Chapter 11
Ingrid
Mid July
Ending the call, I let out a string of curses.
Two weeks before the summer semester wraps up, my mother calls to inform me there’s a problem with the family funds. All of my father’s accounts have been frozen, pending the outcome of an investigation. Even our account here, because it’s tied to his name.
Thankfully, I have two. Besides the joint account, I opened a separate one in my name only, where I transferred some funds.
It was my safeguard in case something like this happened.
But it’s not enough. It won’t cover my tuition, which is due soon.
Which means I’m screwed unless I come up with a way to make money, and fast.
The good news is—if you’re someone who looks at the glass as half full—a scholarship pays for most of my education.
I’m only responsible for room and board, which isn’t cheap.
Now that I’m a sophomore, I have options I didn’t last year.
Moving off campus is possible if I find somewhere soon on short notice.
It probably won’t be in a great neighborhood, or with a roommate to help offset expenses, but hopefully something with four walls and without rats as pets.
I also need a job. Minimum hours, but with a decent wage.
Between classes, fútbol practice, and studying, it leaves little time to work without something suffering—like my grades.
I can’t afford to let that happen. If my grades slip, I’ll lose my academic scholarship and get benched by my coach as well.
To make matters worse, my work visa is still pending approval. My current visa is for students only. I need a job that pays under the table until I can acquire the right visa. So, that limits my options as to what jobs I can even apply for.
Raven, a teammate of mine, works at a gentlemen’s club just outside of NYC.
She claims it pays very well because of the club’s exclusive nature.
It’s risky if she gets caught working there while on scholarship, but well worth it.
Far enough away from Princeton, the private club for the wealthy is one where secrets stay for a price to its members.
Each one is required to sign an NDA and pay a hefty non-refundable membership fee before they can even walk through the door.
I’m a little wary, working so close to the city where my best friend lives, but what she doesn’t know won’t kill her. Plus, maybe I can visit Winifred while I’m there. Not every time, or she’ll get suspicious.
It’s worth a shot. I’m applying for a couple of positions.
According to Raven, there are several options.
She started as a greeter, moved to a server, and is now on the floor as a socializer or glorified greeter who talks to the clientele and keeps them company.
There are also entertainers—I called them dancers, but she assured me it’s not like that.
These girls have a talent. Most sing or dance—but not sexually.
One girl, she claims, does comedy and another models fashion.
It sounds odd. I mean, if the girls don’t dance like they do at other clubs, then what do they do? Why would men pay such an exclusive fee if there isn’t a sex theme? Isn’t that what makes these clubs popular?
Sex is the central theme of the one my father and his friends belong to. Exclusive or not, I’ve heard what goes on there, and it’s not conversations about life.
I guess I’m about to find out since I just got off the phone with Raven and she’ll be here in fifteen. We’re taking the train to the city. When we get there, she’ll introduce me to her boss. If he likes me, I’ll start tonight.
Tonight? Yes, tonight.
What does one wear to an interview at an establishment like this?
Raven told me to think fancy nightclub. Something that made me appear sophisticated, well-educated, while still sexy.
I pull out a few choices and wonder if this is what it has finally come to for me. Am I willing to sell myself, my body, just so I don’t have to return home?
Darius would not approve—but fuck that. Why should I care what he thinks? He’s just a friend, nothing more.
I’m not ashamed about working at a place like this. There’s no shame in doing what one must to survive. My advice is simple: before judging someone, try to understand their life, their struggles, their perspective—walk a mile in their shoes.
Raven is one of my closest friends. She has a good head on her shoulders. Her marks are excellent. With her sights set on law school, she’s immersed in her pre-law studies. She swears it’s not about selling her body, and that the club doesn’t allow it. Not inside the club, at least.
I took that to mean it happened outside. Although she claims that isn’t always the case; so far it hasn’t been a practice for her. She won’t elaborate, has only said I have to speak with Mr. Rossi, the owner of Kismet. If I get the job, he’ll offer a more thorough explanation.
