the phone line I swear I can smell stale smoke and liquor.
Our connection is fuzzed by static, as if it’s trying to discourage our contact. I think of Cross and press on. “Richard? This is Elizabeth DeVille again.”
“Elizabeth, yes.”
“I’ve thought about your offer, and I want to do it. Can you tell me what the next step is?”
He pauses for a second, and I think he’s surprised. “The next step? Well, you come out here. Come to Nevada and let me get this rolling.”
“What does that entail?” I’m not going to a brothel without a detailed road map in my hand.
“It entails a lot,” he says bluntly.
“Where does it start? I’d like to have some idea.”
He pauses again, just long enough to take a drag on a cigar. “We do this from time to time, but never with a girl like you. Don’t get me wrong. Our girls are beautiful, valuable, talented girls, but they don’t have their own bottled water,” he says with a chuckle. “They’re not Elizabeth DeVille.” Another pause, and I decide to put it to him straight.
“DeVille doesn’t mean much anymore.”
“Yes, and I appreciate your candor, Miss DeVille, but let me share my own. Our bidders aren’t buying your money. They’re wealthy men, and what they’ll pay for is your high-class hymen. You follow me? All I need from you—well not all I need from you—there’s a lot to this— But what I really need is you to come here, do a little training—”
“Prostitution?”
“Well, you can’t do that. Not and have a decent auction. But I’m saying you learn from our women. Learn the ropes. It’s not for long. Maybe two weeks, three. Whatever’s enough to get you ready for your big night.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
I’m navigating the congested interstate, headed back up toward Napa. The sky is purple. Dramatic, like it knows what I’m up to and wants to be a banner for me. “And you said the prices on this are pretty high?”
“In the hundreds of thousands, yes ma’am. We’ve done two this year and both were over five hundred thousand. One last year even fetched a million.” There’s another pause, while I zip around an eighteen-wheeler. “Now, all of these girls were models, and we had them on the menu for several months before their auctions giving other types of pleasure, so the men had built up some interest in them. Curiosity.”
“Are you saying I have to...have my own clients?” I hold my breath. This wasn’t mentioned earlier, but now that I’ve signed on to pay for Cross’s care I don’t think I can back out.
After a moment, he says, “Well, no. You’re a different sort of girl, or so we’re going to say.”
“But I don’t want to use my real name.”
I hear his low intake of breath. “You don’t want to use your name? Well Elizabeth, what do you think we’re selling?”
“My body,” I say. “Isn’t that what you sell? Women?”
“I don’t sell anyone,” he says, and I bite my lip because he sounds a little defensive. “The women—and men—who work here sell themselves. I’m more landlord than pimp. And with all due respect, Elizabeth, the photos I’ve seen of your body...well, it’s not compliant with the standard of this industry.”
I bite my lip, trying my very best to swallow back my pride. For Cross. Telling myself it’s nothing personal, I plunge ahead.
“I understand what you’re saying, Richard. The truth is, I’ve recently lost some weight, but I can lose more.”
“I’m looking at the photo you sent me, taken in November. Why don’t I put your weight at 165. Is that about right?”
I gape. “You really know your stuff.” I’m not 165 anymore, but I was in November.
“I’d like you to have it down to 140. I’d still like some curves, but I want you tight and toned.”
I look down at my body, already so much leaner than it was. Screw the numbers. I know where I look my best. I’ll make that mark.
“You do that,” Richard says, “and then come here. We’ll take care of the rest, and you can use an industry name. We could do a wig or something, too. We’ll put you up on bill boards around Vegas and we’ll talk you up. Something like…I don’t know. ‘Selling Scarlett.’”
“And I’m Scarlett?”
“Yeah. You like it?”
I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I say, “Okay. Scarlett sounds good.”
I hear his fingers snap. “There, the hardest part’s over.”
He laughs, and I know my chuckle has to sound weak. “How