“Calm down! It’s not like that! Look, how do you think I get the most expensive bags?” Lindsey shot back as she held out her new bag. It seemed to stare me in the eyes, shaming me for owning such a tattered, old book bag.
“I don’t want to have sex with some old guy for money.” I winced, a lump growing in my throat. Was that what my life has come to? Sleeping with old guys just to get a degree?
“Relax. You don’t have to sleep with them. Some just want the company of a beautiful, young girl.”
“That sounds way too good to be true. You’re telling me you’ve never slept with a client?”
“Oh, no, I do all the time. I'm just saying you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Lindsey chirped as she pulled out lip gloss and slabbed it over her full lips.
I exhaled heavily, not as open about that sort of stuff in public as her. As much as I was against the idea of escorting, it honestly didn’t sound too bad. “Fine. Say I was interested. How do I get in?”
Lindsey dug in her bag and pulled out a single pink card. It had a number and address on it.
“Go to this address, then call the number. You have to be at the location first though, or else they won’t see you,” Lindsey instructed me. “Also, wear something a little more sexy. Not too skanky, but something that could show off that figure you have hidden beneath those drapes you call clothes.”
I rolled my eyes and nodded. Lindsey blew me a kiss, then turned on her heel to head toward the elevator.
Why did Lindsey Monaghan help me? I bit my lip and paced, trying to decide what I was going to do. Escorting was the last thing I wanted to do, but I was desperate.
???
I took the leap and went to the location after having been paralyzed by fear for a good two days. My mind had been running in circles, going over every possible scenario, outcome, and dirty deed that could await me. I was exhausted, but what else could I do at this point?
Taking Lindsey’s advice, I also trekked over to a secondhand store to find an outfit. As I walked in, there was a musty smell among the rows of outdated clothes. I was not the fashionable type, but I needed to make a good impression. I needed something sexy but sophisticated and not a cheap hand-me-down. I didn’t want to look too far away from myself though. Rows and rows of awful muumuu dresses and old seventies clothing were in front of me. This wasn’t going to work. That’s when I noticed a gray midi-length dress. It was the only thing I found so far that didn’t scream grandma. It appeared sophisticated and sexy. I took it to the dressing room and closed the curtain. Slipping it over myself, it hugged my curves perfectly.
The outfit was the easy part though. Slipping into a costume was an effortless task; however, playing the part of the sexy, confident girl who chats with older men for money was the silent killer. How the hell was I going to pull that off? I wasn’t a Lindsey who walked like a sex goddess and had guys falling at her feet. I was an insecure mouse who no one ever paid attention to. The thoughts were never-ending.
I finally made it to the address of what appeared to be an abandoned parking lot that Lindsey gave me, and I was positive my legs would cave in from shaking so bad. Pulling out my phone, I dialed the phone number with shaky hands, waiting for my bleak future to fall into place.
“Hello, calling for a brand-new lamp?” a high-pitched voice crooned on the other end of the line. I furrowed my brow. Had Lindsey given me the wrong number?
“What? No...I’m calling about...err...well, my friend gave me this number...umm...Her name is Lindsey.” My voice trailed off. There was prolonged silence on line, causing me to immediately accept my fate.
“This must be the wrong number,” I muttered, starting to hang up the phone.
“How old?” the voice on the other end of the line asked suddenly, their voice deepened.
“Seriously?” I questioned as my heart pounded in my chest. “I’m old enough.”
“Height?”
“Five foot four,” I answered.
“Hair color?”
“Brunette.”
I could hear several clicking noises in the background, which sent alarm through me. Were they writing down everything I said? What if this was a scam?
“Name?” the voice inquired.
I paused. I couldn’t give them my real name. I had watched countless documentaries about strippers and call girls, and they never ever gave their real name. My eyes searched around frantically, hoping to find a fake name in a matter of seconds.
“Err, Gita?” I replied in a small voice as the Bergita’s Pizza sign stared sympathetically at me from across the street. Gita? What kind of name was that?
“Alright, Gita. A car will be there to retrieve you in approximately fifteen minutes. Please note that this does not ensure you are a part of our services. This will be an interview process, in which our professionals decide if you would make a good addition to our company.”
I started to say thank you, but the phone immediately hung up, leaving me standing in the empty parking of an abandoned phone company. Kneeling in my ultra-tight dress, I closed my eyes in an attempt to suppress unwanted thoughts. Reality was starting to sink in. Escorting was my only way for survival. I was awaiting a strange ride to have an interview.