A Million-Dollar Playmate

Perspective of Lalaine.

After negotiating with Scottie, I decided to move in with my "owner" for two years. In no uncertain terms. Then I could go about my business as I saw fit. I didn't know what kind of life that would be at that point, but I knew I had to keep my optimism.

Two years was a small price to pay to make sure my mom and eventually my dad got some time together.

The club music from upstairs throbbed through the walls and took control of my heart rate, but I fought tooth and nail not to envy those revelers who had no idea about the hidden club underneath their feet.

Something else was washing over the women below. We walked past the doorman who was checking names off a clipboard. He recognized us and our purpose, so we were immediately permitted entry.

Walking past the line of women blocking the hall nearly made me lose my composure. They seemed like a diverse group, with some bearing an air of royalty and others appearing to be veterans of the big leagues for the first time.

They were all standing naked in front of a wall of mirrors with a number taped to their stomachs.

A "two-way mirror," as Del put it. "Every customer tonight has a full synopsis of every girl up for auction. Then they are herded like cattle into this area to be exhibited to the high rollers. This allows them to scope out the offerings and determine which destitute young lady might be worth placing a bid on."

"Wow, you're helpful, Del. Nothing about that makes me feel bad."

"Oh, hush. I didn't mean it that way," she said, trying to reassure me. "You are far too talented to be engaging in such nonsense. You are not like them." She pointed at the other female students in the corridor. "That being said, I do understand. I don't know of anything more selfless than what you're doing for Fate."

As I avoided making eye contact, I thought, "Those other women could have very well had their own Fate at home." As we neared the end of the corridor, Del rang the bell.

A voice yelled for us to come in, but I became anxious when Del stepped aside and pointed toward the door. I knew that the onset of full-blown hyperventilation was imminent.

"Hey, look at me." Del made me look at her directly. "You needn't enter that building. Right now we can turn around and leave."

My voice shook as I said, "No, we can't," despite my best efforts to calm down.

"I'm unable to accompany you inside. It's up to you from here on out," she said, her regret and concern barely concealed.

As tears threatened to spill over my cheeks, I nodded my understanding and lowered my head.

Del grabbed me in an unexpected bear hug, practically squeezing my lungs to death. "The answer is yes. Maybe even some satisfying sexual encounters will result. Maybe. Maybe not. Don Juan could be hiding behind the mirror, ready to sweep you off your feet at any moment."

"Ha! I laughed it off and mustered a half-smile as I pulled away from her protective embrace. "I'll make it. All you have to do is make sure the jerk who ends up with me keeps his end of the bargain. If he doesn't, I want the FBI to come in here with their guns blazing.

You know it already, girl. You have my number, so get in touch with me as soon as possible with updates or I will have to take legal action. I better head back to the bar before they fire me and reveal everything I know about you. However, keep in mind that I like you, sort of, and sh*t."

Even though Del wasn't the mushy type, I understood that as an expression of love. She swatted me on the rear end and said, "Give 'em hell, babe," before kissing my cheek and walking away. I was not fooled by her guile.

When she thought I wasn't looking, I could tell by the way her shoulders hunched and she dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips.

I whispered, "I guess I like you, too," after she had left the room.

I faced the exit, steeling myself against the possibility of faltering and turning back. Seeing her face made me realize there was no going back for me. I then unlocked the door and entered the office to complete the contract signing process.

Scottie's office had the kind of opulence I would have expected to find in the home of a Mafia don.

The walls were adorned with fine art and there was plush carpet on the floor. The ceiling was centered with a beautiful chandelier.

They tried to lull me to sleep with classical music drifting from hidden speakers. The patrons might have felt more at ease among the sophisticated music and decor, but I was skeptical. Even if you dressed up a pig in a suit and tie, it would still smell like a pig.

Scottie had a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other as he sat at his desk. He sat back in his chair, feet up on the desk, and seemed carefree as he directed an imaginary orchestra with his fingers.

He looked at me, grinned, and sat up straight while butting his cigarette in an ornate marble ashtray. "Hello, Ms. Brown. I was hoping you'd be able to make it tonight."

I straightened up, chin up, and stared him down. Until the money changed hands, I was in charge of this transaction. I wasn't going to let Scottie Christopher fool himself into thinking he was anything but a go-between.

"I said I'd be here, and so I am."

He got to his feet and walked over to me, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was examining me thoroughly.

"That's something that's excellent. If you hadn't shown up, I might have dispatched a rescue squad to find you. You're going to be very profitable for me tonight."

Perspective of Lalaine.

"Can we please just confirm the terms of my contract?" I sighed and said. There was good reason for me to mistrust him.

Without any remorse, he turned a profit off of human beings. I couldn't put my faith in someone whose profession was lying. I wouldn't have been standing there if there was another option available to me.

He returned to his desk and said, "Right," before opening a manila folder with my name in large black letters across the top. "I assure you that confidentiality will not be an issue with tonight's client. In fact, I require it of everyone who enters my business. The upper crust, the elite, the no-nonsense types with more cash than they know what to do with. As long as they're willing to pay, I don't question why they're interested in the products I sell."

I knew someone with enough influence to guarantee the payout necessary to make sure my mom got the surge