Selling Scarlett

chapter Twelve

~ELIZABETH~

On my way home, I call Richard Waites, the man I spoke with this morning. He answers on the second ring. I can hear laughter and talking in the background, and through the phone line I swear I can smell stale smoke and alcohol.

Our connection is fuzzed by static, as if it's trying to discourage our contact. I think of Cross and press on. "Richard? This is Elizabeth DeVille again."

"Elizabeth, yes."

"I've thought about your offer, and I've decided that I want to do it. Can you tell me what the next step is?"

He pauses for a second, and I think he is surprised. "The next step? Well, you come out here. Come to Nevada and let me get this rolling."

"What does that entail?" I'm not going to a brothel without a detailed road map in my hand.

"It entails a lot," he says bluntly.

"Where does it start? I'd like to have some idea."

He pauses again, just long enough to take a drag on a cigar. "We do this from time to time, but never with a girl like you. Don't get me wrong. Our girls are beautiful, valuable, talented girls, but they don't have their own bottled water," he says with a chuckle. "They're not Elizabeth DeVille." Another pause, and I decide to put it to him straight.

"DeVille doesn't mean much anymore."

"Yes, and I appreciate your candidness, Miss DeVille, but let me share my own. Our bidders aren't buying your money. They're wealthy men, and what they'll pay for is your high-class hymen. You follow me? All I need from you—well not all I need from you—there's a lot to this— But what I really need is you to come here, do a little training—"

"Prostitution?"

"Well you can't do that. Not and have a decent auction. But I'm saying you learn from my girls. The ropes. It's not for long. Maybe two weeks, three. Whatever's enough to get you ready for your big night.”

I nod. "I follow you."

I'm navigating the interstate, headed back up to San Francisco. The sky is purple. Dramatic, like it knows what I'm up to. "And you said the prices on this are pretty high?"

"In the hundreds of thousands, yes ma'am. We've done two this year and both were over five hundred thousand. One last year even fetched a million." There's another pause, while I zip around an eighteen-wheeler. "Now all of these girls were models, and we had them on the menu for several months before their auctions giving other types of pleasure, so the men had built up some interest in them. Curiosity."

"Are you saying I have to...have my own clients?" I hold my breath. This wasn't mentioned earlier, but now that I've signed on to pay for Cross's care I don’t think I can back out.

After a moment, he says, "Well, no. You're a different sort of girl, or so we're going to say."

"But I don't want to use my real name."

I hear his low intake of breath. "You don't want to use your name? Well Elizabeth, what do you think we're selling?"

"My body," I say. "Isn't that what you sell? Women?"

"I don't sell anyone,” he says, and I bite my lip because he sounds a little defensive. “The women—and men—that work here sell themselves. I’m more landlord than pimp. And with all due respect, Elizabeth, the photos I've seen of your body...well, it's not compliant with the standard of this industry."

I bite my lip, trying my very best to swallow back my pride. For Cross. Telling myself it's nothing personal, I plunge ahead.

"I understand what you're saying, Richard. The truth is, I've recently lost some weight, but I can lose some more."

"I'm looking at the photo you sent me, taken in November. Why don't I put your weight at 165. Is that about right?"

I gape. "You really know your stuff." I'm not 165 anymore, but I was in November.

"I'd like you to have it down to 140. I'd still like some curves, so I want you tight and toned."

I look down at my body, already so much leaner than it was. Screw the numbers. I know where I look my best. I'll make that mark.

"You do that," Richard says, "and then come here. We'll take care of the rest, and you can use an industry name. We could do a wig or something, too. We'll put you up on bill boards around Vegas and we'll talk you up. Something like… 'Selling Scarlett'.”

“And I’m Scarlett?”

“Yeah. You like it?”

I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I say, “Yeah. Scarlett sounds good.”

I hear his fingers snap. “There, the hardest part’s over.”

He laughs, and I know my chuckle has to sound weak. “How soon can we hold the auction?” I ask.

“I think three months, if you want to rush it.”

I feel a wave of cold sweat wash over me, and I want to kick myself for not going into detail this morning when we first spoke. "Three months, no. That's not soon enough."

"Miss DeVille, we aim for healthy loss and toning. We care about our girls—and boys."

"I understand, but I need the money in a month."

I can practically hear his shock in the static coming through the phone line. "A month?"

I rub my brow. "Is that doable?"

"Doable." He chuckles. "Isn't that the word? Of course it's doable. Let me get off the line and get you started. We take twenty percent of the final bid, and we reserve the right to manage the bidding. Understand?"

I swallow. "Yes." I don't know what 'manage the bidding' means, but does it really matter? I've already signed on for this. I'm in.

"One month." He laughs again. "Why don't you get up here as soon as you can, and we'll get you started with the girls.”

I nod and drive the rest of the way home in a fog of disbelief. The only thing left now is to tell Suri.



*



"You're doing what?"

Suri's mouth is filled with cashews, but she doesn't spit them out or even choke. She simply speaks around them and then swallows, and I have the hilarious thought that Suri would probably be a great prostitute.

"I'm selling my V-card," I tell her again, leaning on the iron breakfast table.

Her face is comical. All her features twist, like she might laugh. Then her mouth pulls down, like a sad clown. "Lizzy, why? Why would you do that?"

I think for a second before replying, because I need to give Suri a certain impression. One that will prevent her from trying to stop me. I shrug, hoping for casual.

