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In short, I was their dirty, X-rated employee.
Slowly, I made my way off the plane into the huge, empty hangar. Echoes sounded as I grabbed my stuff and stumbled onto the shuttle van, whisking me to the hotel.
God, what had just happened?
I lay on the bed, lifeless, the A/C whirring like a drone. A snippet of my interview with Helena popped into mind. Because during the interview, she’d asked if I was on birth control.
I goggled. Was this legal? Can you ask something like that during an interview? But Helena made some strange excuse.
“We take drugs and alcohol very seriously,” she said. “We need to know of any impairment to your system.”
I’d gulped. Birth control was considered an impairment? I guess so. You do pump your system full of weird chemicals, so I spoke meekly.
“No,” came my soft voice. “I’m not.”
The woman nodded briskly.
“Well, you’ll have to get on it,” she said. “I’ll make an appointment with the doctor for you, but in the meantime, take this,” she said, handing me a duet of pills.
I’d stared at the package in my hand. The ovals looked innocuous enough, two pink ones lying side by side in bubble wrap.
“What is this?” came my trembling voice.
“Emergency contraception,” she’d said briskly, like this wasn’t weird at all. What HR person gives you the morning after pill? Strange, real strange.
But I didn’t want to ask too many questions. The job was already mine, and the money was so good that I didn’t want to get fired before my first day. Plus, there was nothing that said I had to take it. I was a virgin after all, so why would I even need this stuff?
But now, the pills stared at me from on top of the coverlet. Because I’d let the twins come in me again and again. It’d been so incredibly hot that the thought of contraception never even popped into my mind. I’d been too busy screaming and moaning, calling out their names.
But suddenly, Helena’s actions made sense now. Elite Air was professional all the way, and they’d set me up with emergency contraception just in case. So I could take the pink pills and be done with it. Or I could roll the dice and wait.
The plastic pack winked under the low lights.
Oh god, oh god.
What should I do?
I needed to talk with someone. But who?
I reached out to the only person who understood the situation.
Helena.
Wiping back tears, my fingers fumbled as I logged into Facetime. She better answer, I swore. This woman better answer.
And in no
time, Helena logged on, face smooth and professional, hair slicked back into a bun.
“Helena,” I almost screamed, tears falling down my face. “What’s going on?”
But the woman’s face remained impassive.
“Calm down Joanie,” she soothed. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I sniffled. “What do you think is wrong? In three days I’ve flown three flights, and unspeakable things have happened.”
The older woman pursed her lips for a moment.
