Bangerous Era
"Michael, stop," you giggle, attempting to wiggle out of his embrace as he relentlessly showers your skin with soft, gentle kisses. "I'll never leave if you don't let me go."
"That's my plan, babygirl," he speaks, the curve of his smile pressed against your shoulder blade. "You never stay the night."
You giggle, gently prying his long arms from your waist whilst scooting out of his California King bed, the satin sheets draped around your body for simple modesty.
"I have to go to work, Michael," you speak slowly, approaching his vanity and eyeing your reflection.
You can't help but smirk at your appearance, your smudged mascara and tangled mane sends salacious flashbacks of your afternoon rendezvous running through your mind.
"Y/N, I've told you," Michael replies. "You don't need a job. Let me take care of you."
You'd been seeing Michael for a short four months now and things couldn't be better. It was a whirlwind type of romance. The two of you instantly hit it off and things had grown passionate rather quickly.
Michael was very much, unlike other guys you'd dated before. He was a gentleman and a romantic, always ready to spoil you in one way or another. It didn't take a genius to realize Michael was head over heels in love with you- he'd walk through fire if you asked him to- but you were still unsure of your own affections.
You liked Michael a lot. He was sexy, caring, captivating and an amazing lover but you were keeping a major secret from him that was preventing you from completely surrendering your heart.
You were a call girl.
A few years ago, you'd been hard up for cash and out of work. Running out of options and patience, you saw an ad for "modeling" and things accelerated from there. You were employed with an escort agency that set up dates and sexual favors for men that were often very rich and socially awkward. It paid well and provided you with food, clothing, shelter and other luxuries so you couldn't complain. You'd gotten over the discomfort of sleeping with strange men and just thought of it as a part of the job.
You were a slave to the business and didn't have plans of stopping any time soon.
Up until this point, you'd completely turned your emotions off to romance. You just couldn't see yourself settling down and having a proper relationship. You hadn't met Michael through your business affairs and you found it refreshing that your relationship did not have that tainted quality to it. A part of you adored being showered with affection by a man without cash transactions involved.
Still, you wondered what Michael would think of you if he ever discovered your true identity as a lady of the night.
"I know you can," you grin, slipping into your thigh high nylons. "But I like working for my own money. You spoil me too much."
Michael grins, sitting up on his elbows to get a better view as he watches you get dressed.
"Don't spoil you enough. Just take a day off and stay with me."
Fully dressed you saunter back over to the bed, your eye passing over the clock. It was approaching eight. You might miss your assignment if you didn't leave now.
"Maybe some other night, Michael," you smile reaching out to fix a haphazardly misplaced curl of his, likely a doing of your fingers.
He sighs.
"Fine then. But before you rush off, I have something for you."
You watch as Michael sneakily reaches into his nightstand drawer, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips at the thought of what excuse he's found to spoil you. Your arched eyebrows crinkle in confusion as he tosses a Cracker Jack box on the bed.
"Go, on," he grins. "Open it."
You pick up the box, shaking it briefly before peeling back the lid. You gasp at the sight of a scintillating diamond bracelet. You'd never seen anything like it. The diamonds shined so brightly, the whole room sparkled.
"Michael!" you exclaim. "It's gorgeous! But what's the occasion?"
Michael smiles.
"Just because," he winks.
"Oh, thank you!" you speak leaving over and pressing a long lingering kiss to his mouth. "Now I really have to go."
You rush off in a giddy daze, wondering what good you could have done to deserve a guy like Michael.
***
You rushed into the office, pushing past women headed out to clients in elaborate lingerie, heavy make- up and neck-breakingly high heels. The telephones rang loudly and relentlessly throughout the building, hungry men on the other line looking for a good time.
Business was in full swing for the night.
"Y/N, you're late." your good friend, Vivian greets you as you punch in your time card.
You eye Vivian's appearance as you shrug out of your coat, a tight red dress hugs her thin frame, a matching pair of long red gloves conceal her hands and her usually wild hair is done up in an elegant updo.
The two of you had gotten involved in the business around the same time and had grown rather close.
"I know," you speak, heading towards your dressing stall. "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."
"Woah, not so fast, sister," she exclaims, grabbing hold of your wrist. "Check out this ice!"
