AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She picks her smoothie up again and takes a long gulp, regarding me over the rims of her square glasses. "I read about you," she motions to her computer. "Thinking of being a savior?"
"Something like that."
"What brings you here?" she says. She's giving me that stare she's famous for, and for the very first time ever I feel kind of nervous.
"I have an idea," I say slowly. The heat in my face is humiliating, and for the millionth time, I curse my fair skin.
“What kind?”
“The kind that’s going to help me out with what you read online, and the kind that could be made into an independent study or even a thesis maybe."
"And what's that?"
I tell her my plan. To her credit, she listens with a neutral expression, her chin propped on her folded hands, and when I'm finished, she smiles.
"From an Ethics perspective, that's very interesting, Elizabeth. But I'm afraid from a personal perspective I can't endorse it. Even from a professional perspective, it has some damaging potential—for me, that is—if I do."
My chest squeezes, but I take a deep breath and forge ahead. "So I couldn't use it for classwork, even if I came to you after the fact?"
"I didn't say that," she says pointedly.
"So I could write about it? Maybe use it as the basis for my thesis?" I wait for her answer with my breath held—as if it really matters. It won't change what I'm doing, but it might make me feel just a little better about it.
"You could do whatever you decide to do, Elizabeth. Just remember, you don't have to. You don’t owe your friend any debts.”
I nod, although I think that's a little cut and dry, especially for someone as smart as Dr. Beauford.
She reaches into a desk drawer and hands me a slip of paper. "If you decide to go through with your plan, you may want to fill this out." I look down at the approval form for PhD thesis topics. "For the record, let it be stated that I'm not recommending your course.”
Chapter Twelve
~ELIZABETH~
On my way home, I call Richard Waites, the man I spoke with this morning. He answers on the second ring. I can hear laughter and talking in the background, and through the phone line I swear I can smell stale smoke and alcohol.
Our connection is fuzzed by static, as if it's trying to discourage our contact. I think of Cross and press on. "Richard? This is Elizabeth DeVille again."
"Elizabeth, yes."
"I've thought about your offer, and I've decided that I want to do it. Can you tell me what the next step is?"
He pauses for a second, and I think he is surprised. "The next step? Well, you come out here. Come to Nevada and let me get this rolling."
"What does that entail?" I'm not going to a brothel without a detailed road map in my hand.
"It entails a lot," he says bluntly.
"Where does it start? I'd like to have some idea."
He pauses again, just long enough to take a drag on a cigar. "We do this from time to time, but never with a girl like you. Don't get me wrong. Our girls are beautiful, valuable, talented girls, but they don't have their own bottled water," he says with a chuckle. "They're not Elizabeth DeVille." Another pause, and I decide to put it to him straight.
"DeVille doesn't mean much anymore."
"Yes, and I appreciate your candidness, Miss DeVille, but let me share my own. Our bidders aren't buying your money. They're wealthy men, and what they'll pay for is your high-class hymen. You follow me? All I need from you—well not all I need from you—there's a lot to this— But what I really need is you to come here, do a little training—"
"Prostitution?"
"Well you can't do that. Not and have a decent auction. But I'm saying you learn from my girls. The ropes. It's not for long. Maybe two weeks, three. Whatever's enough to get you ready for your big night.”
