Chapter 2 – Celeste
I don’t ask the questions that are spinning in my head out loud. I just stare at Rachel, letting it all sink in.
“Celeste, I’m serious. I’m not whoring you out. It’s just dinner,” she insists. “All that happens is that you have a meal with the guy for Valentine’s Day. Some poor old sap who doesn’t have a date. That’s it.”
“Okay,” I say again. And then, as her eyebrows widen as if she doesn’t believe me, I say, “What? I said okay.”
Rachel’s pretty brown eyes turn wide and pleading, as if she’s worried that I’m going to back out.
I won’t. I’m loyal to my word and would do anything for my best friend in the world— and I guess this proves it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not apprehensive about it.
“You know I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t absolutely have to,” she says, grabbing my hand and squeezing it as if to apologize. “I really, really appreciate it.”
“I know,” I tell her, half a smile finally creeping onto my face. “And I’m happy for you that Billy seems to want to take things to the next level.”
“What if he proposes tonight?” she asks, a huge smile crossing her face and causing my own to grow bigger.
I can’t be worried about my own fate when Rachel is this happy. She’s been unlucky in love and now things are finally working out.
For months now she’s been dating Billy but living a secret life working at The Exchange. Once it became obvious that things were getting serious pretty quickly between them, I urged her to tell him because I don’t think secrets are good for relationships.
Not that I’d really know, since the longest one I’ve had lasted all of two months last year before my ex dumped me for some co-eds at the college he moved away to attend. But in theory, I just think honesty is the best policy.
Rachel, however, is convinced that Billy would be upset, even though, as she keeps pointing out to me, only dinner— not sex— is involved at her level of participation at The Exchange. She didn’t want to quit the job because it’s good money and she really needs it.
She’s always reminding me that I “came from money” whereas she did not. And she tells me that it’s impossible for me to truly understand why she has to do some of the things she does.
She’s right about that. My family isn’t as rich as Rachel makes us sound but compared to hers, we are pretty well off. So maybe I really can’t understand, although I do try.
I come from a solidly middle class family and my dad worked in computer security for the Federal government while my mom was a well-paid paralegal at a large law firm. Rachel’s dad, on the other hand, was a mechanic by training but by the time I met her, he had already become an alcoholic who couldn’t hold down a job— when he was even around.
Rachel’s mom was a homemaker with little education or skills. She was able to get a low-paying job as a store clerk when Rachel and I were in middle school and she realized that Rachel’s dad was only going to continue to spiral downhill instead of improve their situation.
Rachel always tells me not to judge her because she needs the money to attend college whereas my parents help out with my education. And I don’t judge her.
I just happen to be of the opinion that maybe for Rachel’s own good and for the sake of her relationship she should let her boyfriend in on what she actually does and where she actually goes five nights out of the week, before he finds out on his own. I think it’s only a matter of time before that’s bound to happen because Phoenix is still kind of a small town for a big city.
“If Billy does propose,” I ask her now, “Are you going to tell him how you work at The Exchange, and not just as a waitress?”
“No,” she huffs, shaking her head at me as if that’s ridiculous. “That’s the whole point. That’s why I asked you to go for me tonight. I still need the money and can’t give up the job if Billy’s not as serious about me as I think he is.”
“I know,” I remind her.
And I get it. Or else I wouldn’t have agreed to help her out.
But she continues re-explaining the whole sordid situation to me anyway. That’s my best friend. Always the over analyzer and the over explainer. I love her for it, though.
“So, I can’t ditch The Exchange on the busiest night of the year— their Valentine’s Day auction. But I also can’t skip out on Valentine’s Day dinner with Billy, and miss out on finding out whether or not he’s going to propose. So, that’s where you come in, and I’m very grateful to you for helping me out.”
“But is it really that easy to just substitute you for me?” I ask her, skeptical. “Aren’t there, like, regular customers of yours—”
“Clients,” she interjects, as if I’d just called her a prostitute—
“Fine, clients of yours that will be upset if they show up intending to bid on you and instead see me up there on the… stage?”
I squish my nose up in disgust.
“And is it really a stage?” I ask, as one of many follow-up questions that I have. “Like a cattle auction? Seriously?”
“Celeste, you’re sounding judgmental again,” Rachel growls.
“Sorry. Just wondering. Since I’m going to be the one up there and all.”
“Look, you know you’re the only person I could ask to step in for me,” she begs. “You’re the only person in the world who even knows that I do this. I understand where your judgment is coming from and maybe I deserve it in return for the favor you’re doing me but it’s not like I’m cattle. They want me across the table from them at dinner. They want my conversation. Not just my looks but also my personality. My amazing wit.”
