The Dean’s List Read online

  The waiter brought the coffee and the piece of chocolate cake Jade ordered. He asked if we needed anything else. When we responded with a no, he left us to our conversation.

  “So, it’s an unwritten mutual blackmail rule.” It was the only way I could wrap my head around it.

  “I guess it could be looked at that way, although I would never bring that up in conversation. Blackmail, like prostitution, is a dirty word.” Jade put her fork into the cake and picked up a delicate bite. “Try this. If you think sex is good, you’re in for a treat.” She placed the bite past my lips and watched my eyes float into the back of my head.

  The chocolate coated every surface of my mouth. Its richness was indescribable. I hummed with satisfaction as I swallowed the most perfect part of our dinner. The oysters had been wonderful, the steak divine, but the smallest bit of sin was the perfect way to end the night. I reflected on that thought. A dash of sin could round out every experience.

  Chapter 5

  Jade offered to have a cab take me home, but I needed to think, and the best place for me to do that was the subway. How far would I go to have a life? I had less than a day to decide.

  Mindless activity buzzed around me while my head raced through my options. In reality, I had two. I could take the job, or I could continue making it day to day. Option number two looked less and less appealing as I recalled the overdue notices sitting on my table and remembered the discomfort that came from an empty stomach.

  I watched impeccably dressed women enter and exit the subway. Professionals. It was what I wanted to be. I wanted to wear a tailored suit to a Wall Street consulting job.

  I didn’t bury myself in numbers for years to end up a day trader. I studied for my future. I wanted to provide solid advice on securities pricing and strategies for creating shareholder value. I wanted to do economic forecasting and analysis. I had to prove my education wasn’t a waste of time and resources.

  * * *

  Since sleep evaded me, I opened the envelope that had been calling to me all night long. Calling me was too subtle. Screaming Open me up and study me, you idiot was closer to what I’d been hearing. Subtle. Not. The rest of the documentation was straightforward. One paper asked about my schedule, the other requested I list any medical issues I might have. After moving to my desk, I spread the papers out in front of me and scanned them once more. I carefully looked over the checkmarks Jade placed on the contract. I heard her voice tell me, Just amend the contract, it’s that easy.

  “Oh, what the hell,” I mumbled to myself.

  I searched my desk for a pen and scribbled my name across the bottom of all the pages. What was life without a little risk?

  My fingers punched in a text to my boss at The Grind.

  Lacey,

  Sorry for giving no notice, but I have to quit. I need to focus on finishing school.

  Thanks for everything,

  River

  I felt bad about not giving notice. It was not my norm, but I knew from that point forward my life would be about school and mentors. I didn’t have time to appease a coffee shop manager. In all honesty, she would probably be relieved. Business had been slow lately. My hours could be divvied up among the other girls. It was probably a win for everyone.

  I pulled Sandra’s card from my purse and stared at it for a long time. Now that I had quit my job, I had one option left. I glanced at the clock and wondered if seven o’clock was too early to call. Taking my chances, I punched in the numbers and waited.

  “Hello, this is Sandra.”

  Her voice sounded awake and energetic. I pictured the put-together woman in the Chanel suit I met yesterday and tried to imagine her with her hair mussed up from a hard night’s sleep. I couldn’t process the thought. I bet she woke up with her hair in a perfect chignon and her silk pajamas wrinkle-free.

  “Hello, this is River Roberts.” Should I remind her of our meeting yesterday? She didn’t seem like the type of person to forget a name, much less a person.

  “River, it’s lovely to hear from you. I assume you’ve made a decision with regard to your future.” She certainly knew how to get to the point quickly.

  “Yes, I hope I haven’t called too early.”

  “Well, the old cliché that says the early bird gets the worm is an accurate one. While others are sleeping, the movers and shakers of the world are moving and shaking.” I could hear the life of the city in the background. She was not only up and ready, she was on the move.