You chew at the corner of your lip as she inspects the bracelet with wonder. You can't help but feel foolish and guilty, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
"It's paste," you lie, snatching your wrist away as you toss your bag on the floor. You reach for the jar of cold cream amongst your things, rubbing it into your skin in an attempt to wash off the afternoon.
Vivian laughs, leaning over the edge of your stall.
"I know real diamonds when I see them, Y/N," she quirks a brow. "Are you seeing someone?"
Her question sends knots of anxiety pooling in your stomach. You didn't want anyone to know about your seeing Michael.
There was no rule against call girls finding love. In fact, many had become the wives of former clients, leaving the world of sex work behind. You just figured it was bad for business and with Michael being as wildly famous as he was, it would certainly generate bad press.
"That's none of your business, Viv," you reply, sweeping the dark eyeshadow over your lids.
"I can keep a secret, Y/N," she groans. "Who is it? He must be awfully rich. How much does he charge by the hour?"
You grin, clipping on a pair of long, heavy black earrings.
"He's not a client and I'll never tell."
Vivian rolls her eyes.
"You're absolutely no fun, Y/N. So what do you think? Do you love him? Is this the golden ticket to your fairy tale ending?"
You'd never really thought about it that way. You weren't romantic in nature like Vivian and had stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. You just looked at it as having fun. There was no end goal of happily ever afters and riding off into the sunset with Prince Charming.
You shrug, swiping a coat of lipstick on your lips.
"The sex is great. He's really sweet. That's all there is to tell." you reply.
Vivian smirks.
"He doesn't know, does he?"
You suddenly grow agitated by her string of questions, this one, in particular, having struck a nerve.
"Don't you have a client or something to tend to?" you ask. "Also, I'd like a little privacy getting into this teddy if you don't mind."
"I can tell when I'm not wanted," she sighs. "Anyways, tonight I'm Sandra and I'm headed to the opera with a big spender. Wish me luck."
You chuckle as she saunters out of view before inspecting your own assignment for the night.
A single silver card with the name Celeste is perched above your mirror. The agency never allowed any girls to use their government names when on call, providing you with an alias to protect your identity. In fact, Michael was the first man in a long time to have the privilege of knowing your real name.
Michael made everything so simple. So normal. But you were just far too stubborn.
You push the conflicting thoughts that swirl in your head away as you spritz on some perfume and button up your trench coat. The car to take you to your client's residence was waiting and the last thing you wanted was to be thinking about Michael while with another man for the night.
"Keep your mind on the grind," you whispered to yourself as you arrived at the large, stately mansion.
The night chill nipped at your ankles as you rushed up the front steps, your heels clicking loudly against the marble. The large, steel french doors are ajar. This client must have been particularly impatient. You take a deep breath, striding into the home.
The mansion appears eerily empty as you saunter into the foyer. You take a moment to appreciate the architecture, the winding staircase, and marble flooring.
"Hello,"
The deep, raspy voice snaps you out of your trance. You blink in surprise at the sight of a presumably older gentleman settled in a wheelchair, an oxygen tank at his feet. There were hardly any details given about clients besides their addresses and the types of services they were looking for. You had learned to expect surprises.
You slowly unbutton your coat, teasingly revealing your lacy black lingerie, the salacious striptease causing the man to reach for his oxygen.
"I'm Celeste," you speak, seductively, retrieving the silver card from your bosom. "At your service,"
***
"Is there something on my face?"
You giggle, feeling your cheeks heat up with a jittery, girlish pinkness under Michael's intense, ebony eyes. The gentle stroke of his fingertips against your thigh under the table sends bolts of electricity up your spine.
"Of course not," he grins. "You're perfection. Look,"
You watch attentively as Michael slides a napkin in your direction, gasping once you notice the intricate sketch in your likeness.
"Wow, Michael," you exclaimed. " That's what you've been doing all this time??! I didn't know you could draw like this."
"It's nothing, really," he replies modestly.
It was small moments like these, the more you got to discover his many layers, that made you feel smitten and ready to give up everything for him. You had one foot on cloud nine, another grounded in reality.
"Are you kidding?" you grin. "It's incredible. I'm going to keep it forever."
You lean across the table, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. Michael flashes you a sweet smile, his gaze falls briefly to his half-eaten slice of cake and then meets your eyes once more.
"Y/N," he starts slowly. "I'm going to a benefit ball tomorrow night,"
You arch a brow, bringing the brim of the cup to your burgundy lips.
