Chapter One ContinuedNadiaThe next Sunday, I poked myself in the eye twice with my mascara wand but

Chapter One Continued
Nadia

The next Sunday, I poked myself in the eye twice with my mascara wand but that shouldn’t count against me. My hair was smooth and shiny. I wore my favorite dress-a shimmery bronze silk wrap dress that showed off just enough cleavage to make me feel sexy without being slutty. Even my mother liked it. I didn’t put on a pair of heels. O’Shea might want to give the wrong impression but I didn’t. I put on my nicer ballet flats instead. 

My palms sweat when I walked into the restaurant.

“Welcome! Do you have a reservation with us or can I escort you to the bar?” The hostess didn’t look like she was trying to be polite. I sighed in relief.

“No. I’m waiting for friends and I’m not sure whose name the reservation is under. I’ll just wait here.”

“Perfect. Let me know if I can bring you a mineral water.”

I nodded my thanks and sat down. I debated whether I should take out my phone and answer emails or scroll through my Pinterest board, anything to make it look like I wasn’t some sad sack of a woman waiting for a friend to show up when O’Shea walked in. 

“Much better,” She hugged me.

“I can see your nipples.” 

O’Shea wore an asymmetrical silk top that ended just below her belly button in a shade of pale rose that made her look soft and strong all at once. Her pants were wide legged. They hugged her hips then flowed away from her body. Bangles made music every time she moved her wrists and chunky gold hoops hung from her ears. 

I wouldn’t be insecure. I wouldn’t. This dress made me feel sexy. Even my mother liked it.

“So let’s go.” I motioned toward the hostess.

“Nope. We wait for the other two.”

“Two?” I said, “You have two friends coming? You have two friends besides me?”

“It’s so weird. You’re really shocked about that,” O’Shea murmured and looked over the restaurant.

“Whatever,” I brushed my hair back from my face, “We can go to the table and they can meet us there.”

“That’s not how we do things.” 

“Why not?”

“Not enough impact. But don’t get too impatient. They’re here.”

I looked over my shoulders and forgot this was my sexy dress as I watched two women walk through the door. One was- well I knew the polite word was petite but tiny was what came to her mind. She was the same height as O’Shea and managed to make her long dark hair curl around her heart shaped face in ways that I never could no matter what flat iron I bought or how many tutorials I watched. Her skin was the color of amber, her eyes the shape of almonds, her nose narrow and long. The woman looked exotic, contemporary, she wore her sexuality with a graceful nonchalance that made it that much more arousing. To someone else, of course. Not to me. 

The other woman was tall, willowy. Every movement seemed graceful and unhurried.  Her skin reminded me of the Anubis statues I saw in museums, so black it was almost blue, soft, supple. Her cheekbones were slashes across her face, her nose was wide, her hair was cropped close to her head like a man’s, her lips were full. She was a goddess. 

The two women hugged O’Shea then turned to me. Their faces were neutral but I wrapped an arm around my middle and felt my shoulders roll forward. It was like I was back in those jeans and my cardigan. 

“Nadia, this is Delia,” O’Shea gestured to the smaller woman.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi,” Delia said. Her eyes were on my flats.

“And Zion,” O’Shea said.

“Hello, it is a pleasure to meet you,” the dark goddess said.

“You as well,” I said.

“We’re ready, Natalie,” O’Shea said to the hostess.

“Of course.” The hostess bounced over with her blinding smile on display. “I’m sure this won’t surprise you, O’Shea, but we have the best table in the house waiting for you.”

“Thanks, Nat,” O’Shea said. 

I was closest to the stairs and turned to walk down them.  A small hand grabbed my arm.

“No ma’am.” Delia pulled me back. “I know you’re new but don’t get carried away.”

“What?” I glanced at O’Shea.

“Impact, remember?” O’Shea said. “You’ll walk next to Zion.”

I felt my stomach drop but let O’Shea and Delia step in front of me. I was shoulder to shoulder with Zion and, against my better judgement, looked at her. If Zion weren’t in heels we would be the same height. What did it feel like to be so comfortable with who you were and how you looked that you could stand over six feet tall in heels and not be ashamed? 

“You guys look amazing.” Natalie, with not a single menu in her hand, led us to our table.

I thought the attention that O’Shea garnered on her own the week before was too much but this…A hush fell over the restaurant; I heard music, sounds from the kitchen, the traffic outside. Everywhere I looked there was someone to make eye contact with. I could feel their gazes rake over my body and wanted to touch the waistband of my spanx just to remind myself that they were there. Don’t shrink. 

“It is easier,” Zion said in a low voice, “if you do not turn your head. Face forward and inspect your surroundings using your peripheral vision. If you can, imagine you are in a glass house. These people can see you but they cannot touch you and their words cannot reach you.”

I erected those imaginary glass walls and wanted to hug Zion in gratitude. The walk to the table went from feeling like it would never end to just being the longest two minutes of my life. 

I tried to breathe when I sat down but couldn’t. Everyone still stared. I put my napkin in my lap. Smiled when Natalie said, “the usual?” even though I had no idea what that meant and looked down at my folded hands. 

Drinks came to the table within seconds. My favorite, the French 75, was placed in front of me. I would have asked questions, but O’Shea winked at me. Oh. I clutched the champagne flute in my hand and thought maybe now that we were at the table I might be able to relax but  a man pointed at our table and started to rise. My body was rigid until a server whispered a few words in his ear, and the man sat down again. The man looked at the table again before he gave some type of instructions and a business card to the server. I brought my drink to my lips.

