Nine Page 2

  The truth is, Jenny gave me a name based on a timeline; the time it took her and me to achieve a goal that would change both our lives forever. From eating out of garbage cans to dining at five star restaurants type of change. I’m talking about sleeping in a cold abandoned crack house to living it up in a glass wall home type of change. Payless to Gucci. Goodwill to High Fashion. The list goes on and on and on.

  We went through quite a few upgrades with plenty of twists and turns, and now not one eye will fall upon us and know what we went through to get here. When Jenny and me walk into a room, all that people see now is money. Nothing less, just wealth. It has to be that way. Money recognizes money, from the way you walk to the way you talk, and we’ve mastered the act. We’ve put that bitch into submission. We work it. Straight survival mode at its finest. Jenny worries that I’ve lost myself, but it had to be done to save us from that fucking jungle out there.

  I know it all sounds crazy. To pull one hundred high profile clients in just nine days is bananas. I thought it would take longer, but it wasn’t hard to find these type of men once we did a little research online at the library and found out who’s who and where they spend their down time. Jenny would hunt them down and I would go in for the kill.

  Jenny swears on everything that I must use magic, because she says there’s an art to what I do. Honestly, I don’t think about it, I just do it. It comes natural to me. The sugar just seeps out of my pores when I’m in my Nine Character. I’m a walking, talking sex goddess and they never see me coming. I’m dangerous. I don’t just break hearts, I destroy them. It’s what I do. I reel them in, break them off, and spit them out. And you know what? They like every moment of it. They beg for more like a cocaine addict.

  I’ve been blessed with a tight little body and I know what to do with it. Men love my perky tits, small waist, and tight ass. All I have to do is throw this five foot, five inch frame into some four-inch, red hot, fuck-me-hard stilettos and whip through the room like a bitch in heat. The dogs come running every time. Maybe it’s my outrageous, long, wavy, cherry red dyed hair, or my packed on makeup or the fact that my facial expression always looks like I couldn’t care less. Whatever it is, it all works together and they fucking want it.

  Nobody does what I do better than me. I’m one of the top requested in my field. I know, because other women like myself seek me out to make threats. They’re jealous and envious at the cash I pull in, and the clients that leave them for me. I tell them all to take a number, because I’m not going anywhere as long as the money keeps pouring in, and boy, does it ever. These street rats want to know my secret; they want to know how I do business without a man in charge. They hate me, but they love me. I can see it in their eyes when they approach me. Business has only gotten better, and that means my enemies will grow as well, but I’m not worried about that. Every successful person has haters.

  We started at one hundred clients and now the number is up to three hundred. I’m satisfied now. I won’t add any more than that. It feels like a solid number. I know it sounds like a lot of men, but I don’t always see them on a regular basis. Some are daily, some are weekly and some are monthly but everyone I see is scheduled. There’s also a waiting list for cancellations of clients that will pay any price to see me, which includes buying off their competitors if they can find out who they are and where they are on the list. I never tell, but sometimes clients know each other and sometimes they talk. Jenny’s been offered extreme amounts of cash to bump them up as well, but she knows better. We never give them what they want or what they need until it’s their time. This is how we have become so successful. I strongly believe if you take an apple and hold it over someone’s head long enough; they will get hungry for that particular apple even if other apples are available. It’s human nature to want what we can’t have. It’s the basic flaw to humanity and I use that flaw to my benefit. I love it. It’s an ego boost to have men clawing at the door for me.

  I don’t mind the clients being so needy. It pays the bills. It’s everyone else that makes me nervous. It’s all the people around me with their normal vanilla lifestyle and intrusive questions.