"Sounds like fun,"
Michael shrugs.
"They're always for a good cause but a real dud if you go by yourself. I'd love it if you'd come with me."
He reaches for your hand across the table brushing a thumb against your knuckles. The invitation looms in the air and your stomach twists with knots of nervousness. You know the topic of your cryptic work was bound to come up. It would be much easier to conceal your profession if Michael did not insist on you spending nights with him. The day dates and rendezvous would eventually get old and Michael was already growing suspicious.
"I can make a call to shut down Rodeo Drive and we can find you the most perfect dress," he continues.
You chew your lip, trying to think of a quick excuse.
"I'd love to, Michael," you respond slowly "but-"
"But your job," he rolls his brown eyes. " I know. I know. Baby, do you ever have a night off? I don't get it. How difficult is it to just call out for a night- request a little time off? What do you do that's that important you can't take one night off?"
You find yourself growing defensive although you know you have no right to be. You were the dishonest one.
"Well, I'm sorry that some of us have to work regular jobs. I know you're not used to that type of thing." you huff, snatching your hand away.
With the amount of money you made on a singular night, you could easily save up your money and live comfortably. You were no longer struggling to pay rent and bills. There was just something about being in the business that gave you a thrill, a strong sense of power that made it hard to give it up.
The love of money and power was a powerful, fatal drug.
"Y/N," Michael speaks gently, seemingly realizing he's hit a nerve. "That's not the way I mean it. I just don't need you to feel like you have to work. Whatever you need, whatever you want, let me take care of it. I'm your man. It's my duty. I think you deserve the world and then some."
You sigh, feeling incredibly guilty.
"I'd like it if we just dropped the conversation. I'll still consider your invitation."
When the night of the benefit ball rolled around you thought about putting on your best dress and phoning Michael to come and pick you up but you somehow lost your nerve. Maybe you just needed a little time to distance yourself and figure things out- figure out what you loved more: Michael or your job.
You arrived at the agency, feeling tired and dejected. A silky black gown in your dressing stall caught your attention along with the silver card with your name and assignment for the night. A senator had requested a date for a benefit ball. Suddenly, your mind clicked all the puzzle pieces together and your heart sunk.
It couldn't be.
What were the odds that Michael would ask you to accompany him to a benefit ball and a client would request the same? Either the universe was playing an awful trick on you or another benefit ball was happening the same night.
Slipping into the dress, you prayed for the latter.
***
"Just let me do the talking. You just stand there and look pretty,"
You roll your eyes as you link arms with your date for the night, the valet taking the keys to his very expensive Jaguar as you head into the building. Clearly he was not familiar with how the business worked. Unless otherwise requested, your exact job was to say a little as possible and look pretty.
You felt sick to your stomach as you passed over the threshold, the loud swing music made your head hurt and your eyes frantically scanned over the crowd. The tables were elaborately decorated with some of the well-dressed guests sitting in their designated seats, others were out on the dancefloor swaying to the music. So far there was no sign of Michael but you didn't feel like things were entirely safe.
A waiter stops by with a tray of champagne flutes, offering one to you and your date. You happily oblige. You had a feeling you'd need some liquid courage for the night.
"Let's get to our seats," the senator speaks, yanking you in the direction of the tables.
You couldn't say you liked how authoritative he was being. You were used to having an element of control, not being tossed around like a rag doll.
You take your seat, a place card with what you assume is your client's name typed in an elaborate script. You take another sip of champagne and nearly choke on the bubbly liquid. From the corner of your eye, you spot him, looking regal and princely in a sparkling white jacket, sitting at the table adjacent from yours.
"Shit," you mumble.
"Did you say something?" the senator questions.
"No. Nothing."
If you'd ever figured that your run with Michael would be over, you knew tonight would most definitely be it. If he recognized you, things were sure to hit the fan. You could only imagine how livid he'd be if he discovered you at the exact same benefit ball he'd asked you to attend with him with another man. You'd certainly have to come clean and reveal the reality of your profession, face the consequences of lying and risk losing him forever.
You sigh a sigh of relief as another couple takes a seat in front of you, hopefully blocking you from Michael's view.
You spend the rest of the night laying low. You kept your gaze on your very expensive dinner plate and only spoke when spoken to. Your anxiety was at an all-time high and you wished nothing more for the night to end.
