Chapter 3
1346 Words
Welcome to my mansion!’ Stephanie drawls a bit cheekily,
letting me in.
Well, her luxury two-story penthouse with gorgeous,
modern style in the heart of London could be called a
mansion. It looks like a photo on the front cover of a glossy
magazine, like a common girl's dream that will never come
true.
I'm afraid to step on the perfectly polished floor and
stain it with my dirty shoes. I'm afraid to foul the white
leather sofa. It is scary to take this step into the unknown,
which can change my life once and forever. She hasn’t
explained anything, and various thoughts, opinions,
assumptions – from the most banal to the most
unpredictable – were tumbling in my head.
Stephanie walks ahead of me into the living room and
makes a move towards the home bar, which is located near
the panoramic window overlooking the Thames, but stops
midway as if an idea suddenly struck her. She plumps down
next to me on the sofa. Yes, I put my butt there in the end.
‘Well, if you really need money, don't forget it for a
second,’ she says in a surprisingly sober voice. She sounds
like a mother giving instructions to her child. And I
carefully listen to these instructions. ‘You should remember
why you are doing it, and why you do what you otherwise
shouldn't do.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Listen to me. The main rule is not to be late and do
your best to please your clients. One complaint and you get
popped out of business like a champagne cork. No one else
will work with you, and you will be blacklisted.
It's like working in a restaurant – the same rule applies
to all employees, but I doubt that my friend wants to hire
me as a chef. No, it has nothing to do with the restaurant
business. Then...
‘If you are against extra services, tell them in advance,
but then you’ll be paid less.’
‘Extra services?’ I stare blankly at the serious face of
the girl opposite me. What is she talking about? What extra
services? What blacklist?
‘Butt stuff, blow jobs, threesomes, s*x toys, and other
stuff.’
My slightly intoxicated mind begins to realize what
exactly Stephanie is talking about, what she proposes to do for
the sake of max. She wants me to do things that are
condemned by society. I’ll never get a chance to justify
myself!
My eyes probably pop out of my head at that moment,
and I can't say a word, unlike the blonde.
‘Don't make a face like that! It's a well-paid job!’
‘Are you suggesting that I become a w***e?’ I almost
yell at her well-groomed face.
‘They call it escort, Leo. Whores are working on the
streets, and an escort is on a different level.’
‘What's the difference?’
‘Money, duties, services. You can just accompany your
client and earn a few pounds, or you can provide various
sexual services and make three thousand at a time.’
What? Three thousand? Men are willing to pay for it?
Where did they get all this money?
Stephanie was not dealing with an ordinary man today, and
they weren't sharing a family lemon pie recipe in the closet.
Should I do the same? In a public place? Under the
table, like in the books? Or even worse – in front of
everyone. My mind immediately begins to imagine that this
same client undresses me in front of his friends, who are
idly sipping five-hundred-pound champagne, as he
proceeds to r**e me. And I can't resist. I have to just stand
still, waiting for the nightmare to end.
‘How much do you need? Fifteen thousand pounds?
You won't earn that much anywhere else so fast,’ Stephanie
says. As we went to her place, I told her the amount that
Dr. Connor had announced for my brother's surgery and
rehabilitation.
My brother’s exhausted pale face, bald head, tired sky-
colored eyes, his lips whispering that we should stop
fighting are flashing before my eyes. He doesn’t believe
that he will survive.
‘You should remember why you are doing it.’
‘OK, I’m ready. Where do we start?’
Alice smiles at me for a while, then turns serious
again.
‘First, we have to make your portfolio. Take off your
clothes.’
‘What?’ A sharp turn of events bewilders me. ‘I'm not
going to do it!’
‘Really? What will you say when a client asks you to
show your boobs?’
Damn it! I didn't even think about it. How shall I
behave with men? How shall I treat them? What shall I say?
Do I need to talk at all, or will I be immediately pinned to
the bed and…
I better not think about it.
‘Come on; I'll lend you some clothes.’
The clothes were not meant to be a cocktail dress or a
suit, but lacy lingerie: corsets, bras, and tanga panties with
stockings attached to the belt. The lingerie looks gorgeous
and expensive. Stephanie said that she had never even put it on.
I hope so.
Honestly, this is the worst photoshoot of my life. Many
girls dream that they would be groomed, beautifully
dressed, and shot from the most advantageous angle. I
dreamed about it too. But it is far from what I expected. I'm
demonstrating my butt in tiny panties in front of an iPhone
camera!
‘Turn around. Hold your boobs with your hands,’ Stephanie
orders. ‘Geez, Leo, don't be shy. You have great boobs!’
Easier said than done. I could hardly take off my bra
with trembling hands and freeze, weak and vulnerable, in
front of my former enemy, and she asks me not to be shy!
It’s a bit odd! Thank God, the photoshoot is finally over, and
I can finally breathe out. I guess so.
‘Hey girl, you have great boobs! Men will adore them.
And your bottom looks great too,’ Stephanie admires, looking
through the photos on her MacBook.
Those pictures where my face is visible were
immediately sent to the recycle bin, The others were
filtered, corrected, and then uploaded to the escort
website. There are thousands of applications, thousands of
profiles, and thousands of telephone numbers of escort
agents.
‘Don't pay attention to these crooks,’ explains Stephanie
when I point at a profile of an agent. ‘They take half of
your money and don't do a damn thing. Scammers! We can
handle it ourselves.’
‘Fine.’
‘Done.’
The status of my application has changed. I have
officially become an expensive prostitute named Donatella.
Like Versace.
‘The first step is done. Now we’ll wait for the call. Are
you sure none of your acquaintances know this number?’
‘Yeah.’
OK, let's wait then. I still don't realize what I agreed
to, and I can't quite grasp the idea that soon I will have to
meet men and fulfill every one of their whims. We wrote a
lot of information in my profile, and offered a lot of
services, although I was against it. I don't know if I can do
it.
But I have to. For Maxs sake.
‘Look, you have your first client!’ The blonde rejoices
and opens the message.
Jared King: ‘You are very beautiful, Donatella. Let me
brighten up your evening.’
My crazy new life has started. There's no going back. I
will either regain a happy family life with my brother, or go
into the burial pit with him.
I take the girl's computer and text the fatal answer:
I: ‘When?’ A shiver runs through my body, touching every cell. My
knees are shaking, and my legs can't hold me anymore. I
have no idea where to put my hands, how to behave, what
to order. I try not to look around, not to look for him. I try
not to think about the things I will do after dinner. Anyway, I know it very well.
- Writer
