by Britney King
The danger, the risk, involved with the job itself doesn’t even touch the mental preparation it takes to get into the mindset of losing control of your body, to allow yourself to be taken in a way that makes it appear you want it, especially when you don’t.
At its essence, what I offer is a performance, nothing more, nothing less. I understand my clients in a way they may not even understand themselves. Without question, paying for sex can be very exciting. The appeal of the foreign, the unknown, the dangerous…it arouses, frightens, and tantalizes. It triggers the infantile fantasy of pleasure without responsibility, ecstasy without consequence. It’s easy. But like any drug that stimulates the nervous system, it can become addictive, and that is why it’s so profitable. I keep this in mind, always.
Matthew calls out from the living room. The iPad died. It’s probably for the best. It’s time to make it disappear altogether. If I can’t make him forget about it before Sean comes home, no doubt there will be hell to pay. But I can’t think about that right now.
“Mommy! Your phone…” His tiny voice trails off.
Wonderful.
I can hear him speaking to someone as I cross into the living room.
“Mommy isn’t here…”
“Matty?” Crap. He isn’t on the couch where I last left him. I listen closely for the sound of his voice.
“My truck is broken. The wheel fell off…Mommy can’t fix it.”
I search high and low. My breath quickens. I tell myself not to panic. But if Sean’s on the phone, it won’t look good, Matthew answering.
“Matthew?”
Finally, I spot a little foot sticking out between the loveseat and the front window. I always forget to check there. He looks up at me, wide-eyed, as I take the phone from him. When I check the screen, I exhale. It’s only Melanie. Poor kid. No wonder he looks terrified. She has that effect on me too.
“I’m sorry,” I huff into the speaker, ushering Matthew to come out. Balancing the phone between my shoulder and my ear, I take him by the hand. As I do, I see Sean’s favorite letter opener lying at his feet. This explains his hiding.
My husband has warned him not to touch it. It was a gift from Sean’s mother, one that even I am not allowed to touch. Some things are like that, so I pick it up and wipe it for prints. I realize now this only adds to my to-do list. I’m going to have to delete the footage of the last few hours from the ‘Nanny-Cams’ my husband has set up. Specifically, the footage of Matthew playing with the iPad and letter opener. It’s like deleting scenes, Sean thinks they never happened if they don’t exist and if he didn’t see it live he might as well not have seen it at all. I’m so grateful for golf in this moment. Matthew and I would have been in real trouble had he been watching live as he is prone to do. My husband likes to watch me clean. He wants to ensure that our home is kept pure at all times. The cameras are a way of making sure all is in working order.
Matthew watches me scrub at the metal, effectively erasing his fingerprints as though I’ve committed the greatest of sins. “No touching, remember,” I say and then I head toward the office to put it back in its coveted spot. I hear the phone crackling and I lift it to my ear. “Hello? Vanessa?”
“Oh, sorry…” I huff as I position it between my shoulder and my ear. I’m here.”
“What in the hell is going on over there?”
“Just unloading groceries.” I make sure to breathe in and out rapidly, feigning shortness of breath. “What’s up?”
“Jesus, V. You really shouldn’t let your kid play with your phone. You know the rules…”
“He grabbed it from the counter while I was hauling things in.” It’s interesting how easy the lie rolls off my tongue. “I think he thought it was Sean,” I say. “He really misses him.” I don’t gather that Melanie really cares one way or the other. But you never know.
“I was calling about tonight…”
“What about it?”
There’s a short pause. “It’s Saturday.”
“Yeah…”
“You do your grocery shopping on Tuesday.”
I swallow. “I forgot to add coffee to my list last week. So, I went in for one thing…and well, you know how it goes.”
“I had another proposal,” Melanie says.
“Another one? I thought you’d sworn off dating.”
“I had. And then I met someone. Someone I thought I’d like to get to know.”
“And?”
“Never mind,” she says abruptly. “I didn’t call to discuss my love life.”