I settle on a light blue cocktail dress that hits me mid-thigh.
It’s something I’d wear to a nice dinner or even a night out with my friends if we were going to a swanky club.
Sleeveless, but with thick lacy straps that won’t slide down easily.
I pair it with one-inch silver heels, because I don’t require the height.
I’m already as tall—if not taller—than most guys.
I’ve learned that my size sometimes intimidates men, and I need this job.
When Raven arrives, she smiles her approval. “Perfect. That dress puts those long legs of yours on display. Mr. Rossi would be an idiot to turn you away.”
I grab my clutch and shove my phone inside. “I’m nervous. I’ve never held down a job before. How pathetic does that sound?”
My friend slips an arm in mine as we walk out of the dorm. “Half the girls here haven’t. It may have escaped your attention, but most of our classmates live off trust funds.”
I used to be one of those, unfortunately. “Preaching to the choir.”
“Ingrid, you’ll do fine. Please don’t take this the wrong way.” She glances at me sideways. “But you could use a little fun in your life. You spend too much time kissing everyone else’s ass. Especially that jerk you used to hang out with.”
“He’s left. Won’t be back,” I remind her.
“Now, the other gentleman who’s been hanging around…”
“Is a friend of a friend. There is nothing and will never be anything between us.” We’ve had this conversation several times.
“Girl, you need to jump on that man pronto.” Lifting her hand in defense when I begin my objection, she continues.
“I know what you’re going to say, but you’re wrong.
That man has it bad. And from what I’ve seen, he’s nothing like what you say he’s like.
Mysterious? Yes. But he’s not some player, or if he was, he no longer is. ”
“Once a player, always a player.” I spit out as we step onto the platform where we’ll catch our train.
“There was a time I’d agree. Maybe he’s less interested in the women themselves and more interested in maintaining the illusion of being a ladies’ man.
Just because someone sleeps with more than one person does not make them a bad person.
It only means they’re enjoying life until the right person comes along.
Are you saying you’ve only had sex with guys you were serious about?
” She nudges me, knowing I’ve slept with a few because I wanted to and for no other reason.
Raven goes quiet once we get on the train. Her attention on her phone, her fingers texting wildly. I watch the world pass us by through the window. I try not to let a certain man enter my thoughts. It’s hard when he’s not letting you forget about him.
He stuck around for a few weeks after he ran Wilson off.
Eventually, he had to leave to handle business, but that didn’t mean he left me completely alone.
Daily calls and texts arrive, more than I get from my best friends.
His concern is refreshing, but at the same time, confusing. I don’t know what to think.
I know he’ll eventually learn about the recent development in my father’s financial issues. When he does, he’ll do what men like him do and throw money at me like it’s no big deal.
He’d be wrong. To me, this is huge. Life changing.
Accepting his money will make me indebted to him.
He’ll hold it over my head, and this strange friendship we’ve been building will disintegrate.
The man I’ve started to sort of like, with his charming smile and easy laugh, will soon reveal a darker side I know I’ll hate.
It’s better for me to find my own way instead of relying on others.
When we arrive in the city, we chat like girlfriends do. I’m a bit on edge. My distress is palpable, and Raven’s attempting to calm me down.
Before I realize it, we’re walking through a dark glass door with the name Kismet in gold scrolled across it.
It’s nothing like I imagined it would be.
The lobby area reminds me of a swanky hotel with a welcome desk and a few cushioned seats for its patrons to wait.
There are a few doors leading to other rooms and a large dark window to the left—I assume it’s where the management can stand to observe the clientele.
“Take a seat. I’m off to get ready for this evening. Mr. Rossi will be with you soon.” Leaning in, she kisses my cheek. “Just be yourself, and everything will be okay, I promise.”
The woman at the front desk smiles up at me while she talks on the phone. It sounds like she’s taking a reservation. Odd. I mean, do members have to make reservations? They can’t just come and go as they please?