  “I’m ready to join the ranks of the movers and shakers, Sandra. I’ve signed the necessary paperwork, and I’m ready to proceed.” I thought this call would be harder to make, but everything inside me said it was the right move for me.

  “That sounds wonderful. I know you’ll be very successful in this endeavor. You have everything it takes. You’re witty, charming, and intelligent. You exude sex appeal. You’ll be a popular hire.”

  I wasn’t used to people telling me I was acceptable. I’d certainly never heard I was witty, charming, or intelligent. Sandra’s opinion was important to me, and her praise validated my decision. Wasn’t it time I surrounded myself with people who lifted me up? I wanted to impress her.

  “What do I do now?”

  “You have a ten o’clock appointment at the spa and Merilee will get the car service set up for you. Bring your signed paperwork with you. I’ll send a messenger over to retrieve it. Merilee will then set you up with the doctor this afternoon. You’ll need a clean bill of health to start. Tomorrow, you’ll have an appointment with a fashion consultant. Your initial wardrobe will be provided as part of your contract. By signing on, you agree to stay for a minimum of one year. We’re making an investment in you; staying is your investment in us. Of course, we expect you to stay throughout your graduate program. That is how you’ll get the most out of your experience.”

  She made it sound like I’d just won a scholarship. I suppose in a roundabout way, I had.

  * * *

  I showed up to the spa with five minutes to spare. The waiting area decorated in light blues and browns was serene and soothing. I followed the waxer into a brightly lit, small, windowless room. A sheet-covered table waited for my vagina.

  In a sweet voice, the waxer, Michelle, said, “Take your pants off and lie on the table with your head here.” She pointed to one end of the table. I turned my head and expected to see a speculum on the counter nearby. This appointment seemed more like a trip to the gynecologist than a spa. Popsicle sticks, a container of steaming goo, and a stack of fabric swatches sat on the table next to the head of the bed.

  My heart pounded in my chest. Sweat began to build on my brow. “It’s my first time, and I’m a little frightened.” Terrified, was more like it. I’d never been waxed. I’ve always been a fan of trimming, but waxing seemed so severe.

  “No need to be scared. We do these all day, every day. I haven’t lost a client yet.”

  Her attempt at humor didn’t erase my anxiety. I hopped on the table wearing a bra, shirt and nothing else. The waxer started some friendly conversation.

  “Where are you from?” I was instructed to fold my legs Indian style. As I lay flat on the table, I answered her questions. My open vagina was on display for a perfect stranger. I better get used to this—it would be a constant in my new life.

  I didn’t know what kind of nerve endings were on top of my lady parts, but when she ripped the wax free, I was certain she’d ripped my soul straight out of my little love nub.

  I wanted to punch her face as my body lifted off the table. All the while, she was telling me about her favorite Chinese restaurant on Broadway. She was spreading hot wax all over my sex and talking about wonton soup.

  After ripping my pubic hair out of my body, she told me to lift my legs and spread my butt cheeks. The minute the wax was ripped from my ass, I could only take comfort in knowing should that part of my body be desired, it was trimmed and ready to go.

  Just when I thought my ordeal was over, she brought out
the tweezers. One by one, she plucked the hairs that weren’t smart enough to hide.

  “Okay. We’re done,” she said.

  I exhaled the scream I kept locked inside. All I could think was that anyone who said this shit didn’t hurt was a big, fat liar. The butt part was bearable. After a stranger ripped the first layer off, the butt area felt like a lazy stroll.

  Maybe that’s why they did that first. Shit.

  With my crotch on fire, I dressed and made my way to the front desk. The messenger was waiting for my manila envelope. I handed it to him reluctantly. He walked away with the contract that said I was up for this torture on a regular basis.

  The receptionist handed me a card for my next hair-ripping experience. I had four weeks to recover. Four weeks for my soul, and possibly my lady bits, to come out of hiding.

  Next, I was guided to another room for a manicure and pedicure. Those, I could handle.

  * * *

  “Waxing today?”

