else to write that would make me sound appealing. Aquarius? Adept at juggling? Can make a mean French toast from stale bread?

  “I sent them!” Natalie’s voice roared through the door.

  Her pounding footsteps grew louder, and I half-lifted from the chair.

  Crap.

  She flung open the door. “So, what is this dating site? And why isn’t your car outside?”

  Double crap.

  I bit my lip hard. “I ran into some trouble. Someone broke into my car and I can’t use my credit card, so I had to leave it there.”

  Her face fell. She squeezed my shoulder. “Ah, Jess. Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve taken care of it.”

  My heart pounded against my chest as if she was yelling at me. I shook my head. “No. I’m not going to do that to you anymore.” I turned back to the sc
reen and pinched my nose.

  “What is this?” She leaned over my chair. “Oh my God, is this an escort site? Jessica!”

  The way she said my name made me feel like something under her shoe. “No, it’s not. It’s a dating website f—for rich men.”

  She stared at me as if she’d never seen me before. Natalie’s thin arms crossed her chest as she glowered at me. “It says here that you want $5000 to $10,000 dollars a month. I mean, really, Jessica. What do you think they’re going to want in exchange?”

  “No,” I said even louder. “That’s not how it works. You go on dates with them and they pay you. It’s an eye-candy thing.”

  Her eyes shined with pity. I hated that.

  “Look, I get it. You’re desperate for money. But you don’t have to do this! I’ll pay for your car, you don’t even have to pay me back—I don’t care. But don’t become a prostitute, for Christ’s sake!”

  My cheeks burned. “I’m not becoming a prostitute. I told you—I won’t do it. I just want to try this.”

  “Why couldn’t you try something normal?” she bellowed. “I mean out of all the jobs out there, you chose this? Are you crazy?”

  The horrible sound of her screaming rang in my ears. Everything she was dying to tell me blasted out of her mouth. She was frustrated with me—and had been for a while.

  “I’m sorry, Nat, I really am,” I said in a tight voice. “But I am desperate—and I need this. I don’t have a family who will take care of me. I don’t have anyone but you. And I won’t keep doing this to you anymore. This is my fault.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “I don’t understand you, Jess. You had a whole year to find something, anything. You turned up your nose at every retail job because you thought you were above it. And then you decide to become a whore.”

  She might have as well stabbed me. Her hands flew up to her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. I could see that she hadn’t meant it, but she had hurt me more than she could have ever possibly known.

  “You had a whole year to find something.”

  The raw honesty in her voice was a bit too real for me.

  “You turned up your nose at every retail job.”

  It was true.

  The anger radiating from my body turned inward. I didn’t want to hear it.

  “Just leave me alone.”

  She tried to reach for me, but I turned towards the screen. A final furious sob and my bedroom door slammed shut. I clenched my fist on the desk and breathed deeply, listening to the sound of my heart hammering against my chest. I couldn’t remember the last time I fought with Natalie.

  There was work to do. I wiped my eyes and continued the profile. I chose several pictures showing me smiling and others that made me look vulnerable. How the hell am I supposed to know what a millionaire wants? I blew out my cheeks as I posted the profile and drummed my fingertips on the table, refreshing the webpage obsessively to see if I had any responses.

  I felt a swooping sensation as my email blinked.

  That was fast.

  Hello,

  Just saw your profile pics, your gorgeous! I’m a wealthy married 60y/o man looking for a discrete, pretty young lady like yourself ;) Would you be willing to accept $3000/month? Check out my profile and email me back.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. Nice Guy

  I shuddered and felt clammy all over. His message had been innocuous enough but I could detect an aura of sleaze radiating from Mr. Nice Guy. A sixty-year-old man looking for a discrete, pretty woman less than half his age. Gee, I wonder what he wants. Feeling a bit sick as I deleted his email, I wondered if all of the responses would be like his.

  As I deleted the email, two more popped up. Wow.

  Hiya!

  You look like just what I’m looking for ;) Check out my profile.

  -EnigmaMan248

  I clicked on his profile and saw an aging, bald man with two pretty blonde women in his arms, each simultaneously kissing his cheeks. His “about me” line declared him as The Perpetual Partier.

  More like the Perpetual D-bag. I scrunched my face in disgust. Maybe Natalie was absolutely right about this website being a waste of my time. I hesitantly clicked on the third, bracing myself.

  Good Evening,

  I am a businessman in my late twenties looking for someone to accompany me in my travels. While I cannot disclose exactly what I am looking for in an email, I believe that the arrangement I am seeking would be of great interest to you. I realize that my lack of information seems suspicious, but I would like to set up a meeting as soon as possible. I will give you $2000 to meet with me tomorrow night, so long as you sign a non-disclosure agreement upon arrival. Regardless of whether this arrangement pans out, you will receive the money. Please respond as soon as possible.

