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“Yes.” I rolled my eyes. “But keep in mind that I went to high school in a rural area, and at my height, I didn’t make the teasing worse by wearing stilettos.”
When Saturday arrived, Mandy turned into a magician transforming the country-girl Rakell into a sophisticated, sexy Marietta. “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo,” Mandy sang, snapping her fingers as she poked her head out from behind me, her animated image appearing in the cloudy full-length mirror that hung on the back of my bedroom door. “Look at you! I reallyama fairygodmother—the smoky eyes, the nails…and those gorgeous lips are going to see some action tonight. There’s no way he can resist.” She almost squealed as she moved from behind me to the side of the mirror, her eyes scanning me up and down.
“Um, action?” I said, trying not to roll my eyes.
“Yes. You read the contract, right? They’re entitled to kissing, that’s part of the date agreement.”
“Yes, I did,” I replied, the words in the contract scrolling through my head. The anxiety rolling around in my gut was starting to grow tentacles that reached toward my lungs, and my breathing sped up. “So I’m going to have to kiss some random guy? Ugh!” I huffed, knowing that was exactly what I agreed to.
“You’ll be fine. If you’ve had a fling or two just for fun, this is easy. Now stand up straight; don’t be afraid of your height. I always hoped for a few more inches. You’re lucky.”
She picked up on the quiet sigh that escaped my lungs, along with my skewed glance.
Her hands went to her hips as she cocked her head in my direction. “You have had a fling, like a ‘one-night stand,’ right?”
I grimaced. “Uh, no, I actually haven’t…”
Mandy’s eyebrows shot up at the same time as her hand flew into the air, like a crossing guard urging cars to stop. “Wait. Stop. No! You haven’t had sex? You’re a fucking…”
“Yes!” I jumped in before she could finish. My core sucked inward as my shoulders shrank. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t pull this off. I had no idea what I was doing. I had just been focusing on the money. The possibility of getting some breathing room and a way to stay here in London were too attractive not to pursue. Shutting my eyes, I remembered what this was about—I had needed to get as far away from my life in Australia as possible. I couldn’t face going back if I didn’t make this work.
I shut my eyes, thinking about my father’s words:Don’t depend on any man; not me or any other man.And then hiscontradicting advice while we watched the Tornadoes games together:Save yourself for a man like Randall Adams. Heeding my dad’s advice was why, at almost nineteen, living in one of the liveliest cities in the world, I had been careful not to cross a line with men, yet here I stood now, preparing to go on my first escort job.
“Seriously, how?” Mandy uttered, bringing me back to the present, her voice soft, like she was talking to herself.
I raked my teeth over my bottom lip. “I sort of promised myself to Randall Adams…or someone like him, I guess.” I shook my head, realizing how absurd I sounded.
“Randall Adams?! Who the hell is that? Some boy back home in Australia? Like a rancher dude?” Mandy said, her tone incredulous. “Stop biting your lip. You’ll ruin my lipstick job.”
“Okay. Um, no. I think he lives in the States somewhere in Wisconsin, I mean Iowa, but he’s from Oregon, and…”
“What the fuck?Iowa? Isn’t that, like, a backward state in America where it snows all the time? And wait, you don’t know where this dude lives…what? Let me get this straight because my knickers are knotting up from this convo. You pledged your virginity to some bloke from Iowa who you’ve never met? Oh my God, girl! That’s like teenagers who swear they are going to lose their V-card to some rock star. You seem so much smarter than that.”
That made me laugh, really laugh. “Okay, hearing it from you, you’re right. It makes me sound nuts, but at the time…”
Mandy let out a quick snort. “Okay, well maybe there’s hope for you. At least you realize that this is crazy. That’s the first step to returning to the real world. We’ll work on the V-thing at another time. Let’s get you out the door first, so you’re not late.”