  I lay on the table with my legs spread once again. Dr. Chang sat between my thighs and inspected my bits.

  “Yes, please tell me it gets easier.” He chuckled as he slid the speculum into me.

  “I’m told it does, but electrolysis or laser removal is also an option. You would be a good candidate because you have dark hair. The laser would be an excellent choice.”

  Laser. Yes. No waxing with wonton soup-eating Michelle next month. That plan sounded good.

  “Even though I’m going to insert an IUD today, I’d recommend you use a barrier method to protect yourself from disease. An IUD doesn’t offer protection against HIV, herpes or gonorrhea.”

  “I’m aware of that, Dr. Chang. The IUD is my backup plan against pregnancy. It’s effective and won’t cause me to gain weight.”

  The cramp and pinch of the insertion were nothing compared to my experience at the spa. I gave a vial of blood, dressed, and headed off to my next task—school.

  With my new income potential, I visited my advisor and signed up for classes I couldn’t afford yesterday. I managed to maintain a Tuesday and Thursday schedule and put myself on track to graduate in less than two years. The thousands I charged at the bookstore didn’t freak me out. If everything worked out, I’d have those paid for in a week or two.

  When I arrived home, there was a package waiting for me. Inside was the cutest Coach purse, a brand-new cell phone, and a hand-written note.

  River,

  Welcome aboard.

  Erica from Bloomingdales will be waiting for you tomorrow at nine.

  This is your work phone. It’s intended for work only. All communications from your mentors and me will come through this phone.

  A photographer will be at my office tomorrow at two o’clock to take your profile pictures. Don’t be late.

  An email will go out to the sponsors in your area of study tomorrow. Your profile will be posted on the Alumni Boards tomorrow afternoon. Expect that phone to be ringing as early as tomorrow evening.

  I hope you enjoyed your spa day.

  Sandra

  A person would have to be a masochist to enjoy that spa day. The only consolation was it was supposed to get easier every time. The waxer was bold enough to say that sometimes the hair was so scared, it didn’t grow back. I was thinking the recipient was so scared, they never went back.

  Free for the rest of the day, I texted Jade to see if she wanted to hang out.

  I’ve joined your crazy club. The paperwork is filed and I paid my dues at the spa. Ouch. You could have warned me. Every four weeks? Really? How about dinner and a movie at my place or yours?

  River

  She didn’t respond immediately. In fact, she didn’t respond until well after five that evening.

  Sorry,

  I am booked tonight. I have a meeting with my mentors. They want to discuss the ins and outs of my options. :-) I’m happy to hear that you took the plunge so to say. As for dues, you’ll be paying those until you resign from the club. I have to say by the second or third month, the payment isn’t nearly as painful. Call me next week and we’ll chat. I will probably be tied up for a few days.

  Jade

  Tied up? I wondered if that was a figure of speech, or was she being literal? My world was upside down, and I wasn’t sure of anything.

  I found leftover Chinese in the refrigerator—no doubt my roommate’s, but fair game if left behind. My chopsticks waded through the Kung Pao Chicken and avoided the peanuts. I’d never been a fan of peanuts. With my feet on the coffee table, I watched reruns of The Vampire Diaries and relaxed. It might be the only time I’d get to kick back and be me for a while.

  I dragged myself to bed and fell asleep with images of Ian Somerhalder in my mind. He entered my dreams as the mentor I would meet first. He would require all of my time, and I giddily accepted. Just as I began to feel the first flutter of a nocturnal spasm settle between my legs, my alarm shrilled and sent Ian back to dreamland. With a sigh, I turned off my alarm and prepared for my day.

  In the shower, I shaved my legs and admired my pretty, red toenail polish. Miraculously, my recently accosted crotch was no worse for wear. It was amazing how quickly my private parts regrouped and recovered.

