Allison

 

Riley’s was packed. It was just one of those nights where everyone and their mother had to have the classic, greasy diner food. It was good, because it meant I might get enough in tips to actually put something aside in the hospital savings jar in addition to making the payment to my increasingly impatient landlord. Unfortunately, it also meant I was going to be exhausted.

 

Not that that was anything new.

 

I tightened the strings of my apron where they’d gotten loose and checked my cleavage one more time in the mirror. Although Christel told me every night I’d get more tips if I showed a little more of the ‘ladies,’ I just couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. That was what got you the wrong kind of attention – and it was how I’d met Shae.

 

James, the cook, served up the four meals I was waiting for and I snatched them up quickly. They were haphazardly balanced across both of my arms. I went out onto the floor to deposit them, sharing a quick nod with Christel as she headed back for her next order.

 

The group at the table was made up of college students. I had only four orders, despite there being six of them, but I was pretty sure one was sharing with another and the last one was just not eating. Ever.

 

Give that girl a sandwich, I thought unkindly. Nights like these always frazzled me toward the end.

 

I put the plates down, smiling at the group. Four guys, two girls. Not very evenly matched. “Is there anything else I can get you?” I asked them.

 

The girls barely paid me any attention, but the young man closest to me leaned forward. “Not off the menu,” he said, grinning slyly. “But what else do you have to offer?”

 

That familiar slimy feeling ran down my spine, but my smile didn’t falter. I was used to this type of behavior and, despite being a virgin, I wasn’t dumb enough to miss what he was referring to. Playing like I was, however, would save me and perhaps my tip. I tilted my head to the side, working hard to form that vacant expression that told everyone I was as dumb as a box of rocks.

 

“I don’t think James likes it when customers put in requests that aren’t on the menu,” I said with wide eyes. I worked hard to sound innocent, because I needed him to believe that I was just stupid, not mocking. Smiling, I added, “James is the cook.”

 

The man’s smile faltered, but he didn’t seem put off by my pretended stupidity. Not good. He scooted to the edge of the booth and I saw his hand move too late. He palmed my backside. I jerked away from him, my smile dropping completely. I noticed one of his friends rolling his eyes and another look embarrassed, but no one did or said anything.

 

“C’mon honey, don’t be like that,” he said, scooting closer again so that he could reach for me a second time. I moved away once more and his hand grazed my thigh as a result. “Pretty thing like you? I’m sure you’ve got something tasty to offer.”

 

Gross, I thought and took a full step back this time. I wanted to tell him to leave me alone, to stop being so sleazy, but I needed this job. My boss wasn’t a complete asshole, but he didn’t like complaining customers. And that was all it would take. One complaint from this jerk and I could lose my job. He could say that I’d been rude, unaccommodating. He could say whatever he wanted.

 

That line of reasoning kept my mouth sealed – and the rest of me terrified.

 

I was frozen, trying to figure out what to do, when one of the girls finally seemed to get tired of what was going on. “Jesus, Sam, don’t be such a scumbag. She’s obviously not interested.” Turning to me, the petite blonde who didn’t look like she did a lot of eating, offered me a polite smile. “I think this is everything for us. Have your friend bring the check.” She motioned toward Christel and my heart fell a little.

 

There goes my tip.

 

Not that Christel wouldn’t share with me, but there was no way this group of snotty kids was going to leave anything good now. Especially if the look on Sam’s face was any indication. I forced a smile anyway, then walked away.

 

The rest of my night went about like that.

 

# # #

 

The diner was open late most nights, even Sundays. Mondays were the only nights we got off early, and that was because Riley, the owner’s wife, said no one wanted to go to a diner when there was football on. I didn’t know about all of that, but I was grateful for the reprieves when they came.

 

Christel and I had finished up wiping down the booths and the floors. Now we were sitting at the counter, filling up salt shakers and napkin holders. I was exhausted. Between keeping my eyes open and trying not to think about the unfortunate reality of my life, it was a miracle that I hadn’t just crashed on the counter.

 

“That guy was a total dick,” Christel said and I knew she was talking about the group of college kids from earlier.

 

I let out a sigh. They hadn’t left much of a tip, she told me. A buck apiece. “Yeah, what else is new?”

 

“Speaking of total dicks, are you still having problems with Shae?”

 

I scrunched up my face, wrinkling my nose. Christel had given me his table the first time he’d come in. Now she felt pretty bad about the whole thing, even though I really didn’t think she was responsible. How was she supposed to know that he was going to turn into such an abusive piece of crap?

 

“That bad?” she asked.