"I have it, and I definitely don't need it." An image of Hunter and Priscilla flits through my mind; I shove it away. "I figured why not do something useful with it? I'm thinking of making it a project for my PhD. You know, writing about value judgments people place on things. One sexual encounter is just that: it's a ten minute thing. And virginity? It's just a hymen, an antiquated measure of a woman's value," I say, pleased with myself.

Suri is shaking her head, her horrified face the same color green as her polka-dotted blouse. "Lizzy, you don't know." She shakes her head some more. "You're wrong. It's not like that. Sex is intimate, it should be done with a lover or a boyfriend or at least a really good friend."

Someone like Cross, I think, and really wish I hadn't.

"It's not just physical. It gets into your head. I know we're not the same, Lizzy, but I have trouble believing you'd be happy if you just...sold it to some random man." Her nose wrinkles. "What if they're ugly or old or they want to Fifty Shades you?"

All I can think about is Hunter as I try to mold my face into something reassuring.

"They can't be a criminal," I tell her. Richard told me that much. "I can even decline them if I want and choose another bidder. And if we leave the premises, I'll have the option of taking along a team of guards."

"So they're...what, renting you? For a night? For a few hours?" Suri's face is grave. "Lizzy, if this is about money, if it's about Cross, and after what you did today I know it is—"

"But it's not," I interject. I'm waving my arms now, my heart beating fast as it becomes clear to me how much Suri's opinion matters in this. I don't want her to see me any differently. I don't want her pity. I want her support.

I think, not for the first time, how ridiculous it is that someone taking charge of their sexual assets, someone like me who's making money off them, is looked down upon. I can't wait to write about this.

"It's not about money, not all the way. It's about me doing something interesting, doing something that I want. I see it the opposite of how you do. I'm tired of waiting for the right guy. As you’ve known for years now, he doesn’t exist.” She opens her mouth, I’m sure to say something like ‘You could meet him tomorrow,’ so I beat her to the point. “I don't even think if I'd want to lose it to a boyfriend, to be a virgin when he's not. A twenty-three-year-old virgin." I make a face. "I want to go ahead and experience this, put it behind me. And if I can make half a million dollars in the process, what's wrong with that? In fact..."

I trail off, because Suri's mouth is hanging open. "Did you say half a million dollars?"

"Maybe," I say, like it doesn't matter.

Suspicion stretches her features as she stands up, grabbing for a napkin on the counter and using it to dab her mouth. She lowers the napkin and frowns. "So this is about Cross."

"It's about me," I say.

"So you're not planning to give the money to Cross?"

I open my mouth, then close it, not sure what to say. Suri’s eyes narrow to slits. "I saw the news today, Lizzy DeVille. I'm your BFF, not a moron. Remember, I have money. I can help. I'm Cross's friend, too. In fact, I think it would be a travesty if you went out selling...selling yourself, when I'm right here and perfectly willing to help Cross."

"You just bought a huge house, Sur. Listen to me," I say, catching her hand in mine. I press our joined hands on top of the stylish flowered table mats, which coordinate perfectly with the green gingham table cloth beneath them. "Have I ever done anything I regretted, other than what happened that night with Cross? Have I ever made a really big, bad, stupid choice, one I ended up hating myself for?"

"There's a first time for everything," she says. “I have money, and I want to use it to help Cross. You need to let me, and you need to forget this craziness.”

I shake my head. "This is something I want to do. It'll be an experience. And as for money, this was my idea. If you had extra money to throw around, I have no doubt you would have the second that you heard about him getting moved. You can chip in if you want, but I'm doing this, too," I say vehemently. “You might not understand, because you've had sex. You've done it. I'm just...waiting. Like...I don't know...a dairy product outside the refrigerator.”

Suri screws her face up, then lets out a little hoot. “Did you just compare yourself to a dairy product and take the extremely anti-feminist stance that you are somehow spoiling?”

“No! All I'm saying is it's bugging me. That I haven't done it. I feel like...the suspense is just getting to me. I'd like to have it done.”

"What about...opinions?" she asks quietly.

I squeeze her hand and let it go. "I'll be using another name, and my face will be shadowed the night of bidding. When they advertise me, it'll just be my body on billboards or whatever. No one will know."

I've already called Richard back and asked him not to reveal my true identity to anyone, even—especially—Marchant Radcliffe, Hunter's friend. Marchant owns Love Inc., where the deed is getting done.

Suri's eyes are swimming with tears, and I feel a spark of annoyance.

"I know you're just showing me you care, and I appreciate it, Sur, I really do. But I'll be back in a month, just the same as I am now, but a little more experienced. I'm having one sexual encounter with a man who'll likely be very nice to me, and I'll have more protection than the Pope. I'm okay with this. It's my choice."

"You're doing this for Cross," she says again.

"Part of it is for Cross. Doesn't that make it even more meaningful, though?"

Suri nods slowly. "I guess so.”

"See, I'm fine." I stand up, spreading my arms, and she hugs me, speaking into my hair. "You're a good friend, Lizzy, a really good friend. Just remember you don’t have to do this. I don't think Cross would want you to.”

"I want to do this. It's an experiment for me."

In more ways than one. A good twenty percent of this idea's allure is in my eagerness to get rid of my V-card so I can stop saving it for Hunter. I need to be freed of that idea. Freed of my crush. I hope that after spending some time at Love Inc., I never blush in the middle of a sexual encounter ever again. No Hunter West or anybody else will be able to knock me off my feet, and I like that idea.

Suri hugs me one more time and we call Albert. We're going shopping for gowns and robes in every color of the rainbow. As we walk down the stairs to our waiting ride, I feel more peaceful than I have in weeks.