  What’s your occupation? What do you do for a living? It’s become the mandatory thing to know about someone when you first meet them. I never could quite understand why a job title made you more or less important in the world. It’s not like a lawyer is always honest or that a doctor is always kind and caring. It’s not like every tattoo artist is a criminal. All a job title does is give another person an idea of how much money you might make. It doesn’t tell them shit about your character. There is also a certain level of judgment that immediately comes as soon as someone finds out what you do. So in my case, I just tell people that I’m self-employed. If they press on to ask what exactly it is that I do, I tell them that I provide stress relief for the body, almost like a holistic healer. Most people cut the conversation off right there. Holistic health sounds weird to most, and they usually just back off. Most people have no idea what the hell a holistic healer is anyway. I’m not lying when I say it. I do naturally provide stress relief for the body. The truth is, I can’t be honest with people because my industry is tainted with lies, deceit, and disease. It’s frowned upon and nobody knows this better than I do. There’s a very ugly name attached to what I do and only one fantastic place to do it at, Las Vegas. Some call me a prostitute, others call me an escort or a call girl and the rest will call me a whore. It doesn’t matter what the title is, I provide a service that will never go out of business, is in high demand, and pays well.

  I’m good at my job, so good they keep coming back for more. I suppose that’s also why I keep doing it. I’ve never lost a client in my life, and I chalk it up to my skills. I’ve seen them all, old and young, gay and straight, married and single. They come to me seeking something they don’t have or don’t get enough of at home. People like dirty things in the bedroom, and I don’t judge. The kink factor goes from mild to heavy and they all pay to play the game. The dirtier they want it, the higher the cost. I don’t do quick, cheap blowjobs. It’s not worth my time. I could cost you anywhere from $500-$1000 an hour depending on what we do. Every client is different in their needs, and if some of these street rat whores took their time they might just double their income.

  It’s not always about sex for some men, sometimes it’s the companionship. I don’t mind it. I just have to sit there and listen to them, which gives my body a rest. On some occasions, gentlemen just need a date for an event, a little arm candy to show off. I get paid to go to extravagant events, to smile and laugh at their jokes. That there is fucking amazing.

  But not every customer will treat you like the belle of the ball. Some days I have to push my body, erase my mind, and numb my soul. People have no idea, nor do the clients. I hear the way they talk about us girls, as if we’re nothing. They say what I do isn’t really hard work, but they have no clue what I force myself to endure on some days. Just like any job, it does have its ups and downs. It isn’t always easy. Like I said, not every customer is a prince and not every moment is jam-packed with sunrays and daisies. When the bad days hit I choose to block it out when it happens. It’s a mental thing and I’m not weak, so I won’t let it crush me. I won’t lie or sugar coat shit. The feeling of regret has a tendency to pop up here and there unannounced, but it always passes through and that’s why what I do doesn’t phase me for the most part. It’s all worth it when I look around at what we have now and how far we’ve come. There’s really no turning back at this point, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve shut the door on my old life. That girl, Storm, died a long time ago along with all the bad memories the very moment I dug Jenny and me out of that metaphoric barrel.

  I smashed that barrel and grabbed life by the balls. I made a path where there wasn’t one available. I’m an escort, so the fuck what?

  How many people get to be their own boss, set their own schedules and make their own rules? Not many, that’s for sure. Let me stay optimis
tic and say I’m the lucky one. I work for me and when it comes to rules, I only have two. No cuddling and no kissing. I don’t kiss or cuddle because it’s too intimate and too romantic. Most of the men couldn’t care less. They really just want a hole to put their dick in, but these rules are set to keep my guard up. I’m sure plenty of gals have fallen for a John before, but I refuse to be one. I have to stay at the top of my game. It’s who I have to be. It’s who, Nine, is.

  Chapter 2. Man. Job. Money. Repeat

  I forcefully swing open the front door and hear it slam against the wall. I stroll inside, drop my purse on the floor, and look at Jenny who stares at me with wide eyes.

  “It’s so hot outside. My tits are sticking together. My ass cheeks have become one, and my thighs are protesting with heat rash. I hate Las Vegas summers with a passion,” I bark.

  Jenny holds back her laughter by clamping her lips together.

  “You’re letting all that hot air in,” she finally says. “Close that door.”