  What did a girl wear to meet a fashion consultant? In the end, I imagined anything I wore would fall short of her approval. I threw on a sundress and sandals since the weather was warm. I would hold on to summer for as long as possible. Before long, the icy cold fingers of winter would be tapping me on my shoulder.

  * * *

  Erica was waiting for me when I arrived at guest services. She led me into a private area where racks of size eight clothes hung patiently waiting to be tried on. By me.

  Holy shit.

  I wondered how she knew my size, and then I remembered how closely Sandra had analyzed my naked body. That woman was amazing.

  “You will need a couple of little black dresses. They are timeless and can be dressed up or down.”

  Erica handed me a couple of sexy black dresses and a pair of black pumps. They weren’t Louboutins, but they were damn cute. I slid the perfectly fitted dresses on and looked at myself in the mirror.

  Where had this woman been all my life?

  They say that clothes don’t make the man, but I disagree. Quality clothes can make just about anyone look and feel better. The next two hours were spent in the back room trying on everything. I never thought I could tire of trying on clothes I could never afford, but by eleven o’clock I was exhausted. Several items had been placed on a rack to the side. I’d assumed it was the purchase rack.

  “Is there a specific budget we’re supposed to stay under? You have quite a collection on that rack, and I don’t want to take advantage.” I pulled on my lower lip, dragging it between my teeth. It was a nervous habit since childhood.

  “I’ve been doing this for Sandra for years. Let me assure you that you haven’t begun to break the bank.” I wondered how much she really knew. “Lunch will be here in a few minutes, then we’ll move on to lingerie.”

  “You’re going to feed me and then make me try on lingerie? Somehow, that seems cruel.” I laughed at the wrongness of that scenario. It was kind of like sending me to a waxer and then to the gynecologist.

  “You’re having a salad, and honestly, I have your size. You only need to choose styles and colors. After that, I’ve been instructed to dress you and send you to the hairdresser. They’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the photo shoot.”

  Wow, she knew a lot more than I thought. I didn’t question anything the rest of the day. I dressed in what I was told, and I showed up where expected.

  When I left Bloomingdales, I was told my purchases would be delivered to my house that evening. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, except she was leaving prostitution and I was entering it. Irony. Much? Other than that, our stories were quite similar. I walked into the discreet office on Fifth Avenue and greeted Merilee.

  “Oh, River, you are stunning.”

  Her com
pliment eased some of my tension. The girls at Bloomingdales did a remarkable job. It was funny how a new outfit and makeup could make me stand taller and feel more confident. I was ready to conquer the world. Maybe Jade’s confidence had been similarly boosted. The wall opened, and Sandra stepped forward. I wondered if she would be pleased.

  Her look of satisfaction made the pruning of my pubes and the plucking of my eyebrows worth the pain. My skin had been cleansed and creamed, my hair had been washed and glossed. I had more makeup on, and yet, I looked natural. There was something so wrong about that. However, when Sandra looked at me, her slight nod told me I’d met her expectations. It was a silent job well done, and that made everything right.

  “River, the photographer is here to take your pictures. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

  She moved aside and had me enter the room ahead of her. A chair and a black backdrop weren’t what I expected. Prepared for a boudoir shot, I half-expected to be laid out on the white velvet sofa with a cocktail in my hand and a feather boa around my neck.

  “This is David, and he’ll be taking your photos. After, you and I will chat about any lingering questions you may have.” She took my beautiful black Coach bag and set it on the table.

  David led me to the chair. I sat properly. Head up. Shoulders back. Confident. He pulled my long hair over one shoulder and asked me to tilt my head to the side. The click of the camera sounded again and again as my position was changed and my hair rearranged. David asked me to look sexy. Sandra told him I was sex. That statement made me laugh. The shutter clicked furiously as I continued to let loose. I couldn’t contain it. I’d never thought of myself as sex. I’d been called a whore and various other names throughout my life, but sexy was never uttered.

  At this point in my life, I was a commodity. I was sex. The contract proved that. The rapid clicks of the shutter ended our session.