I’ve always been a good liar; I guess you could say it runs in my blood. With my job you have to be; fake name, fake persona, fake everything. But for me, I take lying to the next level. It’s not just my job that requires it. It’s my whole life.
Amanda, Eliza, Eleanor.
Three names. Three completely different people, yet I’ve embodied them all. Which one is the real me, you may ask? Well, let’s just say I’m still trying to figure that out.
“All I’m saying is Travis is cute, Winnie. Why don’t you just give him a shot?” I ask my best friend, Winona, as I put on my coal eyeliner. My mom keeps telling me I look better without all this makeup on my face, but let’s get real—what nearly sixteen-year-old doesn’t wear makeup?
“I don’t know, Eleanor. I heard he hooked up with Marci Freeman last week. I don’t want that kind of reputation.” Winona jumps off her bed and starts rummaging through her closet in hopes of finding the perfect outfit to wear to Aaron Rush’s house party tonight. He’s a senior, and we’re the only freshman girls invited. We need to look the part.
I refocus my attention to my eyes, adding a bit more liner for good measure. Looking in the mirror, I smile proudly at what I’ve accomplished. My naturally auburn waves are nowhere in sight. Instead, I’m rocking platinum-blonde hair, yet another thing my mother can’t stand, but hey, you’re only young once.
“Okay, so my parents think we’re staying here all night and your mom thinks we’re staying at Tessa’s, right?” The last thing I need is my parents finding out where I am, not that it would be hard for them to, considering who my dad is.
Luckily, I’m skilled in the art of deception.
“Yep, everything is in motion, and Tessa said we can crash at her house after the party.”
“Perfect,” I say with a huge grin. “Tonight will be perfect.”
A knock at the door causes us to pause. “I thought no one was home?”
Winnie gives me a confused look. Clearly, she thought the same thing.
“Come in,” she says as I quickly throw a robe over my dress. The last thing I need is her parents seeing me like this.
As the door opens, Winona’s mom, Faye, appears, and I can tell something is wrong. I’ve known Winona’s family for years—we practically grew up together—and I’ve never seen Faye like this. Her usually perfect makeup is running, and her eyes are bloodshot.
Her eyes have a look in them I’ve never seen before, and it is directed at me. My skin instantly goes cold, and dread fills my body.
“Amanda,” she says quietly. Only my classmates and Mom call me Eleanor. Everyone else calls me by my real name, Amanda.
“Honey, there’s been an accident with your mom,” she says. She’s clearly trying to keep it together, but a sob escapes.
My eyes widen in shock, but I don’t dare speak for fear that it will make this all a painful reality.
Five Years Later
Late August 2014
Five years ago, my life crashed down on me without the slightest bit of remorse or hesitation. Everything I thought I knew changed in a split second, and nothing has been the same since.
You could say my mother being murdered hardened me, and you’d be correct. Before that fateful day, I didn’t have a care in the world. I lived in a huge house even though it was just my parents and me. My parents ensured I never went without anything, and I didn’t have to question why they loved me, because they showed me in more ways than one.
As a family, we were extremely close because it was just us. Neither of my parents had siblings, and their parents had passed away before I was born. But we were okay with that; we didn’t need a big family, because we were happy having each other. My parents were my world, so when I lost my mother, it was life altering. Nothing in the entire universe could have prepared me for that day.
But what made it all so much worse was that I didn’t just lose my mom. I lost everything that mattered to me, including my father’s love. My fifteen-year-old self didn’t know how to process any of it, so I chose not to.
I filled my days with partying and drinking, taking anything that would help me feel numb. It worked for a while, six months exactly, until I couldn’t take it anymore. So, at sixteen years old, I left New Jersey, the place that had been my home for my whole life, and ventured off to New York, alone.
In retrospect, going alone to New York City was extremely foolish. I’m just lucky it all worked out so well. New York is where I met my best friend and complete confidante, Vivian Clark. I guess you could call her my saving grace because without her, I hate to think where I would be. She gave me everything. A warm place to sleep, food, a job, but more importantly, she gave me her friendship.
Looking in the mirror right now, I can’t help but think back to that naïve fifteen-year-old girl I once was, so oblivious to the horrors of the outside world. I guess it’s kind of ironic. My father didn’t exactly have a savory job, and I knew that growing up, but I just never expected anything bad to happen to me. I thought my father could keep the horrors of the world at bay. I never imagined he would be the reason they came knocking at my door.
As I meticulously apply my rouge lipstick, I can’t help but think back to how I ended up here, in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I finally have control over my life. The past five years have changed a lot for me.
Now here I am, at twenty years old, attending Breslin University with my best friend and living in our own apartment. It’s safe to say things are turning out pretty well for me, aside from the fact my job isn’t exactly what some would consider ethical.
I didn’t mean for anything to turn out this way, but it just sort of happened. I had never met Vivian before I came to New York, but I’d heard of her from my lifelong friend, Winona, as they are cousins. Vivian’s upbringing was far from ideal after her dad died, but I was shocked to learn that she had been living in New York since she was fourteen.
After living with Vivian for a few weeks, I was introduced to Vivian’s world. Her apartment and designer clothes didn’t come without a price, and if I had any desire to be part of it, I needed to learn quickly.
Vivian’s job was her looks. That’s how she got by—she dated guys for money. Well, I guess I should say “dates,” because she, I mean we, still do it. But before the judgmental thoughts push forward, know this isn’t Pretty Woman. Let’s get something clear. I’m not a prostitute, hooker, call girl, escort, or any other synonym that describes someone who sleeps with people for money. I honestly have no problem if someone wants to do that, but I don’t. That isn’t how I play the game, and that’s all any of this is: a game.
A game that lets me continue to live my life and further my education without having to acknowledge the past I left behind all those years ago.
My dad never tried to contact me after I left, and Vivian didn’t have anyone anyway. We’ve both reinvented ourselves. We’re both free.
It was on my eighteenth birthday that we decided to move out to Cambridge, Massachusetts, and attend college here. Luckily, I had my GED and Vivian finished high school thanks to the help of her “friend” Dean.
We’d both saved enough from our job to be able to afford our own apartment together, so we didn’t have to live on campus. It just made things simpler, not that we ever brought men from work home with us.
Now here we are, one week into our junior year, and life is good. We still work for Dean because the work helps with our tuition, but we’re not doing as many jobs as we used to. Tonight is an exception.
A big CEO from Toronto is in town and has requested the company of a leggy brunette, plus a spunky blonde for his friend. Yes, he really said spunky.
Vivian and I basically fit the bill to a T, aside from my auburn hair. The money we’ll make tonight should keep me going for a few weeks and allow me to focus on my schoolwork. Unlike Vivian, I’m not naturally gifted with intellect, and I have to really work for some of my classes.
As I put the finishing touches on my hair and makeup, I can’t help but wonder where I would be if I didn’t have Vivian. Just before my morbid thoughts can consume me, there’s a knock on the door.
“Eleanor, if we don’t get going soon, you know Dean will be pissed.”
“Fuck!” I say as I poke my eye with my mascara. “I’ll be right out!” I stuff all my makeup into my purse and take one last look in the mirror. “Okay, Eleanor Ivy, you’ve got this,” I say to myself. Then I’m out the door.