“The average prostitute charges $20 for oral pleasure, so we would need to perform fifty a piece to make that kind of money,” Isabelle quickly pipes up.
Ariel and I both look at her with astonished looks on our faces, and her cheeks immediately redden.
“I read a very fascinating book a few months ago about the life of an American street hooker,” she tells us softly.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts from the idea that Isabelle seems to get all of her knowledge, including anything sex-related, from books instead of real-life experiences, I look back and forth between them.
“So, what do you ladies say? Is everyone okay with putting these costumes back on for a few more hours this weekend and being lovely, well-mannered, perfect princesses for a little girl’s birthday party?” I ask.
I don’t really like the idea of having to interact with that uncouth man again, but maybe he’ll be on his best behavior considering the party will be in his home, and he’ll be the host. A host of a party should always be polite and gracious.
“Well, slap my ass and call me Fuck Truck, I’m in,” Ariel announces, throwing her arm into the center of our little circle. Isabelle and I each place a hand on top of hers, agreeing to this with a three-way handshake.
“We might need to work on the well-mannered thing before this weekend,” I say with a sigh.
Ariel punches me in the arm, and I let out a loud yelp.
“Your stick is showing again, asshole,” she curses at me before turning around and walking over to John to give him the good news.
Chapter 5: Take It Off!
“Did you know Snow White wasn’t the first princess to be in an animated film? It was actually Persephone, the main character of a 1937 Silly Symphony short that served as a test run for Snow White.” Isabella speaks up from the backseat, leaning forward to rest her hands on the armrest between Ariel and me.
The excitement in her voice is contagious, and I can’t help but turn around in my seat and give her a smile as Ariel turns her car onto the street where the party is. As soon as we agreed to do this for John, he immediately sent me a text with the address for the party. It was an easy fifteen-minute drive out of town.
“Pipe down there, Encyclopedia Britannica, and get a load of these houses,” Ariel says with a low whistle as we pull up to the curb in front of John’s friend’s house, since the driveway is already packed with cars.
“It looks like a castle,” Isabelle whispers as Ariel puts her car in park and we all lean to the right to look out the side windows and get a better look.
It’s a two-story colonial with white siding and black shutters, complete with an actual turret on the front left corner that comes to a peak high above the roof.
“Did you know Snow White was the youngest princess at the age of fourteen and Mulan was the oldest at sixteen? This looks like a house they’d live happily ever after in with their princes. It’s all so romantic,” Isabelle states with a dreamy sigh.
“Fourteen? Jesus, no wonder we, as a gender, are so fucked up. It’s been stuffed down our throats since we were born that it’s completely normal to find the man of your dreams when you’re a child, and you’re pretty much a freak of nature and an old maid if you haven’t found him by the time you’re seventeen,” Ariel complains as she unbuckles her seatbelt. Isabelle and I follow suit, all of us getting out of the car and making our way up the walk to the front porch.
“Be nice. She did her research on princesses just like I told you to do, to prepare for this party,” I remind Ariel.
“I prepared plenty. I put on my T-shirt that says FUCK BEING A PRINCESS, I WANT TO BE A VAMPIRE, drank my weight in vodka, and made a list of all the different ways I could kill my ex and make it look like an accident.”
I shake my head at her as we pause in front of the door.
“How is that in any way romantic or princessy?” I ask as Ariel reaches out and rings the doorbell.
“I didn’t actually kill him and make it look like an accident, now did I?”
Before I can admonish her again and remind her that she needs to be the best princess she can be so we can impress everyone inside this house and possibly get hired to do more parties, the door flies open. I realize I’m standing so close to the doorway that my nose is only an inch away from someone’s chest.
Someone’s very muscular chest going by the gray, fitted, long-sleeved T-shirt he’s wearing. My head moves up and my eyes meet that same pair of striking bright-blue eyes that had me momentarily forgetting he was insulting me at the Halloween party. They look down at me in confusion.