I was surprised to hear a few of my flatmates laughing as they entered the small living room just outside my door. They were supposed to be out for beers. Lana would be suspiciousseeing me dressed like this. My breathing sped up. What would I tell them? Why was I dressed like a modern-day Cinderella when I could barely scrape together a couple of pounds for a night out? Mandy helped me into the sumptuous, ‘borrowed-from-Harrods’ cream-colored wool coat. It felt so good to touch, even though I knew it would be for tonight only. Mandy had neatly taped the tag on my dress and coat inside so they wouldn’t accidentally fall out.
Before Mandy opened the door to my room, she leaned toward me, whispering in my ear, “I’ll story them up, tell them we’re playing dress-up because I want to set you up with a friend of mine. So just listen and go with it. Got it?” I nodded, trying to ignore the disquiet gnawing within my chest.
In the back of a cab, on the way to the hotel restaurant, I swallowed continuously, staving off the nausea that was creeping from my stomach to my esophagus. I rested my head back on the seat. I’d gotten this far, I told myself. I’d sort of borrowed the outfit from the department store, put on more makeup than I had ever worn, and earnestly attempted to grasp Mandy’s tutorial on how to act and what not to say. Shutting my eyes, I tried to imagine my future as an actress. Would I be glad I’d made this decision? Was it true what they say, that the ends justify the means? What if the end isn’t what you wanted? I couldn’t think about that now I had to believe this would move my life forward.
The cab approached one of London’s most upscale hotels, Dukes, and dropped me at the front door. I put one foot in front of the other, slowly, ever so carefully, balancing on what felt like pogo sticks, my eyes down, guiding me toward the front desk. I asked the woman there for directions to the bar, then followed the path she indicated. My body halted with each step while toying with the idea of switching directions and headingout the door, calling the agency and telling them to take me off the roster. I’d pay back the stipend, and all of this would just be something I’d look back on and shake my head.
But I kept going as a vision flashed through my brain: my mother leaning against the door of my room with a half glass of Shiraz in one hand and a nearly empty bottle in the other. Her dull voice tunneled into my ears. “Rae, you know he wouldn’t have stayed there, surrounded by flames, if, if…” she'd slurred, tears pooling in her eyes. “You were such a daddy’s girl. Well,that’sall over now, isn’t it?” I’d just nod my head (no use arguing with a drunk), a remorseful look on my face so she’d leave me alone. I couldn’t go back there. I just couldn’t.
Shoulders back, head high, I stilled myself, my mind shifting into the character I would play tonight. I would have to figure her out.Who was Marietta Adams? I wondered as I entered the dimly lit speak-easy style bar. Crystal flecks seemed to float in the air around the regal yellow carpet, the dark wooden bar, pillars and doors, and the small tables surrounded by royal blue high-backed velvet chairs. All the men wore dress coats so as not to be outdone by the women, many of whom were adorned in tasteful diamonds, elegant dresses, and holding bags I imagined cost more than a year’s worth of my rent. God, people lived like this.This was for real.
My eyes searched the room for a late thirty-something, blond-haired, blue-eyed man. After another survey of the room, feeling eyes starting to drift my way, I looked down at my phone to confirm his description and the place. “Marietta?” I heard a voice say from behind me. My head swiveling, my eyes connected to the tall blond man leaning against the bar. Nodding, I confirmed I was indeed Marietta before pushing myself to proceed in his direction. He picked up two martini glasses, smiling, approaching as if he had a gift for me.
He nodded toward a small table as the hostess gently plucked the two martini glasses from his hands, walked to the table, and gingerly set them down. She then motioned to us. “Mr. Englewood, your table.” She said his name with a tone of familiarity, then she tilted her head looking toward me, the new candy. “And Miss…?” He followed her gaze, so both sets of eyes fixed on me as her question hung in the air, thickening it. I cleared my throat, my hand twitching, was I supposed to initiate a handshake? Finally, he spoke.
“Yes, Cynthia, this is Marietta. Marietta…” he started with a coy upturn of his lips as she and he exchanged a knowing glance with a ‘Yup, she’s a new one, Cynthia. I’m blanking on her last name’and Cynthia, the ever so discreet hostess, got the message.
As did I.
Her slight smile did little to mask the pity I saw in her eyes as she extended her hand to me. “Marietta—pretty name.”
