Erin
The sign over the door to the bar says “Red Club”, and as I open the door and step inside, I can feel my stomach start doing flip-flops underneath my rib cage. Everything about this feels wrong – weird, somehow. There are at least fifty eyes on me – or, rather, on my body – as I make my way inside and head towards the bar.
That’s when I see a door in the back with a paper sign that says “Dressing Room” and make a beeline for it, trying not to think about the lecherous goings-on inside the minds of the half-drunk bikers gawking at me.
C’mon, Erin, I think, irritated, this is what you signed up for. This is what you wanted to do.
And the sick, sad truth is, I’d give anything – including my own body – to get myself out of this hole my mom’s illness has dug. I don’t blame her, of course, nothing of the sort. I just don’t see any way out. This seems like the best solution – the only solution.
When I get back into the dressing room, which is really just a walk-in closet, I see I’ve made a mistake, and my stomach bottoms out underneath me while my heart jumps up into my throat. I thought, in getting dressed for tonight, that I should look like what a biker would want – or what I thought one would want, anyway.
That meant finding my one pair of leather pants, a nearly see-through black shirt, and high-heel stilettos. I mean, if I do say so myself, I think I look pretty hot. But that is not what the girls in this dressing room look like. Instead, the ten or so girls around me are wearing sundresses with flower prints on them, oversized sweaters with big, chunky glasses, and one’s even in a Catholic school girl outfit.
They all look more conservative and academic than sexy… Basically, everybody else here is looking like sweet, innocent little virgins while I… I look more like somebody who’s been around the block a few times – or more. The worst part is, these girls are dressed like I’d usually dress.
Well, okay, maybe not the schoolgirl outfit, but sundresses and sweaters? Those are my jam! If I felt out of place putting these clothes on and going out into the world in black leather, one can only imagine what it feels like now that I’ve seen what everybody else is wearing.
I feel like such a whore.
I lean against the wall of the dressing room, no one saying a word to me, and me not saying a word to anyone. Finally, after an interminable silence of what is probably just a couple of minutes, a guy with a clipboard comes in.
“Okay, ladies,” he says in a husky voice, “first of all, thanks for coming out tonight. We’re… uh… we’re awfully happy you’re here. I—” His eyes fall on me, and I blush and turn away. “Hey there, darlin’,” he says almost sweetly. “I think you might have the wrong place.”
I bashfully shake my head. “No, I’m—” My voice sticks in my throat, so I clear it before continuing. “I’m in the right place. I’m here for the, uh, the auction.”
He peers at me over the clipboard and smiles lecherously. “What’s your name, sweetie pie?” he asks, clearly not believing me.
“Erin,” I say with way too much meekness. “Erin McManus.”
He scans the list until he comes to my name. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He lets out a sarcastic laugh. “So, this your first time?”
I stare at him inquisitively. Of course it’s my first time, you fucking dolt, I want to say to him. But, afraid he might toss me out, or worse, put his hands on me, I merely nod.
“Well, I’ll bet there’s a market for—” He pauses, looking over my body with greedy eyes. “—what you’re selling,” he concludes. “You sure you’re a virgin?” he asks, as if he thinks I might be trying to pull one over on him.
I nod again.
“Maybe I should inspect you,” he says with gross delight. “You know, just to make sure.”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Blake?” comes a voice behind him.
The voice belongs to a guy about my height with muscles for days. He’s bald on top, though it looks more by choice than by genetics, and he has sleeve tattoos up and down both arms and along his neck – probably other places, too, though I can’t see much underneath his white T-shirt and black jeans. He looks, in other words, like everybody’s definition of a biker.
“What are you talking about, Marcelo?” Blake demands. “This broad is—”
“A participant in tonight’s festivities,” Marcelo bites back in a measured but somehow even more fearsome voice. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?” He turns his gaze towards me.
I nod but seeing that wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy either Blake or Marcelo, so I speak up for myself. “Y-yes, yes, that’s right. I’m… I’m here for the auction.”
“Listen to that, would you, Blake?” Marcelo says without a whiff of condescension. “The girl’s obviously nervous, aren’t you, honey?”
I nod, but he doesn’t even wait for my response this time.
