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I took the leap and went to the location after having been paralyzed by fear for a good two days. My mind had been running in circles, going over every possible scenario, outcome, and dirty deed that could await me. I was exhausted, but what else could I do at this point?
Taking Lindsey’s advice, I also trekked over to a second hand store to find an outfit. As I walked in, there was a musty smell plus rows of outdated clothes. I’m not the fashionable type, but I needed to make a good impression. I needed something sexy but sophisticated and not a cheap hand me down. I didn’t want to look too far away from myself though. Rows and rows of awful mumu dresses and old seventies clothing were in front of me. This wasn’t going to work. That’s when I noticed a grey midi length dress. It was the only thing I found so far that didn’t scream grandma. It appeared sophisticated and sexy. I took it to the dressing room and closed the curtain. Slipping it over myself, it hugged my curves perfectly.
The outfit was the easy part though. Slipping into a costume was an effortless task, however playing the part of the sexy, confident girl who chats with older men for money was the silent killer. How the hell was I going to pull that off? I wasn’t a Lindsey who walked like a sex goddess and had guys falling to her feet. I was an insecure mouse who no one ever paid attention to. The thoughts were never-ending.
I finally made it to the address of what appears to be an abandoned parking lot that Lindsey gave me, and I was positive my legs would cave in from shaking so bad. Pulling out my phone, I dialed the phone number with shaky hands, waiting for my bleak future to fall into place.
“Hello, calling for a brand-new lamp?” A high-pitched voice crooned on the other line. I furrowed my brow. Had Lindsey given me the wrong number?
“What? No...I’m calling about...err...well my friend gave me this number...umm...Her name is Lindsey.” My voice trailed off. There was prolonged silence on the other line, causing me to immediately accept my fate.
“This must be the wrong number.” I muttered, starting to hang up the phone.
“How old?” The other line asked suddenly, their voice deepened.
“Seriously?” I questioned as my heart pounded in my chest. “I’m old enough.”
“Height?”
“Five foot four,” I answered.
“Hair color?”
“Brunette.”
I could hear several clicking noises in the background, which sent alarm through me. Were they writing down everything I said? What if this was a scam?
“Name?” The voice inquired.
I paused. I couldn’t give them my real name. I had watched countless documentaries about strippers and call girls, and they never ever gave their real name. My eyes searched around frantically, hoping to find a fake name in a matter of seconds.
“Err, Gita?” I replied in a small voice as the Bergita’s Pizza starred sympathetically at me from across the street. Gita? What kind of name was that?
“Alright Gita. A car will be there to retrieve you in approximately fifteen minutes. Please note that this does not ensure you are a part of our services. This will be an interview process, in which our professionals decide if you would make a good addition to our company.”
I started to say thank you, but the phone immediately hung up, leaving me standing in the empty parking of an abandoned phone company. Kneeling in my ultra-tight dress, I closed my eyes in an attempt to suppress unwanted thoughts. Reality was starting to sink in. Escorting was my only way for survival. I was awaiting a strange ride to have an interview.
Who was I becoming? Before I could even try to answer my own question, a shiny black car pulled into the parking lot stopping right in front of me. I waited for some type of action from them, but no one got out. Sighing, I stood slowly and walked over to the back door.
Pulling it open slowly, I peeked inside. A man dressed in a dark brown suit was the driver, but he never took his eyes off the steering wheel.
“Gita?” He said in a thick German accent.
“Yes?” I croaked, slightly forgetting that I had given myself the name.
“Get in. You don’t have much time.”
“So,” I started to say, hoping to make the ride less awkward. “What’s your name?”
“Freddie,” He answered at once.
“Oh, cool. How long-”
“No questions. There’s no need for that,” Freddie scoffed, cutting me off.
I nodded awkwardly. Conversation wasn’t my strong point, but I tried to spark it up occasionally, when things were too quiet.
The ride was impossibly fast. I couldn’t tell if it was because Freddie was speeding or my nerves. We reached an excluded black building in the very back of a busy plaza. There were tons of people walking about, chattering happily with shopping bags in their hands. It was a ritzy area, which made sense. Rich men probably wandered into the escort building as a treat to themselves.
