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I'm speechless. While I can see how she's addicted to making that kind of money in a short period of time, I can't wrap my head around how she's able to do the work and perform and still brush off the client's wild obsessions like it's nothing. I feel like my humanity is being chipped away with each client I’ve had so far, except one.
"How many clients have you been with?" I ask.
She looks me dead in the eye. "I don't count. I refuse to, and you shouldn't either."
"How do you not lose a little piece of yourself every time?" I ask.
"Every day when I step out of the apartment to meet a client, I wonder why Jesus is walking next to me when the Devil is right behind me."
Natalie feels the same way I do, only she disguises it better. Much better. I'm kind of relieved.
I swallow, then admit how I really feel. "Sometimes I feel like when I leave a client, they slice a piece of me off and light it on fire."
She crosses her arms on the table and leans on them. "At first I did too, but after a couple of months, it became normal for me and I got comfortable. When I get a text, I shut my brain down, I get dressed, and I become Natalia. Not everyone is capable of doing that, but high-end escorting is a lucrative business, and I want my piece of it." Natalie pauses, no shame at all in telling me how she feels. "I'd never push you to keep going, but every girl feels the same as you in the beginning. The indecision is a killer—it'll get to you—but that's normal. What you're feeling is because you're allowing the men to take a piece of you. Don't allow it. Shut that shit down. You're not doing anything different than an investment adviser on Wall Street who's about to fuck his client and take their money. This job can only make you feel negatively if you allow it to. Don't allow it. When you leave our apartment, you become Valentina. Separate yourself."
I nod my head, folding my cloth napkin and placing it near my plate. It's the indecision that gets to me every time, but then the cash is placed in my hand and I start singing a different tune. I remember that I'm doing this because I desperately need the money. It's a choice I'm making for me, and for Grammy.
"Listen, I'm going to get real with you," Natalie says, looking into my eyes. "Don't kill me." My stomach drops and I prepare for the worst. "The only way you're going to fully accept this is to recognize that at the end of the day, the harsh reality is, you're just another woman selling her body for money. Acceptance is what silences the thoughts in your head. Personally, the way I see it, I'm just being paid for the one-night stands I would've had anyway, so what's the difference? Some are just less exciting than others. I'm a whore who happens to wear Versace. So are you."
In a way, she's right. Something in my gut controlled my thoughts and held me back, and now I know why.
My biggest fear isn't losing Aubrey. I know who I am. It's having the strength to accept Valentina in the same magnitude as I do myself.
The guilt and shame of who Valentina is stares back at me every morning when I look in the mirror, and she’s why I feel filthy. If I can learn to love and accept Valentina as I do Aubrey, I'll be okay.
Twenty-Seven
The holidays always create a buzzing feel of enthusiasm in the city. Everyone is alive with spirit. The crammed streets are adorned with strings of lights, the shop windows decked with items no average person can afford. Even so, that doesn't stop the smiling faces to keep pushing forward. The hustle and bustle is exciting, and I love that the snow flurries bring a sense of wistfulness. The icy air invigorates every passerby with optimism, and when the tree goes up at Rockefeller Center in a couple of weeks and the lights are turned on, the city will come together and it makes my heart happy. Like everyone is one and equal. There's no divide. No looking down on anyone.
After my girl day with Natalie, I did some serious soul-searching and finally let the negative views I was holding onto dissolve. Separating my feelings between Aubrey and becoming Valentina was key. Once I did that, the stigma that came with the job wasn't nearly as bad.
I kept the jobs to a minimum during the weekdays. Between homework, Pilates, and the new clients, I was busy enough, but I wasn't stressed like I normally was either.
I was also smoking more weed to sleep at night, but that was another story.
The jobs I had lined up each weekend weren't bad—quick blowies, some kinky sex that could actually be fun if I wasn't focusing on trying to please the client, and of course a few questionable fetishes that made my skin crawl. I was adjusting, and while I felt guilty for that, I was also relieved.
The next text I got from Christine said I needed to wear red lingerie, and that I would meet my client at Sanctuary Cove. Since I didn't own any, I went after class and bought a spicy little one-piece that made me feel sexy the minute I pulled on the lace. I loved it so much I bought one in black too.
I add loose waves to my hair for a sultry look while I wait for the Percocet to kick in but skip on the vodka. The rooms are stocked with alcohol, so I’ll pour a glass as soon as I get there, then wait in the shadows for my next victim to arrive.
I kid.
* * *
I’m about to take another deep sip when the door flies open, and I jump as the man bursts into the room. A breath hitches in my throat as I take in his height and build. I tip the glass to my lips and take a long, deep drink as anticipation swirls in my belly. A grin I know he can't see curls my lips.
James.
I guess he wasn't a test John after all.
My body glows with craving at the sight of him. I'm warm from head to toe, tingly and hungry for this man I thought I might not ever see again. He makes my heart pound just being in the same vicinity as him. He's so much older than me, experienced, yet he's buying my time and paying me for sexual acts.
Our eyes meet, his gaze fierce like he’s had a demanding day. He rips off his suit jacket and throws it on the lounge chair, then rolls up his sleeves to reveal the stunning colors that decorates one of his arms.
James walks past me to the bar near the window, his steps wide with aggression. I can taste it pouring out of him, and I lick my lips, eager for more. He stops in front of the bar, the blinds half-mast, and pours himself a tall glass of what I assume is cognac. Shades of darkness slice across his large body as he downs it while staring at me the entire time. I gulp hard, feeling the blood rush through my veins. I can't break my gaze from his.
"Take the coat off, Valentina," he orders, his voice rough and brass. It sends a shiver down my spine and I tell myself to block it out, but it's too hard. I love his voice.