Melanie isn’t that great of a liar. She doesn’t know it though. “This is what fifteen…sixteen proposals?”
“I said I wasn’t calling about that.” Her voice is angry. Properly bitter. But she likes knowing I keep count. “You haven’t forgotten about tonight, have you?”
“Of course, I haven’t. Initiation night. Once a quarter. Under the full moon.”
“It’s our way of honoring them, V. Tell me you haven’t forgotten that too.” Her voice is full of condescending rage. She’s so dramatic. She doesn’t have to work hard. “It’s not just a party, you know.”
“I could never,” I assure her. I need to up my game. “Forget, I mean. Who could?”
“You’d be surprised how forgetful the people in this congregation can be…”
“Well, I’m not one of them.”
There’s a long pause. She wants me to argue my case. It’s better if I don’t.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Good. You had me stressed for a minute there,” she says. Only Melanie isn’t that good a liar. At least not to me. She wants me on my toes, sure. More so, she also wants to hammer in the importance of commemorating New Hope’s former leaders. This was her baby, after all. The idea that we meet at the founder’s lake house, now the church’s lake house, under the full moon, once a quarter.
“Sorry,” I say. “I know how important it is that we honor them.”
“Mark and Beth Jones, Vanessa. We have to say their names, Vanessa. And my Tom…it’s like you…it’s like you’re just tiptoeing around it. Like I haven’t been widowed. Everyone is forgetting.”
“I’m not. I know how much Tom meant to you. And you left out Dr. Dunn. I still hear stories about his work…”
“Ah, yes. The infamous Dr. Dunn…I miss them all so much.”
They all have one thing in common: they’re founding members of the church who are no more—reminding the rest of us, at least subconsciously, that you can never be too careful. “Me too.”
“Right—so—you won’t mind giving a testimonial?”
My stomach sinks. I hate speaking in public. I can’t come right out and say this. As a founder’s widow, Melanie has seniority. She also happens to be my new sponsor. Which is a New Hope code word for chaperone. Adam’s idea—or at least that’s what she told me. I thought maybe it was Sean’s idea. Maybe her own. She and Adam are lovers, so it’s probably one and the same. I haven’t quite figured it out. But I plan to.
“Ummm…” I don’t know what to tell her. Showing the slightest sign of disrespect is a huge no-no, and there are consequences to letting the church down. Just ask any of the people we’re honoring tonight.
You can’t.
That’s the point.
Unfortunately, I don’t have an excuse at the ready. “Of course, I don’t mind. What am I testifying about?”
“What else?” she gasps. “Where is your head at V?”
“Sorry. With Sean gone, I have a lot on my plate…”
“I wasn’t asking for real. I have my own problems—trying to get a simple answer out of you being one of them. I don’t need to know about yours.”
“Sorry. Yes.” I sigh. “My answer is yes. What do you want me to say?”
“The new vitamins…”
“Oh. It hasn’t been that long.”
“Yeah, but look at you. Look how much you’ve changed.”
I consider tellin
g her how much of this has to do with her lover. But I won’t. There’s plenty of time for that.
Part of me thinks she already knows. Melanie has a way of knowing things.
“Speaking of changes…I have something in the works for the Women’s Alliance.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But, that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Right,” I say, because despite what Melanie thinks, she knows little about the art of suspense.
“Anyway—I’d like you to share how much better the vitamins make you feel. You know, all the changes you’ve experienced as a result.”
“Sure…okay.” There is nothing more to say.
“There’s someone special going to be there. And I want her to hear it.”
I suspect she’s talking about Cheryl Morford. Adam’s wife.
Melanie is very good at pretending she wants to impress Cheryl. But then, with Cheryl being New Hope’s leader’s wife, it would be breaking not only rank but also every other cardinal rule to show otherwise.
She told me once about the importance of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.
I’ve never forgotten it. I wonder if it goes both ways.
