“Sit, dear,” Inez orders, pushing me toward the chair in front of her desk. “You look like hell. Let me pour you another drink while you tell me the story.”
Ice clinks against the inside of my glass as she hands it over. She scoots beside me, resting a gentle hand on my knee. Looking from the liquor to her, I choose liquor and sip. Talent is a dick, but Inez took advantage of me after I told her I didn’t want the Ridge job. My wrath belongs to her just as much as it does him.
“I’m sorry to report that Ridge & Sons won’t be regular clients of mine—or yours,” I say, licking vanilla and oak bourbon from my lips. It’s when I notice my nail polish is chipped and my left shoe is untied. When’s the last time I left the house in ripped jeans and a hoodie like I have today? Yet, here I am, completely disheveled and a stranger to myself.
Inez scoffs, waving me away. “I don’t believe he wasn’t satisfied with you. It’s impossible.”
Wishing away the memory of Talent’s cock sliding up the inside of my thigh before impaling me in a single thrust, I adjust in my chair and note, “He was completely satisfied with the entertainment. The issue was afterward when he claimed not to have hired me in the first place.”
“That’s absurd.” Inez stands to her feet, taking her rightful place on the throne behind the desk. Gone is the concerned mother-type worried about her brood, making way for the ruthless pimp instead. Her merciless glow straightens my own spine, and I find myself wishing I wore better shoes. “What did he say? Word for word?”
“He said,” I repeat myself, “he didn’t hire me.”
I don’t feel the need to explain the emotional unraveling I suffered after leaving Talent’s building, the binge drinking that ensued once my tears ran dry, or the fact that I rescheduled today’s clients to be here and therefore won’t have a day off for a week. No, Inez gets the bare minimum to stew over and face the same lack of control I feel.
How very daughter-like of me.
“Is it because he didn’t want to pay?” she muses. Inez picks up her phone and dials.
Returning her icy stare over the rim of my glass, I take another drink and wonder the same thing as warming liquid coats my tongue and warms my belly. Men with millions of dollars in their bank accounts, domestic and offshore alike, come with an aura of entitlement. They’re so used to their yes-men and yes-women bowing to their every command, that when it’s time to pay for their nut, they’re offended. How dare the Masters of the Universe pay for sex, even though they knowingly arranged a date with an escort, when they’re more powerful than some slut?
Inez never allows that to slide and collects what’s owed to her from everyone. But entitlement wasn’t the vibe I got from Talent. He looked genuinely confused.
“Naomi, we need to talk.” Inez’s expression hardens with her tone of voice, leaving zero room for argument. “Don’t make me wait.”
Every sip of bourbon is a welcome reprieve from stress, and I find myself relaxing as Inez’s stress level increases. I’m not much of a drinker, but as my limbs grow heavy and my lips tingle, it’s enticing. How easy it is to drown one’s sorrows in a bottle of liquor when only a couple of mouthfuls make everything feel less detrimental.
Oh, I might be run out of town? No big deal.
I rescheduled my clients’ appointments for the first time ever? Whatever. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.
Is this why my mom was always fucked-up? She never talked about our lifestyle with me—I never had a say in what she did and where she took us. But maybe the only way she could live with herself as she loaded her four-year-old daughter into the back of an old Buick, without heat in the middle of winter and drove to clubs at all hours of the night, was drunk.
Alcohol softens the edges of reality. Reaction time is slower, inhibition is nonexistent, and the headache that plagued me this morning softens to a thud behind my eyes. Catastrophe is doable with a glass of good bourbon. But when Inez hangs up the phone and tells me that Naomi is on her way in, I still care enough to set the glass down and sit straight.
“Can I go?” I ask. A tiny voice inside myself points out that I’m over-enunciating my words. “I did my part. It didn’t work out, and I’d like to return to my regularly scheduled program.”
“Something isn’t adding up,” Inez responds, ignoring my request to leave. “There’s no way I send my best girl in and he’s not happy.”
Rolling my eyes, I choose to ignore the way she speaks about me like I’m a trained dog. I push myself halfway out of my seat, deciding I’ll call a car once I’m outside.
“Sit down, Lydia,” Inez says.
“What does a girl need to do to get some damn respect around here?” I think out loud, not expecting an answer and not getting one.
Falling into place like ordered, I chip the rest of the nail polish from my ring finger and ponder the upcoming week. Since Inez took me in, I’ve adopted a strict one cock a day protocol, and I never service more than two clients in twenty-four hours. This isn’t a hooker’s attempt at modesty. It’s nothing more than a stab at preserving my pussy and stretching this gig out for as long as possible. On days when I have two clients, I persuade them into different things to avoid intercourse with both. Now that I’ve had to reschedule today’s appointments, there’s going to be two days when I have three jobs.
Another fucking reason why I don’t disrupt my routine.
Dropping the appointments will only injure my reputation, further drawing out the consequences of ignoring my better judgment. I should never have stepped foot in Talent’s building. Between the two of us, I’m left with the shitty end of the deal while he takes over the world.
“Inez, I don’t have time for this,” I say as Naomi materializes with an ego so inflated it almost doesn’t fit through the door.
Naomi skips hellos and strides through the room in a hurry, glancing at her wristwatch before flipping her hair back. Her dry ends whip me across the face, escaping my reach before I have the chance to rip her hair out from the roots. Disrespect isn’t something I let go unanswered, but Naomi’s ignorance to the amount of shit she’s in will suffice once it dawns on her that she’s not here for a pat on the back.
She chews gum with her mouth open, snapping a bubble before her ass hits the seat. Naomi taps a text message on her phone, and she says, “I don’t want to rush you, Inez, but I was in the middle of something important.”
“Creating more connections?” Inez tilts her head in confusion.
My sense of hearing has never been sharper, despite the liquid downer coursing through my blood. I don’t want to miss a syllable of the scolding Naomi’s set to receive. Nothing more than a mouthful of words has been shared between the two of us, but Naomi rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s her unjust ego or the stupid fucking way her mouth opens like a fish when she’s cornered.
“I’m sorry?” she asks. A flash of recognition clouds her eyes.
Inez catches it, tapping her fingernail from pinky to thumb atop her desk. She doesn’t respond and stares at Naomi, letting the tension in the room grow so thick, I suffocate. Anxiety crawls up my arms like spiders, but I keep it internalized. The girl beside me comes undone. Where I’m calm, cool, and collected under pressure, Naomi’s face burns and she fidgets, avoiding eye contact.