  Sincerely,

  -L

  That piqued my interest. His profile displayed a man in a business suit with large sunglasses and dark, chocolate-brown hair. I couldn’t really discern anything from the low quality picture; it seemed like he could be handsome. His pricing was negotiable and his net worth was a staggering 1.6 billion.

  Holy fucking shit.

  My mind churned. Two thousand dollars just for showing up. I couldn’t pass this up, no matter how sketchy his request sounded. I could get my car back and pay last month’s rent, but it wouldn’t be enough to get me back on my feet. I knew that he couldn’t be a hoax; the website claimed to check each “gentleman’s” bank and tax records. He was really worth all that money. My insides squirmed as I thought about it. Where would we go? Why did he want a travel companion? The questions raced around in my head ceaselessly, but I knew that I couldn’t pass up two grand.

  Hi L,

  Thank you for emailing me. I would be glad to meet you. Yes, I am free tomorrow. What time and where?

  - Jessica

  I decided to keep the email as curt as possible. L was clearly a no-nonsense guy, and I didn’t think he would respond to a sugary message. My heart hammered as his reply came within minutes. I trembled as I clicked on the new email.

  Jessica,

  Please be at the A16 restaurant in San Francisco at 7pm. The hostess will show you to my table. Please RSVP soon.

  Thank you,

  - L

  I let out a strangled laugh at his email’s clipped tone, and I suddenly felt a lot less worried. This wasn’t the tone of a guy who wanted to get into my pants. He was something else entirely, but I wasn’t sure what. Intrigued, I sent back a confirmation and he replied lightning-fast.

  See you tomorrow.

  - L

  The bedroom echoed with the sound of my nervous giggle. I closed my computer and climbed into bed. What is he going to be like? I tossed and turned in my bed, the promise of two thousand dollars alleviating my nerves. The old adage burned in my mind: if it’s too good to be true, it usually is.

  Chapter 3

  Four p.m. Jesus, there were only a couple hours left before I would have to go to the BART. The restaurant was in the Marina, far from all the BART stops. I would have to get out and take a bus.

  It was pathetic, really. But what other choice did I have?

  Finally, at four-thirty I reluctantly began to get ready. The anxiety clawed at my stomach as I painstakingly applied my makeup. I chose the same black cocktail dress. Maybe he would think that was lazy. The truth was that I didn’t have a lot of clothes for going out. I wore nude stockings because it was cold out and the city was always at least fifteen degrees cooler than the East Bay. I pulled on my faux wool coat and grimaced at all of the missing buttons, hoping the billionaire wouldn’t notice how very poor I was.

  As I prepared to leave, the front door opened and I heard Natalie came home from work, just as I was preparing to go out. My stomach was in a tangle of knots.

  I opened my bedroom door and came face to face with Natalie. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all; there were dark arcs under her eyes and I suddenly felt a rush of guilt.

&nb
sp; Her eyes roved down my body. “So, you’re really doing it?”

  “Yes.” I brushed past her, hoping my tight-lipped expression was enough not to start another round of disagreement.

  “Jessica, please don’t do this.”

  The note in her voice turned me around. “I’ll be fine.”

  Her body was still rigid. “Text me as soon as you’re done.”

  I inwardly rolled my eyes, but I knew that Natalie was concerned for me and only wanted me to be safe. “Whatever. Fine.”

  I opened the door and walked into the crisp November air. As a lifelong Californian, any temperature below seventy degrees made me instantly reach for a sweater. I tried to imagine myself in a cold climate and laughed through my chattering teeth.

  And it’s going to be even colder in the city.

  Luckily, the BART was only a few blocks away. I felt quite ridiculous as I tottered in my heels through the neighborhood. Cars sped past me with their bass raised to ridiculous levels, pounding up my legs and into my heart. I followed the distant scream of the metro and again I wondered what he would be like—and why he was so secretive.

  What if he wants to kiss me?

  I kept myself calm by imagining a two thousand dollar check written to me. It’ll be fine. It might even be fun! If anything, when it was over I could write an article about what it was like being a sugarbaby for a billionaire. God, I hated that word.

  The doors to the BART hissed open and a slew of tired-looking businessmen and women commuting from the city spilled out of the train.

  I sat down carefully on the stained seat cushions. I tried not to imagine how stupid I would feel next to such a well-bred man, probably born into money, raised by a series of nannies and teachers at his overseas boarding school. I told myself to shut up and relax, but I couldn’t help but obsess over it. I wasn’t classy. I never walked in heels and constantly stumbled. I felt like I was always fumbling my way through life, as if I had a permanent blindfold. I wasn’t graceful. I would be terrible.