Page 18 of Bourbon Sins
I didn’t know how long I sat on the ground as I cried to myself, but the sun started to drop behind the trees, giving them an eerie look.
At that moment, my phone beeped from a blocked number. I looked down at my phone and read the message.
Have you made your decision yet?
I stared at the message for a while, as I tried to figure out my next step. I hit the reply button and sent a text back.
Goldie: I’m in.
I hoped to God I was making the right decision, but then again, I didn’t have any other options. Even if this was one of the worst decisions of my life, I had to do something. It couldn’t be worse than getting my body plucked at every night by strangers, and getting screwed out of tips by a heinous human being.
Brushing off my shorts, I got up and started toward the trolley station, but then realized I didn’t have any money to pay for my ride. It was going to be a nice long walk back to my apartment. As I started walking, my phone beeped again.
Don’t move, there will be a car to pick you up and bring you to the club. Your employer has been notified of your resignation. You will be staying at the Lafayette Club from now on.
I stared down at my phone and wondered what the hell I had just gotten myself into.
Chapter Nine
“Best Day of My Life”
GOLDIE
Never did I think my life could take such a dramatic turn in matter of hours. One minute I was sitting on the cold cement outside the Lafayette Cemetery, crying to myself because I just lost a week’s worth of earnings and then the next minute, I’m sitting in the back of a Rolls Royce, being driven around New Orleans with only my few precious belongings.
When I grabbed my personal items, the driver, whose name I didn’t catch, told me to leave all clothes and only pack any sentimental objects.
After I looked around my shitty room, I knew there wasn’t much for me to take, so I filled a pillowcase, since I didn’t have any real luggage, with some picture frames, my mother’s jewelry that wasn’t completely destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, and my art.
I sat on the buttery soft leather of the car and looked over at my sad, pathetic pillowcase . . . that was my life. My entire life fit into a faded red pillowcase. It’s really kind of sad.
My fingers ran along the raised stitching of the back seat as I thought about how I had never in my life been in such a nice piece of machinery. The driver wore a suit, for fuck’s sake, and there was ice water readily available in the back of the car in case I was parched. This was a kind of living I was not used to. I was more used to drinking piss water from the crusty tap and riding around on the trolley.
We drove down St. Charles Avenue, right in the heart of the Garden District. I watched beautiful pastel-colored houses pass by as I looked out the window. I knew the area by heart because it was where I came to get away from my life, to reconnect with my parents. Never did I think I would be living here.
Before I left the apartment, I ran into Lyla, who could not have been happier for me. It seemed all so weird to me, that my friend was excited that I had an opportunity to be a part of some strange high-class brothel, or at least that’s what I thought it was. I was nervous about her paying rent by herself, but she assured me Crystal was going to move in because she was evicted today; it seemed a little too coincidental, but I didn’t look much into it, because I had other things to worry about.
We turned down Jackson Street and I took in the trees that hung over the streets. They were my favorite part of the Garden District. The trees were rebels at heart, because they all grew in their own way, their own direction. I couldn’t help but feel like the trees were my kindred spirit. I paused as I thought about it. Holy hell, I was losing it if I was feeling some kind of relation to some fucking trees.
The car slowed down as we pulled up to a grandiose white . . . mansion that was surrounded by what must be a seven-foot wrought iron and stone fence. White pillars scattered the façade, and each floor-to-ceiling window was framed by black shutters with oil lanterns hanging next to them, giving the house an old New Orleans feel.
Flashy, garish, ornate . . . lavish were all words that crossed my mind as I took in my new dwellings. Even though I was as nervous as a virgin at prom, I couldn’t help but think this just might very well be the best day of my life.
The driver came around to my door and held it open. I took a deep breath and grabbed the man’s hand that was offered to me. Standing against a tree, with the same hoodie and tight jeans, looking sexy as hell, was the man I’d met at the café, but instead of sporting his stern look, he was wearing a bit of a smirk that said, “Told you so.” My stubborn bones wanted to punch him in the face and stalk off, but I knew that was a ridiculous reaction that wouldn’t get me anywhere.
Looking at him and then up at the house again, I made a silent promise to myself. This was it, this was the chance I was looking for and, even though I had no clue what it entailed, I was going to give it my best shot, because to hell if I was going to go back to my old life. I was never looking back on that life; I was only moving forward from here and I was moving forward with the help of the famous Lafayette Club.
* * *
“You goingto just keep staring at my crotch or do you want to move on inside?”
I was startled by the man’s voice. Was I really staring at his crotch? I know I was staring at something while thinking about my new life, but I didn’t think it was his crotch . . . was it?
I shrugged my shoulders and played it off. “Not much to stare at.”
He snorted and opened the gate that sat in the middle of the front yard. “Got your things?”
I held up my pillowcase and nodded. He shook his head and walked toward the front door. As I got closer to the house, I noticed just how enormous and intimidating the place was. I could do this, no matter how much I wanted to go cry in a corner and possibly pee my pants from nerves; I could do this.
