I agreed. “One the control is taken from you, the other, you take control. They’re our fucking bodies…we should be able to choose what we do with them and that includes selling them for a better opportunity.”
Dylan’s wry amusement rubbed me the wrong way. I cast a hard look her way. She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Whoa there, bra-burner. Calm down. I’m just saying, it’s ironic.”
“If you’re so full of judgment, why’d you take the deal?” I asked.
“Personal reasons,” Dylan stated flatly.
“Yeah, well we all have personal reasons,” I returned with a snort. “No one signs up for this gig because they were bored one Sunday afternoon.”
She glanced from me to the rest of the girls, then shared, “Same story. Daddy had wandering hands. I didn’t feel like being a victim so I took the deal. Like I said, personal.”
“Well, aren’t you a bad-ass,” I said.
“You have no idea.”
Jilly chewed her lip, voicing a fear we all shared even if we didn’t want to admit it. “What if our buyer isn’t nice?”
“As long as they don’t leave permanent marks, they have the right to be any way they want. It’s in the fine print,” Dylan said, swinging her legs over her bed and standing so that she could get a better look around. “I wonder who owns this place? Maybe the mysterious Madame Moirai herself. Forty percent of every girl she sells, probably earns her a pretty penny.” She turned to cast a short glance our way. “Makes you wonder who this wily bitch is, doesn’t it?”
Yes, it does. “Ever wonder if it’s someone we all know? I mean, how’d she know to offer us the deal? She has to have quite a network, right?” I said, wondering how Madame Moirai came across her girls. It’s not as if girls wore a big V on their forehead advertising that they were virgins. “How did you get the invitation?”
“I was in a coffee shop and a runner dropped off a note, asking if I wanted to make a lot of money,” Jilly chimed in with a nervous dart of her gaze. “Funny thing was, I’d just spent my last two dollars on a crappy black coffee because I was trying to get a job there and I thought it would look good if I was also a customer. So, needless to say, the idea of making a quick buck appealed to me. The note left a number to call and so I called it.”
Dylan didn’t share how Madame Moirai found her. Her lips remained firmly buttoned. It was becoming pretty clear Dylan wasn’t a sharer by nature.
“That means whoever this Madame Moirai is…she’s been watching us for quite a while, right?” I surmised, getting an all-over body creepy feeling. I didn’t like the idea of being watched. “And then, you met with Mr. Personality to go over the terms, right?”
“Who is Mr. Personality?” Jilly asked.
“Just a name I gave the guy who’s been the face throughout my transaction. Dark hair and eyes, kind of a cold fish but good-looking in a generic sense? Kinda like what I imagine a sex bot would look like if it was a sentient being.”
“Blech,” Jilly grimaced but confirmed with a nod. “I think I talked to the same guy, too.”
Dylan wondered, “I wonder who he is to her? Maybe there is no Madame Moirai. Maybe she’s just a figurehead for a network of people involved in this scheme.”
“Maybe. Either way, someone’s getting rich,” I said, taking in the sumptuous surroundings. The contents of this one-room could equal more money than I’d ever see in ten lifetimes. My mom wasn’t exactly liquid in the cash department. Carla always made sure to have enough cash to buy booze but never enough to make sure there was food in the fridge.
Tana reappeared, her fair features flushed from the heat of the bath. “It’s all yours, whoever’s next,” she said, climbing into her bed, her gaze darting between us all. “What’d I miss?”
“Just trying to unravel the mystery of Madame Moirai,” I answered.
Tana shuddered. “I don’t want to know.”
That surprised me. “Why not?”
“Because I just want this all to end and when it’s over, I don’t want to think about it ever again. I don’t care who she is. If I could back out…I probably would. My stomach is in knots and I’m not sure what I was thinking when I agreed to do this. We’re all going to hell for selling ourselves like this,” Tana said with a shiver, wrapping her arms around her knees. We were all around the same age but Tana seemed so much younger.
“Hell doesn’t scare me. I’ve already lived there, bought a vacation home and flipped rentals in that zip code,” Dylan said, adding, “But I definitely want to know who’s running this show.”
Tana said with absolute conviction, “That seems like information that could get you in trouble.”
“Yeah, well sometimes not knowing gets you in trouble, too.” With that, Dylan walked past us and disappeared into the bathroom.
The other two girls were easy enough to figure out but Dylan…she was a wild card.
Tana turned on her side, burying herself beneath the blankets. I shared a look with Jilly. We were thinking the same thing. We were all in the same boat, no matter our circumstance or how we tried to put an acceptable spin on it. The fact was, I knew how Tana felt even if I didn’t let on because I felt the same way. When this was all done…I wanted to forget, too.
There were somethings that you just didn’t want to talk about.
This experience would rank at the top of that list.
5
The next morning, Olivia woke us bright and early to start our preparations. We were taken into separate rooms and given massages. Even though it felt good, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being tenderized for slaughter. We were offering up our bodies to God-Only-Knew and our skin needed to glow with youth and vitality.
My stomach clenched with nerves. I gritted my teeth against the thoughts in my head, so much so that the masseuse noticed.
“You are so tense,” the masseuse remarked, lightly tapping my shoulders, her lightly accented voice gently chiding, “Relax, darling. Today you are a princess. Let us pamper you.”
But I didn’t feel like a princess. I felt like a prized cow getting fancied up for the inevitable moment of being selected and purchased.
I needed a distraction. Anything to keep my mind from spinning.
“Do you always work for Madame Moirai,” I asked, curious. “How many girls have you seen go through this process? A lot?”
“Shhhh, you mustn’t ask questions, lovey. Just enjoy this moment. You are very special.”
“Why am I special? Do you know how Madame Moirai picks her girls? I gotta tell you, the process is pretty shrouded in secrecy. Almost seems like there’s something shady about all this but I’m sure everything is legit.”
I wasn’t prone to rambling but I had verbal vomit flowing from my mouth.
“So cute and petite you are,” the masseuse crooned as if the compliments made me feel anything more than icky. “Everything will work out for you.”
“How do you know?” I asked, trying to crane my neck to look at her but she gently pushed me back down. I settled my face in the hole with an exhale. I didn’t expect the woman to answer. At least not truthfully. If I’d had to sign a nondisclosure clause, likely so did everyone else involved in this illegal operation. My mind was hard to silence though. “I won’t tell anyone,” I promised.
“Such supple skin,” the masseuse continued as if I hadn’t spoken, her hands on every part of my body. “So lucky to have such beauty.”
Did she say that to all the girls? Flattery wasn’t my currency. I wasn’t distracted or calmed by cheap words thrown my way. If anything effusive compliments made me wary of what the person wanted. Nothing came for free. In my experience when people were buttering you up, they had a reason.