“Hi, Ronnie and Snow White, this is Rick Holloway. You’re probably both listening right now so I wanted to tell you that I feel great. I’m in my private office right now and I’m sending you a check for three hundred dollars. I hope to talk to you both again soon. And Ronnie, thanks for knowing exactly what would increase the fun even before I did. Take care.” He hung up.
“He really liked it,” Carla said, still surprised at the power of the spoken word.
“He sure did. And you had a lot to do with that.”
“I thought he usually paid a hundred and fifty dollars. He said he’s sending three hundred.”
“He’s paying double. I guess he’s sending half for me and half for Snow White.” Ronnie pulled out her wallet and handed Carla three fifty-dollar bills. “That’s your share.”
Carla stared at the money in her hand. “This has to be immoral, illegal, or fattening. Maybe all three.”
“Well, it’s certainly not fattening and, as far as I’m concerned, it’s not immoral. I don’t think you can have a crime without a victim and none of my friends is ever a victim.” She sighed. “Actually, some claim that what we do together makes them better lovers at home, either more creative or less demanding. However, it is prostitution and that’s illegal…but what the hell.” She sipped her drink and gave a mock salute. “Anyway, Bryce would love to spend an evening with you—your virgin experience, as it were.”
Carla’s hands trembled. “Now that I’m actually going to do it, half of me can’t wait and half is scared to death.”
“That’s exactly the fantasy that Bryce wants. He loves the scared little girl and the initiation part of this. And you can say stop at any time. Bryce knows the rules. So, if you’re sure….”
Carla took a deep breath. “I am.”
“Good. I’ll give you his number and you can call him, make your plans. He’ll take you to dinner, dancing, then to a hotel room.”
“Not here?”
“You know you can use the house anytime, although we’ll have to coordinate carefully. But Bryce likes the idea of neutral territory. He’s got oodles of money and he can afford the best. By the way, as a present to him, I think we should forgo the fee for this one night.”
Carla chuckled. “I’m glad. Somehow it seems more honest for my first time.” As she lifted her wineglass, her hands shook. “I’m nervous.”
“Good.” Ronnie handed Carla a piece of paper. “Here’s his number. Call him right now, while you’re in this mood. Use the phone in the spare bedroom.”
Carla stood up and looked at the paper in her hand. “Bryce McAndrews—555-6749.” She walked into the spare bedroom, picked up the cordless phone, and settled on the bed.
With shaky fingers, she dialed the number.
“Hello.”
“Is this Bryce McAndrews?”
“Yes.”
“This is Carla.”
His voice was suddenly soft and warm. “Ronnie’s friend?”
“Yes.” She had no idea what to say.
There was a warm laugh and Bryce said, “Are you free Friday evening?”
“Yes.” Shit, Carla thought. Why am I so tongue-tied?
“I’ll pick you up at Ronnie’s place and we’ll have dinner at an intimate restaurant I know. They have a small dance combo. I hope you like to dance. Leave everything to me. Just be ready about seven. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice shook and Bryce was intrigued.
“You have no idea how I’m looking forward to meeting you, Carla.”
“Me too,” she said softly.
Bryce’s laugh was infectious. “ ’Til Friday,” he said, then he hung up.
“Until Friday,” she repeated into the silent phone.
For the next few days, Carla was a wreck. She drove her children to and from Cub Scouts and swimming lessons. She cooked dinner, watched TV, and visited with her parents, all the while quaking inside with a delicious excitement that she was amazed no one noticed.
Thursday, on a whim, she had her nails done. She’d passed Plaza Nails often and had occasionally thought about treating herself to a manicure. Always before, however, the cost had stopped her. If I want to stay home with the boys and not work full time, she had told herself as she walked passed the door toward the supermarket, I’ve got to be a little careful.
As she drove past the mall on the way to Little League Thursday afternoon she gave in to temptation. It’s an investment in my career, she told herself. Anyway, I have Rick’s three fifties in my wallet.
So while the boys were at practice, a manicurist named Micki, who didn’t stop talking for an hour, lengthened Carla’s nails with linen wraps and glue, then polished them in a soft lavender shade called “Lilacs in the Spring.” As Carla left, Micki told her to come back in a week for a glue manicure, whatever that was.
“Hey, Mom,” said Mike, her youngest son in the car going home. “You’ve got stuff on your nails.”
“I decided to have them polished,” she said, glancing at her nails for the dozenth time. “Looks snazzy, no?”
“I guess,” Tommy said, “but it’ll be hard to make pizza dough.” Practicality was Tommy’s hallmark. “They’ll get all ookey. We are having your pizza tonight, aren’t we? You promised.”
“Of course. I promised.”
Thursday evening after pizza, Carla spent several hours standing in front of her closet debating exactly what to wear. After her call to Bryce, she and Ronnie had rummaged through Ronnie’s closet in the brownstone, but nothing in Ronnie’s wardrobe made just the right statement. As the boys did their homework and watched TV, Carla put on, then took off at least a dozen combinations, selected then reselected like a schoolgirl preparing for her first date. “I’m an idiot,” she muttered, throwing a beige, summer knit dress on top of the growing pile on her bed. She picked up the phone and started to dial Bryce’s number to call the whole thing off. “God, this is really stupid.” Then she put the phone down. “I can always call it off during dinner.”
She hung everything back up, then closed her eyes and pulled a blouse from its hanger, coordinated it with a linen suit and stuffed all three garments in a tote bag to bring with her. Then she sat on the bed, pulled the items back out, folded them neatly, added a pair of low-heeled pumps and put everything back into the bag.
She gazed into the mirror, brushed her shoulder-length hair and shook her head slowly. Should I go down to the city early and have my hair done? she wondered. Somehow that didn’t feel right. She had no idea why her nails should look better than her hair but it seemed wrong to have some fancy hairstyle. “Shit,” she said aloud, “this is ridiculous. I’ll worry myself to death at this rate.” She stuffed a strand of hair behind one ear and went to tell the boys that it was bedtime.
The following afternoon Carla packed an overnight bag for each of her boys.
“Are we staying at Gramma’s?” her thirteen-year-old asked.
“Yes. For tonight.”
“Got a hot date, Mom?” BJ asked as she packed.
“Where did you get that idea?” she asked, taken aback.
BJ put his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes. “I see all and know all,” he chanted. When