“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m kinda useless with that stuff.”
“You’re forgiven. Now, go price those dumb dolls. I wasn’t joking about the beer money.”
She laughed and clicked off.
I felt a million miles away from anything remotely close to anything Lora was experiencing in her life. Lora was a virgin, too, but she was saving herself for marriage. She was a hopeless romantic, which was cute.
I supported her decision because I was her best friend but sometimes I wondered if there was something deeper going on with that girl. Sometimes I caught the barest hint of a person I didn’t know inhabiting my best friend’s body but then she would disappear and Lora would return. Most times I thought maybe I’d imagined it. I sighed and fell back on my bed, feeling a little sick to my stomach after everything had gone down today.
I wondered if I knew of anyone else who’d taken Madame Moirai’s deal. I didn’t know how I’d been selected, only that I’d made the cut.
I worried my lip as I thought about the men who would bid on me. I wasn’t ugly, actually, I think I was, sort of, pretty. Hard to tell when your mother always spent more time putting you down rather than lifting you up.
I rose and stood before my full-length mirror hanging on the back of my door. I was petite, barely five feet four inches — thanks mom for the zero prenatal care and poor nutrition — but somehow I’d been graced with big boobs and curvy hips. I was like a cartoon character. I turned and surveyed my ass — plenty of junk in that trunk — and wondered if that was something that would work in my favor or against it. Hard to tell. My hair, long and dirty blonde, was thick, at least, and probably my best asset. I turned enough heads to support the thought that I was good-looking and just thanked my lucky stars I’d been smart enough to avoid boys — and men — when they’d swarmed around me as soon as I was old enough to wear a bra.
I stripped and stood naked, eyeing myself with a critical eye until I blushed and wondered if I was up to what I’d just signed on for. I quickly pulled on an old sleep shirt and climbed into bed, wishing it was over already.
Please God, I know I probably committed a terrible sin by selling my V card, but could you please, please, find me a buyer that isn’t a total pig or some psycho who wants to wear my skin? Thank you.
I drifted into a fitful sleep, my dreams an anxious mess of faceless men with hurtful hands and leering mouths.
3
My birthday came and went — woohoo, I was legally an adult — and life crept on at a snail’s pace as I awaited the summons. I knew it was coming soon. My cycle had finished, I was adhering to the regimen and I had a feeling the text message was coming. Maybe I had some latent psychic sense because two weeks after my birthday, my cell buzzed to life with the short instructions.
“Make arrangements. The car will come for you at 1800 hours at the meeting point tonight. Do not be late.”
I typed, “okay” and then sat, shaking, realizing the time had come. No more waiting. I swallowed and rose on unsteady feet to pack the bag as instructed in my care sheet. I would be gone for five days.
I had no idea what happened in those five days, or which day the auction was held. I wasn’t allowed too many details. Made sense to keep the chattel in the dark, right? The less detail, the less chance of leaking information.
Tears leaked from my eyes. I wiped away the moisture. Crying? Over what? It wasn’t as if I’d been saving myself for marriage. I didn’t know why I was crying but there was no mistaking the tears dribbling down my face. Get it together, Nicole.
I didn’t have the luxury of bawling over something that meant so little. Losing your virginity hurt from what I’d heard. Some girls had it worse than others. And then some girls didn’t have any pain at all. I hoped I was in the latter camp. Hopefully, it would be a breeze and my bank account would be fatter for it.
I stuffed my overnight bag and then left a note for my mother — not that she’d read it — I would be gone for a few days. It was Christmas break so I didn’t have to worry about school. I left my house and took an Uber to the place where a sleek black car idled, waiting for me. I wasn’t late — the car was early, which meant there was no time to get my nerves settled before climbing in.
I slid into the black leather interior and swallowed the instant attack of jittery fear that followed as the black-out windows completely obscured where we were going. For all I knew I was being shuttled to my death. I was overreacting, right? I settled against the fine leather and found a bottle of champagne cooling, along with a note: help yourself and I didn’t hesitate even though I rarely drank. I downed a glass of the bubbly stuff and waited for it to calm my nerves.
If they were going to murder me, they wouldn’t send a nice car to come get me, right? It was too late to back out but I could feel cold feet setting in as I second-guessed my decision to do something so fucked up.
Panic threatened to close my throat. In that moment I didn’t feel brave or flippant about what I was about to do. All the bravado that’d carried me to this point had evaporated, leaving me a shaking, near-piss-myself mess.
We drove a long while before the car slowed to a stop. I heard a mechanical gate slide open. Gated community? I could only guess. Seeing as I’d spent a large portion of my life living in a shitty old apartment on the bad side of the city, I had no idea where the really rich people lived. And by rich, I meant anyone who could afford food and their utilities at the same time. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d sat in darkness because my mom didn’t pay the bill. Sucked big time, especially when the hot water heater was dependent on the electricity.
The car stopped and the door opened. I didn’t know the driver, not that it mattered. The same man who’d been with me to sign documents was waiting but my stare was focused on the giant house nestled in the countryside. We’d definitely left Manhattan. We’d come to the Taj Mahal. I couldn’t help my reaction. Houses like this only existed in fiction. Or maybe Europe. I was immediately intimidated by the sheer scope of the rambling structure.
The man waited patiently as if he were accustomed to my reaction until he gestured, “Shall we?” and I remembered to close my gaping mouth and nod. Shouldering my bag, I followed him into the foyer. I was going to stay in this house? I’d never been in a house so big it had wings. And this place definitely had wings. It probably had an elevator. And a dungeon.
“Is this your house?” I asked.
“No.”
Of course not. What a stupid question. “Who owns it?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Olivia will show you to your room. Further instructions will be given once you’ve been situated. I trust you made arrangements as instructed?”
“My mother doesn’t care where I go as long as I come back eventually. Don’t worry, she’s not going to look for me.”
“Excellent,” he said and I winced. The fact that I could leave for five days and no one would notice…well, that stung. Actually, Lora would miss me. She’s the one I felt bad about lying to. I told her I was going to visit a grandmother I didn’t have. She bought it, only because I’d learned a long time ago how to tell a convincing lie. “Olivia, show our guest to her room.”
Olivia, a young woman who looked to be about five years older than myself, dressed smartly in a black and white suit, nodded and gestured for me to follow.
The marble floor was unreal, but I supposed that you couldn’t have a mansion like this and have regular ol’ linoleum. I was almost afraid to walk on it for fear of leaving shoe marks from my sneakers. The pristine surroundings made me immediately self-conscious as if the stone statues guarding the stairwell were going to cover their nose at the smell of poverty that surely clung to my skin. “This will be your room. You will share it with the other guests. Lights out by eight. No exceptions. Well-rested young ladies look the freshest.”