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It’s not a question I haven’t asked before.
But there is one unavoidable truth in America for a woman today that is kind of depressing but still hard to escape.
That truth? Sex will always sell.
No matter what you end up looking like, women can always make money selling some form of sex. Which is basically what I’ve been reduced to because of my financial situation. A sex worker.
“I just wish I could find something that pays like this that didn't involve…” I begin, looking for the proper words, but struggling.
“Having to deal with men?” Yasmine asks, as if she’s in my head. I look up at her because she hit the nail on the head. She smiles at me.
“If I didn’t have to deal with ugly guys all night, I could still do this,” I tell her. “Hell, I could do a lot more.”
Yasmine pauses for a moment, as if thinking to herself. I wonder what’s going through her head.
Finally, she reaches into her bra, and pulls out a business card. I had no idea she kept things in there, but she hands it to me.
“Take the night off, darling,” she tells me as I take the card. “And call these people in the morning.”
“Simulated Pleasures LLC,” I read aloud.
“Same owner as Scorcher’s,” Yasmine says nodding, referring to the strip club. “Only you can work from home and it’s a phone sex line. They could use someone with as much imagination and intelligence as you.”
I look at Yasmine, grateful. This could totally be it!
“Thank you, Yas—” I’m about to say, but Yasmine has already gotten up from her chair and interrupts me.
“Now go home,” she says. “I’m serious. You’re no good here.”
***
It’s nearly midnight by the time I get my makeup off, tip out the DJ, the makeup girls, Yasmine, the waitress, as well as the club.
I’m waiting on 6th Avenue for a taxicab but tonight, they’re hard to come by. Finally, I see one that stops and I go to get in.
Just as I get inside, the door opens from the other end. A man gets in.
This is my cab! What the fuck!
“59th and Fifth Avenue, please!” the man literally shouts at the driver. I can tell he just came in from the club.
“Hey buddy!” I yell at him and he turns to me. His eyes widen and he looks at me as if he knows me.
I can’t lie. He’s cute. More than cute. He’s gorgeous. He’s muscled and he’s got a smirk and if he wasn’t coming out of the club, I would totally be crushing on him right now.
“This is my cab,” I manage to finish.
It takes a moment, and finally the guy speaks.
“Listen, uhm, Miss,” he says. “My dad just died and the cab is already on its way…”
Whatever. This is the last time I’m going to have to deal with people from a strip club.
“Just make sure you give me the money before you get out,” I say and pull out my phone.
I put on my earbuds and turn on my music. I would have loved to just stare at the guy, but his stop comes by way too fast—in like 5 minutes—and he hands me a $100 note before rushing out.
“34th and 8th,” I tell the cabdriver, wondering what kind of people I’ll be dealing with on the phone sex line.
