Weak for Him (9 page)

Training sessions, one after
another, continued to bore me to death. I never knew there were so
many forks and spoons, or that there were proper ways to eat
spaghetti, sip wine, or cut steak. Sitting up straight and making
sure to act like a lady were top on my scold list along with
learning to speak only unless spoken to. No swearing, biting nails,
or making ugly faces. Act interested in what the clients have to
say. Men do not like women who act like barbarians, my coach said
after
I ate fried chicken.

Barbarians? She would die in
Texas, where everything was bigger and the trivial things didn't
matter. Where we walked around with barbecue sauce on our T-shirts
because it was easier than changing, and being barefoot was
natural. Texas, where the sun always shone, and where everyone
worked hard until their dainty hands had calluses.

Coach demanded practice in
four-inch high heels, taught me to laugh genuinely at stupid jokes,
and flirt with my eyes. Twice a day, exercise was required, cardio
in the morning and afternoon with weight lifting every other day. I
essentially attended princess training. Where the hell was my
prince?

The contract stated I would have a
dedicated week of training, but I didn't expect mannerism school. I
expected to watch porn, learn how to give hand jobs, blow jobs, and
to pop my ass out when I walked. My views on being a call girl were
steadily changing.

Lori laughed when I told her that.
Her response was, "The Elite are classy individuals, Jennifer. Not
whores that are picked up on the side of I-10. You have to make the
men feel important. It's easy, really. Our clients act like
gentlemen, and they do nice things to make a girl feel special. I
have a great time with my Number One, you know, the man I'm most
compatible with out of all the clients," Lori said.

I loved her. She was my saving
grace. Although I kept my deep secrets to myself—more specifically
the ones about Mr. Felton—she knew most things about me, and I her.
She was no Abbie, but was the closest alternative, and would be
returning from a business trip the next day. Until then, I would be
alone in the lion's den.

After I strutted my way through
hell, also known as Jennifer's mannerism training, I was given a
manual with dating guidelines for The Elite.

Trust between client and employee
must not be broken.

Never kiss on the lips because
it's too intimate.

No blow jobs, hand jobs, or any
sort of sexual acts on the first date.

All dating curfews must be
followed.

And the list continued with more
No's than Yes's. Of course, the fine print stated that if agreed
upon beforehand or if the price was right, some of the No's could
become Yes's. Each case would be reviewed and approved on an
individual basis. Along with the guidelines, we were given specific
to-do's such as checking our email each day. Most correspondence
from Mr. Felton arrived that way. Nothing personal like a phone
call, or a text, but rather a group message sent to every girl.
Tomorrow would be the night that I met one of my
matches.

The email clearly stated the
instructions:

The limo will arrive at eight. All
girls will be escorted to the corporate office's convention center,
which will be setup for the client meet and greet.

Below was a reminder of how
everyone was matched:

1. Both client and employee must take
   the match survey to see if they have fully compatible
   personalities.
   

2. The client must decide if he is
   attracted to his matches, and then a bid is placed.
   

3. The highest bidder is granted
   access to the employee. Documents will be signed between both
   parties, creating a legally binding contract.
   

Lori would be back in the
morning.

She would help calm my nerves
before the big night.

***

The group of women lined up
against the walls. We were handed specific numbers and were
instructed to place them over our left breast. Before sticking on
my number, I peeked. Lucky number thirteen.

The doorway at the end of the
hallway opened.

Mr. Felton.

He was dressed in a navy blue
fitted suit jacket with straight-legged trousers. It had to have
been designed by Brioni because only James Bond himself could pull
off that look. I swallowed hard and kept my eyes to the ground. His
voice, confident and smooth, traveled down the hallway with the
directions. But we knew what to do; it was in every manual we were
required to read.

Turn around and face the wall so
blindfolds could be attached. Don't speak unless spoken
to.

We were never to know all the
clients that used Mr. Felton's services; it was a part of the
nondisclosure agreement. So, everything was done behind closed
doors and blindfolds.

The softness of the material
rubbed across my cheeks and eyelashes. I squished my nose a little
and peered down. I had moved the material a quarter of an inch, and
if I tilted my head a tad, I could see. It was directly against the
rules—rules that I had just broken.

Lori, and another one of the girls
whose name I didn't know, grabbed my hands and all the women were
escorted to the main room where a stage awaited us.

Curiosity killed me. I lifted my
head and caught glimpses of men of different ages and sizes. They
sat around circular tables eyeing their forms, which included
headshots and the numbers of their personal matches. The men were
like cattle herders, but they all wore expensive suits and ties,
the most sophisticated of gentlemen, the upper class, the only ones
that could afford The Elite.

Mr. Felton's voice reverberated
through the room over a sound system.

"Thank you all for attending
tonight. As you can see, each one of my girls has a number attached
to her chest. Please circle the one that you most desire on your
compatibility form. Once completed, please return your bid slip to
me. Assignments will be given once the bidding has
finished."

His voice, so British and sexy,
articulated every word carefully. I memorized how this worked: the
highest bidder would be assigned to a girl and then the
meet-and-greet would commence. There would be no sex. The Elite
believed that two people should have a common chemistry before any
sort of sexual act took place. Tonight was nothing more than an
Elite speed-dating event that could eventually end in sex, one day.
It didn't seem so bad, considering.