“This young lady is clearly ready for this, and she’s clearly qualified. Right, little girl? You’ve never slept with a man before, have you?”
I shake my head. “N-no, sir,” I say, beginning to tremble.
“Well, I can’t promise that you will tonight, either – some of these guys are downright fuckin’ pussies!” He guffaws the loudest laugh I’ve ever heard, and Blake starts laughing, too.
I try to laugh with them, but it comes out as a kind of pathetic squeak. I’m furious with myself. I’ve already let myself get intimidated by these bikers. I’m spoiling this. I’m making myself too obvious, too clearly out of my element for anyone to bid on me, much less give me the money I need to pay off my debts. This couldn’t possibly be going any worse.
But then, Marcelo smiles again. This time, he doesn’t address me at all and speaks directly to Blake. “Listen, bub,” he says, “I’ve got guys out there from at least five different MCs, and they’re looking to pay good money to take these girls to bed. You get me? And they’re all nervous – got to be, don’t they? So, here’s the deal: you are to check them in, and once that’s done, you get the fuck out of here and back to your post. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yeah, boss,” Blake stammers. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Good,” Marcelo says with a glare. “Because if these girls pull out – ha ha, get it?” He laughs at his own terrible joke before continuing. “Aw, you don’t get it. Anyway, if any of these girls can’t perform tonight, it’s going to be my ass on the line. And I don’t like having my ass on the line. So you’re going to make sure every single young lady in here is comfortable and has everything they need. Get me?”
“Yep.” Marcelo nods, then finally turns his gaze back to me. “You need anything, hon?” he asks nicely.
I can’t believe how nice he’s being to me, especially considering where I am and what I’m going to be doing in just a short amount of time – selling myself and all.
“Need a drink?”
“A – a drink would be great, actually,” I reply before I have time to listen to the voice in my head screaming at me that he’s probably as likely to drug my drink and rape me as he is to bring me something nice.
“Well, I can’t promise it’ll be any better than the rot-gut shit they store behind the counter,” he tells me, “but let me get you something from my personal stash.”
He disappears through the door, and I’m alone again with Blake and the other girls. One of them, the one in the schoolgirl outfit, pulls out a cigarette box from her purse, takes one out, and lights it with a lighter she seems to have gotten from out of nowhere.
“You must think you’re hot shit, huh?” she asks, a little more aggressively than I would have anticipated.
“Excuse me?” I ask in a rather irritated voice.
“You. Must. Think. You’re. Hot. Shit.” She over-enunciates every word, putting particular emphasis on the T’s at the end of “hot” and “shit”. I’m kind of taken aback. The schoolgirl glares at me like she’s going to rip my eyes out, but I’m too flabbergasted to say much of anything in response.
“I – I don’t – I’m not –” I stammer.
At that, she busts out laughing, blowing smoke around all of our heads, making me cough just a little bit.
“Relax, McManus,” she says, giving me a warm smile. “I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” She sticks out a hand. “Name’s Ren.”
“Ren?” I ask, taking her hand uncertainly in mine.
“Short for Renata. My mom named me after my babcia – my grandma – who’s, like, totally off-the-boat Polish. I shortened it ‘cause, well, it sounded a little too off-the-boat Polish.”
“Nice, er, to meet you, Ren,” I say, still not quite sure what to make of this girl.
“So,” she goes on, her voice down to a whisper, “is this really your first time?”
I nod slowly. “Isn’t it everybody’s?”
Ren shrugs. “I’ve gone to a few auctions like this,” she admits. “Never got to the bidding stage though.”
“So you’re – you’re still—”
“Still what? A virgin?” she responds, laughing. “I mean, technically…”
“What does that mean?”
“Well…” She grins. “You could call it ‘everything but’. I’ve definitely fooled around with guys, given handjobs and blowjobs and shit, but have I ever had sex sex? Nah.”
I can’t believe it. This girl seems so confident, almost like I was dressed for her personality and her for mine. And yet, here we are, her knowing the ropes, and me feeling like the innocent little virginal kid.
“But you’ve been… to auctions before?” I ask her, intrigued.
Ren nods vigorously. “Been to three of ‘em.”
“And the girls – they make a lot of money?”
“Some of them,” she says, exhaling a large puff of smoke. “Some don’t. It all depends.”