 

Shrugging my shoulders, I started to screw on the caps to the salt shakers I’d filled. “No, it’s really not that bad,” I lied. She gave me a look that said she didn’t buy it. Sighing again, I gave in. “He keeps showing up at my place.”

 

Christel gave me a dark look, clearly not pleased. “Are you crazy? You need to call the cops on him. That’s gotta at least count as stalking or something.”

 

We’d been over this about a million times. All the cops could do was give me a piece of paper that said he couldn’t come near me. But what good was a piece of paper if they weren’t around to enforce it? Was I supposed to wait on them every time he showed up? I knew I had to do something, but I didn’t know what it was. I’d already left him. According to all the movies and books and everything else, that was supposed to be the big thing, right? But they don’t tell you how to fix it when he kept coming back.

 

“I told you, all I can do is get a restraining order. And that’ll just make things worse.”

 

Christel fell silent, returning to her napkins. I finished with the salt shakers and started putting them back on the tables. The diner had some character to it and not in that gross, greasy way that some of the other places in the area did. This place was classy. Red vinyl bench seats in the booths and matching chairs for the scattered tables. Hardwood tables, not that crappy recycled sawdust they used for the school desks and the cheap furniture you bought from mega stores. The bar wasn’t granite or anything, but it had that nice marbled texture that made it look fancy, and there were pretty glass cases for the pastries and pies.

 

It was a nice place and I was kind of fond of it, but I knew that I didn’t want to spend my life here. No one wanted to waste away in some diner.

 

“You should move,” Christel said suddenly, taking out what was left of the pies. We couldn’t use them tomorrow, so we ended up splitting them between us. James stopped taking them home with him, because he and his wife were on one of those couple’s diets.

 

I took my seat beside her again as she served us up each a slice of apple pie. My favorite. “Move?” I repeated incredulously.

 

She nodded, clearly pleased with her newest idea. “Yeah! That way he doesn’t know where you live so he can’t—”

 

“He knows where I work,” I interrupted, watching her expression fall. “And besides, I don’t have the money to move. I owe three months of back rent already.” And pretty soon he’s just going to kick me out. I didn’t add that, but it was true. Then I guess I wouldn’t have any choice but to move.

 

Christel was quiet for a long moment. We both started in on our pies. Hers was cherry. Gross. When we were about halfway through, she asked in a small voice, “How is Bree?”

 

Bree was only sixteen, though she acted like she was thirty already sometimes, but you couldn’t really blame her for that. We both had to grow up fast, it seemed like, and it was hard to stay a kid when you were stuck in a hospital all the time. “She’s hanging in there.”

 

“What do the doctors say?”

 

I shook my head. “Same thing they’ve been saying. ‘She needs that operation, Miss Gilson, it really can’t wait.’ And ‘How do you want to make your payments, Miss Gilson?’ Like I have any idea how I’m going to make payments.”

 

My sister was only sixteen, but she had a bad heart. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t done drugs, hadn’t driven recklessly and ended up in a terrible accident. She just got the short end of the stick. We found out two years ago and she started living in the hospital when things finally got really bad. These were the sort of things that a parent worried about, but we didn’t have parents anymore. I ended up with sole custody of my baby sister when she was only twelve; I was nineteen. I didn’t know what I was doing, but she needed me to be the adult. So I was.

 

“That’s such crap,” Christel told me heatedly. We’d been friends for a long time and she knew Bree as well as anyone. She stopped by for a hospital visit at least twice a week. “They know your situation. They should just give her the damn heart.”

 

“Yeah, in a perfect world.”

 

We both fell silent then. Neither of us were dumb. Between the tips and the ridiculously low wages, there was no way that I was ever going to save up the million dollars it would cost for Bree’s heart transplant.

 

Literally, one million.

 

Fifty thousand for the pre-op.

 

Eighty for the actual heart.

 

Seventy for the physician.

 

Thirty for the drugs.

 

One hundred and forty for the for the post op.

 

Six hundred and fifty thousand for the time in the hospital.

 

And did they factor in my rent? The cost for food and utilities? No, of course not. They didn’t think about the time Bree had had to spend in the hospital waiting for the heart or the money I had to throw at them that was supposed to go to my landlord. They didn’t think about the fact that I made about two dollars an hour and the rest was made up through the generosity of others.

 

The reality was depressing and not just for me. Bree knew what was happening to her and Christel did, too. That was why my only remaining friend these days nudged me, offering a small smile.

 

“Hey, maybe you should just sell your virginity. I heard that model’s went for, like, a billion dollars.” She winked at me. “And it’s not like you’re using yours or anything.”

 

She laughed a little, obviously joking, but I froze.