I licked my red lips and pressed
them together because I knew what was coming next.

"Virgins step forward,
please."

I did as told and moved forward
for everyone to see the one and only prized
virgin
.
Murmuring increased, and I knew they were excited. Tilting my head,
I could see the clients searching their forms for lucky number 13.
Some had me, and others didn't.

"Thank you," Mr. Felton said, not
speaking into the microphone. And I moved back into
place.

I almost could hear my heart
beating. And before I let my thoughts take over, the line traveled
from the main room back into the long hallway. We were instructed
to face the wall until Jesse removed our blindfolds.

"You did well," Mr. Felton
whispered in my ear as he removed mine. So gentle, his touch and
the way he brushed my hair from my shoulders. I tried not to smile
and continued to look forward. As he walked by, I turned my head
slightly and positioned my body to see in my peripheral if he undid
anyone else's.

He didn't. I held a
breath.

Lori grabbed my hand and squeezed,
and we both shared a smile.

"Turn around," Jesse
demanded.

Like robots, each woman turned in
synchronicity and Jesse walked down the line passing out slips of
paper with our man of the evening's number attached. As she handed
me mine, she dropped it on the floor, gave an overly sarcastic
oops
and then kept walking.

Bitch.

I opened my paper and inside read,
No. 26—Luketon Brand
.

Lori opened hers and smiled. Every
woman seemed happy with her selected match. Feeling out of the
loop, I flashed my card towards Lori. She gave a smile and thumbs
up, and then whispered
he's fucking hot
. I laughed and then
immediately turned it off as Jesse glared at me.

The secretiveness of the process
kept the integrity of The Elite call service. The men didn't want
people to know who they were, and we weren't allowed to speak of it
with another person. That would be easy for me. I had no one to
tell.

Lining the walls of the convention
area were tinted windows with numbers on the doors. Room twenty-six
awaited me.

Mr. Felton spoke with Jesse by the
exit. He pointed around the room and wrote a few scribbles in a
small notebook. Jesse shook her head several times, and he nodded
his. Mr. Felton continued to talk, almost scolding her, and then
ended it with a smile. I kept my eyes on them while I went to meet
my match. His jade greens caught sight of mine, and I didn't look
away. He watched me until I couldn't take it anymore.

Outlined in gold and filled in
with red, the number twenty-six held the man that wanted me:
Luketon Brand. With a pinch of confidence, I opened the door and
saw dark hair, blue eyes, and a set of plump lips. He stood as I
entered and waited for me to sit, and then he followed.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Luketon Brand,
but you can call me Luke."

"Jennifer Downs, nice to meet
you."

He grabbed my hand and kissed the
back ever so slightly.

"The pleasure is indeed
mine."

Another man with a mesmerizing
British accent. I thought I might lose it.

"So, Jennifer, won't you tell me
about yourself?"

I traveled back to the office with
Mr. Felton, and the result of the same question. I trashed the
thoughts.

There are specific questions that
a match can ask. I had the answers memorized as not to give away
too much.

"I'm twenty-two, a Virgo, only
child. I like fast cars, and hate taking walks on the
beach."

He chuckled.

"Really? Duly noted. I have a
confession to make."

He leaned in closer.

"I despise the beach as
well."

I smiled and cocked my
head.

"The sand is terrible, isn't it?"
he asked.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he
interrupted me before I could agree.

"Would you like to ditch this
joint? I also despise formalities, and ties, and boring business
meetings."

"So we can leave?"

"You're mine for the next few
hours. We can do whatever our little hearts' desire, and I can
guarantee that does not include long walks on the
beach."

He stood and placed his hand on
the small of my back and led me from the cramped space of box
number twenty-six.

Luke found Jesse and Mr. Felton at
the exit.

"We are leaving. Be back before
curfew."

I heard a slight edge in his
voice. The three of them turned and looked at me. Jesse rolled her
eyes just to confirm that she still hated me. Mr. Felton lifted his
eyebrows as if to ask if leaving was okay, and I nodded my head.
Why the hell did he have to look at me with such intensity? Fucking
Finnley Felton fucking with my feelings. Or maybe it was my
emotions playing tricks on me?

Luke left Mr. Felton with a firm
handshake and headed toward me with a smile on his face.

"Since that's settled, where would
you like to go?"

"Anywhere but here."

He opened his arm for me to link
onto. Before we left, I looked over my right shoulder and saw Mr.
Felton watching me leave. I winked at him and turned
around.

Take that, Mr. Fuckton.

"Is everything okay?" Luke
asked.

"It is now."

Once outside, the cool air drifted
across my legs, and I soaked in the fall breeze. He opened the door
to the white Volvo, and I slipped in.

"I think I've got the perfect
place for us to get to know one another a little
better."

Within ten minutes, we were
pulling into the entrance of a park. I lifted my eyebrows and
turned to Luke.

"You'll love this place, I
promise."

We walked toward a pond. Along the
bank of the water were benches occupied with kissing couples. He
led me one in front of the playground and then checked his
watch.

"Just wait," he said.

A light breeze rustled the leaves
behind us, and he leaned his shoulder into mine. The apple scent of
his body mixed with the cool night air. Without warning, lights
across the pond flashed and blinked. The trees branches glittered
and danced like they were synchronized to music. Then the finale
happened, and all the lights on the trees lit up at once and then
slowly faded away to nothing.