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“It’s the middle of the day,” I grumbled, frowning at my rumpled duvet. I was sure I had made my bed before I left. I gritted my teeth. “You didn’t use my bed, did you?”
“Damn, you’re uptight. No, we didn’t have sex on your bed. A few friends stopped by. I ran out of space on my side. Sue me. You can use my stuff.” She grabbed her shower cart and left for our quad’s bathroom.
Sophie’s offer only meant me allowing her to use the whole room as her own. What wasn’t her stuff? Over on her side was a memory foam mattress covered in Egyptian high-thread-count sheets, an Apple computer, and an iPad. Most of our closets were full of her designer clothes. Not to mention a mini-refrigerator fully stocked with gourmet food that made my mouth water. On my side was a cheap bed-in-a-bag duvet set that came with a standard pillow, used books, my sewing machine, baskets of yarn, and fabrics. The best I had was a refurbished desktop computer on the desk that came with the room.
I made it all the way to the New York School of Design, but it didn’t mean I could afford it. Even with all my cutting corners, I still had little money left over after paying for my courses. The only job I could find was food service in a cafeteria, which didn’t pay well and took over my weekends. Remembering I had my test hostess interview at Boho Soho Bistro in the West Village, I checked the time to find that I had only two hours left.
Sophie returned with a towel wrapped around her body. She stood there dripping water all over the floor, peering over my shoulder.
“More job interviews? College is supposed to be the best time of your life, and you’re blowing it. Only four graduates from last year made it to a big house. You need a major investor, connections, and a bunch of money to even get your foot in the door.”
She traced the fabric of my pinned silk crochet dress. “This is pretty commercial in a throwback retro way. You do have a talent for making clothes, but so does everyone else here.”
I hunched my shoulders. It was bad enough having pessimistic professors telling us we were useless and wasting time. Now I had to listen to Sophie put me down. “Not all of us have money.”
Sophie tsked. “Working for free at Boho Soho isn’t making money. Test jobs are the biggest grift in the city. You end up with sore feet and bad self-esteem with nothing to show for it. I used to be just like you. I don’t come from money either, but I’ll let you in on a little secret about what I do.”
My ears perked before the knock sounded on the door. I glanced over my shoulder as Sophie stepped into her Mac Duggal-designed black dress. It was sequin-beaded and form-fitting with floral embellishments. I knew the dress by heart, as it was one of my favorites. While she had designer labels, I created designer-inspired knockoffs from old clothes and fabrics I pieced together from fabric bins. It got me into the school, but deep down, I wished I could afford high-end fabrics and designer clothes. Sophie seemed to have it all. I was in love with her life. Though I suspected her dates with older men weren’t simply dates.
“Come in,” Sophie called out. Isabelle strolled in and sat down on my bed. “Is this cool, me lying on your bed, Nadia?”
“Does it matter?” I took out my stretched black pencil skirt and white shirt. They both winced.
Sophie scoffed. “You won’t get the job on principle.”
I lifted my chin and unbraided my long black hair before twisting it back in a bun. “I have to try.”
“You can join Lollipop,” Sophie said and took out her makeup case. “There are plenty of wealthy people willing to take care of all your bills.”
I shook my head. “I’m not escorting. Is that what you’re doing?”
“Don’t knock sex work. Besides, Lollipop is not escorting. It’s wealthy men and sugar babies. It’s more of a contractual agreement. No pimps. You go out with them as often as you like to. You only give away what you’d give for free on Tinder.”
Isabelle snorted. “Don’t listen to Sophie. Her guy is like fifty.”
Sophie shrugged her shoulder. “Trevor’s a young fifty and fitter than most men half his age. So while you’re working for free at some stupid restaurant, I’ll be in Paris. Seriously, lie back and think of England. The good life could be yours, Nadia.” Her eyes cut to Isabelle. “You can’t throw stones, Izzy—”
“Shut up, Sophie.”
Sophie waved her hand. “You’ll be showing in a month anyway.”
“Are you okay, Isabelle? Is there anything I can do to help you?” I asked.
She smiled. “Damn, you’re sweet. Too sweet to be around Sophie. But I’m okay. I’m not embarrassed. I’m a New Solutions Family Planning surrogate—”
“They are giving her half a million dollars plus living expenses to carry a baby.”
My mouth dropped open. “Wow.”
Isabelle glowered at her. “I told you in confidence, Sophie.” Her face pinked. “The money is not their normal rate. It’s for…extraneous situations.”
I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. Instead, she slipped off her ballet shoes, then lay back on my bed. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. I have the anxious micromanaging wife to deal with who wants a list of everything I eat and the consistency of my poop.”
Sophie and I gagged. “Gross. Anyway, you’re wasting your time on the Midwest virgin daughter. She never dates and turns everyone down who even approaches her.”
“I’m not a virgin,” I murmured.Well, not exactly.
When I was younger, I avoided men for fear I’d end up like my birth mom. When I got older, I felt like I was behind the times and never knew what to say to men. Xander and I tried to help each other lose our virginities.That was a disaster. Where’s Xander anyway?
