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She sighs. “What I mean, Luci, is where did you get a hundred-dollar bill?”
But before I can say a word, she continues.
“Is that what they paid you? You know, for your… session?” The corner of her mouth hitches up, like she’s trying not to smile.
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
She just keeps staring, like there’s more to the story. Which, of course, there is.
I lower my voice to just above a whisper. “I got paid seven hundred dollars, Char. I was shocked, like you are right now. I just couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. I have money for my courses now. I don’t have to worry, at least for a while.”
Her face explodes into a huge grin, and relief washes over me.
“That is so hot,” she giggles.
Warmth fills me, an unfamiliar sensation of satisfaction, like when I earned my first A in bookkeeping.
It feels good. So good to have some of my worry washed away.
It’s funny, what money does. I never knew. It buys this blanket of security. It’s a… relief.
But what feels even better is the thrill of what I did to earn it.
And knowing I get to do it again.
* * *
CHAPTERSIX
LUCI
I lie quietlyon the bed, the one I’m usually making up for the next client in Room 21 and try to slow my heart rate. I spread the sides of the lacy white dress Gwen gave me to wear and adjust the white veil over my face. It obstructs my vision but is sheer enough that I should be able to see a little something.
Like when my client arrives.
My eyes dart all over the dim room, the one I know well from cleaning it so many times. Now I’m going to be the one messing it up.
I lift my head from the small pillow to check my shoes, the white satin Mary Janes Gwen gave me to wear, hoping I’d not scuffed them yet.
Apparently, these costumes are expensive, and Gwen says to keep them as clean as possible.
That’s when the door clicks, opening just long enough to allow in a flash of light from the hallway. As soon as it’s closed again, the room returns to its candlelit duskiness.
Without moving a muscle, I strain my eyes to look toward the door. I’m supposed to be dead, or asleep, or something—Gwen wasn’t really clear—so my eyes are to be shut. But I figure until my client is right in front of me, he can’t see me through the veil.
Just like I can barely see him.
But I can see enough to realize it’s not Max from the other day, and a little wilt of disappointment waves over me. He was so kind in keeping me out of trouble with Gwen, and so awfully handsome to boot, that I had really hoped he’d come back to see me.
In fact, this past week when I lay awake each night and touched myselfdown there, Max was all I could picture. His dimple and the curly hair he repeatedly pushed off his face filled my imagination with just what I needed toget off.
Charleigh’s words, not mine.
The bed depresses next to me as my client takes a seat. I open my eyes to slits to see if I can get a look, but with the veil and dim lighting combined, all I can make out is a broad expanse of shoulders and dark hair atop a light-skinned face. He reaches over me, runs a hand down my lace-covered arm, past my hip, and along my leg until he reaches my bare ankle, which he wraps his fingers around. A shiver and a rush of air on my part involuntarily acknowledge this man, and I hear him hum approvingly.
The room is otherwise so quiet that I can hear his breath, steady and slow.
Like he’s done this before. Without even seeing him, I know he’s full of confidence. Never lets anything get in his way. Has he had an easy life? I’m not sure. But he has success beyond all imagination now, in what I guess are his thirties, and can afford any sort of entertainment he desires.