While I wait, I study the décor and blush when I notice the wallpaper isn’t fancy swirly lines like I first assumed. So, sex is a theme after all—proof proud and loud on the walls.
A deep voice interrupts my study of all the different sexual acts hidden amongst the fancy wallpaper. “Don’t worry, you’ll soon understand it’s just art and not at all a suggestion of what goes on here.”
My eyes land on a tall man dressed in a three-piece suit. “I’m sorry, what?” I know I’m about as red as I can get.
He extends his hand. “You must be Miss Lennox. I’m Mr. Rossi. Let’s talk, and I’ll show you around; I promise you won’t be disappointed. Come see it for yourself. I run a classy business. There are no sex dungeons or private rooms available for clients and staff to use.”
I take his offered hand, his skin rough against mine, but say nothing. He gestures for me to follow, quickly releasing his hand with a nod. As we walk through the lavish rooms, each with its own distinct character, I listen to him do his best to sell the place.
One room reminds me of a bar, with dark leather and low lights.
Another is more like a fancy restaurant—lots of white.
There are booths and round tables with candles.
Each table only has four seats, so I’m guessing that means no large parties.
The last one is a nightclub. There’s even a DJ area.
High-tops line the dance floor and walls.
There’s no room with a stage or poles. No sex dungeons in the basement. No private rooms where I would imagine sexual acts take place. He opens every door, even the ones marked private. When he’s proven his point, he leads me to his office, and we get down to business.
“I believe you’ll fit in well here. Do well, even.
The gentlemen who walk through those doors understand this is more than just a private club, it’s a sanctuary.
They come here not just because of the beautiful women working here, but they crave intelligent conversation.
Strange, I know, but true. Half the allure for them is learning who you are, getting to know—”
I interrupt him. “Are they searching for trophy wives?”
He laughs. “Some, but most are here for business. Here, they can speak freely, without fear of intrusion. My employees are well compensated, and their silence is golden.”
“So, criminals and politicians come here to make shady deals.” I don’t see the point in beating around the bush.
“You’re a smart woman, Miss Lennox. We’re here to help you form bonds with those who can offer a helping hand when the moment calls for it. The men you’ll meet are more than willing to do just that. Not all of them are criminals. Most are men of means who are eager to invest in your future.”
“So, I sell myself. Maybe not here, but in the long run. Eventually they hope to wear me down and get me to agree to sleep with them?” I’m a smart woman, like he said. Men don’t just help young women unless they’re getting something in return.
“What happens outside of Kismet is not my business. While you’re here, you work for me, that’s it.
If you choose to pursue a relationship outside these walls, that’s between two consenting adults.
My work involves connecting intelligent, stunning women with men who value respect.
I have a strict no-tolerance policy for anyone who disrespects my employees, current or former.
” Mr. Rossi folds his hands in front of him.
“It’s your choice. You can walk away at any time if you decide this isn’t for you.
I think you’ll learn quickly why those who work for me become successful once they move on. ”
I lean forward when he passes me a slip of paper with a number that has several zeros behind it.
“That is what you’ll make each night you work.
Everyone starts at the front desk. Once you’ve proven yourself to me and our clientele, you’ll be moved to one of our themed areas.
If you get sponsored, it will happen sooner. ”
I remember him telling me earlier men sponsor those who catch their eyes, those they wish to keep them company. I don’t care if I ever acquire a sponsor. With this money, I can get a decent apartment—somewhere with updated appliances and big windows—and eat well, too.
“I think I’d like to give it a shot.”
“Welcome aboard, Miss Lennox. I know you’re going to be very happy here.” Mr. Rossi hands me a pen. “We’ll keep this as a cash transaction until you secure the proper visa. I’ll help you do that as well.”
My hand shakes as I sign on the dotted line.
Why do I feel like there’s something he’s not telling me?