Little Secrets(42)
They all start the same way, with what she calls “the spark.” The spark is the thing that puts her on their radar. If they hadn’t yet considered her as an option, then they will after the spark. Sometimes it’s a flirtatious comment—friendly, but full of innuendo—and sometimes it’s a lingering look. If the married man isn’t open to anything more, then nothing will happen, and the spark dies. No harm done. If he is open to something more, then it must be he who takes the next step.
The seduction can go on for weeks, with a slow build, as the married man fights his urges, only to lose the battle in the end (and they always do). It’s important they believe they’re the ones seducing her; it makes them feel powerful to know they can, that they’ve still got it, whatever “it” is. The first time they have sex has to be spectacular, and that only happens if the build-up is there. The chase is everything.
Once they get addicted to her, and to the high of being with her, she can start using the relationship to her advantage. It’s not as if she doesn’t like the men she dates—she’s genuinely attracted to all of them. She’s not a prostitute, for fuck’s sake. Professional girlfriend, maybe. And, like any relationship, you don’t want it to get boring.
This is where she is now with Derek. It’s been six months, her longest relationship yet, and she senses it’s starting to get stale. He’s becoming apathetic, and she’s not sure what to do about it. When they first met, he came alive around her. Now he’s retreating into the deep well of sadness she’s guessing he lives in when he’s around Marin, and it’s different than anything she’s ever dealt with before. Which means his time with Kenzie is less exciting, less worth it, and will morph into a complication he’ll soon decide he no longer wants.
She rinses the complimentary hotel conditioner out of her hair and moves all the little bottles to the ledge so she’ll remember to bring them home. It’s nicer stuff than what she can afford to buy, unless someone else is doing the buying.
When she’s out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, Derek’s awake and packing up his computer. The clothes she discarded on the floor have been folded and placed neatly on top of her overnight bag. It both annoys and amuses her that he feels the need to pick up after her.
“Feels like we just got here,” she says, attempting conversation. They’ve barely spoken since he picked her up yesterday.
He doesn’t look at her. “Done with the shower?”
He moves past her, and she hears the water running. She uses the hotel blow dryer and does her hair in front of the desk mirror, noting that the pink is fading once again and she’ll have to decide whether to recolor it. The box of hair dye she uses costs eight bucks a pop; it’s a luxury she can’t always afford after tuition, rent, food, cat care, utilities, and art supplies. With student loans and her hours at the Green Bean, it might have almost been manageable … but her mom’s assisted living facility costs almost three thousand a month, and the payout she received from Paul last year has nearly run out.
It’s why she needs to be really careful with Derek. She can’t afford to lose him. Timing is everything.
She uses her round brush to make loose waves; she doesn’t want another crack from Derek about her wet hair. Things have to go well today; he needs to leave here happy and wanting to see her again. She rifles through her small makeup bag, then strokes on a little mascara. A touch of blush. A bit of gloss. Then she slips on a black thong, clean leggings, and a loose top that falls off her shoulder. No bra. She doesn’t need one.
She likes what she sees when she’s finished: she looks like herself, but polished. She snaps several selfies in the mirror. She chooses the best one and posts it to Instagram with the hashtags #pinkhairdontcare and #hotellife. Out of the fifty thousand people who follow her on social media, there are only a half dozen she’d consider actual friends, who would know that she doesn’t stay in hotels all that much.
But it’s not about what’s real. It’s about what it looks like.
She refreshes the app, watching the likes roll in. Anything less than a thousand means her picture’s boring, or she didn’t hashtag correctly. She used a filter that made her hair seem pinker than it currently is, and it’s generating positive feedback, based on all the double taps.
Derek doesn’t like her pink hair. She changes her hair color often, and she was blond when they met. When she first went pink, he laughed. It was like he thought she was playing a prank on him, only doing it to get a reaction. How dismayed he was to find out it didn’t wash out overnight and that she, in fact, had every intention of maintaining it, because she’s an artist and it’s her fucking hair and she thinks it looks awesome.
Derek assumes a lot of things are about him. It’s a rich-guy thing—the more money they have, the more personally they take things, and the less they’re used to being told no. When she agreed to work five nights in a row last month, he thought it was because they had argued and she was mad at him and needed an excuse not to see him. That shit just plain insults her. She worked the extra hours because rent was due that week, and so was next semester’s tuition. Sorry/not sorry that her stupid coffee shop job ruined his plans.
Kenzie’s phone chimes and she winces. She has different sounds for different contacts, and this notification is assigned to Tyler. She did not tell her roommate that she was staying with Derek. She neglected to mention it on purpose; she wanted to avoid the fight that always ensues when they talk about him. Ty has never met Derek, but he doesn’t like him.