If that’s the case, he has nothing to worry about. Talent and I are a nonissue.
Back at the apartment, Yael carries the groceries to the door for us. I send Camilla straight to the shower, and I take a moment to sit on the couch with Dog and regroup before she comes out. Talent’s woodsy scent is glued to my clothes, and his face is the only thing I see behind my closed eyelids. I don’t know how he figured out when and where I shop for groceries, but nothing will convince me that we ran into each other coincidentally.
I can’t decide if I’m annoyed or grateful.
“So, who’s Lydia?” Camilla asks, fresh out of her shower. She lathers lotion into her skin and takes the seat between Dog and me on the couch. “Has anyone ever told you how hard this couch is?”
Avoiding her first question, I say, “It’s only a prop. No one ever sits on it because no one ever comes over.”
Camilla bounces up and down on the cement-like cushion. The color’s returned to her complexion, and her skin isn’t inflamed or waxy. She smells like chamomile and hot water, and it makes me want to sink into a bath myself.
But I need to put the groceries away. Camilla doesn’t know where anything belongs, and I don’t have the energy to show her.
“Talent called you Lydia.” Camilla’s voice follows me to the kitchen. “That was Talent and Wilder Ridge, right? They’re more gorgeous in person than on the cover of those fancy magazines. I used to snatch them from the reception area at Hush. Are they clients?”
“No,” I answer sharply.
We bought so much junk food, I need to assign all this shit its own shelf in the pantry. This is a far cry from the stacks of premade salads and cartons of ice cream I buy for myself. One might think there are more than two girls living here. And with all the fresh meat and vegetables Camilla wanted, the stove might actually get used.
“Are you going to tell me who Lydia is?” Camilla asks again.
I’m tempted to throw the jar of Nutella at her head to shut her the fuck up, but instead I admit, “I’m Lydia. My name is Lydia Montgomery.”
Now three people in this city know my real name.
“Wait, what?” Camilla turns and rests her arms along the top of the couch. “Then who’s Cara?”
“I do business as Cara Smith.”
“I’ve lived here for a week and didn’t know your real name.”
“Talent and Inez are the only ones who insist on using it. But for all intents and purposes, my name is Cara. My entire life revolves around Hush, so it’s easier if I use the name full-time. What’s the point in correcting anyone?”
Camilla falls back into the couch, but I can still see her face. She crosses her legs and guides Dog onto her lap. In a shy tone, she asks, “Should I come up with a name to do business with as well?”
I close the refrigerator and stare at my distorted reflection in the stainless-steel finish. The word yes sits on my lips, but a pinprick in the center of my stomach steals my voice from me. I know from experience what will happen if I guide her down this road. Camilla’s a sweet girl—no doubt she has a dark past—but it’s not too late for her to change her mind and choose a different route. Had she not met Inez, would she choose to sell her body? Because sex work isn’t for sweet girls.
“I want something sexy for my alter ego. Stacey, Violet, or Lexi. Do I need a last name, too?”
“Camilla,” I say sincerely. Her gold stare slips away from me, and she hardens like she’s about to be condemned. “You can do anything. Why this?”
“I can do it, Lydia,” she whispers. She scratches behind Dog’s ear, but there’s a faraway look in her eyes. Any trace of warmth in her complexion has cooled and she’s left frozen and dull. In an instant, the brave and blissful person I spent the day with is gone.
“Anyone can do it, but have you asked yourself if you can live with yourself after you let a stranger fuck you? Is it something you’ve truly considered, Camilla? Because your clients won’t look like Talent and Wilder Ridge. Some of them will be revolting.”
“Why are you saying this? I thought you’re supposed to help me?”
I leave the kitchen to stand in front of her. Camilla’s hands are balled into fists, and she slouches. Dog jumps from her lap and sits at my feet. Exhaustion suddenly covers me like a heavy fog, and I’m sick of talking, but she has to know.
“These men pay a lot of money to have their way with your body, but they won’t love you. No matter what they say. No matter what they do. They’ll throw around cash—more money than you’ll know what to do with. They’ll buy you lavish gifts and offer expensive trips. They’ll make you believe you’re important to them. It’s all a fucking lie. It’s a lonely existence, Camilla. You’ll spend your days with a stranger’s hands and mouth on your skin. They’ll stick their cocks wherever they please. You will be treated like a thing to be owned. And when it’s over, you’re alone. And you have to live with that.”
Inhaling a shallow breath, Camilla says, “Good.”
Taken aback, I stand straight and watch in amazement as she gathers the strength to look me in the eyes. And unlike the distorted reflection I saw on the refrigerator, I see myself clearly in her.
“Pick a name,” I say. “You have a week before your first job.”
Grand Haven elites love to host charity balls all year long, but none of them top the Grand Haven Carousel of Love Gala—where the rich raise money for the inner-city families they displaced by invading the area and driving up the cost of living. Gentrification isn’t something anyone will admit to. Instead, our elected officials and the lobbyists who stuff their pockets full of money pat themselves on the back for decreasing crime rates and increasing property value.
In an effort to stay out of Hell when they die, these same politicians and lobbyists throw a huge party to fund low-income housing, supply textbooks to their shit schools, and offer food assistance—outside Grand Haven city limits, of course. The most powerful people in the state are invited, as is the media to document the do-gooding, and it’s the one night a year every single girl who works for Inez is under the same roof at once.
Except one.
Normally.
This year, Cara Smith’s name is on the Carousel of Love VIP guest list with a plus one.
“What do you think?” Camilla stands in my bedroom doorway. Her hair is in large rollers, her nails are freshly painted, and she’s dressed in a black floor-length sequined evening gown with a slit clear up her thigh. She runs her hands down her sides and smiles. “I’ve never worn anything so beautiful in my life.”
Since our discussion about names went sour a week ago, I’ve kept my worries and opinions to myself. Camilla’s made her choice. In seven days, she’s taken huge strides to follow in my footsteps, including choosing a name to work under and watching me intently before and after my weekly appointments. We’ve gone over how to pick and choose clients, how my appointments work, and how to behave accordingly. She’s watched me apply makeup, tried on my clothes, and she’s learned to give space when I can’t find the courage to speak another word and lock myself in my room.