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“Are you getting out or what?” the cab driver asks in a pissed-off tone, making me realize that we’ve already arrived at the address I gave him. I pay him and get out of the car. The signage in front of the building matches the one on the card Joel had given me.
As I walk to the door, a security man holds it open for me and then asks if I have an appointment. The moment I show him my card, he points me to a woman standing inside talking to two other women. The decor is elegant, with plush chairs and sleek glass tables displaying intricate jewelry and accessories.
“My name is Tricia, and we’ve been expecting you,” she says with a warm smile the moment she sees the card. Now I’m beginning to think this card opens doors.
She ushers me to the reception area, where I sit on one of the sofas. Soon, another woman appears with a glass of champagne. “I understand you have a dinner. Who would you like to wear? Do you have any designer in mind?” Tricia asks in a friendly tone, her question taking me off balance.
I’ve never been one to go for designers. I can’t afford them.
“You don’t have any? How about Giorgio Armani?” she asks.
“Uh… how about we just get a simple dinner dress? It doesn’t have to be designer,” I say with a nervous chuckle. This place is intimidating enough, and now I have to decide which designer I want to wear.
Her smile falters a little. “Sorry, Darling, but everything we sell here is designer. And I was given specific instructions to make sure you get the best. Why don’t you tell me the type of look you’re going for, and we can pick out a dress to help you achieve it?”
I want to tell her a simple look, but I already did. She isn’t buying it, so I say instead, “How about you help me pick out something you know will be appropriate for dinner?”
Her smile widens. “That I can do. Give me a moment; I’ll be back with dresses I know will be a good fit.”
“Okay,” I respond. As she walks away, I take a sip of my drink and look around, its bubbles tickling my tongue.
The boutique is breathtakingly luxurious. Soft classical music plays in the background, barely audible over the low hum of conversation from a few other shoppers. The scent of expensive room fragrance fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of leather.
Moments later, Tricia returns with several dresses draped over her arm. Each looks stunning. “Why don’t you try these on in the changing room?” she suggests, leading me to a private area.
I step into the changing room, the mirror reflecting my anxious expression. The walls are lined with silk wallpaper, and the floor is covered in a thick, luxurious carpet that muffles my footsteps. I gasp in shock when I see the price tag on one of the dresses. Twelve thousand dollars for a dress?
“Do you need help in there?” Tricia calls out.
“No, I’m good,” I respond, picking up the first dress to try on. It’s a deep emerald green, the fabric clinging to my curves in all the right places. The neckline is daring, plunging just enough to be seductive without being vulgar.
I step out, and Tricia’s eyes light up. “It’s beautiful on you, but you should try on the rest,” she says.
I try on the next dress, a midnight blue gown with intricate beading that catches the light with every movement. Each dress transforms me, making me feel like someone else, someone who belongs in this world of luxury and opulence.
The final dress is a classic black number, simple yet elegant, with a slit up the side that adds a touch of allure. The material is silky smooth against my skin, making me feel both powerful and vulnerable. “What do you think?” I ask Kim.
“This is it for me,” she says with a smile. “It’s timeless and elegant. Perfect for the occasion.”
I nod, agreeing with her choice. “I’ll take it then.”
“Perfect. How about we pick out a shoe to go with the dress?”
We spend the next hour picking out a shoe, and in the end, we choose a pair of red Louboutin strappy heels. Tricia goes on to pick out a few jewelry pieces, too.
***
“You look incredibly beautiful,” Bianca says as she applies the finishing touch to my light makeup.
“I feel beautiful,” I say, smiling as I look at my reflection in the mirror.
We’re in one of the dressing rooms at Passion Palace, as it’s a rule for us to leave for our dates from here. I didn’t tell Bianca about my encounter with my date at the birthday party. I was a little judgmental about her sleeping with clients, and I did the same on my first day. I feel like a hypocrite.
“I see you’re having fun at the job,” Bianca says now applying makeup on her own face. She has a date with a man who wants her to pose as his fake fiancé at a family function.
“Yeah, so far, it’s been good,” I say with a smile.
I’ve had three jobs in the last week. I had to be the escort of a middle-aged man who needed company for a charity function. He was French and his English wasn’t so good. As I can speak French, I doubled as his interpreter, too, for extra pay.