“On what?”
“Lots of things. How you’re dressed, how much money the guys have on hand, how much they’ve had to drink…”
“What do girls usually get?” I ask casually, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible.
“Like, price-wise?”
“Yeah.”
“It varies,” she explains. “I think one girl I saw a while back got nearly a grand. Most get a couple hundred bucks.”
“A couple… hundred?” That couldn’t be. Monica had told me she had seen girls fetch fifteen thousand. There is absolutely no way I’m doing this for a couple hundred bucks.
Just then, Marcelo comes back with a glass full of some brown liquid. “Hey there, girlie,” he says with a grin. “Brought you something.”
“What is it?” I ask, eyeing the glass.
“Bourbon. You like bour—”
Without missing a beat, and in spite of the voice in my head screaming “No! No! No!” I take the drink from his hand and down it in one gulp. Big mistake. The whiskey burns my throat as it slides down, and the room suddenly gets a little brighter.
“Damn, girl!” Marcelo says to me. “You’ve got spunk! I like that. But save some for the stage, will ya?”
I nod, unsure if I’m feeling nauseous from nerves or from the alcohol, or both.
“All right then, I have to get out there,” he continues, “but I think you’re going to do just fine. All of you are. This is gonna be a great night.” He claps his hands together and heads out the door.
Well, that was it – there’s no backing out now. I guess I could run if I wanted to, but at this point, I’m steeled up to the point that I’ve resigned myself to doing this. I know what it means about me – about what I’m willing to do, how far I’m willing to go, to save my own ass – but a part of me still feels like I’m doing something wrong. And if my mom found out, I’m certain that my lifespan would be cut dramatically short. But I’m here, and I’m a little woozy – I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to do something like this.
“You okay?” Ren asks from behind me, churning up my spaced-out thoughts.
“Yeah,” I answer, “I’m fine.”
“You ready to do this?”
I shrug noncommittally. “I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “I suppose that I’m here already, and I might as well do something with my time.” The whiskey has loosened my tongue a little bit, and I’m feeling just the slightest touch more confident and comfortable in my skin.
Ren laughs. It’s a nice, genuine laugh that puts me even more at ease. “That’s the spirit!”
Moments later, Blake returns with his clipboard and calls out three names, none of which is mine. Ren and I steal away to get a look at the girls on-stage. The first one up looks a little like a sweet librarian that you’d meet at the checkout counter at your grocery store. Definitely a virgin. Guys start bidding, but they only get to $550 before there are no more bids.
I feel my heart sink again. She might not have been dressed sexy or anything, but to go through all this trouble just for $550 seems… problematic, to say the least.
The second girl goes up, a very pretty girl with a sunshiny smile. She’s wearing a sunflower patterned dress that doesn’t reveal much, and it looks like she’s really skinny – not a lot of boobs or ass to speak of. The guys seem similarly unimpressed, and her auction is kind of sad. She ends up with $300.
My heart sinks further. I may have the T&A they’re looking for, but this isn’t the ten or fifteen grand I’d been expecting.
Then the third girl goes up. She’s got more of the goods – a little on the curvy side, but with a great butt and awesome legs. She’s dressed in a short blue polka dot skirt and a band T-shirt. The guys give her a huge round of applause, and she waves at them exuberantly before pulling her legs down into the splits, apparently to show how flexible she is.
The guys go wild, and suddenly, there’s a bidding war going for her. I watch, amazed, as the value goes up and up, coming up to $4,500. The master of ceremonies asks if there are any other bids, and, amazingly, another one comes in for $5,000. It goes once… goes twice… and that’s a wrap.
This heartens me a little. I don’t really get what the guys are going for here, or what reasons they have for bidding on anyone, but the bids seem to be going up. I’m contemplating what I might have to do to get them to bid high on me when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“You’re McManus, right?” Blake asks me.
I nod.
“You’re up next, right after, ah, Renata? Renata Kowalski?”
Ren peeks her head around me. “You talkin’ to me?” she asks.
“You’re up next,” he tells her. “You, then this one.”
As Ren takes the stage in her schoolgirl outfit, the crowd goes absolutely nuts. I can only hope that they’re going to do the same for me when I get up there. Though I have no idea how I’m going to make that happen.