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I shrug because the truth of the matter is anything can happen in life, though I don’t see kids or a wife in my future, whatsoever.
I look down at the folder on the table and think of Zara. I wonder what she's doing at this moment. I wonder if she's looking me up on Google. I wonder if she wishes like I do, that I had closed that door and just taken her.
Hard and fast. Because as I sit here, I don’t care that she never mentioned her kids. I don’t care that her son splashed me. All I care about is having one more night with her so I can hear her saying she would give me the Best Lover of the Year award if she were handing out the prize.
“By the way, I can’t chat all day and night. I’m meeting my friend CK at a private club tonight, so I need to leave soon to do some work.”
My dad nods, and I’m grateful that he gets the hint. I’m not here to talk about starting a family, and I don’t want to talk about it any more than we already have.
17
Zara
Dear Sandra,
Remember when we thought we would become backup dancers in music videos and become the queens of MTV and VH1, even though neither one of us could dance very well? I still remember all those Janet Jackson videos we watched. Those were good days. I miss those days.
I miss you.
Zara
"Okay, guys, watch the TV," I say to Luke and Charlotte as I put on some cartoons and grab my phone. I head toward the bedroom and close the door. I take the phone number that I grabbed from the street out of my bag and call it before I can change my mind. I do not have time to debate back and forth in my mind if it’s a bad decision to make this call.
The phone rings twice before a young, perky female answers. "Hello. Thank you for calling the Titanium Club, New York's most discreet members-only venue. How may I help you?" Discrete venue?
"Hi." I bite down on my lower lip and close my eyes, even though I want to hang up.
"How can I help you?" she says impatiently.
"I saw an ad for a job," I mumble.
"Awesome. What’s your name?"
"Zara," I say. "Can I ask what the job is?"
"Can you start tonight?"
"Um, can I start tonight? Is there not an interview or…" My voice trails off.
"The interview's on the job."
"Sorry, what?" I'm confused by her statement.
"You come in, and we will put you in one of the positions. If you do well, you have the job. If you don't do well, you don’t."
"Oh, okay. Will I be paid for…?"
"You'll be paid for the night, and then we'll tell you if you can come back tomorrow, or we'll pay you and tell you to never come back again," she says. "Sound good?"
"The flier said I can make about fifteen hundred a night. Is that correct?"
"Yeah, depending on how well you do. Let me give you the address. Come in, and we'll talk more."
"Okay. What time should I be there?"
"Come around eight p.m."
"Okay. Thank you."
