Good Girl(29)

"You said yes, right? To whatever he offered? I told you the opening bid you suggested was stupid high." When Vince and I talked numbers this morning I suggested ten thousand and he laughed in my face. Then he'd suggested a hundred, which I thought was a little low until he clarified he meant a hundred thousand dollars, and then I giggled so hard I had to bend forward with a hand clamped over my mouth to contain myself.

It's not like I'm skilled, you know? Plus I did some research on the internet when I concocted this plan and the average cost for sex in Nevada is somewhere between a few hundred and a few thousand dollars. I know virgins are a silly novelty, but a hundred grand? Please.

"Did he offer ten thousand like I suggested?" I ask, refraining from rolling my eyes in Vince's face for being right. Just barely. If he didn't scare me a little I'd absolutely roll my eyes.

"He offered two and asked me to cancel the auction."

"Thousand, right? Two thousand dollars?" It's a little disappointing because I was really hoping for ten thousand, but the money was never the point. "So it's done, right? I don't have to go out there now?" I'm flooded in relief at the idea that I might get to skip the humiliation of parading around in this nightie. My fingers are already itching to slip back into the outfit I arrived in and a pair of shoes that don't require ballerina-level balancing abilities.

"Two hundred thousand, Lydia. And I told him another insulting offer like that was going to get him escorted out of my club."

I hear Vince, but it's taking me a moment to piece together what he's saying, my heart thumping in overtime as I glance nervously over at Payton. How much did he just say? And why did he refuse? What have I gotten myself into?

"Um, Vince." I swallow hard before continuing. "Why did you turn him down? We had a plan."

"Because I've got my own plan, Lydia, and two hundred doesn't cut it for me. Not even close."

Oh, God. I've made a deal with a pimp and it's working out exactly like one would imagine a deal with a pimp works out.





Sixteen





LYDIA



"Time to lose the robe and take a walk."

Take a walk. I grasp the sash of the silk robe covering me and twist the material in my hands. He means the stage in the VIP room. Staci showed it to me earlier so I know where I'm going, know what to expect. The VIP room is private, obviously. Separated from the main floor via a set of stairs. The dressing room is on the second as well and connects to the VIP via a short hallway. Or a really long hallway depending on your mindset.

It's an intimate room. I picture it in my mind as I slip the robe off my shoulders and hand it to Payton. As I follow Vince down the back hallway while my pulse rings in my ears and my heels click on the laminate flooring.

There's a small stage in the VIP room and it's more runway-shaped than the ones downstairs. A bit closer to how I'd originally imagined the club, but on a much smaller scale. There's a curtain at the end of the runway where the dancers enter—or so I'm told. No one was using the room earlier today when Staci walked me through. She showed me where I'd enter, we walked the stage together, the lights up high and the room empty. It felt like previewing an event space, not a rehearsal for the biggest night of my life.

"He's definitely here?" I question as we stand behind the curtain, watching a dancer I met earlier on stage. I wonder if she's the opening act? I suppose she is. I'm not sure what I thought they'd be doing until it was my turn, but wasn't expecting to wait for someone else to come off stage. She's a really talented dancer, too. Strong. Flexible, obviously. She's setting the bar really high for me and I'm not sure I like it. Not that I'm dancing, but the flexible thing.

It's loud. The entire place is loud, decibels higher than it was when I was here earlier.

"He's here," Vince assures me. I can't see the customers from my vantage point behind the curtain. The seating is cast in shadows from where I'm standing. It's not a large room, not many seats. It reeked of exclusivity and privacy when I viewed it earlier. When I convinced myself this would be easy. I'd think of the stage as a runway and imagine myself a model rather than a hooker, I thought.

I'm thinking a little differently right now.

"Why do men need it to be so loud in order to get laid?" I ask. The noise from downstairs is making the floors shake and I wish I could adjust the volume as easily as I do on my iPod.

Vince shakes his head and laughs. "We'll turn it down during the auction. It'll be over quick."

Quick for him maybe.

The song ends, the dancer exiting the stage, brushing past us on her way past. The music changes, like a cue that I'm up, and I feel sick. It's lower and hypnotic and sexy and terrifying.

"He's on the left," Vince says. "Let's go." Then he's pushing through the curtain, holding it open so I've got no choice but to follow. Follow or turn and run like hell.

I follow, because these are not running heels.

The lights blind me for a moment as my eyes adjust, even though it's certainly not what I'd call bright on the stage. There's a spotlight, I realize. I'm on display like something pretty in a store window. Vince is speaking but I couldn't tell you what he's saying. I'm too busy blinking and breathing and putting one foot in front of the other.