At times, I’ve suspected Cheryl knows about her husband’s transgressions. Lately, however, I’ve had my doubts.
“V—are you even listening?”
“Share my testimonial about the new vitamins. Yes. I got it.”
“Exactly. Just make sure you keep it upbeat. And dress well.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, and V…”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t fuck this up.”
I scoop Matthew into my arms, lean in, and plant a kiss on his forehead. “Let’s get you in the bath,” I tell him as I tickle his tummy. “Nanny Gina is coming back to watch you.”
I wait for the rebuttal I’m certain is coming.
“I want Nanny Lisa.”
“Nanny Lisa can’t come tonight.” I tickle him again. This method of alternating pleasure and pain—or in this case, pleasure and disappointment—is something I learned during my first trip to the rejuvenation center. That’s where my training takes place.
He squirms in my arms. “Why?”
Sometimes I tell the truth. But only when it’s harder to lie. “I don’t know. She just can’t.”
“Fine. Mommy stay.”
It’s good to know where I rank, I suppose. I tousle his hair. He notices the smile on my face. I make sure of that. “Mommy has to work.”
“You always work.”
I smile again. This isn’t true. But the truth is subjective. Guilt is a powerful motivator, one of the few things I’m proud he’s learning so young.
“Tell you what…if you are a good boy for Nanny Gina, I’ll bring you a new car.”
His eyes light up, satisfaction creeping over his features as though the idea had been his own. It doesn’t last long. He’s smart. Too smart. I can see he’s mulling the offer over. Finally, he shakes his head. He hasn’t yet learned to conceal the things that give him away. “I want a truck. A green truck.”
Of course he does. I’ve saved up at least a dozen Hot Wheels for occasions such as these, but I know for a fact that I don’t have a green truck in my arsenal. “I’ll see what I can do,” I say, offering my sincerest smile. “Now, let’s get you in the bath.”
He shakes his head and digs his heels in. “Pinky promise.”
My heart grows three sizes. I’ve never been more proud.
I slip my finger in his. “Pinky promise.”
I am on my hands and knees, gathering the remnants of the Play-Doh Matthew has dispersed into the rug. I know I should just toss it out. But like the iPad, it’s one of the few last-ditch remedies at my disposal when I need to steal a few minutes to myself.
Sean insists that our son have a very hands-on mother. Sean insists on a lot of things. It’s not that I disagree about the kind of mom our son should have. It’s just that I live in the real world, and in the real world someone else isn’t doing all the work, and occasionally it’s nice to go to the bathroom by yourself.
Speaking of which, I walk over to my son and take his hand in mine. “Let’s play the cleanup game.” We walk around picking up toys…a truck here, a Lego there, tossing them in a basket to be hauled upstairs. He sees a toy he thinks he’s forgotten and is instantly teleported somewhere else, somewhere where it isn’t clean up time. I let him go. To be young again.
As I gather the last of the toys, I consider what I might wear tonight. Ordinarily, with Sean out of town, I wouldn’t bother to pick everything up, not until after Matthew’s gone to bed. But once his golf game concludes, he’s liable to turn on the nanny-cam, and I learned my lesson the last time.
My phone chimes. Speak of the devil. A text from my husband. Tonight. Marcia Louis. See email for details.
I want to write back that I’m two steps ahead of him, but there’s no need to complicate things. I assume Adam called and gave him the details. I have no idea why Adam doesn’t just call me directly except for the fact that he doesn’t trust me. That’s the way this game works.
Still, I find myself smiling. Initiation night is always my favorite. Something to look forward to. Payoff for all the hard work I put in. A party for salespeople, if you will—a celebration for meeting my quota.
Unless, of course, I don’t.
In that case, it’s like a dropkick to the stomach. Quotas are an unspoken rule. Not like the rest of them.
Tonight, though, I have won. Tonight I start again. To mark the occasion, I think I’ll wear something casual but elegant. Feminine and understated. Taking a mental inventory of my closet, I catalog a short list of choices.