 

My virginity?

 

A billion dollars?

 

Am I crazy… or could that really work?

 

“A woman actually sold her virginity?” I asked, a little baffled. I really didn’t think something like virginity was worth much, truth be told. From what everyone else had told me, having sex for the first time was sort of like eating at a fancy restaurant as a kid. Everyone makes a big deal about it, but really all you want is a cheese burger.

 

Sam nodded. “Oh, yeah! It was all over the news, huge scandal. She was some Brazilian model, I think. She auctioned it off online – Ink, if you ask me – and got a ton of bids. The highest was a lot of money. I think the actual number was 1.3 million. It was crazy.”

 

“Did she actually go through with it?”

 

Christel looked over at me, scrutinizing me before answering. Her small mouth tugged down in a slight frown. “Uh, who knows?” she asked and I realized that she had finally noticed my interest. Like, honest interest. She waited a beat, then asked, “You’re not seriously considering it, are you? I mean, I was just kidding.”

 

For a second, we both just stared at each other, eyes locked. Then I forced an awkward laugh that I hoped was convincing. “Are you nuts? Of course not!” I told her, waving off her entirely correct suspicions. “That would be, like, prostitution or something. Definitely not okay. What kind of girl do you think I am?”

 

Christel’s shoulders relaxed and she let out a relieved laugh. She bought it, and maybe that was only because she wanted to believe me, but that was okay. As long as she didn’t think I’d really do it. Not that I would really do it.

 

Would I?

 

She started rambling on then about nothing important. Alternative lifestyle magazines with those crazy tattoo models on them and the sexy motorcycle riding fiends she was obsessed with. I mostly tuned her out, because I’d already come up with a solution to my problems. I had a plan, I chance to give my sister the life she really deserved. A life that got her past the tender age of sixteen.

 

How could I turn that down?

 

# # #

 

That night, I went home to my little apartment. It was a studio with a heavy curtain decorated with a fictional, but gorgeous beach drawn down the middle. That was the “bedroom” which really just meant when Bree was home from the hospital, she could have a little bit of privacy. A studio apartment was small for one person, let alone two. Right now, it was drawn aside, exposing the bed pushed up against the far wall. That bed had been made for the last three months because Bree had spent them all in the hospital.

 

Tearing my eyes from that sight and the depressing thoughts that went with it, I turned to the kitchen. I deposited the pie in the fridge – there was another one beside it, a six pack of beer that had been there for months, and an old sandwich that might have originally had green stuff on it… or not.

 

Sighing, I acknowledged that I needed to go grocery shopping soon. I mostly ate at the diner, because we got one free meal and as much pie as any girl could dream of. But I couldn’t live only on that, though I’d tried for a while now. It was probably why my waist was so small. The pies went to my hips and my boobs, thank god, but I was always hungry, it seemed.

 

Grabbing a beer – because I needed something if I was really going to do this – I headed to my bed. I pulled out my laptop and turned it on. It took a while to boot up, because it was about as old as it was heavy and could likely stop a bullet. It was also glitchy and incapable of holding a charge in the battery. I was firmly attached to the wall whenever I used it.

 

When the damn thing finally booted up, I was halfway through my foul beer. I quickly pulled up my search engine. Then I just stared. The little bar blinked at me, waiting, but I was having a hard time convincing myself to do it.

 

Didn’t people monitor stuff like this?

 

Worrying at my lower lip, I drained the rest of my beer, then quickly got up to grab another. This time I brought the whole pack out with me. At my computer again, I resolved to do it. Don’t be a chickenshit all your life, Allison. Your sister needs you. Grow a pair.

 

And with that, I typed in how to sell your virginity.

 

I spent the rest of the night reading about the pros and the cons, the successes and the horror stories. By the time the sun was coming up, I was buzzing with nervousness – and just the smallest, tiniest piece of excitement.

 

Was I really going to do this?

 

I was, actually. I just needed to figure out how. Putting it on one of those auction sites wasn’t a good idea, because it drew too much attention. You had to have an account and an address and a bunch of other things that could be tracked right back to your doorstep. I could be arrested for prostitution.

 

It’s not prostitution, it’s not prostitution. That had been my mantra for the last five hours, but I knew what I was doing. The law wouldn’t appreciate it.

 

I’d about given up on putting out an ad at all when I remembered Christel talking about those alternative life magazines. Would it be possible to…?

 

I didn’t think, I just searched. It took me another hour and two slices of pie, but I found a magazine I liked and paid fifty bucks that I didn’t have to put a short little ad in that was the equivalent of “I’ll let you pop my cherry; email me.”

 

Now, I just had to wait.