Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“Please, Cindy!” she pleads from her submissive position. “It’s life and death!”
My shoulders slump because I really don’t want to go to a party tonight, and yet Kiki’s so desperate that I feel really bad for my buddy. She’s in a tough position, and I know what it’s like to be stressed, seeing that I’ve been in similar situations myself in the past. The difference is that I’m a huge nerd and school comes easy to me. I took Intro to Bovine Anatomy two years ago, and it was pretty straightforward, if I recollect correctly. It took some hardcore memorization, sure, but it certainly wasn’t the dumpster fire that Kiki’s experiencing right now.
Letting out a defeated sigh, I reach for my friend’s hand and pull her up to sit on her twin bed before handing her a box of tissues.
“Okay, fine,” I say in a defeated tone. “What do I have to do? It’s a catering job, right? You’re a server at an exclusive VIP party tonight.”
Kiki grabs a tissue and wipes at her red, swollen nose.
“Thanks Cindy,” she says with a pathetic sniffle. “I appreciate it. And yes, I’m working a party, but it’s not exactly catering. It’s a little different.”
I nod.
“I know, I know. You probably have to do set-up, clean-up, and tend the bar too, right? And do you also have to help cook?”
Kiki shakes her head, still wiping at her swollen nose.
“No, not that. It’s not exactly catering, Cindy. It’s um ... a little more.”
I stare at her.
“I thought you worked for Campus Catering Services. You have the uniform because I’ve seen you wear it,” I say in a slow voice. “What do you mean, it’s different?”
My friend stares down at her clasped hands, the used Kleenex twisted into a small, sodden ball between her fingers.
“Well, I have the uniform but it’s kind of a disguise—”
“A disguise?” I ask in a surprised voice, my brows going up. “What do you mean? Why would you need a disguise?”
Kiki looks ashamed, and continues to twist the Kleenex between her fingers.
“Well, I started with Campus Catering Services at the beginning of the year,” she says defensively. “But they don’t pay much, and you know I don’t get help from my family for tuition. So actually, I quit after a month and started a new job. It’s also client-facing, just in a different way.”
I stare at my friend, my look suspicious.
“Okay, so what do you do?” I ask in a low voice. “Tell me, Kiki, if I’m going to be filling in for you tonight.”
My friend swallows so hard that I see the lump in her throat move.
“Well, I tried out for this new company, and they liked what they saw, so I got hired—”
“What company?” I demand. “Like a ballet troupe? I know you like to dance.”
“I do like to dance,” Kiki responds immediately, her cheeks flushing pink. “So it was a natural fit for me. Basically, I dance at parties. For customers. For men.”
My heart begins to race as I stare at my buddy.
“You’re a dancer for men? What does that even mean? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
My pretty blonde friend looks alarmed and shakes her head.
“No, no! It’s not bad, or horrible, or anything like that. Basically, guys throw shindigs and they don’t want it to be a sausage fest, so they hire female companions. We’re not doing choreographed routines or precision dancing or anything like that,” she adds quickly. “You don’t have to learn dance steps, or special moves. But yes, we wear sparkly dresses and party with the men,” she says in a faint tone. “Is that okay?”
“No!” I practically screech in response. “Ki, no way. Come on, this is me we’re talking about. I have two left feet, and there’s no way I could fit into a sparkly dress. I gained the freshman fifteen, which became the sophomore thirty, which has turned into the senior forty. There’s no way.”
“But you’re beautiful, Cin,” Kiki pleads in return, a hint of desperation returning to her voice. “You’d fill out one of my dresses really well, and honestly, those outfits are meant to be tight. They look bad on A-cups, and are meant to cling to women with curves. Please, Cindy, don’t back out now!”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose as if in pain. Then I open my eyes and pin my friend with another look.
“Yeah, but what about the dancing? I can’t dance, Ki. Seriously, I’d trip and fall and land flat on my face. Besides, this is so weird! Who goes to parties just to please men? Oh my god, you guys are strippers, right? OMG, OMG!”
“No, we’re not strippers!” Kiki denies vehemently, waving both of her hands in front of her face. “I would never agree to be a stripper because it’s so low-brow, and that’s not what our clients want either. It’s just dancing around in a slinky outfit, and acting sexy and flirting a little. I promise, it’s not stripping.”