INGRID:
I’ll never admit this in person, but I may miss you.
DARIUS:
I miss you too, cupcake.
Chapter 11
Ingrid
Mid July
Ending the call, I let out a string of curses.
Two weeks before the summer semester wraps up, my mother calls to inform me there’s a problem with the family funds. All of my father’s accounts have been frozen, pending the outcome of an investigation. Even our account here, because it’s tied to his name.
Thankfully, I have two. Besides the joint account, I opened a separate one in my name only, where I transferred some funds. It was my safeguard in case something like this happened. But it’s not enough. It won’t cover my tuition, which is due soon. Which means I’m screwed unless I come up with a way to make money, and fast.
The good news is—if you’re someone who looks at the glass as half full—a scholarship pays for most of my education. I’m only responsible for room and board, which isn’t cheap. Now that I’m a sophomore, I have options I didn’t last year. Moving off campus is possible if I find somewhere soon on shortnotice. It probably won’t be in a great neighborhood, or with a roommate to help offset expenses, but hopefully something with four walls and without rats as pets.
I also need a job. Minimum hours, but with a decent wage. Between classes, fútbol practice, and studying, it leaves little time to work without something suffering—like my grades. I can’t afford to let that happen. If my grades slip, I’ll lose my academic scholarship and get benched by my coach as well.
To make matters worse, my work visa is still pending approval. My current visa is for students only. I need a job that pays under the table until I can acquire the right visa. So, that limits my options as to what jobs I can even apply for.
Raven, a teammate of mine, works at a gentlemen’s club just outside of NYC. She claims it pays very well because of the club’s exclusive nature. It’s risky if she gets caught working there while on scholarship, but well worth it. Far enough away from Princeton, the private club for the wealthy is one where secrets stay for a price to its members. Each one is required to sign an NDA and pay a hefty non-refundable membership fee before they can even walk through the door.
I’m a little wary, working so close to the city where my best friend lives, but what she doesn’t know won’t kill her. Plus, maybe I can visit Winifred while I’m there. Not every time, or she’ll get suspicious.
It’s worth a shot. I’m applying for a couple of positions. According to Raven, there are several options. She started as a greeter, moved to a server, and is now on the floor as a socializer or glorified greeter who talks to the clientele and keeps them company. There are also entertainers—I called them dancers, but she assured me it’s not like that. These girls have a talent. Most sing or dance—but not sexually. One girl, she claims, does comedy and another models fashion.
It sounds odd. I mean, if the girls don’t dance like they do at other clubs, then what do they do? Why would men pay such an exclusive fee if there isn’t a sex theme? Isn’t that what makes these clubs popular?
Sex is the central theme of the one my father and his friends belong to. Exclusive or not, I’ve heard what goes on there, and it’s not conversations about life.
I guess I’m about to find out since I just got off the phone with Raven and she’ll be here in fifteen. We’re taking the train to the city. When we get there, she’ll introduce me to her boss. If he likes me, I’ll start tonight.
Tonight? Yes, tonight.
What does one wear to an interview at an establishment like this?
Raven told me to think fancy nightclub. Something that made me appear sophisticated, well-educated, while still sexy.
I pull out a few choices and wonder if this is what it has finally come to for me. Am I willing to sell myself, my body, just so I don’t have to return home?
Darius would not approve—but fuck that. Why should I care what he thinks? He’s just a friend, nothing more.
I’m not ashamed about working at a place like this. There’s no shame in doing what one must to survive. My advice is simple: before judging someone, try to understand their life, their struggles, their perspective—walk a mile in their shoes.
Raven is one of my closest friends. She has a good head on her shoulders. Her marks are excellent. With her sights set on law school, she’s immersed in her pre-law studies. She swears it’s not about selling her body, and that the club doesn’t allow it. Not inside the club, at least.
I took that to mean it happened outside. Although she claims that isn’talwaysthe case; so far it hasn’t been a practice for her. She won’t elaborate, has only said I have to speak with Mr.Rossi, the owner of Kismet. If I get the job, he’ll offer a more thorough explanation.
I settle on a light blue cocktail dress that hits me mid-thigh. It’s something I’d wear to a nice dinner or even a night out with my friends if we were going to a swanky club. Sleeveless, but with thick lacy straps that won’t slide down easily. I pair it with one-inch silver heels, because I don’t require the height. I’m already as tall—if not taller—than most guys. I’ve learned that my size sometimes intimidates men, and I need this job.
When Raven arrives, she smiles her approval. “Perfect. That dress puts those long legs of yours on display. Mr. Rossi would be an idiot to turn you away.”
I grab my clutch and shove my phone inside. “I’m nervous. I’ve never held down a job before. How pathetic does that sound?”