Then I remember what I shouldn’t have forgotten. “Matty,” I say. “Let’s make a video for Daddy.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t protest. He drops his toy and toddles over to me.
I hold my phone up and hit the button to record. I look at us on the screen, and it isn’t right. Not yet. I set the phone down and tickle my son. When he’s happy and squirming, I pick it up again. “Say I miss you Daddy…otherwise, the tickle monster is going to come out.”
He laughs. I angle the camera to get us both in the center. “I miss you, Daddy.”
“We miss you, Daddy,” I add, pressing my tongue behind my teeth. They say this makes you smile with your eyes.
I hit send.
Sean replies immediately. Have fun tonight. Make it worth her time. I’d like a photo, if you don’t mind. Adam says she’s a looker.
Chapter Six
Elliot
In the state of Texas, a temporary restraining order lasts fourteen days. Fourteen days may not seem like long, but I assure you, it’s an eternity. The good news is I survived, and also, Emily hasn’t extended it, which is a sure sign she sees this for what it is, just a simple misunderstanding. With a bit of effort, I’ll make her see. She was right. I did work too much. I wasn’t around as much as I should have been, and now I’m ready to make up for that.
I’m seated at my desk, strumming my fingers, wondering how long after a restraining order has expired that it’s appropriate to send flowers when I see the line on my office phone blink red.
I pull up Flowers.com and type in “roses.” But then I think maybe I should go with something…less obvious. I keep scrolling. My assistant chimes in over the intercom, which causes me to jerk the mouse a little too hard. A not-so-neat stack of files topple to my office floor. My father likes to say, if you leave things to chance, you shouldn’t be surprised when what you get is chaos.
“Mr. Foster is on line seven. He says it’s urgent.”
“Of course he does,” I say, surveying the small office. I should probably clean the place up, or have someone else do it, but there’s a method to my madness. I’m usually in the lab anyway, and in a little over a month, I won’t be here at all.
“Mr. Parker?”
“Tell him I’m in a meeting.
”
When I hear the intercom click off, I return to the flowers. After I’ve scrolled three pages of every flower imaginable, I come to my senses. Better not to look too eager. Emily likes a little self-control. She needs to see I’m trying, so I close the browser and refresh my email instead. Instantly, I feel deflated. There’s nothing new, nothing interesting—just the usual stuff plus another one marked urgent from my attorney.
He wants answers I can’t give.
When he doesn’t get the reply he wants, and when I refuse his call, he reverts to text: Hold off on making any decisions. There’s someone I want you to meet.
I start to write back: After last night I no longer trust your judgment.
I delete it. Better to keep things simple.
My assistant comes in with coffee I haven’t asked for. “Line two is ready when you are.”
I refresh my calendar. It’s the new pharmaceutical company, the one we just signed. “Can you reschedule my afternoon? I need to head out early.”
“Sure.” She smiles. It must take a lot of practice not to let it show when someone else’s irresponsibility adds more to your plate.
“Also, can you tell line two I’ll be a few more minutes?”
She nods and sets the coffee in front of me. “Anything else I can do?”
“Have you seen the Jensen report?”
“I can pull it up for you.”
“Thanks.”
I do my best to keep a neutral face as she closes the door. I’d hate this version of myself too.
My eyes shift to the blinking red light on the phone. Line two. They can wait.
I open up my browser and type in the local school district’s name, scanning the names of the schools on their website. Chester Falls. I don’t even know where that is. My cell dings. Another reminder about my one o’clock meeting. Endless meetings. That’s how my day will unfold. I didn’t get into this business—or any business at all, really—to do nothing all day but sit in front of boring people, spouting boring ideas about how to make more money, money that will only bore them in the long run. The newness wears off eventually. Always. Emily liked to say that. She also appreciated the finer things in life, which is why she thinks she moved on and up. But she’ll come to her senses. She’ll remember. I’ll make sure of it.