“Death to the micro penis,” Delia said.

I choked and Zion rubbed small circles on my back until I stopped coughing into my napkin. Delia continued to speak. As if I didn’t try to cough up a lung.

“There has to be a virus or bacteria or something that will take them out. They aren’t even evolutionarily viable, are they?” Delia said.

“How many did you have this week?” Zion said.

“Five! How do they find me? Is it my ad?” Delia looked at O’Shea, “O’Shea re-write my ad.”

“I absolutely will not. Suffer and get rich.” O’Shea reached out a hand and grabbed mine. “Nadi, stop rubbing your chest like that. You’ll wrinkle your silk.”

“I’m sorry.” I put the offensive hand back in my lap. “I just don’t understand-”

“Ooo! Presents!” Delia said as the server that stopped the man who wanted to approach us put two plates of food on the table and a business card in front of her. “I love food.”

“Would you like some?” Zion offered a bowl of fruit to me.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“It’s pomegranate, papaya, mango, and kiwi,” Delia said.

“I know what’s in the bowl,” I took a breath; there was no need for me to be snippy. “We didn’t order this food. Why does Delia have a business card and why is she talking about micro penises and ads?”

I  eyed each of the three women. My gaze was on O’Shea when I said, “I just want to understand.”

“She does not know what we do?” Zion said.

O’Shea shook her head. Delia put her drink back on the table.

“You brought a vanilla to the war meetings?” Delia said.

“I am sure O’Shea has her re-”

“Oh, no, Zion. Don’t you defend her.” Delia pointed at Zion. “I brought that nice stripper to brunch and you both-”

O’Shea snorted. “That girl was an idiot. She tried to sit up here and tell us she wasn’t black when she had skin darker than Zion’s.”

“A thicker accent, too.” Zion said.

“So we let her go back to her colonizer friends,” O’Shea waved a hand. “Which was really nice of us.”

“I just want to understand,” I said.

Delia rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to answer your questions if you have any so try to keep up.”

Zion made a small noise. Delia shrugged but her tone was softer when she spoke. 

“We’re sex workers. Do you know what that means?” Delia said to me.

“Sort of, but-”

“I’m an escort but I don’t work with an agency. I find and book all of my own clients. Zion is a sugar baby with-how many men do you have on the roster right now?”

“I currently have four sugar daddies.” Zion said.

“Oh, you got the architect to commit?” O’Shea snagged a piece of papaya from Delia’s plate.

“Don’t eat my fruit,” Delia said, “and don’t interrupt. Okay, where was I?”

“Zion is a sugar baby.” I cleared my throat. “But you said that all of you were sex workers. That’s not true. O’Shea is an artist and she runs a restaurant.”

“I run Domingo’s restaurant,” O’Shea said.

“Yeah, okay,” I said. “You run your boyfriend’s restaurant. Plenty of couples work together that way.”

“My boyfriend is 23 years older than me and pays me more than any other general manager in his company even though I have less experience,” O’Shea stared at me.

I stared back and tried to stop my brain from jumping to conclusions. No. We had been friends since O’Shea was twelve and I was thirteen. We didn’t keep secrets like this from each other. We were open books. 

My best friend was not a sex worker. My best friend was not a slut. My- 

Oh my god. Did other people know? Did they see me with O’Shea and think that I was a…a whore? Was I guilty by association? Did it affect my business? What would my mother say? 

My hands shook. I looked over my shoulder at the door. Forty steps? Fifty? That wasn’t many. I shifted. Slid my napkin off my lap. It would only take the valet a few minutes to bring my car. I had cash. I could pay for my drink. Or not. O’Shea could pay for a French-fucking-75. It was the least she could do after lying to me for-

Oh my god. O’Shea and Domingo had been together for almost two years. For two years, my best friend lied to me. 

I looked at O’Shea and knew what she thought by the way her head tilted. You aren’t a coward, are you Nadi? Will you run away? She straightened her head and smiled. There was a cruel edge to the way her lips curled back to reveal her teeth and I heard her voice in my head again: Your mom would tell you to leave. Go. Be Mommy’s perfect girl.

I turned my body to face the table, raised my chin, folded my hands in my lap. I won’t leave but you owe me some answers, bitch. 

O’Shea laughed and there was only joy in it. “Nadia’s going to stay.”

Delia shrugged. Zion smiled. 

“I know you said you wouldn’t answer my questions,” I said to Delia, “but I do have them.”

Delia smiled and it was so infectious I wanted to smile back. But I didn’t. I understood what this was. 

“I’ll answer your questions,” Delia said, “and they’ll interrupt when they don’t agree.”

Zion and O’Shea nodded. The bowls and plates were cleared from the table, another round of drinks appeared, and a business card was laid in front of O’Shea.

“Why do this type of thing at all?” I said. 

“Why have sex for money, you mean?” O’Shea said.

“Yes.” I said.

“For money,” Delia chuckled at her little joke.

“But don’t you care what people think?” I said.

Delia looked at me like I was stupid. “Why would we care what they think when they don’t give a shit about us and what we think?”

I opened my mouth to answer her question but nothing came. Years of doing things because they were the right things to do, the expected things to do, and I couldn’t provide a reason for living my life that way when asked. Brunch continued. I ate. I think I ate. I was in a haze that stayed with me when we left the restaurant, when I promised to attend the next brunch, when I got into my car and drove home. 

Through the haze came two questions. Why should they care what other people thought of them? Why did I?

Continue Reading