  I don’t move fast enough, so she stands up and comes over, shutting the door behind me. She’s a petite little thing dressed in her usual sundress attire. Her short black bob of a haircut bounces around as she makes her way back to the desk. She sits down and stares at the PC monitor.

  “Okay, I’ve officially cooled my body to where I can think again. Give me the rundown.”

  “I picked up your dry cleaning, stocked the fridge, paid all the bills, and called the plumber to deal with the sink upstairs. He will be here sometime tomorrow evening. Oh, and the neighbor stopped by again. He said, and I quote, ‘If you can tell that red-headed girl to stop parking wherever the hell she likes, that would be great.’”

  “Did you tell him to eat a bowl of shit?” I smirk.

  “No, but the next time he comes by, I’ll be sure to pass that on.” She quickly glances up and smiles.

  “Okay and…” I wave my hand in the air. She returns her gaze back to the computer.

  “You have a two o’clock at The Grand Belsier Hotel. Room 204,” Jenny says, typing away.

  I toss my coat over the sofa, yawn, and slip out of my stilettos.

  “Who is it?” I inquire. “Howard or Jake?” I toss a thick pile of money on Jenny’s desk.

  “Neither. It’s actually a new guy named Mr. V. You’re going to want this one. Trust me.” She picks up the money and starts to count it.

  I frown. “We had a deal. No more new customers.”

  She ignores me as she continues counting. She types in a few numbers on her computer and then stands up, walks over and pushes me to the couch. I plop down and she starts massaging my shoulders.

  “You know you could stop. You don’t need to do this anymore.”

  “It’s not that easy. Somebody has to pay the bills on this place and the two cars outside and the nice clothes and —”

  She cuts me off. “Do you know how much money is in the back room? You don’t, do you?”

  “A lot,” I shrug. I stopped checking the books months ago.

  “A lot is an understatement. That room is wall to wall packed with cash. I can only keep putting so much into the bank. We need to do something with it. We could start a business,” Jenny says.

  “We already did.” I tilt my head back, look up at her, and smile. She pushes my head back down in frustration and continues to massage my neck.

  “Thank you, smartass. I mean one that is legit. One where you don’t have to do what you do.”

  “What I do makes us a lot of money.” I pause. “Where is this all coming from anyway? Why is this suddenly up for discussion?”

  “It’s just, you seem a little disconnected lately. I thought —”

  “You thought what? That I need a career change? Maybe a new job would perk me up? Come on, Jenny. Are we really going to go there?” I snort.

  Just talking about it makes me feel uncomfortable.

  “It’s not a bad idea, Nine.” I turn my body around and glare at her. She backs away from the couch with her hands up. “Fine, forget I said anything. Geesh.”

  I relax my face. “This new guy, Mr. V., who referred him?”

  “He wouldn’t say. I tried to get rid of him. I really did, but he insisted. He requested an all-nighter with everything.” Her eyes light up.

  “Really? I haven’t had one of those in a while.”

  An all-nighter with everything is just what it sounds like. Every position, every act, and nothing is off limits except for the two rules. This would easily cost him ten grand.

  “That’s why I took him. You once said to me if a guy ever asks for an all-nighter, never turn him away, even if he is new. By the way, he’s been waiting patiently for you, almost over a month. He’s desperate, just like the rest. I forgot I added him to the list until I checked the calendar this morning. He called a few hours ago to confirm as well.”

  I exhale hard, and then throw my feet up on the coffee table. She pats my shoulder and then walks away from me into the kitchen. I can hear her pulling things out of the fridge. She returns after a few minutes with a turkey sandwich and some fruit.

  “Your lunch, ma’am.”

  “You are too good to me.” I smile.

  “I know.” She jokes, and makes a silly face.

  She walks over to her desk and opens a drawer, pulls out her makeup bag and walks back to me. I start to munch on the food as she cleans up my makeup and fixes my hair.

  “How was Dave?” she asks.

