Unwanted Heat

Kenzie

Holy Shit… holy shit… holy shit.

That’s all I can think about on the cab ride home. Bridget insisted on paying for a cab when she learned I arrived by bus and subway. I don’t mind taking public transportation but I guess to someone like her, it’s a foreign concept. I can’t imagine what this cab ride must be costing her, since I don’t live remotely close to this area of the city but when I tried to object, she wouldn’t of hear it. So now I’m sitting in the back of a cab that is weaving in and out of traffic repeating holy shit to myself hundreds of times. I’m holding the folder tightly in my hands, almost afraid to open it to look at the contract that she says is in here. I can’t possibly read a contract when I haven’t even digested what she just told me. As I think about the people on her account that I have shopped for in the last year I suppose it makes sense. There are girls I dress for formal and business casual events, men who are dressed in suits and fitted tuxes and of course the gentleman that was shopping for a business trip the other day and needed clothes for his “girlfriend.”

“Ma’am, is this the correct address?” The cab driver pulls me from my thoughts.

“Yes,” I confirm after glancing out the window at the graffiti covered building in front of me.

I thank the cab driver and head up the steps to the entrance of my building just as the cab pulls away. There is a guy drunk or high leaning against the door, he’s passed out and doesn’t even move as I approach him. I cringe at the thought of stepping near him but as I clear my throat to get his attention, he doesn’t even flinch. My hand grips the knife in my purse fiercely as I take a step forward, prepared to defend myself if this low life suddenly moves.

I quickly rush through the door, closing and locking it behind me the moment I enter the stairwell. The door is supposed to be locked at all times, residents are the only ones who should have a key but of course the door is rarely locked and I’ve seen people who don’t live here entering the building without bothering to ring a bell. Other than a few derogatory comments thrown at me when I first moved in here almost a year ago for the most part whoever is outside leaves me alone. I still carry the knife in my purse at all times though, because I can never be too careful.

I quickly enter my apartment, shutting and locking the deadbolt behind me as I turn on the lights. It’s nearly ten o’clock, I’m not sure where the night went but I guess I was at the restaurant a lot longer than I thought. I’m too tired right now to think about what Bridget said or even consider reading the contract. I have a full day tomorrow, working both jobs so I need to get to bed soon. I quickly change into a pair of pajamas and toss my dress into the ever growing pile of laundry that sits in the corner. At some point in the next few days I need to find the time to do laundry or I won’t have clean clothes to wear to either of my jobs. The problem, of course, is that today was really my only free evening, as I’m scheduled to work both jobs for the next three straight days. While the paycheck will be nice, working a minimum of 36 hours in 3 days is not something I enjoy doing. I’d prefer to have at least half a day off in between double shifts but the two companies don’t exactly coordinate my schedule with each other so sometimes it ends up like this.

I know I need to find a couple of hours tomorrow to review the information that Bridget sent me and to really process what she told me. My initial thought during dinner was that she was crazy, that there was no way in hell I would consider her offer, that I have too much pride to do what she is suggesting. But as I sit in my crappy apartment in this shitty neighborhood with no real future ahead of me, I have to admit that I would be crazy to not at least consider her offer.

I force myself to stop thinking about the offer tonight because I know if I don’t stop, I will be up all night which will just make for an even more exhausting few days. Despite the neighbors loud arguing next door, I quickly manage to fall asleep, vowing to focus things tomorrow in whatever spare time I might have. I sleep soundly until the alarm buzzing wakes me up several hours later. I’m thankful whenever I sleep through the night… my nightmares have become fewer but when they hit, they usually prevent me from going back to sleep. On days like today where I have to work both jobs, I’m thankful when I do sleep through the night without a nightmare.

“Good Morning, Kenzie,” Ginny greets me as soon as I walk through the back door of the bakery.

“Morning.”

The morning passes by slowly, unlike most mornings in the bakery. I can’t seem to focus; my mind constantly wanders back to the conversation with Bridget last night. The one thing that continues to stick in my head is the amount of money she was offering to pay me for a couple of hours’ worth of work. Today I will bust my ass, work 12 plus hours and by the time the day is done, I will have earned around $150 before taxes. Around $150 for 12 hours of work… whereas Bridget is offering me almost 5 times that amount per hour. Am I stupid for not agreeing to it right away?

The thought of being able to live in a nicer neighborhood, one where I don’t have to walk past people who are drunk or high just to get into the building sounds attractive as well. I could work only a few nights a month and have all my current bills covered. Add in a few more days and I would be able to afford a small apartment in a decent area of New York. But what type of job security is there in this type of… business? Would there be enough work to cover my rent every month? What happens if business slows down? Does this type of business slow down?

As the morning wears on, I realize I have far more questions than I thought was possible. The more questions I have the more I realize that I’m actually at least half way considering this offer. I have to admit the thought of not struggling as much financially is what is driving me to at least think about this and not just say hell no to Bridget. I’ve always wanted to go back to college; I looked into taking online classes years ago but I was forbidden from doing so. What if this job could pay enough to allow me to begin taking classes again? Bridget said some of her staff were paying their way through college by working for her. Could I do something like that?

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kenzie,” Ginny calls as I punch out for the day.

“Have a good day, Ginny.”

A subway and bus ride later, I’m back in my crappy apartment eating a bowl of instant noodles cooked on a hot plate for lunch. Not the healthiest option, but when you only have a few extra bucks to spare, crappy food always wins over healthy food. As I wait for my food to cool, I decide to make a list of questions for Bridget.

1) Safety:

a. How will my safety be ensured?

b. What kind of background checks are

performed on the clients?

c. Will dates always occur in public places?

d. What options do I have if something happens

on a date?

2) Communication:

a. I don’t want clients knowing where I live…

how is that handled?

b. How are the dates set up? Does the client call

me directly?

3) Pay:

a. How many hours per week is typical?ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

b. Are there times during the year when business

slows down?

c. Can most girls maintain an average number of

hours?

4) Publicity:

a. How will reporters/press not tie me back to

your company?

b. How do I respond if I’m approached outside

of a date and asked how I met someone I was seen with?

5) Clothing:

a. I don’t believe I can shop where I work. Are

there other options?

6) Control:

a. Will I be able to refuse a date?