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“Thank you, Pablo,” I hissed.
“I trust I’ll have your decision at your next shift,” he smirked at me.
“No,” I replied icily. “You can have it right now. Goodbye, Pablo.”
I slammed the door on the way out.
***
I’d gathered my things from the changing room when Capri came rushing in, glittery and pampered from the dance she’d just performed.
“Is it true?” she gasped when she saw me standing there with a pathetic cardboard box of my things. Being fired was the same at any job. It fucking sucked. “Did Pablo really fire you?”
“I fired myself,” I muttered, gathering the rest of my things, including my kitten masks. “I’m sorry, Capri.”
“Well, it’s his loss,” she said, shaking her head. “Letting the best one out of all of us go… What the hell was Pablo thinking?”
I shrugged, unwilling to come up with a clever response.
“Well, it doesn’t matter.” She looked around to make sure nobody was listening. “You’re coming tonight, aren’t you?”
“Shhh, Capri.” I gave her a warning look. “We shouldn’t talk about that here.”
“We have to,” she insisted. “I’m counting on you, Amicia. Please tell me you’ll be there.”
I swallowed, nervously glancing around the room. I had just effectively lost my only income. I had to find another job, and fast. Before my life ended up in tatters.
“I suppose I don’t have a choice,” I muttered to the sound of Capri’s excited squealing.
***
We met up in front of Le Cabaret once Capri’s shift ended. It felt strange seeing the place now that I didn’t work there anymore. I’d spent the rest of the evening wallowing the loss of a job I hadn’t even meant to stick with.
Capri rushed out of the building in her second-hand fur coat. As always, she looked fabulous and she pulled me in for a hug, kissing my cheek as she whispered, “Are you excited?”
“Not the word I’d use,” I muttered as she linked her arm with mine. “So, how reputable is this place?”
“I know a girl who’s done it before. She auctioned her first time trying… you know.” She winked at me, making me pale. “From behind? She got a hundred fifty grand from it.”
“That’s horrible,” I muttered. “And perverted.”
“Then why are you doing it?” Capri questioned me.
“Because I need the money.”
“Don’t we all.”
We made our way to the auction house which was in the Notting Hill area. The house was a historical building, and we were patted down before being allowed to enter. Once in there, our names were written down and we were ushered into a large communal shower and ordered to strip naked.
I felt humiliated, but there was nothing to be done. I had to go through with it, and it wasn’t as if I hadn’t been naked around other people before.
Capri and I scrubbed down before we were shown to the waxing room. The name alone made me wince, but it was nothing compared to the rough hands of the Russian women who waxed us bare, as rough as if they had a personal vendetta against us. Then, we were rubbed down with oil, our hair styled, and our makeup done.
Finally, a bored-looking man presented us with a contract each, the papers a mile long. I gave Capri a worried look, but the blonde had already scribbled her signature.
“Capri!”
“What?” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve already made up my mind.”
I went through the pages painstakingly, obviously annoying the guy watching us until he was tapping his foot so loud, I just went to the last page, flushing as I wrote down my name on the dotted line.
“Good,” he said, snatching the papers away from me. “About damn time. Now get in line. You’ll be up soon.”
I was too shocked to reply, and Capri and I were ushered to a line of girls waiting in the backstage. We’d been dressed in pink silk robes and nothing else, with a pair of heels on our feet. Capri looked beautiful, and from the jealous looks of the other girls, I assumed I looked good as well.
"Amicia Romano, you're up next."
My knees nearly gave out as I stood up. I tried to find Capri behind me, but it was too late. Someone shoved me from behind, and I stumbled onto the stage, shattering the first impression I'd wanted to make. Snickers and chuckling followed me as I made my way to the front of the stage, my cheeks burning brighter than any Christmas tree.
"She's twenty-two years old," the auctioneer read off his notepad, raising his brows at the lack of information on it as I took in the room before me. It was like a theater, with about sixty people watching me move on the stage. "No college degree, just a high school diploma. Well, how disappointing." He took a long, leering look at me, adding, "Though her looks almost make up for it, don't you think?"
