I stand on stage in a silver sequined dress, trying my best not to shiver. But I'm cold, and I'm nervous, a bad combination that makes it hard to fulfill that goal.
I had called the number I'd written down and the woman who answered— Melissa— told me she couldn't talk to me until I sent her my picture as well as a signed confidentiality agreement to not talk about anything we might discuss should she choose to call me back.
Geez.
What exactly was I trying to sign up for? The Secret Service?
I'd had to ask her to only call me between certain hours, which would be when my dad was working at the parsonage. She called me back almost immediately after I'd sent her the requested items, though.
She told me to show up today— this Friday night— and to bring my nicest dress. She said I'd only have to go to dinner with one of the men at the club.
I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. I didn't know what I'd talk about at dinner with a stranger. I would rather feel the pleasure of a man's hands on my lonely body. I felt like having sex for my very first time, not talking about things I have no idea about.
Here were men willing to pay for my company; I'd expect them to want to buy my virginity. But it appeared I couldn't even get them to want to have sex with me, even though they hadn't heard about my tyrannical father. So for this reason, I felt a bit upset.
But I was also glad I wouldn't be selling myself into prostitution. That didn't seem like a great way to get ahead in the world. I had my future business to think about.
Now, I look out into the audience and wonder what I'm doing here. I'm clearly out of place. When I first arrived, Melissa had taken one look at my clothes and said I probably wouldn't be a good fit.
"But I brought the dress," I told her, holding up the floral print dress I wore to church on Sundays.
It was my nicest dress, and even though I'd thought about trying to buy the equivalent of a Prom dress at the general store before leaving town, I hadn't wanted to risk my dad finding out and stopping me. I also brought a small duffel bag with a few changes of clothes and some other necessities.
I'm hoping I make enough tonight to get a hotel room and then I can keep working, saving up enough money to make payments towards my tuition while I figure out how to get student loans without my parents' signature. I really couldn't stand for this club to reject me and send me back to Hudson, where my dad would probably kick me out for running away, when I never even wanted to be there in the first place.
I'd been embarrassed enough in my hometown. The last thing I needed was to be known as an unsuccessful runaway.
"That will not do," Melissa had said. "Here, see if Natalyia has anything you can wear. You look to be about the same size. But in the meantime, I'm going to go talk to the owners to see if you're even suitable for this club."
"What does that mean?" I asked her, but she was already gone.
"She means you're a little too Little House on the Prairie," said someone else, and I turned around to see a tall, skinny brunette looking down her nose at me.
"Oh, leave her be," said another woman, a curvy blonde who winked at me. "We were all new here once. I'm Natalyia, and I do have a dress you can borrow."
"Thank you," I'd told her, sincerely relieved.
"Now burn that one and never even think of wearing it again," the first girl said.
"Stop it, Belinda," Nataylia said, but she was laughing a bit and so was I.
A few minutes later, Melissa came back and said, "Sarah, you've been saved."
"The Powers That Be are into the wholesome image now?" Belinda asked, looking at me with a hint of jealousy.
"No, surprisingly, a client wants her to stay," Melissa answered. "Perhaps other gentlemen will share his taste and we'll start a bidding war."
"Hrmph," Belinda says, turning positively green with envy.
Yes, I thought, having never been the object of envy before.
"It's always good to have some fresh blood in here," Melissa responded and then walked away.
"Good for the club because it brings in more money for them," Belinda grumbled. "But not for us lowly workers, who have to compete for scraps."
"Oh please," Natalyia told her, as she handed me the beautiful gown I'm wearing right now. "You can't call a quarter of a million dollars scraps."
"A quarter of a—?" I almost choke, unable to believe the figure she'd just quoted.
But just then yet another woman walked by, clapping her fingers and saying, "Stage in fifteen minutes, Ladies."
"Woah, I'd better get ready," I said, grabbing the dress and hoping I could squeeze into it— it looked a size or two too small for me even though Natalyia and I looked to be about the same size. I assumed that tighter was better around here.
"Here," Natalyia said, handing me some make up. "Put this on while you're at it. You're a pretty girl naturally, but these guys expect make up."
I froze, not only stunned that she— such a pretty girl— had called me one, but also at the thought of wearing make up. My religion forbids it and my dad would kill me. But I had to laugh, since that was hardly the biggest transgression I was committing tonight.
"Great," I told her. "Thanks."
Then I'd hurried to get ready, for what would undoubtedly be an adventure like none I'd ever had before. And now I'm standing up here ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
"Here we have Sarah Grace," says the man serving as the auctioneer, using my full name. "She's a rather sheltered girl from a small town, and she's here for the first time tonight."
I'd watched some other girls who had gone before me, so I knew how the process worked. Melissa had given me a bracelet she said meant I'd only have to have dinner with the guy who purchased my company.
Easy enough, I tell myself now. Just dinner. Just relax.
I take a deep breath and look out at the strangers in the audience. I wonder if anyone at all will bid on me. I look rather plain compared to these other girls and I don't even think I put my make up on right.
"Ten thousand dollars," says a guy in the front row.
Woah.
My stomach jumps up into my throat as I wonder if I heard him right. Ten thousand dollars, just for dinner?
"Twenty thousand," says someone else, in the middle of the crowd.
"Thirty thousand," says another guy, and then the first guy counters with, "Fifty thousand."
Okay. I definitely heard right. This is crazy. But here I am standing up and doing it, so I guess I have to admit I’m pretty crazy, too.