I laugh.
“Well, you do have all those things,” I tell her.
And she does.
“But yes, initially it’s based on looks. Isn’t that how human biology works? Sure, we stand up there so they’ll see what they’re bidding on. And no, they won’t be disappointed when they see you instead of me. Trust me.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her, my interest piqued.
Now she’s appealing to my ego.
Rachel’s good.
“Well, just look at you,” she says, waving her hand up and down to indicate my entire figure in the full-length mirror hanging on her bedroom door. “You’re every guy’s wet dream.”
“I am not,” I insist. “I’ve gained my freshman fifteen and then some.”
“It’s only enhanced your curves, your boobs. It’s given you a healthy glow. You needed to gain some weight. You look healthy now. Vibrant.”
“Thanks, Dr. Rachel,” I tell her sarcastically.
Secretly, though, I’m pleased that she thinks the guys will like me…. the guys who will be at this human auction I would never go to if it weren’t for her.
“And they like new girls. Believe it or not,” she says sarcastically, “Due to the stigma there aren’t a ton of attractive, intelligent young women willing to do this, even though it pays very well and you get free filet mignon and unlimited drinks out of the deal as well.”
“You drink with them?” I ask, aghast.
“Oh honey,” she says, as if I have a lot to learn.
And I guess she’s right. I do.
“Money talks. No one cards these guys or their dates.”
That’s good, because I could certainly use some liquid courage.
“They’ll be thrilled to see a new face and they’ll thank me later,” she insists. “It’s a tight-knit club and the whole goal is to please the clients. I’ll get extra brownie points and maybe even a bonus when I go back tomorrow. If I go back tomorrow.”
She pauses, staring off into the distance as if daydreaming.
“If Billy doesn’t propose, which I really hope he does,” she concludes.
I take her hand again and squeeze it.
“He will definitely propose,” I tell her. “And you can quit working at the cattle auction and live happily ever after with your handsome sugar daddy.”
Billy is in finance and makes a lot of money. Rachel’s not with him because he’s filthy rich, but it sure doesn’t hurt. I really do want her to continue to find love, stability and riches with the guy of her dreams. So much so that I’m willing to stand in her place as human cattle.
“And you might just actually surprise yourself and have fun tonight as well,” she responds.
I raise an eyebrow at her, incredulous. Even though I was already kind of thinking that myself. I’m not going to admit it to her, though.
“Oh, come on,” she says. “Just think of what happened with you and Tom.”
“I don’t want to,” I quickly say.
Why does she have to bring that up?
It’s definitely not the way to stay in my good graces. If Rachel wants me to keep agreeing to do her this big favor, she shouldn’t get on my bad side by mentioning things I don’t even want to think about.
“I’m just saying,” she continues. “These men are experienced. Older— but not too old. They know what they’re doing. You might actually find that you like the power dynamic. You might be able to loosen up and let yourself go for once.”
“I thought you only have dinner with them,” I tell her.
She blushes, just the slightest bit, and I realize there is way more to her secret life at this club than she’s told even me.
She probably usually only has dinner with them, but I bet there have been one or two men whom she’s let do more, for the right price. She’s far from a virgin like me. Guys have always flocked to her and she’s been more than willing to experiment.
It’s not that I judge her for that. In fact, I’m jealous of her openness compared to my shyness.
“I’m just saying,” she says. “You never know what might happen.”
“Well, good luck with Billy. I think you’ll be getting a ring tonight and I want to hear all about it.”
“Not until tomorrow,” she says, shaking her head. “No cell phones are permitted at The Exchange. It’s a very strict rule.”
“What?” I ask, thinking this is probably just one big thing on a long list of many she should have told me before I agreed to work her shift tonight.
“Never mind,” I add, as I peer down the hallway of her small apartment and look at the devil-tailed cat clock hanging above her kitchen stove.
We both have to go, or she’ll miss her proposal and I’ll miss the craziest thing I’ve ever agreed to do in my life.
“Do you have any quick words of wisdom for me before I embark on my descent into debauchery?” I ask her.
I know she’ll think that’s a judgmental comment, but I’m getting her back for bringing up Tom: my most dreaded and embarrassing subject.
“Yeah,” she says. “Just make sure you choose the yellow bracelet.”
“The yellow bracelet? What does that mean? What are the other bracelets for?”
But she’s already left the bathroom while I’ve been asking my million questions. Now she’s gathering her coat and purse from the living room.
I guess the significance of the yellow bracelet— or any kind of bracelet at all— is just one of the many things I’m going to have to find out for myself tonight.