The Mafia King's Toy

I was young when I first sold myself. Setting it up through a cousin of mine, I got quite good money for my virginity. And while the other girls were telling their awkward stories or crying over their heartbreak, I soon discovered that mine was quite the best way to go. Boys were idiots anyway. Pretty little puppies that were ready to pay to not be left alone.

A few years later, I moved out and went to live in the city. My cousin knew a guy who owned a house where people like me could stay. Nobody asked questions, everybody minded their own business. I shared a room with a woman named Hoang Lan. She came from Vietnam. She had been sold out far younger than me, as her parents were poor and needed the money.

A girl is just a burden in a world made for boys.

The difference between Lan and me was that while I paid a provision to my cousin and was allowed to keep a bit of money for myself, she never saw a dime. Her pimp paid for what she needed, and the rest was sent directly to her parents. So, when we happened to have the same day or night free, we would go out together and I would pay for an ice cream or a fashion magazine for her.

One night, she didn’t come home. In the world we live in, we have to look out for each other. If no one looks out for you, you risk being swallowed by the night without anybody even realizing you ever existed. Another benefit if you work for your family. Saying nobody cared that she was gone is a huge understatement. I was the only one that apparently had noticed her existence. A day after Lan disappeared, a young girl moved in, taking her place. This was the first time I stepped out of line and went to the police stations nearby where she usually worked, checking if there was a Jane Doe matching her description.

There was.

I was able to identify my first best friend at the age of nineteen.

After Lan was brutally murdered. They had dumped her in some alley, as if she was trash. She wasn’t. She never told me her age, but she was certainly younger than me. The new girl I shared a room with was a mess and an addict. It was quite a challenge sharing the room with her, as coke and I didn’t go well together. I asked my landlord to change rooms and got beat up for it.

By the age of twenty-two, I paid the last rate for Lan’s funeral and tombstone to the nice undertaker lady who buried her without distorting her face in disgust. She gave me the chance to re-pay her at small and irregular rates. God bless her soul.

At the age of twenty-five, I got my first apartment and was introduced to the world of escorts. It took me a year to be booked fully and be able to get off the streets. My small and scruffy apartment soon morphed into a small fancy apartment uptown. As I was always dressed elegantly for the job and worked by day, my neighbors treated me with kindness and respect.

Something I had never experienced until I was twenty-seven.

***

Nerthus

“She was everything I had.”

I roll my eyes internally as I comfort the man crying next to me.

 “Oh, poor Max. I’m sure Yuppie will look down on you and is always with you.”

Yes, he just lost his cat a few days ago.

As I got off the streets, I was surprised how many men just booked me to talk or go out without even touching me. Society can be really hard on men without an appropriate companion.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for any easily earned money. And I don’t enjoy a man’s touch particularly. But I’m not good with people. I’m better in bed. So, having people wanting me to act as a babysitter or a shrink weighs on me. I prefer being f*ck*d from the moment I get in, to the moment I get out. If there is no talking, it is even better.

The bald man weeping beside me is some kind of congressman. “Maybe there is something I can do, to make you feel better, Max?” I purr, moving my hand over his leg. He lifts his head out of his hands and stares at me incredulously.

“You can’t bring her back, can you?!” he shouts before starting to cry back in his hands again. I retreat my hand and sit back up straight with an annoyed expression.

Good thing he can’t see me.

As I sit there next to him at the foot of the bed in a s*xy-fitting dress and expensive lingerie, I caress his back while he cries into his hands. And I push down the urge to sigh out loud.

Well, so much for a well-paid job.

***

I sigh as I watch the young blond barista preparing my latte. I nearly get hypnotized by her nose ring as she sways her head to the music playing in the little café.

She has pretty strands of pink and blue hair incorporated into her hair. I remember when I was wearing other colors than my natural copper in my hair too, and I smile as I think of how I used to rock that style. Today, it would be impossible for me to redo it. It’s hard getting jobs with upper-class clients if you don’t come in a certain design. While I miss the colors in my hair, I don’t miss my past at all. Thinking of it, I can live with my boring hair any day.