  I swallow the food in my mouth and clear my throat.

  “Oh, you know, ‘Call me daddy. Who’s my little bad girl? Do you want to be spanked?’ Just the typical with him.” I grin. “He brought latex with him, and walked out of the bathroom dressed from head to toe in it. I thought he was going to suffocate in all that shit.”

  Jenny laughs. “How do you keep a straight face?”

  “I don’t. Nine does. It’s not me out there. It’s her.”

  She looks at me in an odd way. I stare back, waiting.

  “What?” I finally say.

  “You just said it’s not you out there, it’s her.

  “So?”

  “Sometimes it just feels like you’re slowly checking out of life. It scares me.”

  “What does that even mean?” I shake my head.

  “For starters, you leave every morning for hours and refuse to tell me where you go. You spend a lot of time holed up in your room, and lately I’ve watched your appetite dwindle down to bird food. Who the hell lives off nuts? It’s not normal. Like I said before, it’s like you’re slowly disconnecting from life, from me. Each day I watch you slipping away. I think you’re lost, Nine.”

  I wasn’t checking out, I thought. I’ve just been in a funk these past few weeks. I’m not exactly sure what it is. If I told Jenny where I went every morning, she would die, and I would never hear the end of it. It’s not easy to explain to an atheist that this prostitute goes to a chapel to pray. She would laugh me out of this house, because she would never understand it. I don’t even fully get it myself. I guess I’m just seeking some type of inner peace.

  “Like you don’t become someone else when you’re dealing with these clients. You should hear yourself on the phone. All proper and what not. Don’t even get me started on our scouting days. This is who I am now. Plain and simple. I don’t get why we’re even talking about this.”

  “You’re not ready to quit yet. Fine. At least let me help.” Her tone softens. “I’m older, more mature now. I don’t mind. I could take the pressure off you. It’s been six years. I know it’s been hard having this weight on your shoulders.” She’s still touching up my makeup as she tells me this nonsense. I push her hands off me and stand up.

  “Don’t ever mention that you want to do what I do. The pact we made was that I do this. Not you. You do what you do best. This is where you belong.” I had the palm of my hands out, facing down.

  “What’s that? Running errands? Taking new appointments?” She snorts.

  “
Yeah. Know your place.”

  I stand up and walk toward my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I know she wants to help, but this job isn’t for her. It never was. This industry makes cracks in women that are impossible to repair.

  “You’re a stubborn bitch,” she yells through the closed door. “You’re just trying to protect me. I get it.” She pauses. “But I don’t need protecting anymore, Nine. I’m a grown woman.”

  I ignore her. She’s obviously on some crazy mission to save me or something. I’ll blame it on her hormones. Maybe her period is coming and she’s completely lost her mind today due to a chemical imbalance. I close my eyes briefly and clear my head of all the noise that is taking up space. I march to the bathroom and throw on some new deodorant and perfume to prepare myself for the next job. I change into a black lace-up leather corset with matching panties, and cover it up with a black slinky dress that ties around the waist. I primp in the mirror for a few seconds, locking stray hairs in place and fighting with my thoughts. Jenny’s right. I’m not the same person I used to be, but neither is she. She knew what she signed up for when she agreed to this. Forget it. I’m not thinking about this for one more second.

  I walk over to my dresser, open the top drawer, and take out a little blue box that contains what I would call my quick fix anxiety reducer. I open the lid and pick out one joint. I light it up, take a puff, and then immediately put it out into an ashtray. I hold in the smoke and then slowly exhale. One hit is all I need. It’s just enough to take the edge off and keep me sane on trying days like today.

  “Is that weed I smell?” Jenny’s motherly voice cuts through the closed door. She begins to knock hard against the wood.

  “Don’t start with me,” I shout over my shoulder, as I stare into the mirror again.

  I finally turn around, walk over to the door, and fling it open. Jenny has her arms crossed and forehead wrinkled. I shake my head, silently questioning what the hell she wants.