You stepped out of the powder room after relieving yourself of all the alcohol you'd consumed and freshening up your make up.
Just when you thought you were in the clear for the night, you spotted Michael chatting politely with your senator date. In a moment of panic, you scurry out of the venue. The screeching of tires and the bright headlights of a silver Royce Rolls cause you to stumble and lose your balance.
"Miss," a Valet in a white suit jacket shouts out of the window. "You okay?"
You place your palm against your heart, trying to steady your breathing.
"I need a ride home," you croak, limping towards the passenger side on account of your newly broken heel. "I'll pay you, I swear. I just need to get far away from here."
***
After the eventful benefit dinner, you had finally come to the decision that you were ready to quit the business.
You couldn't bare lying to Michael any longer. He was the best man you'd ever met and he certainly didn't deserve your deceit. A man like him only came around every few light-years and if you didn't hold onto him you might not ever find anyone who made you feel as special as he did.
Eventually, your looks would fade, your money might run out but life would be nothing if you were destined to spend the rest of it alone.
"Is this really your last night?" Vivian questions as you clear off your vanity.
You sigh.
"Yeah, I have to stop, Viv. I realize that I do love him. I may never get this chance at a normal life again."
She grins, grabbing hold of your hands.
"I'm happy for you, Y/N. You're doing the right thing- getting that fairy tale ending. Just don't forget about me, okay?"
"How could I?" you grin. "You've been my best and only friend."
You share a brief hug before she rushes off for the night, leaving you to prepare for your last ever assignment.
You wore nothing but a red lace babydoll, concealed by an elaborate cloak and a pair of splendid, sparkling diamond earrings as you stepped into the car. The ride was longer than usual and the route felt familiar.
Suddenly you had a bad feeling about this client but you didn't think much about it. You just wanted to get the night over with and return to the life of an honorable woman. You were always a woman who trusted your gut and your suspicions of a twist of fate were confirmed in the worst way when the car arrived at a pair of familiar gates, the golden letters glistening under the lights.
Neverland.
"Oh my God," You whisper to yourself. You want to ask the driver to turn the car around but you'd already escaped once. It was time to face the truth head-on, even if it was in the most humiliating way.
You took in a deep breath as you turned the golden knob to the wooden door of the main house. You strolled in the foyer as you had many times, only this time, you were sure it would be your last.
"Good evening, Y/N," Michael speaks.
You suck up your pride, lifting your head to face him. He's standing at the foot of the staircase, dressed smartly in a suit, loose tendrils of curls falling from his low ponytail. Any other time you'd revel in how handsome he looks but you can't bring yourself to admire his beauty at a moment like this.
"Or should I say, Alex? Maybe Celeste?" he continues. " I don't know. I couldn't track all your fake identities."
He then reaches into his suit jacket, retrieving a stack of silver cards and tossing them on the floor. You stare at them, completely mortified.
You'd been caught.
"Look at me!" he snaps.
You blink back the tears that sting your eyes, forcing yourself to meet his intense gaze.
"I- I'm sorry."
It's the only thing you can bring yourself to say.
"So this is what you do every night, huh? This is your work? Screwing other men for money?" he sneers.
"I was going to quit!" you protest. "I was in this business long before I met you, Michael. You came along and you made me feel special- appreciated. I didn't plan on you but I swear, I was going to quit because I love you!"
The hot tears spill from your eyes as you sink to your knees, the ultimate position of submission, humiliation, shame.
Michael stares down at you, the meanest scowl on his handsome face. You'd never felt smaller in your life.
"Love me?!" he scoffs. "You lied to me, Y/N. You can't love me- not if you're willing to sell your body to other men. My girlfriend is a common whore! How do you think that makes me feel?!"
"I'm sorry, Michael," I sob. "I'm sorry."
He sighs, pacing the floor in front of you.
"I love you, Y/N. I really do. But after this, I just- I just don't know."
Your heart sinks, seeing him so dejected. Your deceit had really caused him anguish. He was the only man who'd ever truly loved you and your selfishness and greed had gone and ruined it.
"I quit, Michael, I swear. I'll never do it again. I'm a changed woman, I swear. I'll give it all up for you."
He shakes his head.
"How do I know that Y/N. How do I know that this wasn't just a mission to you? That whatever we had was just a farce? A waste?"
You blink back your tears.
"It was always real to me, Michael. You were the purest thing in my life."
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