“Here you go, Amber,” she says in her melodic voice.

“Thank you so much, Lizzie.” I mirror her pretty smile as I take my cup and leave the shop.

Another morning session for the drain. I got all hyped up for nothing. And even if he was a bald, elderly, unattractive man, I had prepared myself with some techniques and was ready for some action. This has nothing to do with me wanting to do it, it’s just a job and the more you are ready, the faster it is done. And the faster it is done, the faster I get my money. Imagine waking up in the morning, groggily getting out of bed to shower, putting on some make-up, dressing, getting out of the house, just to arrive at work and your shift is canceled. And as you are already in, you get assigned to a stupid task, which makes you feel like you should have stayed in bed.

Argh, right?!

I fight myself through the large crowd on the busy sidewalk and cross the street, reaching Central Park with fast steps. It’s still chilly in the city and I hug my jacket closer as I walk over the stone bridge. I reach my favorite spot under a big tree and greet Alice, the Mad Hatter, and the White Rabbit that are scrambling around on mushrooms formed out of bronze.

A few small children play around the statue while their parents are a few steps away, chatting. Their small voices disrupt the eerie silence of the park, making it lively. I smile behind my paper cup and drink my coffee slowly, watching them play.

Even if I’m dressed quite alluringly in my short black dress, stockings, and high heels it is still classy. Sometimes, I still can’t get over not getting any mean looks. Or at least not that often anymore.

As I was working the streets, my look was totally different. The more you show, the more perverts you get. The more perverts you get, the more money you make. You get the pattern. Unfortunately, you can’t go anywhere without being recognized for your working field. Five years ago, there would have been no chance for me to sit this close to children and their mothers in a park peacefully. When I think of the days I spent being insulted and the nights I feared being attacked, I shudder. It has always been a mystery to me how I got so far. About ten years ago, I was fearing death every other day. And I’m not sure if it would have bothered me, actually.

Heaven.

Taking out my phone, I access the secured online-vault my agency provides us to secure our client data. It’s a sort of App, designed by the IT security squad of my agency and it protects whatever we need to hide from curious eyes to do our jobs safely and confidentially. My planner, along with my appointments, preferences, and my forged identities are all stored in there securely. Obviously, confidentiality is the most important factor in my working field because I often get to know some scandalous information. Something that has me feeling pretty excited about my job. On top of that, the App is quite convenient.

Opening my congressman’s file, I write a little memo describing today’s appointment and add important information he told me that I might need for future encounters. After tagging his cat as deceased, I exit the vault and let my phone glide back into the front pocket of the leather jacket that I’m wearing.

I smile, continuing to enjoy my little break and jerk up as my phone chimes with an incoming message. I open it swiftly as it is from my boss texting me about a new engagement.

Ka-ching!

Luciana: Have a spicy job for you. If you want it, meet me in my office asap.

Amber: On my way.

Getting up, I throw away my empty paper cup and stroll back out of the gigantic park to hail a cab.

I’m always in for something spicy.

Nerthus

Of course, I never have to wait long in such an outfit at this hour.

I try to keep the conversation with my cabdriver to a minimum. Fortunately, he talks so much that I can keep my answers short. I really don’t like conversing with men when I’m not getting paid for it.

He drives me across the buzzing city like he wants to establish a new record and I nearly get to re-taste my coffee.

Arriving at the beautiful office building near Madison Square Garden, I take the elevator to a dizzying height. As I step out of the elevator, I enter a bumbling world of its own. My high heels clack on the tiled floor as I reach the large and elegant reception. The massive desk reflects the sand-colored tiles of the floors and outshines it with incorporated embellishments in gold and brown. The letters of the agency name stands out on it prominently, following the color pattern.

Fabulous Companion

Putti